#wolffe pack x reader

[toska-writes]

Welcome back bestie!! *muah muah* 💖💕 A humble request for my weary heart-- Some wholesome language barrier Wolffe X Reader 😔✨️ The 104th is tasked to assist another planet with natives who unfortunately don't speak galactic basic, and the boys are kept entertained watching Wolffe trying to communicate <3

Ahhh thank you lovely! *muah muah*

“What?”

Summary: all the pack could do was smile and nod, and maybe try to figure out what you wanted to tell them

Paring: Wolffe x platonic!reader

Warning: none just some fluff!

Word count: 1336 (Not proofread!)

Notes: I’m such a sucker for platonic Wolffe so I hope you enjoy this moot!

The second day of a recovery missions were normally Wolffe's favorite. If everything went to plan of course.

He could see the tense shoulders and demeanor from his pack, the mission the day before wasn't exactly a walk in the garden as initially planned.

Sinker seemed to be lounged comfortably leaning against Boost, a strange serious look on his face as sleep seemed to run from his grasp.

The rest of the boys were in no better shape since most of them were dragging their feet and moping about while trying to load the ships before departure.

The village that they rescued was still in sight as natives started banning today to remove some rubble that cluttered the streets.

"Get up boys let's go." Wolffe ordered with a gruff attitude marching past the boy searching for a few things along the way.

Boost opened his mouth as if he was about the argue with the commander but quickly decided against it.

Following quickly on their commanders heels, Comet was almost hit in the face with a rubber ball Wolffe through quickly over his shoulder.

"I thought we were packing up Commander?" Comet questioned shooting a quick glance at Sinker.

Wolffe only shook his head as he continued with much more pep in his step compared to his pack.

"We have time" was all the clone said without a glance back towards his battalion which he knew was following him.

The cool breeze with the now setting sun seemed to wash away much of Wolffe's worry, taking a huge breath in after his helmet was removed, Wolffe quickly offered his assistance to a man carrying a heavy looking box.

Young eyes seemed to follow the rest of the men how were now quickly tossing the rubber ball back and forth between ranks.

Comet was the first to try and offer their games to the local kids with an outstretched hand and a kind smile.

The small boy took the toy curious and spoke a very quick sentence the some friends that waited by.

"That was a mouth full huh kid?" Comet spoke watching the kid throw the ball to a friend.

The young lad smiled up at the clone and with another catch said something that was definitely not in galactic basic.

"This is gonna be fun yeah?" Sinker spoke allowed waving Wolffe over now.

An invisible weight seemed to be lifted off his shoulders as Wolffe watched his pack start up a few games with the younger natives on the planet.

Groups of about 2 clones and a few kids were seen sitting on the outskirts of the game, the younger looking kids babbling about whatever in the whole galaxy they wanted.

It was until a hand pulled at the kama that hung of wolffes waist. Immediately the clone was hit with a curious look and what seemed to have been a question.

Wolffe stood there looking for a second, not exactly sure what to do since he had no idea what just happened.

The kid continued to talk only this time taping the comm around Wolffes wrist and cocked their head to the side.

Kneeling down Wolffe held his wrist comm out while saying. "Curious in this kid? It's pretty cool I know."

Wolffe didn't know he was doing it subconsciously, but his normally gruff and sarcastic voice sounded lighter now.

You tapped his shoulder plate now looking over his armor. With an idea dawning on you, you tried to speak again to the clone still kneeling.

His eyebrows furrowed as Wolffe tried to watch your body language to get a hint if you were asking, or telling something. But the quickness at which you spoke confused him.

Another tap tap across his armor was accompanied by some more words. "Look kiddo you can understand me yeah?" He asked getting an enthusiastic shake of the head.

Of course you could.

You shook your head quickly as if laughing at him before point to yourself and telling him your name.

Wolffe gave a small smirk before trying to repeat the name in the same accent.

Pointing at Wolffe now he was almost confused if you were asking him if something. The small rise in tone at the end of your sentence suggested that you were asking him a question.

Crossing his legs and sitting with you fully on the ground now he said. "Wolffe, my name is Wolffe."

A giggle escaped your lips as you once again forgot the clone couldn't understand you, but with a quick solution you made the howling sound of a wolf and point back his way.

"Yeah you're right." He said with a smile forming bigger on his lips.

This time your gaze was directed at where the game between the 104th and the native kids was being held.

He was confused for a moment before he looked down at your waiting expression.

Unsure of what you wanted Wolffe said. "Them? Those are my brothers."

The kid face lit up now as what Wolffe could assume the equivalent of 'brother' was in your language.

Testing the foreign word on his tounge a few time, Wolffe found himself sounding it out with the kid in front of him until it was perfect.

Getting the hand signals down now and repeating the word brother your could point to your self and hold up 2 fingers

"Ahh I got that of what you're trying to say." Wolffe laughed ruffling your hair as he continued. "You can take some of mine if you want."

A few sporadic motions later and you got the clone commander understanding a few different words in the planet language.

The clone commander was far from perfect which he wouldn't admit right away, but the joy he saw as you taught him was priceless.

Wolffe was in the middle of repeating the syllables of what he could understand was supposed to mean Sunset when a pair of boots came stomping over.

In the arms of Boost lay a small boy tired from the activities before. With a large gloved hand cupping the boys head Boost said. "Learning some stuff are we commander?"

With a shrug and a playful eye roll Wolffe responded "you could say that.

The comm at each of the men's wrist as the familiar voice of Plo Koon sounded out.

"'My dear men, I'm not sure how thrilled the council will be if we are any more late than we already are. I suggest heading back to the ship now."

Sinker joined his standing brother quickly looking at Wolffe and his companion before both men turned to retrieve the others.

Wolffe glanced back at you as almost a disappointed look crossed your face. "Sorry kid, but thanks for teaching me a few things"

Wolffe stood before quickly helping you to your feet as well. In a moment you were on the larger man in front of you crushing him as hard as you could in the biggest hug.

For a moment more words spilled from your mouth before watery eyes met his own.

"Awe kid it'll be alright. I'll come back and visit you, we all will." He gestured around as the village started to pack up for the night.

With a sniffle you reached out once again and grabbed the wrist of the clone commander. In one swift motion you moved one of the weaved bracelets that adorned your wrist to his own.

He started at it for a moment before you spoke one more word to him. He would always recognize that word now.

Brother, you said.

With one last squeeze and a wave you ran off to join some of the other kids who were preparing to go inside.

The braclet stood out against his white armor, and with a quick pat of it Wolffe turned and headed for his ship home.

Little did he know little eyes continued to watch him, hoping that one day they would see the commander and his men again.

_____________________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hiya babes! Hope you’re doing well! Just outta say I absolutely adore your writing and always brings a smile to my face when you post!!

I was hoping you could do an angst fic where it’s the boys reactions to you jumping in front of them taking a hit/bolt. You can choose the clone group! Xxx

Thank you so much — seriously, your kind words mean the world to me!! I’m so glad my writing can bring a little light to your day 💛

I hope you don’t mind that I decided to go with the Wolf pack for this one. I hope you enjoy 🫶

⸻

“For the Pack”

Reader x 104th Battalion (Wolffe, Sinker, Boost)

⸻

You don’t think. You just move. That’s what instinct does when family is in danger.

The air was thick with heat and cordite, the jungle humid enough to choke on. Blasterfire lit the treeline in wild flashes—red bolts cutting through the green like angry stars. You pressed forward with your saber raised, breath tight in your chest, the Force buzzing like a live wire beneath your skin.

This wasn’t supposed to be a heavy engagement. Just a scouting mission. Routine.

But nothing about war ever stays routine for long.

“Wolffe, move it! You’re exposed!” you shouted, watching him duck behind cover just as two more shots chewed bark over his head.

“Copy that,” Wolffe growled, popping off a few retaliatory blasts. “Boost! Sinker! Sweep the right flank and flush that nest!”

“Already on it!” Boost called from somewhere in the brush.

“We’re getting pinned down out here!” Sinker added, tone sharp but controlled.

You moved closer to Wolffe, saber up, covering his retreat as he repositioned behind the half-blown trunk of a felled tree. The rest of the battalion had spread out, covering the ridgeline, trying to locate the sniper.

That’s when it hit you—the feeling.

The Force spiked.

Time slowed.

A heartbeat ahead of the moment, you felt it: danger, aimed at someone you couldn’t let go.

Wolffe was turning. He wasn’t going to make it in time.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

A leap. A cry. A single instant of instinct and fear and absolute certainty.

And then the bolt hit you square in the back.

Wolffe didn’t register what happened right away. One moment he was turning to call out an order, the next there was a flash of blue, the hum of a saber, and a sickening crack of a body hitting the dirt.

“—[Y/N]?!”

You were lying on your side, smoke rising from your robes, your saber a few meters away, deactivated.

You weren’t moving.

Sinker screamed something wordless over comms. Boost shouted your name.

“MEDIC!” Wolffe was already moving. “Get me a medic now!”

He slid to his knees beside you, hands already tearing open the fabric around the wound, even though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing—just doing. There was too much blood. Too much heat coming off your skin. You were smaller than him, younger, not armored like they were. You were a Jedi, yeah, but also just a kid compared to the rest of them.

His kid. Their kid.

And you’d taken a shot meant for him.

⸻

Hours Later you were in bacta now. Still alive. Barely.

The medics said it was touch and go. The bolt had burned through muscle and clipped something vital. You’d coded once during evac, but they brought you back. Your saber had been returned to Plo Koon, its emitter dented from where it had slammed into the ground.

Wolffe sat in the corner of the medbay, helmet off, armor streaked with dried blood—your blood. He hadn’t moved in two hours.

“Why the hell would she do that?” Sinker muttered, pacing with his helmet tucked under one arm. He was flushed, angry. “We wear armor for a reason. We train for this. She’s a Jedi, not a clone. She’s not supposed to—”

“Be willing to die for us?” Boost cut in, voice tired. “Guess she missed that memo.”

Sinker let out a long, low sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’re the ones who throw ourselves in front of people. That’s the job. That’s our job.”

Plo Koon stood at your bedside, one hand lightly resting on the glass of the tank. He’d been silent for most of it, his calm presence a strange contrast to the chaos.

“She has always seen you as more than soldiers,” he said gently. “You are her brothers. Her family.”

Wolffe finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “She’s part of the pack. And the pack protects its own.”

“But she nearly died protecting you, Commander,” Boost said. “What does that make us?”

“Alive,” Wolffe answered. “That’s what it makes us. And when she wakes up, she’s going to be reminded that we never leave one of our own behind.”

Sinker stopped pacing, jaw clenched.

“She’s not gonna get off easy for this.”

“Oh, hell no,” Boost muttered. “Soon as she’s conscious, I’m yelling at her.”

“Not before me,” Wolffe said, standing finally. “I’ve got seniority.”

They tried to joke—tried to banter—but it didn’t land. Not yet.

⸻

Your vision was blurry. Everything felt heavy. And sore. So sore.

“Hey—hey! She’s waking up!”

Voices. Familiar. Warm.

You blinked hard. One blurry helmet. Then two. Then a third face appeared—scarred, grim, but so full of relief it almost didn’t look like Wolffe.

“About damn time,” he muttered. “Thought we were gonna have to start arguing over who got to carry your sorry ass out of here.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaky whisper: “Pack…”

Boost leaned in closer. “Yeah. We’re here.”

Sinker had a hand pressed to your arm, trying not to squeeze too hard. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

You smiled weakly. “Didn’t think about it.”

“No kidding,” Wolffe said, arms crossed now. “You jump in front of another bolt like that and we’re stapling your robes to the floor.”

Plo Koon stepped forward, voice kind and firm. “Rest now, little one. You have done more than enough. The pack is safe. Because of you.”

You let your eyes fall shut again, not from pain this time—but because you knew they were watching over you.

Always would.

[oceansssblue]

SW REQUESTS:

"Would love to see a Wolffe x reader fic where the AFAB reader is injured in battle, Comms him and then their Comms get jammed and he's just freaking the hell out. Love some angst of him carrying her back to a ship and losing his mind over it"

Some minor alterations but I'm SO HAPPY with how this one came out! I love wolffe and there aren't that many fics about him. Do recommend your favourites! Xx, sky.

"RADIO SILENT" –WOLFFE/F READER

WARNINGS: BATTLE, WOUNDS&BLOOD, ANGST AND FLUFF. 📩💔💖

Halsakaa is a nightmare. The Republic hasn't been able to redirect more forces to the Outer Rim planet to help you; and your troops are struggling to keep the droids battalions at bay. It honestly feels as though the Republic –and the Jedi– have abandoned you to your wrath; no-one coming to this remote location in the galaxy to save you. The destine of your own life, and the lifes of your soldiers, are solely in your hands. And you'd give everything for them, even sacrifice yourself if you have to. After so many experiences together, for almost three years straight now, they have becomed such an important part of you it feels as if you have ingrained every single one of them in your soul. You know you should'nt be so attached to them; Master Ploo quietly reminds you from time to time –though you know he's not exactly indifferent either–. The wolfpack is his own just as they are yours. Yours. Growing up as Jedi you haven't had this kind of... ownership over anything but your saber. Obviously, you don't see the clones as something you can posses, use; but they do belong to you in some sense, and in that way, it's your responsability to command them, to take care of them. And you... love them. It's a dangerous word for a Jedi. But it's the truth. It is the reason why, right now, your soul aches. Each death is a strike right to your heart. But how can you see them any different, when they are such loyal friends? Such fierce soldiers, who fight and die selflessly for the freedom of other citizens in the galaxy, a freedom that hadn't been given to themselves?

Your dark emerald green lightsaber flies in your hands, deflecting one bolt after the other one. Sweat makes your usually comfortable jedi robes stick to your body; minor scratches and wounds tingling painfully at the friction of the fabric. It doesn't make you move any slower, though; you feel unstopable jumping from a cluster of droids to another, the hum of your saber following you around while you slash through your enemies with persistent focus and skill. General Ploo is doing his own thing on the other side of the battlefield; your clone troops split in half to defend both sides of Halsakaa's capital.

You don't know how much longer you can hold this off. All of you have been trained for this, and you're used to drawing strength from the Force, increasing your usual endurance; but even you are feeling exhausted, muscles straining like painful cords, and the thing about the droids is that they never tire out. You know this has to end eventually. Right now, Master Ploo's orders are to hold on til some other battalion can come to your rescue –the other option abandoning Halsakaa to the separatists, which would cause a disastrous impact on the Republic–; though you don't know when that will be. It may be days, or weeks. A month, maybe two. Even with the system of rest-and-takeover you've got established with the clones you're afraid you're going to lose.

The night falls, and some troopers fall back into the delicate safety of the makeshift camp, a decent distant away from the battlefield; they'll try to shut the eye for some hours before replacing other brothers positions again. You keep fighting, completely exhausted but knowing perfectly well that your presence in the battlefield equals the force of ten clones; pushing through your energy limits and fiercely holding your own.

Hours pass, and the two suns of Halsaaka rises again; your tired eyes getting used to the new light while you keep slashing droids with your saber.

"We're pushing them further away from the South Door" Master Ploo's calm voice picks up through your coms. "I have been informed that the 442th have been dispatched in our way. They will join us in two sunrises".

You can't help but give a relieved sigh. The 104th have worked with the 442th more than once in the past. They are heavy infantry; and you wouldn't say no to some of that now. Any fresh soldier would be a welcomed addition. You can see the strain on your troopers; though none of them would dare say a word out loud.

"Copy that" you answer through your channel with your Master and the 104th's commander and sergeant. "I'll feel as happy as a kid with a popsicle when I see that green stripped armour along our light gray one".

You dodge a shot and use the Force to push a wave of droids to the side; your troopers quickly using the oportunity to blast them down.

Wolffe's deep husky voice pipes up in a tiny, well-humoured comment.

"Still a kid yourself, General" he teases you, voice still firm and contradictionally serious.

Your lips pull up on a tiny smirk.

"We can't all age in a blink of an eye, my dear Commander" you chirp back.

The coms pick up his raspy chuckle before the frequency goes back to silence.

The droids make way for something bigger and you groan under your breath. The first bolts make the earth beneath your feet shake slightly; orders and screams shouted all around you.

"Bad news, boys" you open the general coms this time so everyone gets updated in this very unwelcomed surprise. "We've got some spiders".

You focus yourself on them; flying through the battlefield and jumping on one droid after the other one, sinking your saber into their red sensors or cutting off their laser canions. Then, when you're in the middle of jumping off of one, a surprisingly well aimed bolt crosses the air and hits you; and you fall down with blood quickly soaking your side, staining the fabric of your Jedi clothes.

"Fuck" you mutter out loud, jaw clenching til your teeth hurt while you stand up quickly and deflect another bold with your saber, trying to cope with the pain. You open your private frequency with Sinker and quickly inform of your state.

"Sinker, I've been hit" you grit between your teeth while you kill the droid responsible for your wound and step back between your troopers to cover yourself momentarily.

You pull your clothes up and quickly glance down at the wound. Usually the bolts inmediately cauterizes the wounds; but this hadn't been a normal droid, but a combat-J1, with it's weapon specifically designed to make the most damage to human's skin without it's predecessors side-efects. The apparently less dangerous bolts are quite the opposite; dividing into smalller ones that diverts into different directions when hitting a surface with enough resistance. Right now, there's only one entrance wound on your right side; but you know they may have carved more than one path inside of you, making it a life or death situation depending on how lucky you are.

"How bad is it?" He asks, slowly but effectively advancing through the droid lines towards you, an easy person to locate with the shine of your emerald saber.

You grunt in pain, hand soaked in dark scarlet blood, and take a deep breath in, knowing what you need to do for now.

"Bad" you just answer, carefully lowering your own saber towards the wound "It's a shot from a J1. I'm going to cauterise the wound for now, but I might go into shock in the next hour. Just a heads up."

You chuckle weakly, and then carefully graze your lightsaber against the wound. The skin quickly hardens and clots; the smell of the burn quickly reaching your nose. Your knees buckle while you swallow your scream of pain; legs shaking weakly and tears springing to your eyes while you finish putting a momentarily solution to your wound. At least you won't die from blood loss for now.

"Maker, General" Sinker is suddenly there, taking a strong hold of your opposite hip to stabilize you. "That really doesn't look good. You should go back to camp, Sir".

You find solace in his strength for a minute before rightening yourself again and getting ready to move. You close your eyes and center yourself with the Force. You're hurt, but you're still in the middle of open fire; you need to swallow the pain and dizziness down and hold on.

You give Sinker a firm nod.

"I'm letting this side of the battlefield on your hands, then" you tell him, his own back inmediately straightening too under such responsability. "Just one more night and we'll have reinforcements with us tomorrow".

Sinker nods in understanding, appreciating your words of encouragement. He quickly orders Comet to help you get safely back to camp; while he inmediately takes the role of leader and commands your part of the 104th clone troops. You need to protect the North Door of Halsaaka while Master Ploo and Wolffe take care of the South.

One arm around Comet's shoulders and finding strength in the Force, you quickly start your dangerous way back to safety. Even though Comet's alert with his own blaster and you're still deflecting bolts with your saber, you're vulnerable now. You just hope you're both able to make it.

You open your coms to inform of the new situation.

"I've been hit with a J1" you warn Master Ploo and Wolffe. You don't like how weak your voice sounds. "Wolffe, I..."

There's a small explosion right beside you; and the force of it pushes both you and Comet to the ground. You whimper in pain, but quickly grab him and push the two of you back up, resume walking –more like stumbling forward–. You try the coms again, wanting to tell Wolffe you've left Sinker with command before retiring for the night; you grumble in irritation when you see your com device has detached from your forearm and has been left abandoned behind.

"Do you have your com?" You ask Comet.

His voice is barely audible under the protection of his helmet.

"My audio appears to be broken after that last fall, General."

You sigh, tired. There's nothing you can do about it now. Sinker will communicate with them sooner or later.

"Let's just make it back to safety then" you say, and Comet nods diligently.

You'll just focus on not collapsing to the ground before reaching camp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe's heart stutters inside his chest when he hears your voice in the coms. You're always strong, always fierce; something he had admired from the very first time he had had the chance to work under your command. He had been cold towards you back then; not purposedly harsh against you, but not friendly either. You hadn't cared. When one of his men had pointed out to you it wasn't personal, but just Wolffe's reserved, unpolished personality, you had answered unbothered and completely understanding. He could still hear those words in his head; "I get it. I'm a stranger that holds the lifes of his brothers in her hands. None of you know me yet; trust is earned. I hope I will with time. I'd like us all to be comfortable with each othef. But if not, it doesn't matter. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to fight. I'm here to protect people; and I'm here to direct my assigned troops as best as I can in order to achieve the best results with the minor number of casualties. If Commander Wolffe opens up to me I'd be honored. If not, I'm sure we could still be good comrades in this war". He still remembers the way you had tilted your chin upwards; staring defiantly at the clones in front of her, completely unaware of him standing not so far away at her back. "Now, I believe there's still some preparations needed for Jaal; and we're taking off in an hour". With that not-so-subtle signal that the conversation had ended, the troopers around you had quickly fell back to place; and Wolffe had silently followed Master Ploo Koo towards you. "Look at you, little warrior" the older Jedi had told you, a pleasant smile wrinkling the corner of his covered eyes. "Already displaying such good lidership traits". You had turned around in surprise; so many life presences around you, and experiencing a rush of your own emotions, you hadn't been aware of both of their presence. Your cheeks had flushed slightly; though that same defiant glint hadn't left your eyes. "Master" you had slightly bowed towards him. "You see me with good eyes" you had smiled softly at him, in a clearly opened affectionate way Wolffe wasn't used to seing in other Jedi. "Just having a chat with the troops". Master Ploo had chuckled quietly and pointed at him with a hand gesture; Wolffe quickly taking a step forwards towards them. "I have just had a quick meeting with the Council. Commander Wolffe will update you on my behalf, as I need to go have a word with the pilots" Master Ploo had glanced back at him pointedly. "If he'd be kind enough...". Wolffe had inmediately nodded, firmly. He had high respect towards that specifical Jedi; and he didn't usually hold others in such high regards. "Of course, sir" he had then turned towards you. "General, if you can follow me to the strategy room...". You had firmly hold his stare for a few seconds; and the quiet inquisitive gaze had felt as if the young Jedi Warrior had scanned his own very soul. Wolffe had had his first tingle of that uncomfortable but curious feeling back then; a feeling that had only increased with the following years. Nowadays, he...

Wolffe cleared his thoughts and focused on battle. Your voice had sound weak and tired, but you were perfectly capable of holding yourself, and this wasn't the first time you had been hurt before. He had actually patched you more than once in the past and... And then you mentioned a J1, and whispered his name, and there was a loud ringing sound through the coms that sounded too close to an explosion for his comfort and... And the sounds died, leaving nothing more than radio silence. And Wolffe, going against everything he had learnt and was trained for, pannicked.

"General?" His frantic, afraid voice was enough for Master Ploo to focus his attention on him, a graze at his Force life enough to make him understand his commander's feelings. "General. Come on. Com in, kid..."

There was only static.

Wolffe's heart pumped faster, adrenaline shooting through his veins. His hands trembled. A knot formed in his throat, slowly chocking his voice. He never broke down. He never broke down, but...

"Cyar'ika" he begged in a whisper. "Please, please answer and tell me you're okay".

He still got no answer back from you, and he felt his soul hurt.

Master Plo's hand suddenly renched him back into reality; a comforting wave of what could only be his Force washing over him. Wolffe turned his face towards him. The Jedi watched him in understanding.

"I can feel your turmoil. It is such it's difficult for me to focus on anything else. You are in no state to stay in the battlefield" he told him, cautiously gentle. "If my padawan has been gravely injured someone has probably helped her return to camp. You must go and make sure she's okay".

Even if Wolffe wanted nothing more than to start of a run and find her, he still hesitated in front of his General. He was a soldier. A commander. He couldn't leave his place just because he had stupidly, oh so fucking stupidly, fallen in love with her...

Master Plo squeezed his shoulders once. He knew him so well.

"Go" he insisted. "That's an order".

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe quickly wrenched the flimsi excuse of a door of the tent open. He had gone to the makeshift infirmary first; his doctor quickly informing him of the state of his Jedi, and where he could find her resting at the moment. "A dangerous wound, but surprisingly stable" he had told him while he took care of the wound of a fellow brother. "She's a tough one, our General. It was a good idea to use her own lightsaber as a cauterizer. She wouldn't have probably made it all the way back here otherwise". That probability had made Wolffe tremble.

His own eyes quickly scanned the Jedi's state now. She was laying down on a rucksack, unusually clad in just a sport top and his Jedi pant's; outer robes discarded and clean bandages effectively wrapping around her lower torso, with just a small amout of blood transpairing on her side. Her lightsaber had been carefully placed at her side. Her hair was untied and a mess; some sticking to her dirtied face and some falling around freely behind her. Despite her evident exhaustion, Wolffe hand't ever been so happy to see her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Commander?" You asked in a surprised voice, slowly and carefully propelling some of your weight in your elbows in order to see him better. "Shouldn't you be back on the battlefield?"

Your face quickly changes into a deep, worried frown as you scan him up and down quickly.

"Are you hurt too, Wolffe?"

His heart clenches again. He steps inside the tent, slowly falling down on his knees besides you, and closes the door.

"No" he simply answers, observing you quietly.

You're completely lost. He's looking at you in a different way. He... Feels different, in the Force. Usually he feels much more reserved, almost as if he had learnt how to shield his emotions from a Jedi; however this... This felt raw.

"I'm afraid I don't understand" you chuckle and then wince at the way the movement tugs at your wound, a bit nervously now. You pointedly look at him. "You wouldn't be here just because you got worried, right?"

Wolffe's expression doesn't change.

"You went radio silent" he answers, quietly.

You arch an eyebrow.

"Our coms died" you explain, still confused about his attitude.

Wolffe can't help himself. He reaches forward and carefully grasps your chin in his right hand; eyes boring into yours. You gasp in surprise and can't do anything else but stare at his breathetaking mismatched eyes in response; emotions inside of you swirling dangerously with his move.

"You were hurt" he enfasises, almost as if he's trying to tell you something else, something you're not quite understanding. "You were hurt, and you went radio silent".

Oh. Oh. He thought you might be... You might have...

"Oh, Wolffe" his name is an understanding, affectionate sigh on your tempting lips. "I'm okay".

He doesn't want empathy. Doesn't want that almost condescending type of comfort. He needs to make sure you're still here; with him. He needs to exteriorize all this raw, painful emotions he has been keeping hidden for so fucking long, and he wants you so fucking bad it makes his mind and soul burn...

He bends down over you, holding himself against one hand proped against the floor while the other one tugs your neck forward, and then he's kissing you –fiercely, dominantly, real–; he kisses the same way he fights and a surprised but delighted whimper of a moan can't help but escape from your lips, hands quickly clinging onto his shoulders desperately.

You... You hadn't thought you'd end up having this. With you being a Jedi and him being such a perfect, respected clone Commander, you had always brushed your wants aside and...

"Wolffe" you whisper, trembling inevitably when his plush warm mouth moves from your lips to the side of your neck, biting gently. "Wolffe, I...".

He breathes and looks up at your face again; cupping your cheek with his right hand and observing your reaction with his eyes shimmering in needs and desire.

His Force signature blasts. He loves you. He loves you, and you...

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum" you whisper, risking it all and giving your heart to him.

Tears blur your sight. They're not sad tears; they're not happy either. They're a mix of emotions that make you feel like a mess and...

Wolffe sighs. You love him. You love him, and the fact that you've told him in Mando'a...

He closes his eyes and gently presses his forehead against yours; finding solace and peace in your embrace, in this Keldabe. His eyes then flutter open, and he holds your face in both of his hands, slowly joining your lips in a kiss much more sweet and unhurried than those from before. You hum, surrendering in complete bliss.

He caresses your smuged cheek with his thumb, taking some of the dirt and exhaustion of the battlefield away.

His voice is a secret whisper as well.

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, cyare".

Your fingers tug at the hair at the back of his neck, and you crash your lips onto his.

You imprint those five mandalorian words in your soul.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This one was a blast to write! Felt the emotions so raw myself tooo bfbfbsfb this two are so cute. I hope I get to write more of Wolffe in the future, I really like the guy.

Did some minor alterations –like him not been the one to actually carry you back to safety– but it kinda wrote itself and I'm happy with how it came out. Hope you liked it as well!

Also, dear friends, if you ever want to request something longer than a one-shot, you're able to do so as well (if the plot goes accordingly or I find it expandable). I'm not writing whole stories, but a short one of maybe 2-5 chapters max would be okay.

Stay tunned for the next one yall. It will be a little angsty one with Echo, and then we'll have a flirty fun one with Crosshair.

Xx,

Sky.

Back to main masterlist here!

[tanobatcher]

moonlight

wolffe x jedi fem reader summary: you’re a jedi with a budding attraction toward commander wolffe of the 104th battalion. even though both of you know that crossing any professional boundaries is simply off-limits, tensions arise when you find him with an injury after a long mission in the outer rim. warnings: not a lot just wolffe’s back muscles. a/n: tbh i don’t really like this and i wrote it instead of updating my fics on ao3 omg lock me up please. but i’ve been meaning to post a wolffe one shot for a while now so...yes. thanks.

Space is terribly, inevitably cold. The soft layers of your robes do little to remedy any warmth along the goosebumps that prickle your skin, leaving your body slightly trembling no matter how closely you stand beside the heating outlet. This current state of being is not obvious to the naked eye, but you feel every excruciating second that passes as your fleet drives deeper into hyperspace. On route to Coruscant, you can only hope that the hour disappears faster than expected. The sooner you get off this desolate venator, the less likely you are to lose your frozen fingers. Still, even with how stiff and tingly your exposed skin feels, you’re grateful that you aren’t out there. Realizing this is as safe and sound as you’re going to get, you tuck your hands into your robes and venture through the halls in hopes of finding something to remedy the frigid temperature.

Everything falls to a calm silence as soon as you leave the bridge where most of the chatter and energy can be found aboard this massive ship. The corridors are quiet, only echoing your footsteps until you reach a storage closet a few doors down from the infirmary. You can hear some faint conversations coming from there, muffled through walls and permeating grief. After all, more death than life can be felt after what happened earlier today. There is nothing new about loss, which is merely categorized as casualties in those boring mission reports, but there is also nothing acceptable about it either. Trying to relax your mind with your master’s emphasized teachings, you release an absentminded exhale that loosens your chest before stepping into the closet. Maybe some heating pads or gloves will do…if you can find any.

You lose track of time in the following minutes before the door suddenly slides open behind you with a brisk whooshing sound that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. It isn’t the unexpected intrusion that provokes this reaction, though. It’s the person standing in the corridor, whose presence you recognize before you turn around to look at him. You sense his terse, rigid iciness that somehow warms your skin and accelerates your heartbeat. But when you glance over your shoulder, all that you reveal is a friendly smile you don’t expect him to reciprocate.

“Hey,” you speak first, “Are you looking for something?”

Wolffe’s body is unmoving at this question, not allowing him to take any step into the closet. But he also hasn’t walked away yet, which indicates his current consideration of what to do next. If there’s anything you know about him from fighting this war together, it’s that he’s a deep thinker. The only times he really opens his mouth to say something is when he’s dishing out an order or an insult. And yet, you’ve grown to trust him. Admire him, even. This is certainly not a bridge to cross any further, though. The Council would be terribly disappointed in your inability to control your feelings before they become attachments. Besides, you know that Wolffe is the last soldier you’d expect to break protocol. The loyalty of following orders is weaved into his blood so intricately that you don’t even think about attempting to unravel these threads. It’s hardly your place to do so.

“I’ll come back later,” he answers sternly despite the exhaustion you hear in his tone.

Turning your body to face him fully, you aren’t surprised to see that his eyebrows are drawn together in that instinctive scowl not necessarily aimed toward you. Such an expression is more natural than intentional—at least, for him. He meets your eyes for a brief second before casting them downward, leading you to wonder why he seems so uncomfortably stricken. You sense this, just as you sense the pain he is currently trying to mask under his stoic philosophy. What’s he doing here, instead of checking into the med bay? You wonder this while remembering the tumble he took—for you, technically—just a few hours ago during your mission. The memory of falling from that mountainous peak crosses your mind, immediately followed by the moment when Wolffe cradled your body with his on the way down so that his landing impact was much more painful than yours. You meant to thank him for this sometime after, but things got in the way as they do in war. Now that you’re in a position to bring it up, though, you’re not sure how.

“No, that’s okay,” you tell him instead, “I was just about to leave.”

“Did you not find what you were looking for?” He questions, flicking his gaze at your empty hands you rub over each other in an effort to warm them.

“No. Guess we ran out of warmers—we should really ration them better.”

“You’re the only one who uses them.”

You wrinkle your nose at his factual statement, not wanting to concede but also not finding anything to say in rebuttal. So, you ask, “Did you need something?”

He gestures his chin at the crate beside your body. “Are there any medpatches in there?”

“I didn’t see any in this one…” you look down for a moment before reaching toward another crate while asking, “You might have better luck at the infirmary, to be honest. It’s pretty empty in here.”

“The infirmary’s busy,” is all he responds with a slight impatience to his tone as he takes a few steps further into the closet.

You’re suddenly hyperaware of his proximity, moving toward the side a bit to make room. It’s not a large space, cluttered with shelves and boxes somehow devoid of its usual contents. But you have been on the road for a while now, which could explain the reason for this fleet’s depleting resources. Thankfully, Coruscant is only a couple of hours away.

“Sorry,” you apologize when your backsides brush against each other. The collision of your soft robes against his hard armor is hardly noticeable, but you still find yourself burning in embarrassment for a reason you can only rule off as stupidity. Reminding yourself that this is Wolffe, and that you’ve been in much more compromising situations with him than a mere closet where both of you remain by choice, you swallow hard and exhale quietly.

“It’s fine.” His voice is barely a whisper, low and absentminded like he’s distracted.

You purse your lips, falling silent again until you glimpse a sneaky package of a few medpatches a little deeper into the shelf in front of you. Snatching them up with one hand, you turn around and declare, “Found them.”

Time seems to slow when he turns around to face you, bringing your bodies closer together even though you’re leaning back against the shelf like your life depends on it. His face is shadowed from the dim lighting above your heads, which almost makes his cybernetic eye look like the moon. You perceive the white and silver as an illumination that pauses your breathing and gravitates your gaze toward his scar. Noticing where you’re looking, he frowns and reaches for the box between your fingers in a hasty manner that startles you. Still, quick to adapt, you hold the medpatches closer to your chest and ask, “Too busy…even for you? The infirmary, I mean.”

“Does it matter?” He carefully pulls the package out of your grasp, not once touching you in the process—even accidentally.

You let your arms fall to your sides before squeezing the fabric of your robes. “Well, no, but…it doesn’t not matter.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what I mean.”

He rolls his eyes at this, but even that familiar gesture feels half-hearted from his obvious fatigue. You peer up at him closely, wondering why neither of you has left the room by now. It’s already been established that you couldn’t find what you needed. Meanwhile, he got what he came for. The question is simple enough—it’s the answer that you struggle to put your finger on.

“What?” He asks roughly, causing you to realize that you’re staring.

Taken aback by your own lack of control rather than his hostility, you clear your throat and drop your gaze to his chest plate. “If you’re hurt, someone should take a look—”

“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me all the time,” he dismisses, but you’re not convinced. When it comes to him, you’re never fully convinced.

“I’m not worried,” you clarify, taking the box of medpatches from him to tear it open, “I know what you’re doing. I think it’s honorable, but you should let them take care of you, too.”

His expression is wary as he replies, “And what am I doing, exactly? If you care to enlighten me.”

You shrug, setting the opened box on the shelf beside you to free up both of your hands.

“What you always do. Putting your brothers first…” you say quietly while reaching forward toward his armor, “Making sure they—”

Your words cut off when he catches your wrists in one hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m helping you. Anyway, it’s my fault you need these in the first place,” you explain, trying to tug yourself out of his grip without too much physical force.

He only tightens his hold at this. Even though you can’t say for certain, you’re almost convinced that he leans in a bit closer before replying, “This is inappropriate.“

“Oh, please,” you scoff, ignoring the humiliation warming your cheeks, “You’re being immature. I’m sorry if you’ve never had your armor taken off by a woman before, but this isn’t that kind of context.”

You’re a bit surprised at yourself for these words as soon as they leave your mouth. Unsure if you just crossed a line, you press your lips together and anticipate a reaction. At first, all you receive is a clenched jaw and a burning stare that makes you realize a stomach-dropping truth. Maybe Wolffe’s right. Maybe this whole situation is inappropriate. If that’s the case, though, the question from earlier still stands. Why are you still here? Why is he still here?

“The women who take my armor off are none of your concern.”

This feels harsher than it actually sounds, but a stinging embarrassment pricks your eyes for a reason you try to discern without reading too deeply into it. Perhaps it’s his tone or the fact that he still holds onto you as if the thought of letting you touch him is simply unfathomable. Or disgusting. One or the other. Unfortunately, you also begin to think about the subject currently in question—the women who have undressed him in less professional settings. Places where you can never even dream of being with him. But you do, and you’re reminded yet again why you shouldn’t.

“I didn’t say they were,” you scowl, averting your eyes from his.

He’s quiet instead of responding, so you continue, “If you’re done proving your point, then let go of me. I’ll get out of your hair.”

A pause that almost feels reluctant passes between the two of you before he releases your wrists. You immediately tuck your hands into your robes, willing away the buzzing heat that strangely combats the cold you felt before this moment. This warmth quickly trickles away, though, diluted by the venator’s unfortunate temperature. But, just as you’re about to leave, it returns in the form of a softer tone you recognize despite not hearing it often.

“It’s not your fault,” he says in reference to your earlier statement regarding his wounds, “I’m fine. It’s a bruise at most.”

You glance up at him, surprised both by this reassurance but also the fact that he hasn’t put an end to this conversation yet. Pushing your back off from the shelf, you find yourself dangerously face-to-face with him as your feet slide into the gap between his legs. You’re standing at your full height now, but you don’t feel as confident as you might appear. Not when he’s looking at you through heavy eyelids that almost seem lazy even though he’s anything but that particular quality. Despite trying to sense his current feelings in hopes of clarifying this inappropriate situation, you’re only thrust into a hazy fog that confuses you more. It’s just as your master always tells you—strong, uncontrolled emotions cloud your judgment. No matter what they are.

“You’re always saving my ass,” you admit to him, “I don’t want that to catch up to you one day.”

His eyebrows raise at this for a brief moment. “You think it will?”

“No, but this war doesn’t care what any of us think.”

“That’s pessimistic. Even for you.”

“Really?” you reply sarcastically with a subtle smile, “I wonder where I got that from.”

He doesn’t react to this other than a flash of amusement that you catch in his eyes as he stares at you. His quiet intensity is so overwhelming that you plead with yourself to leave before you can embarrass yourself further, but the opposite of this wishful thinking occurs beyond your control. Instead of taking a step away, you take one forward. At this point, you’re even closer to him—but he does not move. Your hands are now clasped behind your back even though you’re not actively remembering his words from before—don’t touch me. It’s classic Wolffe to tell you what to do, but it’s not every day when you listen. What is every day, though, is your ability to call him out on his bullshit.

“I don’t know why you haven’t left yet,” you tell him before laughing softly, “Or why you haven’t told me to piss off…because you totally would. If that’s what you wanted.”

He swallows, leaving you wondering if he’s just as nervous as you are. Taking advantage of his silence, you briefly close your eyes and inhale so as to clear your mind. You’re now more certain there’s a way through this conversation rather than around, which will only be proven or denied soon enough.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…even though you don’t want my help…you’re still here,” you continue.

“So are you.”

“Because you don’t have to ask me to stay.”

Another beat of silence consumes the stare both of you hold before he sighs, “Stubborn ass.”

But the insult is hardly effective at offending you, even provoking another laugh that’s louder and sharper this time around.

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, “That’s why you’re not at the infirmary right now.”

“It’s busy,” he repeats his answer from earlier, “The other casualties are more severe. There’s only so many medics available.”

“Well, I’m no medic, but I can tell you that you might have more than a bruise from that fall,” you tell him.

“Well,” he copies your tone, “Since you’re not a medic, I wouldn’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes at this but ignore it otherwise because you know every second spent talking is one wasted in easing his pain. Trying one more time for good measure, you say, “We can just get this over with. It’ll be easier if you let me help you.”

Before he can respond with disagreement or protest, you reach for the top half of his armor again. This time, he doesn’t grab onto you. Instead, he squares his shoulders a bit and replies, “I doubt you can figure it out.”

When you glance up with furrowed eyebrows, he clarifies, “How to take all this shit off, I mean.”

Feeling a bit underestimated, you set your jaw with amusing determination. Of course, this isn’t because of his comment about the other women who might’ve done this before. You’re not even thinking about that—how silly to even remember such a trivial implication. Just as you’re about to prove him wrong, you realize you don’t even know where to start. At first glance, this kind of task doesn’t seem too difficult. But when you lightly tug on his shoulder plate out of curiosity as to what’ll happen (nothing did), you laugh and begin feeling your way around his upper body to find any openings that might make this easier. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t stop you, allowing you to figure this out before interfering.

“I don’t know,” you giggle quietly, slightly embarrassed but also entertained, “Feel free to step in at any point…”

“I think I’m good.”

“You sure? We might be here all day…”

You’re not looking at him as you say this, too far deep into concentrating on the many gimmicks that hold his armor together. Because of this, you miss the brief smile that twitches his lips—but you feel it. A sudden rush of energy sparks your senses, one that you’re aware isn’t your own. It’s similar to affection and joy but also hard to define. A little startled, you lift your head and meet his eyes as your laughter subsides into a calmer silence that seems heavier when considering how your hands are rested against his chest. You’re so close to touching his heartbeat but also so far.

“You’re enjoying this,” you tease despite your heightening nerves, “Watching me struggle.”

“Maybe a little.”

Before you can respond to this, Wolffe exhales and starts taking his armor off himself while holding your gaze. He begins with his arms, never once letting his eyes falter from yours. It’s almost too much to bear, leaving your insides a churning mess as your heart rattles faster against your chest, but it’s also worth the risk. You watch him closely, feeling more seen than ever before. Truth be told, a dark closet is the last place you expect to be found with him. Now that you’re here, though, you silently wish that nobody else comes searching. It doesn’t take long for the armor around his arms and shoulders to fall away, revealing a sight you’ve already seen before from the many missions you’ve endured together. But this moment feels different. You’re not surrounded by other troopers in a crowded medical bay where everyone is either armor-less, shirtless, or somewhere in between. You’re alone with him. He hasn’t even exposed any skin yet, but you know this is already wildly inappropriate. The only problem is…you don’t care.

Still quiet, you carefully brace your hands around the complicated parts of his chest plate. He seems to respond to this with his eyes rather than a verbal command, briefly flicking his gaze downward before meeting yours once again. You inhale a soft breath, letting both intuition and his guiding presence lead you toward the last of this barrier. The pieces of his chest plate are heavier than you anticipate, but you hardly struggle with their weight. Regardless, he takes them from you as soon as they unlatch themselves from his body. You can’t deny the exhilarated rush that floods your veins when you take in the sight of his upper half, still clothed with a skin-tight fabric that never fails to widen your eyes. The shape of his collarbones and the imprints of his muscles stare straight at you. Or maybe you’re just staring at them.

“Turn around,” you whisper, “And take your shirt off.”

His eyes narrow for a split second before he obliges from one order to the next. He turns around first, baring his backside to your perception. You can’t help but look away when he sheds his clothing from his top half, thinking this gesture will ease the intimacy of the present moment. But when you look up again, sliding your eyes over his dark and bruised skin, you realize there is nothing easy about this. The tension doesn’t just freeze you up, though. Through the dim lighting, you can observe every instance the hard plane of his back flexes and stiffens like it’s both anticipating and rejecting someone’s touch. Perhaps under different circumstances, you would admire such a broad and disciplined sight clearly bred from more than just favorable genetics. But when he asks, “How bad is it?” in a hoarse tone that startles you, the real reason for this situation interrupts once again.

You swallow the lump in your throat, unsure why your response is slightly delayed. “Not bad. Just some bruises, like you said.”

He tips his head back a little, supposedly looking up at the ceiling before releasing a breath. This soft sound stutters when you touch his lower back where most of the purplish bruising can be found. His skin is rough, fitting for a man like him. But it’s also warm, contrasting the cold that bites your fingertips.

“Does it hurt?” You murmur while applying a little pressure, “When I do this?”

“No.” But he sounds as if he’s in pain.

You draw your hand back, reaching for the medpatches off to the side. As soon as you begin placing them over his bruises, gently smoothing your hand down so that they stick, he immediately sighs in apparent relief. It sounds more like a groan from the low depth of his voice, though. Goosebumps prickle your arms, but you keep going until you’ve reached a satisfactory point where any remnants of his injury are now encased in this temporary method of healing. Honestly, you still believe he should have gone to the infirmary for a more professional diagnosis—but you cannot complain about this opportunity, either. Your hands are still on his skin even after you’re all done just because he feels so warm.

Suddenly, he breaks the silence. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, dropping your hands from his body to rub them against each other as if to savor the heat you absorbed from him. You can already feel it disappearing, reminding you that this moment hardly belongs to you. It shouldn’t have even happened. Helping your comrade isn’t necessarily against protocol, but this not-so-innocent favor drives a pang of problematic guilt deep into your heart like a blade wedged between two choices. It’s hard to say what these choices even are, but you already know where your duties lie. No matter how often you dream of another possibility that allows your feelings to truly blossom, you are stuck in the greenhouse where you’ve already pledged your loyalty. The sunlight that has nurtured you ever since you were just a youngling cannot be replaced by the moonlight you crave. Because flowers don’t grow at night. Only dangerous desires do, whispered like the voice in your head that tells you not to cross the line.

Right now, the most dangerous of them all has you wishing for time to move slower so that you don’t reach Coruscant as fast as you initially wanted. The fact is, though, what’s done is done—and you answered this yourself. You sealed it into permanence, widening the distance with every step you take away from his slightly quivering body. He’s shaking so subtly that you almost miss the desperation in his eyes that pierce through yours when he turns his head toward you. Closer to the panel that would open the door now, you pause and stare back at him while wondering if there’s something either of you should be saying. A quick sentence that can lighten the heavy mood bearing down on your shoulders and squeezing your heart. Or, nothing at all. You straighten your back and turn on your heel before anything can slip out. The corridors are much louder as you walk away from the closet, hardly leaving any traces behind but a lingering confession unspoken and unyielding.

It’s still chilly in here, you realize. Because space is terribly, inevitably cold.

[rex-meshla]

Brat Summer

Commander Wolffe x Reader

You'd think working with Commander Wolffe would mean a constant stream of orders, all barked in that gruff. But no, that’s not how this goes. Not this summer, anyway.

"Not bad" he mutters as we finish a sparring drill under the hot afternoon sun, his voice low and gravelly, but his smirk gives him away. “You’re almost getting the hang of it. Almost”

"Oh? That's funny. I'd say you're almost keeping up, Commander" I shoot back, giving him a look. It’s a game we’ve played a thousand times, but this time, the heat in the air makes it feel like more.

"Maybe I should push you a bit harder then" he says, stepping in closer, that spark in his eye growing.

Classic Wolffe. He loves a show of authority. Probably thinks it'll throw me off.

I just cross my arms, smirking. "Bring it on"

He chuckles, a low, almost growling sound, and then he closes the gap between us, stopping just close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, you bet" I say, nudging him in the chest before he can lean any closer. "But don't go thinking you're the only one calling the shots here, Wolffe"

He raises a brow, amused. "You think you're in control?"

"Absolutely" I say, poking his chest just to get on his nerves. "I know it drives you crazy, but you wouldn't have it any other way"

“Real confident, aren’t you?” His hand hovers near my waist, his lips twitching up in that knowing smile. “Maybe I just keep you around because you give me something to laugh at”

I roll my eyes, refusing to break. “Laugh all you want, but we both know you’d be bored without me” I lean in, voice dropping, just to tease him. “Face it—you like having someone around who can actually handle you”

“Handle me?” He scoffs, eyes flashing, a mix of irritation and amusement. “If I wanted to, I’d put you in your place in two seconds flat”

"Oh, sure" I say, cocking an eyebrow. "Any day now, Commander. Still waiting for you to actually do something about it"

His mouth quirks, and he leans in, his voice dropping, almost challenging. “Careful what you wish for”

“Promises, promises” I say, meeting his eyes with a smile that dares him to take that last step. “I’ll believe it when I see it”

And that’s all it takes. His hand finally lands on my hip, warm and firm, pulling me that final inch until there’s no space left between us. His other hand brushes up my back, fingers pressing lightly, and he dips his head, gaze locked on mine with an intensity that’s nearly electric.

“Still sure you can handle this?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek.

For a second, words fail me. His dark gaze, his hand on my hip, his hold on me—all of it sends my pulse racing, each beat louder than the last. “More than sure” I manage, my voice softer than I intended, but he’s left me no room for anything else.

A short laugh rumbles low in his chest, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he dips his head, his lips brushing mine with a teasing slowness. The kiss starts soft, almost experimental, but the next second, it deepens, fiercer, like he’s done waiting, done playing games. My hands slide up to his shoulders, and it’s like the rest of the world melts away, leaving just the heat of his mouth on mine.

As the kiss deepens, his fingers find their way to the back of my neck, pulling me in closer. There’s a hunger to the way he holds me, something raw, brash, and yet, somewhere in the fierceness, he’s careful too, like he’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.

I can’t help but smile against his mouth, letting a laugh slip out as I pull back for a breath. “That’s the best you’ve got, Commander?”

His eyes narrow, that usual sharpness softened by something else. Something almost like pride. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Maybe” I say, fingers trailing down his chest, feeling his breath hitch under my touch. “Or maybe you just have to work a little harder to keep up”

That challenge lights up his face, and in an instant, he pulls me back in, his lips brushing mine again, this time with a fiercer edge. He murmurs against my mouth, “Careful what you wish for, brat”

______________________________________________________________

I hope you've enjoyed this little drabble. You can find more here.

[cregansfourthwife]

i want to be spanked by commander wolffe.

end tweet, thank you.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕟𝕠𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕝𝕗𝕗𝕖

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴏʀᴅᴇʀʟɪɴᴇ ꜰᴜʀʀʏ, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ-ɪꜱʜ ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ ꜱᴇx, ɢʀᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜɪ!!!

⋆ ★ ᴛᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ɢᴜɪʟᴛʏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡᴀʏʏʏʏ ᴛᴏᴏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴅ. ɴᴏ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀɴ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴏ 🥵🥵🥵 ɪ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʟɪᴋᴇ 5 ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇʟʏ ᴇᴍʙᴀʀʀᴀꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʏᴘᴏꜱ ʟᴍᴀᴏ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴅᴇᴘʀᴀᴠᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ :)

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

He's rocking his hips in tandem with yours at the pace of a fucking rabbit. 

It literally took only about ten minutes when he returned to you from a long deployment to get you back in bed again, his body unable to stop itself from thrusting his tight codpiece into your core, looking composed yet utterly desperate for you. And now he’s had you like this, underneath him with your chest pressed to the mattress, squirming and gasping for almost thirty minutes now. He’s only just finally slipped his cock in.

How he's kept his stamina this high up for so long, getting you to come on his mouth and fingers and not even trying to take some pleasure for himself before finally splitting you open with his cock is difficult to figure out.

There's no space to think about that now, though. Not when a new sound has ruptured out of him.

At first, you don't even notice. You're too busy enraptured in your own release and just how damn good he feels inside of you. But then you feel the aftershocks, the vibrations of his voice as he slows his pace down for just a split second. You lift your chin up, tilting it to the side ever so slightly, with the smallest tinge of confusion on your face.

Did Wolffe just... growl?

Not even a typical kind of noise one might make when wrapped up in mind-numbing pleasure. It’s a type of noise that came from his pure, unadulterated, animal instincts.

Shit. Fuck. Why was that so hot?

“Wolffe?” You call out softly. There’s a large pause in the air, something thick. He lifts his body off of you, letting the cool air flow against your back. You sigh again and rest the side of your head on the mattress. 

“Hey…” You whine.

Wolffe doesn't respond; he graces you only with a dark grunt and pulls his hips back, pushing his body against your ass again with a hard thrust.

You can’t help but mewl in a meek voice, involuntarily clenching around him, but you don’t just forget immediately. He's still not kriffing responding to you. Not even a simple acknowledgment. Just expects to get right back to it as if he hadn’t just let out the most sinful noise fall from his mouth. Even worse is that you’re absolutely deadset on hearing it again. You can’t just continue like it was nothing.

So you decide to pull out the big guns.

“C'mon, I liked it,” You say with a vexatious, teasing tone, ending it with a borderline pornographic moan. To further effect, you pull your hips away, pushing yourself back onto his cock with a soft hum and resting your chin atop your shoulder. His eyes are cast onto yours without any intention of straying away, and his fingers curl rougher into your skin. He raises an eyebrow. You smirk victoriously and tilt your head with sweet, imploring eyes.

“Can you do it again for me?” The ask can’t be that big… can it?

He only grumbles, eyes finally looking away, and he moves to place his body back on top of yours. Like he’d never stopped, he rocks you again; a steady collision of each of your bodies with each other. You moan pleasantly, fingers curling into the mattress, but feel the difference in how he moves. His hands melodically, yet sporadically squeeze your hips, and you don’t even realize that his hand has moved and is slowly rubbing tight circles on your clit until the shiver runs through you.

“What do you want me to do for you?” He then asks, low and husked, against your ear.

The only thing that comes out of you is a whine because Wolffe blatantly decides to press onto your clit and thrust into you harder. There’s a giddy smile on his stupidly handsome face, and you know this without seeing it because of just how pronounced it is against your skin. “Gotta say it clearly, sweet doll.”

You’re just barely able to get your words out through desperate whines and soughs.

“Growl for me.”

A melodic hum is his only response, and he continues thrusting. You clench, once, twice, eyebrows furrowed. You try to sobber out his name, but it comes more jumbled; both of you can feel how absolutely wrecked you are.

Then, Wolffe finally speaks.

“Think you’re forgetting something important at the end there.”

Oh, this asshole.

“Please,” you beg anyway, because this asshole has you whipped. Then, only then, do you get what you want.

He sounds like an animal behind you, the rumble of his voice seeping into your skin like a snake, your entire body being inflicted with waves of absolute filth. Not just growls, even; he’s letting out the most deprived and primal noises leave his throat. How long has this pent up? Because there’s absolutely no way he’s just now susceptible to carnal noises from pleasure.

Either way, he sounds delighted.

You’re feeling just about the same as well.

tags: @dukeoftheblackstar @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

hi! i saw the soaring’s tour post (love the name btw it’s soo cute!) and i figured i’d book a trip💕✨

my travel companion is wolffe (i love this man so much😭)

our luggage is slice of life/family and romance

we were thinking of going to tatooine and yavin 4

i’m the wolffepack’s medic. i’m the sunshine to his grumpy storm cloud, but he’s always had a soft spot for me. we’ve been together for a while now, and i think he’s gonna pop the big question during this trip, if you know what i mean *wink wink*

that’s all i got to tell you! i can’t wait for this trip, but absolutely no rush though!! thank you so much for helping to plan this trip! have a wonderful day/night!!!

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Part of the Pack

Amidst the chaos of the war, you've found solace and love in the arms of your grouchy Commander. As you steal a moment away from the battlefield, the future becomes all that more exciting.

Pairing: Wolffe x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: fluff, sweetness, grumpy and sunshine.

Translations: meshurok - gemstone

The sound of your heels clicking echoed down the hallway of the ship, and every trooper you passed gave a slight dip of their head in greeting. You returned it with a smile, hands smoothing down the front of your dress.

Two years you’d served as a medic for the Wolfpack - two years of patching them up after they charged headfirst into chaos. Two years of being madly in love with their grouchy Commander, too. You wouldn’t trade it for the galaxy.

Although outwardly calm, your mind raced. This morning, your comm had beeped with a message from Wolffe, asking you to meet him in the hangar – with the stipulation that you wear something nice instead of your usual gear.

As you approached the hangar entrance, your heart quickened with excitement and apprehension. The hum of activity intensified, with mechanics scurrying around and ships being prepped for departure. Amidst the organised chaos, you could easily spot Wolffe standing near the edge of the hangar, his back turned towards you. Gone was his armour and blacks; instead, he was dressed in civilian clothing – black pants that hugged in all the right places and a grey button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His presence still exuded authority and confidence, yet there was a subtle tension in his posture that you’d learned to recognise. He wasn’t happy about something.

Approaching, you stopped at his side, biting the inside of your lip to suppress your smile as you came face to face with the source of his ire.

A droid.

But not just any droid.

That blasted protocol droid that had joined you all on Aleen.

As the droid prattled on, you could sense Wolffe’s frustration rising. His posture was rigid, shoulders back, lips pressed flat. While it would’ve been fun to remain silent and watch him become increasingly annoyed, you figured it was time to end his suffering. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I need the Commander.” You interjected, offering the droid an apologetic smile.

Wolffe finally glanced at you, hand flexing at his side as he tampered down the desire to reach for you. “No need to apologise.” He answered, gaze shifting to you. “We were just finishing up here.” With a curt nod to the droid, he gestured for you to follow him as he strode away towards a small ship docked nearby.

Together, you entered the ship, and once the ramp was closed, you found yourself pulled into his arms. While your relationship was no secret among the pack, it wouldn’t do for prying eyes to spot you.

“You look good enough to eat, meshurok.” Wolffe complimented, his voice low and warm. While the droid had raised his ire, one look at you had swept it all away. “I hope you’re ready for a little adventure today.”

Your heart fluttered, and you nodded eagerly, excitement bubbling within you. Whatever Wolffe had planned, you knew it would be unforgettable, just like every moment you’d spent by his side. “Do I get a clue?” You teased, smiling up at him as you smoothed your hands across his chest, enjoying the softness of his shirt and the firm muscle beneath.

Wolffe grumbled under his breath. You were always teasing, using your pretty smile to make him melt. But not today. Today was too important. “No clues.” He muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. Leading you into the cockpit, he settled you into the copilot’s seat before taking the helm.

As the ship hummed into life around you, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, admiring how his jaw tightened in concentration, yet his eyes softened whenever they met yours. Despite his tough exterior, a tenderness was hidden underneath, a gentleness reserved only for those he cared about. His grumpiness might have been legendary, but so was his unwavering loyalty and fierce protectiveness towards the pack and you.

As the ship lifted off smoothly and soared into the endless expanse of space, he made the jump to hyperspace. “I wanted to steal you away for a moment,” Wolffe admitted, his gaze fixed on the star-studded vista beyond the view-port before he glanced your way.

“You’re taking me on a date.” You stated, unable to stop your wide smile from appearing again. It wasn’t often the two of you had time away from the war effort, and you could count the number of actual dates you’d been on on one hand. Most of the time, you made do with stolen moments between missions - the quiet brush of hands in silent hallways, passionate kisses in empty med-bays, and stolen hours tangled in sheets when no one would disturb you.

Wolffe’s lips twitched into a faint smile at your deduction. “Something like that.” He replied cryptically as his fingers tapped against the controls.

Curiosity curled through you. Wolffe had always been an enigma, but he’d never kept you in the dark. He’d taken to you surprisingly quickly, growing more comfortable around you until one night, when you’d swung by his makeshift office to check on him, you’d ended up pinned against the crates that had been turned into a desk, the firm planes of his body pressed against you as he’d kissed you wildly.

By the morning, he’d made you his, complete with his tags around your neck.

As the ship finally dropped out of hyperspace, you found yourself gazing upon a breathtaking vista - the planet below bathed in the soft glow of its sun, its surface a patchwork of vibrant colours and swirling clouds.

Wolffe glanced over at you as a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, taking in your awestruck expression. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He remarked softly. “But not nearly as beautiful as you.” He tacked on.

Pulling your gaze from the view, you offered the man by your side an amused smile, feeling warmth in your cheeks. “Sap.” You teased, still not used to the compliments after all this time.

“Don’t go telling anyone.” He grumbled though mirth danced across his face.

The sun started setting as you leaned back against Wolffe’s chest. He’d set the ship down atop a small hill, and upon exiting you’d been surprised to find a blanket already laid out, along with a basket of food. He’d neither confirmed nor denied that he’d sent Sinker and Boost out earlier to set it up.

The two of you had spent some time catching up, enjoying the food and each other’s company. Without eyes on you, you were free to share as many kisses and touches as you liked. Wolffe had finally propped himself up against a nearby rock, drawing you to sit between his legs, wrapping his arms around you as his chin came to rest on your shoulder.

The sky above painted a breathtaking palette of oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The gentle breeze tousled your hair as you leaned into Wolffe’s embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

“I could stay like this forever.” You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you watched the colours of the sky blend and shift with the approaching twilight.

“Me too.” Wolffe pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you in a silent promise of protection and comfort. “You’re my anchor.” He confessed quietly, a tenderness reserved solely for you in his voice. “In this chaotic galaxy, you’re the constant I can always rely on.”

Warmth spread through your chest at his words, and you turned your head to meet his gaze, finding a depth of emotion reflected in his eyes that took your breath away. “And you’re mine.” You whispered, reaching up to draw your finger down his cheek, across the scar from the close call that had nearly taken him from you. “No matter what, I can always count on you to be there for me.”

Wolffe’s expression softened even further at your words, his rough exterior giving way to a vulnerability he only showed you. “I may not always say it, but I love you.” He confessed, his voice barely above a murmur as he pressed his forehead against yours. “More than anything in this galaxy.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you leaned into his touch, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion between you. “I love you too.” You whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “More than words can express.”

With the confession hanging in the air like a delicate promise, Wolffe’s heart pounded in his chest, nerves fluttering like a thousand tiny butterflies as he watched you turn your focus back to the sunset. He knew what he wanted to say next, but the weight of it pressed down on him. He never thought this moment would come, that he’d get to love someone as bright and beautiful as you. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself as best he could, unwrapping an arm from around you as he reached into his pants pocket to find the small box he’d kept a secret for weeks now.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He stated, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but before you could turn around to face him and ask him what was wrong, his arm was back around you, and in his hand, he clutched a small box, open to reveal a delicate ring nestled within.

As you gazed at it, your breath caught in your throat, the metal gleaming softly in the fading light.

“Ner meshurok,” he began, his voice husky with emotion, “I know we’re living in uncertain times, fighting a war that seems to have no end. I can’t promise you a lifetime of peace or stability, but whatever life I have, I want to spend it with you.”

“Wolffe…” You whispered, your voice barely a breath as you looked over your shoulder at him, meeting his gaze. Tears welled up in your eyes as you took in the unexpected nervousness on his handsome face.

Wolffe swallowed thickly, moving his free hand to brush your hair from your face. “Will you marry me?” He asked quietly.

The words hung in the air, a silent plea for your answer. But before you could respond, you twisted in his lap, throwing your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as tears of joy streamed down your cheeks.

“Yes.” You whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

As Wolffe held you tightly in his arms, relief flooded him at your answer. He buried his face in your hair for a moment, breathing in your scent, before you both pulled back slightly to look into each other’s eyes. Carefully, he slid the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle yet sure. As the metal settled against your skin, a sense of completeness washed over you, like puzzle pieces finally falling into place.

You couldn’t help but marvel at how it caught the fading light. The moment felt surreal as if you were suspended in time, cocooned in the warmth of Wolffe’s embrace and the promise of a future together.

“There, all official.” A rare grin crossed his lips. “Guess I’m stuck with you now.” He grumbled good-naturedly, lifting his hand to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within you as you leaned in to press a kiss against his lips. “You wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.” You teased, your heart overflowing with love for the man who had become your everything.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @sverdgeir

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[sterlingnaberrie]

𝒟𝒾𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝓇

SUMMARY: Wolffe’s raging possessiveness over you finally comes to fruition after months of pining

(Wolffe xFemReader)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Working at 79s was a blessing and a curse. There had been many times where you’d had to call the police droids to break up bar fights, dragging out drunk shinies who got off their face after one drink and the occasional Weequay creep who wouldn’t know how to take no as an answer.

Tonight though, tonight was quiet, well as quiet as 79s could get. the bass boosted music still rumms your ear drums, the pining migraine forming at the back of your head still present as ever, but the clones tonight were tame. Grateful is an understatement. The abrupt slam of the door opening rips you from your thoughts, looking up from the bar counter you see a cluster of what looked to be a bunch of shinies, smug looks painted across their faces and by that look, this was their first time visiting the famous bar. Before you divert your attention back to the task at hand, something catches your way…well someone. His grey armor standing out against the plastoid white, strategic patterns painted across his shoulder pauldrons along with his grey kama hanging off his body. Wolffe. Stolen glances and touches becoming a secret language to you both. The Commander of the 104th had a hold over you and little did you know the feeling went both ways.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you frantically try to act unbothered by his presence, your shaky hands making that difficult as you pour the rank beer into the tall glass.

“first day on the job?”

As your head snaps up your eyes are met with a clone, not one that you’ve seen before either, a shinie. Your thoughts catch up to you as you plast a fake smile across your lips. “no fondly enough” you say through a breathless chuckle. You finish pouring off the glass and slide it across the bar in his direction but before you could pull your hand back, his clasps over yours, preventing you from drawing away. “y’know…you would think that being in a club full of men like me would have you nervous, cyare” oh great. You huff out a chuckle, deciding whether or not to play into his ego, the migraine in the back of your skull having you decide to take the latter. You try to pull your hand back but his clasp only grows stronger. “what? Are you proving me right, beautiful?” he smirks, his hand slowly tracing up the back of your hand to your arm. Heart racing and breath hitching your words start to fail you, his touch making your skin crawl.

And Wolffe saw it all, he saw through your polite but fake mannerisms, he could read you like a book. But through all that, he saw how that rookie was touching you, how his hands wormed up your arm, tainting your skin, infecting your space. He hated it. He bit the inside of his cheek as his heart pumped through his chest, jealousy making his blood hot. Before he knew it, his legs had carried him over to the barstool where the shinie was sitting, back facing him.

“trooper” the shinie whips around, pulling his hand off yours, body stiffening as he looks up at the Commander towering over him, his cybernetic eye pairing the same scowl as his pierce hazel one. “C-Commander” the shinie stuttered, his confident facade now failing him and being replaced with one of fear.

“don’t you have somewhere to be… rookie” The Commander implied, his tone laced with bitterness. The cluster of rouge shinies grouped around a booth near the back of the bar erupts in a loud roar as one seemingly chugs a beer as the others cheered him on. The shinie gulps nervously as he stands to his feet “Sorry Commander, didn’t realise the miss was yours” he stumbles “head out shinie” the Commander spits. The trooper scrambles his way off the barstool, tripping over his feet in the process. Once he’s out of ear shot the Commander turns his attention back to you. Your gaze drifts from the wandering shinie back to Wolffe, his gaze unwavering. Inhaling sharply you try to mask your nervousness, hide the fact that your heart practically goes into overdrive whenever he’s near you let alone looking at you. “thanks” you manage to breathe out, those being the only words that seem to escape your mouth.

“don’t mention it” he grazed, taking the now empty seat, leaning his forearms against the bar. Your gaze stills for a moment too long before reaching to grab the glass you offered the shinie moments before.Not until Wolffe reaches for it at the same time causing your hands to overlap and touch, a spike of adrenaline stuns your spine and squeezes your lungs. Eyes meeting and bodies stiffening, his gaze is once again unwavering. Attempting to at least still the tension you pull your hand back while nervously stuttering “oh you can have it- i mean i can make you something better but if you prefer that then that’s fi-” but before you can finish his hand pulls yours back towards him, rubbing his thumb along your skin. Looking down at his hand clasping yours back up to him you see an unfamiliar expression plastered across his face. “are you okay?” Words clog your dry throat as your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. Any coherent thought or sentence seems to vanish, hell your brain itself has short circuited leaving you speechless. you swallow nervously trying to soothe your dry throat before you stutter out “i- uh…it’s fine- i’m fine, happens all the time” you shrug off, your hand still clasped under his. Your words didn’t seem to soothe his mind though, his eyes practically searing scorch marks on ur skin.

He grunts in response, his hold on your hand tightening slightly before letting go reluctantly, your skin starting to crave his absent touch. “and what makes you think i’m fine with it” he retorts. Your breathing becomes shallow as your heart pumps faster and faster, your mouth agape as you try to form a coherent sentence. “c’mere” Wolffe says as he stands up from the barstool, flicking his hand initiating for you to come with him, you place the dirty rag on the edge of the sink that you’ve been mindlessly fidgeting with “Wolffe i can’t, i’ve still got to finish my shift” Now fully stood across the bar counter his gaze once again scorches your skin “i don’t care” his voice stern and fixed.

You take a breath as you match his fixed stare before walking to the edge of the bar, Wolffe following you until you reach the double swinging doors “seriously Wolffe, this better be quick i can’t-” but he grabs your forearm interrupting you, leading you to the back of the bar near the kitchen.

He turns around and grabs you by the shoulders pulling you aside into the back corner, his frame towering over you. “Wolffe?” you breathe out, his chest practically pressed against yours as you look up at him. “Do you know how much I hate seeing those shinies crawling all over you” he breathes out, his face finally sharing a glimpse of genuine emotion, something that isn’t masked, something raw “they practically praise the ground you walk on cyar’ika” the unfamiliar name rolling off his tongue effortlessly, practically turning your knees to jelly “I don't like people touching what is so obviously mine” he growls, the butterflies in your stomach virtually going haywire. “cyare…” he pauses as he leans in, his gaze drifting to your lips before wandering back up to your eyes. “i hate it”

and amongst the jealousy and raging possessiveness, a glimpse of hurt flashes across his face. He reaches his hand up to graze the end of your jaw with his thumb, his touch setting your spine alight. It was the way his voice graveled, how his hand was slowly moving from your jaw to the nape of your neck while his other hand snaked along your waist, subtly pulling the hem of your shirt upwards to trace his fingers along your skin but most of all it was how he was looking at you. His gaze constantly shifting between your eyes and your lips, his expression a mix of raw vulnerability and pure jealousy, his face slowly inching closer to yours. “I practically put myself through hell when i come here, seeing how those rookies look at you…they fucking undress you with their eyes” his voice laced with vexation but not towards you, it was towards those ammature shinies that think they could practically coy with you, and that made him mad.

He takes a moment, his gaze piercing yours like a knife as your noses became centimetres away from touching, the tension between you was palpable as every single unspoken word that had been unsaid between the both of you over the past several months had fallen into place with his gaze as it lowered to your neck, a flash of hesitation crossing his face. His eyes locking with yours once more, he tried to find any sense that you didn’t want this, that you were uncomfortable, but all he was met with was a small nod of your head, and before you knew it, the doubt left his face as his lips pressed up against your skin, leaving a trail of feather light kisses along the nape your neck.

Your breath hitching as you suddenly feel his teeth lightly grazing your skin before slowly continuing to move up towards the nape of your jaw. You rest your hands on his chest as he continues “fuck cyare” he murmurs in between kisses, both of his hands now gripping your waist, his thumbs caressing your abdomen harshly. “You have no idea” he says before marking your skin again, lazily trailing your jaw “what you do to me” he murmurs near your ear before pulling back, his voice low and vexing. All words and thoughts have seemingly vanished, your brain a pile of mush as you gaze at the man towering over you. Your faces inches apart, the feeling of his breath hitting your skin only provokes how hot your muscles feel, like feeding oxygen to fire. Wolffe’s lips curl into a soft smirk as he sees how much of an effect he has over you, which unsurprisingly spurs him on even further. His gaze shifts between your lips and back up to your eyes. You wanted him to kiss you, needed him to, your body writhing under his hands, your lungs desperately trying to catch a full breath. Wolffe’s hand reaches up to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your under eye “let me?” he asks, his brows upturned in need, eyes saying everything that his mouth can’t seem too, want, longing. Rotations of built up pining and craving over you plastered across his face, it infected the blood that ran through his veins and controlled his limbs. Everything he did, everything he said was because of his need for you.

You gaze up at him as you swallow nervously “please” you plead breathlessly, that being all the confirmation he needed as his lips caught yours.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, you felt how his gloved hand held your jaw tilting your head to meet his, how his other hand gripped tightly at the flesh of your hip, how his chapped lips molded against yours. But against all that, your brain buzzed and your body relaxed into his, you felt like you were on cloud 9. The kiss was how you would expect a kiss from Wolffe to be, harsh, chapped, filled with hunger and need but somehow gentle too. He was taking full control just like you imagined the gruff Commander would.

Wolffe too had never felt his mind be so quiet yet loud, no war zone could ever make his body be this full of pure adrenaline, his spine burning with need. Pulling back reluctantly to catch his breath he gazed down at you, your kiss swollen lips and glazed eyes making you that much more beautiful to him.

“You have no idea how long I've needed that” he says breathlessly, his chest heaving as he rests his forehead against yours. Your lips curl into a coy smile before you move the palms of your hands up from his armored chest to the back of his neck, your fingers running through the nape of his hairline “i think i can take a guess” you retort with a brazen smile “oh yeah?” he smirks, his face softly admiring every feature that paints your face. “mmhmm” you hum in response “a long time”. Wolffe chuckles in amusement at the obvious statement “yeah you could say that” he says as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear. You gaze up at him for a moment before tracing your left hand to his jaw, gently rubbing at the scar that paints his under eyes, a reminder that this might not last forever, but knowing Wolffe, not even the darkest sith lord could keep him away from you “don’t die on me anytime soon” your tone laced with sarcasm, but underlying it all you both know that’s a possibility, something neither of you want to admit. He hums in response before saying “even if i were dead cyare i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you”

[cloneloverrrrr]

Hello everyone! It’s finally here Chapter 9 Part 2. I’m soooo sorry it took months longer than expected but I’m sooo excited & hope you all enjoy 🫶🏻 This chapter is kinda dark and there may be some trigger warnings so please DO NOT read if any bother you.

Big thanks to my amazing girls @hellhound5925 and @lune-de-miel-au-paradis for their help on this 🩷🩷& again @hellhound5925 for letting me use her BOUJEE BAD B character Raven 🤩🤩

Dividers by the best always @idontgetanysleep 🥰

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝘃𝗲 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗛𝗮𝗱 ⠀

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟵 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮

𝗥𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀:🔞 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗪𝗼𝗹𝗳𝗳𝗲 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘁, 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗙𝗼𝘅, 𝗢𝗖 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗻, 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗢𝗖 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 , 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗼𝗹𝗳 𝗣𝗮𝗰𝗸, 𝟱𝟬𝟭𝘀𝘁, 𝗥𝗲𝘅, 𝗔𝗿𝗳 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙍𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙨

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3540

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗗𝗡𝗜 𝗶𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂- 𝗢𝗖 𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙡𝙩 , 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻, 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁 , 𝗮𝗻𝘅𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘆, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻

The sun goes down and the light has betrayed you. The compact room you had been thrown in was bleak, icy and almost completely dark. The only illumination came from the energy binders secured around your wrists. The chill danced across your body as darkness engulfed you- it was not merely the darkness that came out of absence of light. No it was much more sinister.

The continuous rolling your shoulders to try and relieve some of the stiffness from your body grew tiresome. If the cold bite of the permacrete floor beneath your knees is any indication of the treatment of the men who captured you then you only hoped for an end. Another moment felt like another eternity. Yet of course you longed for Wolffe to hold you, to save you- to be completely safe in his embrace, but there was no arms just chains to hold you.

It hurts physically and mentally. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst into fire. Your mind racing with the same question over and over. Is this my end.

Unsure if this is reality or some fucked up dream.

It had been 3 days. Three long, tiring and completely wasted days, to no avail any step closer to finding the only thing he cares about. The image of you wavers so bold in his mind but the guilt is slowly overtaking him, the pain he is carrying weighs heavy on his shoulders, the utter agony and weakness he feels would be enough to decommission him if the Kaminons still had control.

Weak, he is fucking weak and he knows it.

He had seen his world change and tomorrow may fall but today has already gone.

The night air was crisp, like shards of ice in Wolffe’s lungs. His skin was pulled taught beneath his eyes, completely sleep deprived, weary muscles ache as a low dull thump lays into the base of his skull.

His two fingers pinch the bridge of his nose hoping to relieve the tension that continues to build up behind his eyes, the clenching pain bubbling away through out his body only exacerbates the prickling feeling of guilt that torment his soul.

“Copy that brother.”

The beep of Fox’s commlink snaps Wolffe briefly back to reality.

Fox clears his throat quietly before placing a caring hand across Wolffe’s broad shoulder.

“Ner vod, I’m sorry but Hound and his team have lost track of her. The massiff’s can’t seem to pick the scent back up…”

Wolffe rubs his temple sucking in a deep sigh. A single tear rolls down his cheek splashing against his scratched armor.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath pained.

“Rex and his team have joined forces with Boost, Sinker and Comet from what I’ve been made aware they are currently in the lower levels.”

“We will find her brother.” The hoarseness in his voice apparent, determined to find you. The close bond you and Fox shared was evident to Wolffe.

The caf had gone cold still Wolffe continued to sup away, the now bland and unsatisfying taste began to vex him, his mind was racing with thought after thought- but he couldn’t pervade his head with such a dark concept, it was becoming a struggle to stay favourable.

“Fighting and war was all we had been bred for Fox…at least that’s how I truly felt until her….finally I had found something I never had”

“Never dreamed I could have and it’s slipping through my fingers” The perturb was visible, deep in Wolffe’s eyes.

“SHE is slipping through my fingers” his last sentence began to crack and waiver.

The agony presented itself as clear as day nothing like his usual cocksure but cold manner.

Stiffness clouded the air, a quiet soreness that silenced the room- only the light raggedy breathing of the Commanders could be heard.

The moonless night was dark, enveloping the planet below casting a mysterious shadow across everything in its path. Yet scattered stars that danced across the vast expanse of sky began to illuminate the upper levels of Coruscant with their gentle glow. A glimmer of hope that this nightmare could soon be over.

The velvety coal canvas seems to stretch almost endlessly and in this moment as the moon hides it face, the sharp shrill of commlinks and the loud clunk of the boots from the battle hard clones drowns out any other sounds from the citizens wandering the lower levels of this bustling metropolis.

“Two lifeforms have been following us for the last 25 minutes brother..” Tup quietly nudges Fives.

“Well spotted Tup, comm the Captain. Now!”

Fives stops and turns his sight to the men leaning ever so cocky against the building of a brightly lit Neon bar across the way. The larger of the two holding a small vibroblade scraping his finger up and down the sharpness of the object before dropping his head only so slightly - a spine chilling smile splashed across his face as he lets out a chuckle.

“Captain Rex- the two unfriendlies less than 10 feet behind Fives and I have been on our tails for well over 30 minutes” Tup calmly speaks into his comm.

Jesse and Rex stop almost instantly in their tracks with the Wolfpack up ahead turning around and following suit joining the rest of their brothers.

The commanding officer of the 501st removes his helmet,whilst the other hand grazes across his DC-15A blaster - the stern look on his face directed at the nat-borns only mere few feet away.

“We clocked them too sir” Sinker says as he takes his place next to Rex.

“Call it in to Commander Wolffe and Commander Fox they must be informed”

Rex prompts Sinker unfazed as the two men begin to make their way over to the group of soldiers.

“Squadron stay alert.” Rex warns over the comms.

He turns nodding at Sinker as the Nat-borns move in closer like a Gundark stalking its prey. The larger of the two stopped and stood afore Rex. Sizing him up.

Silence. One with a life of its own.

With a scoff, the elevated man turns to the other before rotating his attention back to the Captain.

“That freak with the scar not here eh? Can’t even make the effort to come for his stuck up bitch?”

Each of the clones clench their firsts at their sides, the ire plastered rather blatantly in their stance. The air so thick with tension. Tension like a dark black smoke from each of the burning fires that were Clone Troopers.

Boost grasps tightly at Comet’s wrist as he pushes his way forward- a firm way of explaining to his brother the time is not right.

Rex’s brows furrow for a second or two. The acute eye contact between himself and lofty man only intensifies the uncertainty of the current situation.

“The boss… he wants a holo meet with that freak”

“This evening 23.00 hours, here are the details …. Clone”

The word spit as if they weren’t even real men. As if they would never measure up. The contemptuous in tone only angers and each trooper further.

“Does your boss have a name?” Rex grits out between a clenched jaw.

Of course the battle hardened leader of the 501st keeps a cool yet calming aura.

“Finn.”

The name reverberated off the walls of the alley crawling over his skin. Rex puffed his chest out further to suppress a shiver. He of course would stand his ground until the men walked away. It’s what any leader, it’s what your lover Wolffe would do.

A small shit eating grin creeps the corner of his mouth. The two men turn to leave not before the few words that leaver Sinker’s mouth has his skin producing goosebumps.

“His name is Commander Wolffe”

“And he will end you and your fucking boss- you would do well to remember that.”

The nat-born stops in his tracks, the tension now almost palpable.

Another scoff.

“Yeah alright clone…”

The long and drawn out silence broken only by the thunder roaring furiously as the superiorly thick smoky clouds rolled in like boulders- ready to crush anything that stands in their way. Flashing lightning electrifies the dark skies and without warning the rain-fall came gushing down throwing its self onto the cold ground below.

The walls of room seemed to be closing in on Wolffe. He was that one step closer to finding you, that much was certain- yet those cruel thoughts still plagued his mind.

Back in Fox’s office tensions run extremely high. Wolffe tuned out the chatter from his brother and the unknown female voice on the comms. The burning desire running through his blood to find you grows with each second. The dull roar filling his ears.

Yet he continues to scan his datapad over and over, not noticing the hiss of the doors sliding open as Rex enters the room closely followed by the Wolfpack.

Rex pats his brothers shoulder softly before removing his helmet- a gentle gesture.

Wolffe finally lifts his head, behind his eyes pain and a deep sadness lingers. He lets out a long sigh grabbing the bridge of his nose anything to ease that discomfort he feels hacking away at his mind body and soul.

“Commander it seems the person who is holding Crystal is called Finn… from what we know he must be part of some crime family. He wants a holomeet… 23.00hrs this evening”

“Thank you Rex”

“Brothers there is someone I’d like you all to meet..”

Before Fox can finish his sentence the doors to his office slide open revealing a female Mandalorian. Her long blonde hair falls in a neat plait over one shoulder. Wolffe’s eyes fall to the helmet tucked neatly under one arm. She offers a curt nod, looking over the troopers standing before her.

“It’s nice to finally meet you all. I’m sorry it has to be under such circumstances. I’m Raven Skirata.”

A silence falls over the group. Raven Skirata. She spent most of her time training Clone Commandos on Kamino. A glimmer of hope beams throughout Wolffe.

“I’ve got operatives running classified missions here in Coruscant. One of them has been chasing a crime syndicate, collecting data on their whereabouts. I’ve come to learn through Commander Fox you are in need of help tracking someone down who you believe has been taken by one of the syndicates members. Is this correct?”

“That’s correct” Wolffe’s words were quiet.

“We had been informed by two males their boss- Finn he wants a holomeet arranged for this evening. We are 99% sure he has Crystal.”

Raven pushes her neat blonde plait behind her back , the Skirata Wolf that sits on her left shoulder pauldron gleams against the dim lights that flicker in the office. A look of trepidation is shared between herself and Fox.

“Finn Salazar - His family was killed during the war - unfortunate collateral, and ever since then has blamed the GAR and the Clones.”

That long silence is back.

“However his family had links to the Pykes so we can only assume he has taken it upon himself to carry on their work- prostitution and narcotics seem to be his thing. Thats all I’m allowed to say on him but we do have a possible location.”

The pitter-patter of the rain thrumming against the window of Fox’s office breaks that silence.

“Wolffe…. It’s almost 23.00 hours… the meet”

Fox reminds his brother nodding at the holoprojector on his desk. Raven, Rex, Fox and the Wolfpack took a few feet back allowing Wolffe the space they know he will need.

Wolffe lets out a small grunt before nodding.

Anger and vexation burned inside of Wolffe’s chest, his dense hold of the desk grew stronger as his brows furrowed. The blue light from the hologram shone against his face, His cybernetic eye glistened - emphasising the rage splashed across his features.

“Tut tut, I do not usually appreciate tardiness Commander…”

“However seeing as I have something belonging to you this once I will allow it.”

The sick pleasure in Finn’s voice only added to the growing frustration bubbling away inside the Commander.

He was going to fucking kill him. And by the maker he would cause this syndicate boss untold agony.. pain this fucker had never once felt in his pathetic life.

“Where is she?” Wolffe hisses.

Wolffe’s jaw started to tick, his foot tapping relentlessly.

“Oh don’t you worry Commander Wolffe she is being well cared for, isn’t that right darling?

Finn’s tone was vindictive and cold. It trickled through your veins like rusty daggers.

Suddenly the view had been shifted around to you. For what seems like an eternity your gaze flickers up to Wolffe. Like every star system in the galaxy had come to screeching halt, his eyes search yours. He can see the pain and angst that was so desperately lingering across your face.

“Wolffe….” Your words oh so quiet.

Tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes adding to their already delicate shine.

Your beautiful face he has loved since day one. And stars above did it break his fucking heart.

Yet within a spilt second that heartache was gone replaced by agonising rage that inflamed his whole being.

Finn’s hand slithers up your bare arm towards your neck before his hand started to caress your face in such an unholy manner. His lips placed against your pulse point inhaling your scent.

“She’s a pretty little thing isn’t she Wolffe I do however believe she would look even better with a little less on… don’t you?”

His dark chuckle infuriates not just your lover but every single person stood in Fox’s office.

Finn’s voice seeped its way down your spine causing a shiver as his hand slapped you. Hard and with intent. The sting travels from your face radiating pins and needles throughout your body. Your whimpers do nothing to deter him.

Finn glides his calloused thumb across your full lips snagging your chin in his fingers. The contrast between your softness and his roughness makes you squirm. Your attempt to wriggle away fails as he takes out a razor-sharp vibroblade slicing through one of the straps holding up your silky dress.

A small gasp falls from your lips as you feel the dress slipping down exposing your partially naked chest. The blade scrapes across your collarbone, causing your blood to leak from the cut.

"Even her blood smells sweet. I can see why you are so fond of this one Commander. "

"I bet she would look even sweeter underneath me at my mercy …. and under my blade as I touch her like you do Commander. "

The syndicate boss uttered the rank of Commander so contemptuously, almost spitting it out like some sort of disgusting verb.

His wicked chuckle had Wolffe seething with an incandescent ire. Murder was on his fucking mind.

A harsh thump rings in the room as Wolffe slams both his fists onto the cold metal of the desk in front of him.

“I swear to the fucking maker if you touch her like that again I will kill you”

“But it won’t be fucking quick”

Wolffe bared his teeth and his words roll out like a snarl.

“Shabuir” Raven grunted through a clenched jaw.

Her eyes flit across the room noticing the distress across each of the clones faces. The men she cares for like her own brothers.

Her heart pained for them.

“He won’t get away with this” Fox directed to his brothers.

A stillness falls the room.

Finn glares at Wolffe sadistically , as a vile scowl tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes as green as poison- a look of malice. This just added to his growing fixation of wanting to gut the bastard from stomach to throat. His blood boiling like the fiery lava that ran free on Mustafar.

Slowly with intent to cause the upmost unbearable affliction.

"What I do not seem to understand is why is her interested in YOU clone? I guess even the pretty ones like her can have these type of fucked up brains wired ever so severely incorrect …. “

“But the question stands- what sould I do about it? Hmm? We must tip the balance of normality back. A beautiful thing like her belongs to a normal being. A real man.”

Finn plays with the blade across your cheek so nonchalantly, yet his eyes fixated on the father of your unborn child.

“It does however seem that she wants you…”

“Maybe once I’ve shown her what it’s like to be with a REAL man and how a REAL man can make her feel she might change her mind”

His dry lips graze against the bob in your throat.

Each and every single hair on the back of your neck stands to attention, the chill almost becoming unbearable . You remained as still as could be- the sinister aura from this man held you in a tightening grip. Slowly you closed your eyes, your stomach churning. You were immobilised. Terror sucked the very breath from your mouth.

Finn turns his attention back to Wolffe as Fox appears next to his Vod. The wrath that painted a picture on his face oh so obvious.

“So I will make you and the rest of the experiments in that room a deal, from now on you and the Coruscant Guard will pay no mind to the Salazar syndicate. You will allow us to continue our work with the Pykes in exchange for your little bitch here.”

Wolffe studies his face before holding Finn’s stare with cold and narrow eyes. He tenses and his jaw clenched in annoyance. The blood that ran through his veins began to burn his tanned skin.

“No deal. Let her go and I will think about allowing you to live.”

Finn’s laugh was baleful. It caused you to recoil in terror. As each moment that passed the thought of being back in the arms of your lover faded more and more.

“My my- that is not the answer I was looking for…maybe this will change your answer”

With one hand Finn yanks your dress further and further down, the cool of the air hits your naked flesh like a thousand blaster bolts. The other hand found its way to your neck tightening his fingers, cutting off your air supply. Your face began to turn into a sickening colour as your sight started to close in on you, the feeling of your life ebbing away. Your mouth falls open, a strangled groan pathetically leaving you. His grip was too strong to wriggle out of.

Finn’s eyes glint in amusement. He meets Wolffes gaze. Neither man backs down.

Fuck. The realisation sets in, shooting him directly in the gut and he stiffens.

“Let her go she’s carrying my child”

Wolffe finally yields. He’s fucking seething.

By and by the solid grip around your neck begins to detach, your body gives way as you crumble to the ground below.

A tear forms in the corner of Rex’s soft eyes, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Raven stands in front of the Wolfpack. Her stance wide, positioning herself between the clones - who are so much like her brothers - and the threat. Her only way to protect them from the abhorrent scene unfolding in front of their eyes.

Raven looks like an animal ready to pounce. Her hands twitch at her sides as if they ache to be around Finn's throat. She exchanges a quick look with Fox who sharply nods before turning his attention back to the holocall.

“Think about it clone. You have 24 hours.” Finn taunts.

As your face vanished from view Wolffe inhaled a painful breath- the first of many.

Wolffe hadn't noticed but Rex did. Raising a brow at his brother and the Mandalorian.

Once the link closes Rex questions them.

"Want to fill me in?"

Raven nods to Fox to explain.

"We were able to tract the location of the signal. Thanks to Ravens brother - Captain Ordo - for the tech."

“I want them destroyed and I want Crystal safe. Brother I’m sorry but the 501st must ship out to meet Cody and his troops… a slight situation has gotten out of hand”

Wolffe and Rex’s eyes meet before they clap another’s forearm with their gloved hands above their wrists. As the 501st bid adieu to the rest of their brothers and Raven , Wolffe turns around catching a glimpse of his misty reflection of the office- one he fails to recognise.

His features replaced by an almost other-worldly demon that haunts his very soul.

“He will find his own grave” Wolffe spits out as he turns to Fox.

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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“The Butcher and The Wolf”pt.2

Commander Wolffe x Princess Reader

R4 trilled while plugging data‑spikes into the sleek shuttle’s nav‑computer; TC polished the boarding ramp as though senators would rate its shine. Inside, [Y/N] sealed a crate of festival gifts—kyber‑laced lanterns, citrus‑spiced tihaar—when the hangar doors parted.

In strode Master Plo Coon and Kenobi, with his most innocent smile. Behind them Commander Cody and an impeccably straight‑backed Commander Wolffe.

Kenobi surveyed the scene, eyes twinkling. “My lady, I trust Coruscant treated you… memorably?”

Plo’s mask inclined. “Yes, I understand you’ve already formed a—shall we say—effective working rapport with our best security personnel.”

TC’s head swiveled. “If you refer to last night’s flawless briefing, Masters, I assure you my presentation notes were—”

“—copied from my schematics,” R4 beeped smugly.

Kenobi chuckled. “Quite. Though some reports suggest the princess herself gathered more… field intelligence than anticipated.”

Wolffe’s helmet visor dipped a millimeter; only Cody saw the pained grimace. He murmured, “Steady, vod, you’ve faced droid armies—Jedi teasing won’t kill you.”

[Y/N] kept a serene smile. “Coruscant was enlightening, Master Kenobi. Your commanders are… thorough.”

“Thorough,” Kenobi echoed, barely suppressing a grin. “An admirable quality.”

Plo produced a data‑chip. “Your Highness, these are revised escort protocols for the festival. The Council looks forward to cooperating.”

Cody added, “Wolfpack leads the clone detachment. We’ll rendezvous in orbit over Karthuna.” He patted Wolffe’s pauldron. “Commander is eager to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Wolffe managed, “Honored to serve, Princess.” Translation: please let the floor swallow me.

R4 gave a warbling laugh. TC translated dryly, “R4 suggests the commander already has extensive knowledge of our customs—particularly nightlife.”

Kenobi coughed into his sleeve; even Plo’s mask seemed to smile.

[Y/N] ascended the ramp, pausing beside Wolffe. Low enough for only him: “Try not to judge anyone before second breakfast, Commander.”

He answered just as quietly, “Next time, title first, drinks second.”

Her wink was pure mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With diplomatic farewells exchanged, the Jedi departed, Cody dragging a still‑smirking Kenobi. Wolffe lingered as engines warmed, visor reflecting the princess who had upended his meticulously ordered world.

R4’s hatch closed, TC waved primly, and the shuttle lifted skyward—toward open borders, a five‑day festival, and a reunion sure to test the Wolf’s composure more than any battlefield.

⸻

Commander Wolffe had survived orbital bombardments, trench sieges, and General Grievous’s cackling—but nothing tested endurance like the embassy’s protocol droid at full lecture speed.

TC strode the aisle between jump‑seats where Wolffe, Boost, and Sinker buckled in.

“…and the Festival of Dawning begins with a kuur‑vaan procession. That translates roughly as ‘dance of a thousand sparks,’ involving micro‑kyber filaments that ignite in sequence—quite breathtaking, provided you wear appropriate eye shielding. Now, the correct greeting is ‘Gal’shara’ with palms outward—never inward, or you imply the listener lacks honor. Also, avoid offering your left hand—historically used for bloodletting rituals dating back—”

Sinker slumped. “Commander, permission to eject myself through the air‑lock.”

Boost whispered, “Could be worse—could be a Senate speech.”

TC continued, undeterred. “—and if you’re offered sapphire tihaar, remember it’s an apology drink, not casual refreshment. Accepting without cause is tantamount to admitting fault. Speaking of fault, did you know the northern fault‑line—”

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Droid, compile this in a datapad. My men will study quietly.”

“Oh, certainly, Commander. I have already prepared a 312‑page primer, complete with holo‑graphs.”

Sinker mouthed three‑hundred‑twelve?! Boost mimed choking.

⸻

[Y/N] sat cross‑legged in her cabin, R4 projecting a secure blue holo of King Talren—silver‑bearded, stern eyes softened only for his daughter.

“Little Dawn,” he greeted, using her childhood nickname, “I won’t waste time. Loyalist scouts uncovered three insurgent cells. Extremists insist reopening our borders is betrayal; some whisper of Separatist aid.”

A map flared beside him—red sigils in mountain passes.

“I need those cells silenced before the festival opens,” the king said. “You know the terrain. Take whatever force is required, but keep off‑worlders uninvolved. This must look like an internal matter.”

[Y/N] bowed her head. “It will be done, Father.”

The holo faded. R4 beeped a query.

“Prep infiltration loadouts,” she answered. “Low‑flash sabers, sonic mines, and two squads of Shadow Guard on standby. We strike first nightfall.”

R4 warbled approval, projecting tactical overlays. She added waypoints, carving silent routes Wolffe’s clones would never notice.

⸻

Later, passing Wolffe in the corridor, [Y/N] offered a casual nod. He paused, as if sensing undercurrents, but protocol kept him silent.

Behind him TC called, “Commander, I neglected to mention Karthunese dining order—if the Princess serves you last, it’s actually a sign of high esteem—”

Wolffe muttered a prayer for battlefield blasterfire to drown out etiquette lessons.

In her quarters, [Y/N] traced insurgent sigils on the holo with a gloved fingertip, resolve hardening. Opening Karthuna’s doors to the galaxy meant showing strength the old way—quiet, decisive, unseen.

And if the Wolf and his troopers never learned how the festival stayed peaceful, all the better.

⸻

The twin suns of Karthuna cast copper light over the obsidian‑paved sky‑dock as the Republic cruiser settled with a hiss of repulsors. King Talren stood flanked by honor guards whose sun‑metal armor threw brilliant flares into the air. Behind him waited the planetary senator, Senator Vessar, and the ever‑skeptical Governor of Interior Works, Governor Rhun.

The ramp dropped. Out strode Masters Plo Coon and Kenobi, Chancellor Palpatine in ceremonial crimson, a cluster of senators, and the clone detachment led by Commanders Cody and Wolffe flanked by Boost and Sinker.

Talren bowed with a warrior’s economy. “Karthuna welcomes the Republic. May the Force greet you as friend and guest.”

A respectful murmur answered. Yet even before introductions concluded, his daughter slipped to his side, murmured, “Urgent Shadow Guard matter, Father,” and—still in civilian vest and braid—beelined for a sand‑silver speeder.

Wolffe’s visor tracked her, but protocol held him. Engines howled; the speeder vanished down a cliff‑side lift‑tube toward the high passes.

Talren inhaled—the first lie ready on his tongue.

⸻

Kenobi stepped forward, large smile in place. “Your Majesty, we look forward to your famous Festival of Dawning.”

“As do we all,” Talren replied, steering the party toward the citadel’s balcony overlooking the festival valley—far from launch bays or military comms.

Chancellor Palpatine clasped gloved hands. “Your daughter leads the festivities, does she not? I had hoped to congratulate her.”

“She prepares a…surprise presentation,” Talren said smoothly. “Artists’ temperaments, Chancellor.”

Governor Rhun muttered just loud enough, “More like a warrior itching for mischief.”

Senator Vessar chimed in, tone dripping dry humor, “I assure our off‑world partners the princess habitually vanishes moments before debuting something spectacular—or spectacularly dangerous.”

Talren fixed them both with a steel‑edged smile that promised discussion later.

Plo Coon shifted his weight, Kel‑Dor mask unreadable. “Your Highness, Clone Commander Wolffe will require coordination with your security captain.”

“Of course.” Talren gestured toward the fortress doors. “Commander, my staff will relay schematics over luncheon. Meanwhile, allow me to show the Chancellor our kyber‑terraced gardens—quite safe, I assure you.”

Wolffe’s unspoken protest died behind the visor; duty bound, he followed Cody toward a briefing alcove where TC awaited with yet another data‑slab. Talren breathed easier: one crisis delayed, if not averted.

As the king guided the diplomats through colonnades, Governor Rhun leaned in: “You risk interstellar incident if the princess sparks bloodshed while the Republic picnics outside our walls.”

Talren’s voice stayed velvet, danger beneath. “Better insurgent blood in the mountains than senator blood in the streets.”

Senator Vessar added, half‑teasing, “If she returns with soot on her boots, I shall schedule extra press holos to reframe it as heroic cultural demonstration.”

Kenobi caught the whisper, grin curving. “Your court seems…spirited, Majesty.”

Talren allowed the tiniest exhale of amusement. “Karthuna has waited fifteen years to step back onto the galactic stage, General. We intend to give a performance worth the ticket.”

Above them, fireworks crews tested micro‑sparklers; bright hisses masked the distant roar of a speeder blazing toward insurgent territory.

In a quiet moment against the balcony rail, Talren gazed over valley tents blooming for festival week, mind split between choreography of diplomats and the razor‑work his daughter undertook beyond those peaks.

He whispered to the wind, “Return swift, Little Dawn.”

⸻

By mid‑afternoon the princess was still missing.

Commander Wolffe stood on the citadel parapet overlooking the valley’s bustling festival city, visor fixed on the distant scar of mountains her speeder had taken.

Local Sun‑Guard Captain Arven stepped up, spearhaft tapping stone.

“Enjoying the view, off‑worlder?”

“I’d enjoy it more if your crown heir were within com‑range,” Wolffe replied. “Transmit her last coordinates.”

“Princess has classified authority.”

Wolffe’s servo‑joint clicked as his gauntlet clenched. “My mandate is to protect every Republic dignitary on this rock—including her.”

Arven smirked. “Karthuna protected itself centuries before troopers in white armor needed it. Stand down, Commander.”

Cody’s voice crackled through Wolffe’s comlink: “Easy, vod. Diplomacy first.”

Wolffe never took his eye from the peaks. Diplomacy ends when the VIP bleeds, he thought—and weighed the odds of “borrowing” a gunship.

New LAATs screamed in, disgorging Jedi and clones.

Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano with the 501st, assigned to guard Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo and a cadre of Core‑World legislators.

Masters Mace Windu and Ki‑Adi‑Mundi arrived with Commanders Ponds and Bacara respectively, doubling ground strength.

Skywalker clapped Wolffe’s pauldron. “Heard your princess pulled a disappearing act—sounds like my kind of trouble.”

“Not helping, General,” Wolffe growled, though Ahsoka’s sympathetic grin eased his temper a notch.

Senators debarked in a flurry of aides, holo‑recorders, and fashion impractical for mountain air. Festival staff hustled to reroute them toward reception halls—distraction, Talren hoped, until his daughter returned.

Master Yoda, leaning on his gimer stick, sought King Talren atop a sun‑warmed terrace strewn with kyber wind‑chimes. The diminutive Jedi regarded the monarch’s sun‑metal cuirass and the twin‑bladed saber at his hip.

“Strong in the Force, your people are,” Yoda began. “Yet light and dark you name not. Curious, this is.”

Talren inclined his head. “Master, on Karthuna we are taught: there is no dawn without night. Deny darkness, and daylight loses meaning. Balance is not the absence of shadow, but its harmony with light.”

“Hmmm.” Yoda’s ears twitched thoughtfully. “Unnatural, you say, to void one side?”

“As unnatural as silencing half a heartbeat,” Talren answered. “We do not fear the shadow; we fear imbalance.”

Wind‑chimes chimed like distant sabers. Yoda closed his eyes, absorbing the resonance.

“Much to learn, even I have,” he murmured. “And much to guard, we both must.”

Talren’s gaze drifted to the mountains. “Agreed, Master Yoda. Balance must sometimes be defended by hidden blades.”

⸻

Sunset torched the valley when a sand‑silver speeder roared through the citadel gates. Clone guards scrambled aside as [Y/N] leapt off, still in dust‑streaked vest and combat shorts. She vaulted a barricade, sprinting for the grand foyer.

“Hey—civilian access is restricted!” bellowed Commander Fox, Crimson Guard staff lowered across her path.

She halted, breath steady despite the climb. “I live here, thanks.”

Before Fox could run ID, Chancellor Palpatine emerged from a delegation knot, eyes narrowing with fox‑like curiosity.

“My dear, racing through secure halls in such…practical attire—is something amiss?”

[Y/N] offered a flawless court bow that contrasted sharply with her grime‑spattered boots. “Merely last‑minute festival preparations, Chancellor. Please excuse me; I must dress for the gala.”

Palpatine’s smile sliced thin. “Ah, duty never rests. I look forward to your presentation this evening.”

Fox straightened as realization dawned. “Wait—you’re—”

She winked. “Classified, Commander.” Then slipped past, leaving red armor and red robes equally bemused.

In her chamber, TC fussed with brocade gowns while R4 powered a sonic shower.

“Your Highness, the schedule is punishing: welcome gala at nineteen‑hundred, holo‑address at twenty‑two, and saber exhibition by dawn.”

“Then we’d better look lethal and lovely,” [Y/N] said, toweling off. She chose a floor‑length gown of midnight silk that clung to sculpted muscle, high slits revealing thigh holsters for compact hilts. Sun‑metal pauldrons mirrored her crown, but the gown’s sleeveless cut displayed the lattice of scars down both arms—plasma burns, shrapnel lines, duelist nicks—each a story she refused to hide.

TC clipped the circlet into her damp hair. “Might I suggest gloves to soften the, ah, impression?”

She flexed scarred fingers. “No. Let the galaxy see what Karthuna’s balance looks like.”

R4 projected her entrance route. She studied it, then smiled. “Time to charm senators, silence rumors, and—perhaps—make a wolf squirm.”

⸻

A fanfare of crystal horns cut through conversation. Doors parted, revealing Princess [Y/N] radiant in midnight silk and sun‑metal crown, scars on her bare arms glinting like silver filigree. Senators gasped—half at the regality, half at the unapologetic battle‑marks.

Master Kenobi murmured to Skywalker, “Grace and menace in equal measure—definitely your type, Anakin.”

Skywalker smirked. “She’d have me for breakfast.”

Padmé Amidala complimented the gown’s craftsmanship; [Y/N] returned praise for Naboo’s relief programs, steering talk away from rumored insurgents.

Master Windu approached her, he attempted to discuss security perimeters; the princess assured him Karthuna’s Shadow Guard had “every shadow covered.”

Across the room, Governor Rhun whispered to holoreporters, stoking stories of her “reckless mountain excursion.” TC hovered, intercepting leading questions with cutting etiquette lessons.

Commander Wolffe, helmet clipped to belt, stood near a terrace arch with Cody and Plo Coon. When [Y/N] approached, conversation faltered like a blaster misfire.

She offered a delicate curtsy—mischief in her eyes. “Commander, I trust the briefing notes were…illuminating?”

“They were extensive,” Wolffe said evenly. “Yet somehow omitted your talent for disappearing.”

“Ah, but every good security test includes an unscheduled drill.” She stepped closer, voice just for him: “You passed—eventually.”

The faintest flush darkened Wolffe’s neck. “Next time give me a comm frequency, not a cliff to chase.”

[Y/N] arched a brow. “And deny you the exercise?” Her fingers brushed the edge of his pauldron as she glided past. “Meet me on the terrace at midnight—strictly business, of course.”

Wolffe exhaled—half growl, half laugh—as Cody elbowed him, grinning. “Careful, vod. That one dances with both halves of the Force.”

Strings struck up Karthuna’s dawn‑waltz. Jedi mingled with diplomats while clone troopers ringed the hall’s perimeter. Suspicion, politics, and bright music braided in the air—yet for a heartbeat, harmony held.

In the high galleries, R4 scanned faces, feeding the princess data on a Separatist envoy concealed among trade delegates—tonight’s real threat.

Midnight loomed, and outside the terrace doors, mountain winds whispered of balance, blades, and a wolf answering a princess’s call.

⸻

Princess [Y/N] leaned against the balustrade, moon‑silver kissing the scars on her shoulders. Commander Wolffe stood close, arms folded—attempt at stoic ruined by her playful tug on the strap of his pauldron.

“Still on duty, Commander?” she teased.

“Always.”

“So devoted,” she murmured, fingers ghosting along the seam where synth‑skin met armor. “Makes a woman wonder how else that focus might—”

A scarlet bolt sizzled through the ballroom windows. Shouts. Glass rained like crystal hail.

Inside, Governor Rhun lay sprawled behind an overturned buffet, cloak smoking at the shoulder. Clone guards returned fire toward upper galleries; a masked shooter vaulted onto a chandelier cable and vanished in a flash‑grenade’s glare.

Skywalker, Ahsoka, Windu ignited sabers; Cody’s troopers fanned out. Wolffe ushered [Y/N] through the shattered doors into the throne corridor, senators scrambling behind.

⸻

Heavy doors slammed. Present: King Talren, Chancellor Palpatine, Masters Yoda, Windu, Kenobi, Commanders Cody, Wolffe, Ponds, Bacara, Senator Padmé, and a handful of shaken delegates. Rhun, arm bacta‑wrapped, was dragged in by medics.

Tension whipped like live wire.

[Y/N] broke the silence, voice flat: “Pity the shooter missed.”

Gasps; Wolffe’s helmet snapped toward her.

Rhun snarled. “Should’ve been you that got shot!”

She advanced, eyes blazing. “I opposed reopening our borders. Tonight proves me right. We invited every power broker in the war to one valley—painted a target the size of a moon.”

King Talren’s tone cut ice. “Peace requires risk.”

“Blind risk courts massacre,” she shot back. “Insurgents in our mountains, Separatist agents in our ballroom—now assassins under our roof.”

Palpatine interjected silkily, “Surely, Princess, the Republic can strengthen your security.”

“More soldiers won’t erase the bull’s‑eye you represent, Chancellor.”

Mace Windu’s gaze narrowed. “You suggest isolation while the galaxy burns?”

“I suggest survival,” she answered.

Arguments flared—senators citing diplomacy, clones citing protocol. Wolffe stepped between factions, voice drill‑sergeant sharp: “Focus. Assassin is still loose. Mandates later, lockdown now.”

Plo Coon, calm amid storm, nodded approval.

King Talren exhaled. “Commander Wolffe, you have joint authority with my Shadow Guard. Hunt the shooter.”

Wolffe met [Y/N]’s gaze—heat of earlier flirtation replaced by razor respect. “Princess—coming?”

She clicked twin sabers to her belt. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Rhun blanched; Padmé exchanged a knowing look with Kenobi—battle partners born.

The moment the throne‑room doors slammed behind them, [Y/N] was already moving—midnight gown gathered in one fist, the other dropping her double sabers into waiting palms.

Wolffe fell in at her shoulder, DC‑17 raised. The marble corridor echoed with their synchronized footfalls.

“Shadow Guard breach tunnel’s this way,” she hissed, sweeping aside a wall‑tapestry to reveal a spiral stair cut straight into obsidian.

He nodded once. “After you, Princess.”

The air grew cooler, alive with a faint crystalline hum. Iridescent kyber veins glowed within the stone, casting violet and jade shadows across their path.

Wolffe switched his helmet lamp to low‑band; [Y/N] didn’t bother—her people’s Force‑attuned sight caught every shimmer.

A blaster scorch on the stair railing.

“Fresh,” she murmured.

“Means we’re close,” Wolffe replied, pulse settling into the calm that preceded battle.

The stair disgorged them into a vast cavern—kyber pillars rising like frozen lightning. At the far end, the assassin’s silhouette leapt between crystal spires, cloak tattered by security bolts.

Wolffe’s comm clicked twice—Boost and Sinker sealing exits above.

“Corner him,” Wolffe ordered.

“Alive,” [Y/N] added. “I want intel before he bleeds out.”

They split wordlessly: Wolffe low along a mineral ridge, [Y/N] sprinting the high ledge, gown whipping behind like a war‑banner.

The assassin spun, twin WESTARs barking scarlet. Wolffe dove, bolts sparking off crystal as [Y/N] sprang from above, sabers igniting.

A vibro‑dagger flicked from the assassin’s wrist—met by Wolffe’s gauntlet, beskad plating deflecting the strike. He slammed the butt of his pistol into the assailant’s ribs.

“Yield,” the commander growled.

A hissed curse the killer smashed a detonator against the pillar. Kyber screamed as fractures spider‑webbed, light flaring.

[Y/N] threw Wolffe back with a Force‑shove and thrust both sabers into the crystal, channeling energy away in a surge of blinding radiance. The explosion muted to a concussive thump; shards rained harmlessly.

When vision cleared, the assassin lay dazed, binders already clamping on under Wolffe’s practiced hands.

“Who hired you?” the princess demanded.

The prisoner spat blood, defiant. “Karthuna’s own who crave true freedom—and the Confederacy rewards such courage.”

Wolffe’s visor tipped toward [Y/N]. Confirmation.

⸻

Governor Rhun’s voice boomed across the ballroom remnant—holocams hovering:

“This outrage proves openness invites anarchy! I petition immediate curfew, martial oversight by local forces, and expulsion of unnecessary off‑world elements!”

Several senators, rattled, murmured agreement. Separatist sympathizers whispered through the crowd, feeding fear.

Master Windu folded his arms. “Governor, the assassin wielded Separatist tech. Cooperation with the Republic, not isolation, thwarts such threats.”

Rhun’s smile was razor‑thin. “Yet my princess would see me dead; perhaps the Council should examine internal loyalties first.”

King Talren’s reply was cut short by the distant rumble of kyber—catacomb fight vibrations reaching high halls. Panic rippled anew.

Wolffe and [Y/N] emerged, armor and gown dusted in crystal powder, prisoner in tow. Gasps rippled through assembled officials.

“Governor Rhun,” [Y/N] announced, voice carrying. “Your assassin failed. And he’s confessed to Separatist backing—backing that feeds on fear you happily sow.”

Rhun’s complexion drained.

Palpatine stepped forward, tone silken. “A grave accusation, Princess. Proof?”

Wolffe activated the assassin’s cracked vambrace: a holo‑sigil of the Techno Union flickered. That, plus recorded confession from his helmet‑cam, filled the air in chilling blue.

Yoda’s ears drooped, sad but certain. “Darkness invited not by borders, but hearts seeking power, yes.”

Arguments flared, but now the tide shifted: senators demanding inquiry into Rhun’s dealings, Jedi reinforcing joint patrols, clones and Sun‑Guard sharing data rather than territory. The assassin was led away.

In the aftershock, [Y/N] turned to Wolffe, adrenaline still bright in her eyes.

“You kept up,” she said softly.

“You lit up half a mountain,” he retorted, relief threading the words.

A grin tugged her lips. “Balance, Commander—little light, little dark.”

His chuckle surprised them both. “Next time, maybe just a dance.”

She offered her arm—scarred, unhidden. He took it, escorting her back into the fractured ballroom where a new balance—uneasy, hard‑won—waited to be forged.

Previous Part

[no-144444]

Hiyaa there!! Can I pls request a scenario with Oscar. Reader never had her first kiss (and that makes her nervous) and they talk about it and he's being really patient and gentle with her like hugs her closer kisses her and it's really cute and fluffy😊 that would be adorable and it's so Oscar. Thank youu!!!

first kisses- o.piastri

summary: being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig, especially when your old friend is an f1 driver and is interested in you...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

part one part two part three

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

23 with no romantic prospects probably should’ve made you feel worse about yourself than it actually did. Yes, you occasionally wondered what it would be like to have someone to love and cherish, but you knew it wasn’t exactly realistic. You were extremely busy, like, all the time. Being Jack Wolff’s live-in nanny was quite the chore, despite him being only one child. Don’t get me wrong, he was well-behaved and sweet, but he still had a packed schedule of going to F1 races every now and then. When he wasn’t spending his weekends in the Mercedes garage, he was busy spending them in his own garage. Jack was in the beginning stages of his karting career, and he was damn good at it too. He loved the rush of trying to go as fast as he possibly could through every corner, every chicane, every straight. When he took his helmet off after a race and ran straight to you, it was one of the best feelings in the world. You loved Jack like a little brother, he adored you like a second mother. 

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Why did we have to get up so early?” he yawned as you walked through the Harry Reid airport, just after landing in Las Vegas. Due to the fact that Jack was two public figures’ son, you two always got the craziest flight times to avoid crowds. 

You smiled, picking him up and placing him on his suitcase so he could sit while you pushed him. “Because your mom and dad missed you,” you explain. “And they want to see you as soon as possible.”

“I could’ve waited a little longer,” he mumbled. 

“Das ist nicht nett,” (that is not nice) you chuckled. “They miss you, and you haven’t exactly been very good at texting them back.” 

“But we could’ve had a race this weekend,” he whined. 

“We do, you’re just not racing in it,” you smirked as he rolled his eyes. All 7 year olds really were sassy. 

“Do you want me to ask your dad if we can go to a track for a little bit of the weekend?” you offered after watching his sad face.

The frown on his lips instantly turned into a smile. “Yes please! You’re the best!” 

The kid knew how to play you, you’d give him that. 

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

It was 7am when you finally got checked into the hotel, and it was finally time for Jack to go see his parents. As much as he pretended he didn’t, most nights than not he would sneak into your bed and ask you to call one of them, so much so that you’d just made a time where you called each of them so he could talk. He had been getting better at the whole ‘long distant parenting’ but it still hurt him sometimes. Sometimes, he just wanted his dad, but his dad was 3,500km away at a race where their car was a piece of shit. 

You knocked on the door of their hotel room and it immediately opened to reveal a very excited Susie. “Jack!” she cheered, picking him up in his arms and hugging him tight as he giggled. Toto wrapped his arms around the both of them as they all reunited. 

You 4 have breakfast together where you popped the question about going to a kart track at some point over the weekend and they begrudgingly agreed, upset that they’d miss out on precious ‘Jack time’, but understanding of his want for more track time all the same. You had agreed to join them in the garage for the morning though, since seeing everyone again was nice. 

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“God, I’ve created a monster,” Toto joked as you both sat and watched Susie showing Jack around the garage. 

You chuckled. Jack was obsessed with anything to do with cars. He loved his kart more than anything, and h e couldn’t wait to move up into single seaters. He also had a mechanical engineer as a nanny, which probably didn’t help all that much. “We’ve created a monster. I’m the one teaching him about tire temp and degradation,” you chuckled as Toto just put his head in his hands jokingly.

“How are you?” he turned to you. “Any news?”

“Nothing new, just Jack’s news, I guess,” you shrugged. To be honest, you loved your life. You loved nannying Jack, you loved living in Monaco, you loved being at a kart track every single weekend, but you knew that wasn’t the typical experience of every young adult. 

Toto squinted his eyes. “How are your friends?” 

“They’re good, we went over to London the other week to go see them, since Jack had a race there on the weekend,” you explained, knowing what Toto was trying to say. “Don’t worry about me, I’m taking care of myself just fine.” 

He nodded. “We worry about you too,” he shrugged. “You’re like another daughter to us, we want you to be happy.”

You smiled. “I am.”

“And any boyfriends-?”

“Shut up!” you playfully hit him to stop the awkward conversation that would follow. “Enough Toto.”

“What?” He feigned innocence. “I can’t be interested in your dating life?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “No you can’t.” 

“Y/n!” Jack shouted as he ran over to you. “Can we go to the track now please?” 

You looked to Toto, who nodded, then off you went to go grab Jack’s things and get into the car. When you pulled up to the track and got him stretched and warmed up, you watched as he circled the track while Toto and Susie went over strategies for the weekend in the cafe of the place. Toto had booked it out for Jack (mostly so he or you wouldn’t get papped, but also because that’s how Jack likes tracks when he’s practising), or so you thought. About 40 minutes into you being there, half of the McLaren garage showed up in papaya, apparently ready to race.

“Hey Toto,” Zak smiled. “Jack’s looking fast out there.”

“Hi Zak, what’re you doing here?” 

“Racing,” he chuckled. 

“We’re supposed to have it booked out for the day,” Toto argued. 

You came in as the two men started getting heated (which didn’t take much) and pulled them away from each other as Susie went outside to keep an eye on Jack. “What’s the issue?”

“We have the track booked out, and they want to race,” Toto scoffed. 

“We also have the track booked out,” Zak explained. “Also hi Y/n, nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too,” you smiled at him. “So just let Jack go until they’re done getting ready, they do a session, Jack does a session, and so on. We need to get out of here at 3 anyway, and you and Susie are leaving earlier.” 

They both pondered the deal, feeling rather stupid for not being able to compromise on their own. 

“Sounds fair,” they both said at the same time, then they went back to their respective groups. 

You went out to tell Jack, who agreed quickly, wanting to watch what the F1 drivers would do in a kart. You two watched at the sidelines as they went around the track, Jack literally taking notes beside you as you watched one kart only. Oscar Piastri. 

Oscar and you had been friends in boarding school, and you’d always had this inkling he liked you, but he never acted on it before you left school, so nothing ever came of it. You had definitely liked him back though. He was so nice to you, so sweet, so funny. He was just… Oscar. 

As Jack got back on track, Oscar came over to sit with you. “Hey,” He smiled. 

“Hi,” you smiled back, scooching over so there would be more space for him. On track was Jack v Lando, and Jack was winning. 

“How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m good, thanks, you?”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

“It’s really nice to see you again.”

“I thought I’d seen you around the paddock but then I realised how strange that sounded so I just chalked it up to my imagination, which is an even weirder thing but, yeah. It’s nice to know you’re not just a figment of my imagination,” he chuckled, awkward and shy, just how you remember him. 

You laughed. “Yeah, not a figment of your imagination, just Jack’s nanny.” 

“Cool,” he nodded. “He’s a good driver.”

“He’s very good,” you agreed. “Every weekend we’re at tracks, it’s madness.”

“Where are you living now?” he asked. 

“Monaco,” you explained. 

“Me too,” he smiled. “We should meet up sometime.”

“I’d like that,” you nodded, and you couldn’t help but feel the charged air between you two. 

“I’d like that too.”

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Asking for a night off was a nightmare. Both Susie and Toto had their noses stuck into your business no matter what, so they begged and pleaded to be told why, but you somehow kept your kind-of-date-not-really-a-date under wraps until you got to the restaurant. 

And it was nice. Oscar was just as sweet and funny as he was when you two first were friends. He even walked you back to the apartment, stopping before you went upstairs so as to not be seen by Toto or Susie. 

“I really had fun tonight,” he smiled, the cold Monaco air making his cheek red. 

“Me too,” you smiled. “It was really nice to catch up.”

He stepped closer, a nervous smile on his face. “Tonight was a date, right?”

“I-I’m- I don’t- I…” you trailed off, looking away from him as you both chuckled. 

“I’d like it to be,” he admitted. 

You nodded. “Me too.”

“So I can kiss you, right?” He smiled. 

Your heart slightly stopped, you’d never been kissed before. How did you even do it? Would he think you’re awful? Would this end the entire relationship?

“I don’t have to, I’d just… I’d like to,” he smiled understandingly. “If you’re not ready for that then that’s alright.”

“I just… I’ve never been kissed,” you admitted, deeply embarrassed. 

His jaw dropped. “You’ve never been kissed?” He asked despite himself. “Sorry, that sounded rude I-“

“It’s alright Oscar,” you shook your head. “I get what you mean.”

“No, I mean I’m just shocked, you’re so amazing and… yeah. It’s just surprising,” he chuckled. “I’m kind of honoured that I get to be the first.”

You chuckled. “Shut up.”

He chuckled. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, much too nervous to actually speak. He placed a hand on your cheek and leaned in, his lips softly meeting yours. 

And it felt good. It felt really good to kiss him. His other hand circled your waist as you tentatively placed your hands on either side of his face. When he pulled back you felt your heart stop once again. 

“You’re sure that was your first time?” He teased and you laughed. 

“Pretty sure,” you chuckled. 

“When can I see you again?” He asked, bashfully smiling.  

“I’ll be at the next race, or here,” you explained. “So whenever it works for you.”

“What about-”

“OSCAR?! You picked Oscar?!” Toto shouted, making both of you jump apart. “Absolutely not! Y/n get up here!” 

You sighed. “Text me about the date? Yeah?”

He nodded, laughing (trying to hide his terror of Toto) as he watched you go upstairs and start trying to explain to Toto.

⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Six Times Toto Pushed His Luck (Part1)

Part 2

word count: 888

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife reader

Summary: When Toto Wolff's antics push his wife to the brink, she resorts to calling him by his full name, "Torger," reminding him who's really in charge in their playful yet loving relationship.

______________________________________________________________

You never really called him by his full first name. Toto was just easier, softer, and it fit him—most of the time. But sometimes, just sometimes, he pushed you to the edge, and then ‘Toto’ wasn’t enough. That’s when ‘Torger’ came out, a signal that he was skating on thin ice. And on very rare, very special occasions, when things were absolutely out of control, it became ‘Torger Christian Wolff.’

1. Monaco Apartment - Breakfast Disaster

It started off as a calm morning in Monaco, the sunlight streaming into your apartment. You’d barely woken up when you heard the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. Toto’s cooking. You sighed, knowing exactly where this was headed.

As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by the sight of him attempting to scramble eggs in the smallest pan possible. Half of the eggs were sticking to the pan, the other half still runny, and he had the heat turned up too high.

“Toto,” you began gently, “maybe I should—”

“I’ve got this,” he said, his voice confident.

Seconds later, the eggs flipped awkwardly, some landing on the stove, some… on the floor. You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperated.

“Torger,” you finally said, crossing your arms. “You need to stop before we end up with a fire.”

He froze, the name cutting through his concentration. “Torger? It’s not that bad.”

“Torger. Step away from the stove.”

2. Silverstone Garage - Headphones Drama

Silverstone was in full swing, the race just as intense as you expected. Things weren’t going Mercedes’ way, and you could feel Toto’s frustration brewing from across the garage. Then, as if on cue, it happened—the dramatic slamming of the headphones. He ripped them off his head and threw them down onto the table in one swift, angry motion.

You sighed. How many pairs had he gone through this season? Too many to count.

“Torger,” you said, louder than usual to cut through the tension. “If you break one more pair of headphones…”

He looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Torger?”

“Yes. Torger. Those things are expensive, and you’re going to run out at this rate.”

He chuckled, the tension easing a bit. “Alright, alright. I’ll be gentler.”

3. Vienna - The Overpacking Incident

Packing for a quick weekend trip to Vienna should have been simple. Should have been. But when Toto decided to take the lead, you knew you were in for trouble. You opened the suitcase and stared in disbelief. There were four pairs of shoes, multiple shirts, and enough clothes to last a month.

“Torger,” you called from the bedroom. “Come here.”

He appeared in the doorway, clearly proud of his work. “I packed for us.”

You pointed at the suitcase. “Torger, why are there four pairs of shoes? We’re gone for two days!”

“I thought options would be good.”

“Torger, we don’t need options. We need space. Unpack this now.”

4. The Paddock - PDA Overload

The paddock was bustling, as usual, cameras and fans everywhere. You and Toto were walking through when, out of nowhere, he decided it was the perfect moment for an over-the-top kiss. In front of everyone. The photographers snapped away, and you could practically feel the internet lighting up with memes.

“Toto,” you whispered, trying to pull away.

“What?” he asked, his grin devilish.

You shot him a look, but he leaned in again, clearly enjoying himself. That’s when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Torger. Not in front of everyone!”

He laughed, finally pulling back. “What? Can’t I show my wife some affection?”

“Torger, not when the whole grid is watching.”

5. Home Gym - The Training Competition

One of Toto’s favorite pastimes was working out, and today, he had challenged you to a little ‘friendly’ competition. At first, it was fun—some light weights, a few squats—but as the session went on, his competitive side started showing. He kept pushing, adding more weights and insisting on extra rounds.

By the time you were on your third set of squats, you’d had enough. Your legs felt like jelly, and he was still going strong.

“Torger,” you panted, dropping the weights. “I’m not a Formula 1 driver. This is insane.”

“One more set,” he said, completely ignoring the exhaustion in your voice.

“Torger,” you warned, “if you make me do one more squat, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

He chuckled, finally letting you off the hook. “Fine, fine. You win.”

6. Baku - The Meltdown

Baku was not going well. The race had been a disaster, and Toto’s mood was even worse. He spent the entire evening pacing, ranting about strategies, tires, and everything that had gone wrong. You had tried to calm him down, but nothing worked.

Finally, he stormed into the hotel room, still mid-rant, and that was when you’d had enough.

“Torger Christian Wolff,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you’d ever intended.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. You never used his full name unless you were seriously upset.

“You need to stop this. It’s done, the race is over. Either calm down or I’m calling Christian Horner to tell him you need a break.”

Toto blinked, stunned. “You wouldn’t…”

“Try me, Torger Christian.”

He stared at you for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “Alright, I’ll stop.”

“Good.”

[cdblake1565]

Poor Wolffe. He’s going to be glad to get back to the war. 🥹🥹😭

On another note - hope you’re feeling better soon.

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 9

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's Note: I'm going to be honest y'all. I'm struggling with my health right now, so I don't think I did this part justice. It's a transitional chapter of mostly Cara just being a little kid and Wolffe having to deal with it. Nothing angsty, but we are headed towards more angst. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: Please meet my new beta reader/editor @beating-a-dead-plot!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Wolffe packs up the rest of his wife's things, or at least, the pieces of her that he finds the most important. The box is almost full, and he knows Cara is going to have a difficult time leaving some of her things behind, so he decides to leave a little room if she needs it. Putting the box aside, he reaches for his duffle to pack his own belongings. At the very least, he can keep his duffle in the barracks. It's great for storing things that he doesn't care about losing or damaging.

With everything packed in either the box or the duffle, Wolffe scans the room one last time to ensure he didn't miss anything. He knows he'll never be back after today, and there is a lot he can't take with him. If he could fold up their entire bed and throw it into his duffle bag he would, but he can't. He snorts at the stupid thought while staring at the bed, then his eyes catch on his wife's pillow. If he squishes it, he can make it fit into his duffle, which is exactly what he does.

Now, Wolffe is sure he has everything that he can take with him. It's still not enough, though. How does one condense years of their life into a single box and a duffle bag? It used to make sense to him, during his time on Kamino. Clones are property, and property can't own other property, so he never had things outside of the standard clone-issued items he carried in his pack. His wife was the one who helped him understand that useless things could be precious.

With a heavy sigh, Wolffe slings the duffle over his shoulder and picks the box up off the bed. He walks to the bedroom door to leave, but stops in the frame, his feet stuck like they're sinking into quicksand. He turns and looks at the room. This is where she slept. This is where they slept. This is where they made Cara. When did he get so attached? It's just a room. When did goodbyes become this hard? He forces his feet to move and flips the light off for the last time.

On his way to the kitchen, his leg gets attacked by a ferocious child.

"Daddy!" Cara yells as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his leg.

Wolffe steps back with his other foot to steady himself and Sinker quickly grabs the box he's holding before it falls on top of Cara. With the crisis averted, Wolffe releases a slow breath to calm himself as he feels the adrenaline course through his already stressed body. There's nothing that scares him faster than his daughter being in danger, even if he's the one causing the danger. He takes a moment to breathe, then slips his duffle off onto the ground next to him.

He bends down to peel his daughter off his leg and hoists her up onto his hip. "What's the matter baby?" he asks.

She cups her hands around his left ear and whispers loudly. "I need to tell you something."

Wolffe grimaces and tilts his head away. "Yeah? What's that?"

"I love you with my whole carrot," she says and she flings her arm around his neck to hug him.

Wolffe knits his eyebrows together and repeats the word under his breath. "Carrot?" Maybe he just lost his hearing in that ear.

Comet walks by with Cara's box and laughs at Wolffe's obvious confusion. He leans over and whispers in Wolffe's other ear. "Ka'rta."

Wolffe snorts and shakes his head. "I love you with my whole carrot, too, baby."

"Daddy, I'm hungry," she says.

"I knew that was coming," Wolffe sighs. He places her down onto the ground and walks off to find the pancakes he saved for her.

While Wolffe is rummaging for the pancakes in the conservator, the doorbell rings and his heart sinks. It can't be that time already, can it? He knows they have to leave, but that doesn't mean he's ready for it. He wishes he had someone to tell him that everything will be alright, like he can with Cara. He can hold her, soothe her, and make her feel safe, but there's no one to do that for him, not anymore. His wife made him feel invincible during times of uncertainty, and now she's gone.

Boost answers the door and huffs. "It's about time you showed up."

"Well, someone had to take care of the battalion," Warthog retorts. "Not everyone gets to play uncle."

"Auggie!" Cara exclaims and runs to hug his leg.

"Ad'ika!" Warthog smiles and picks her up, rubbing his nose against hers. "How's the youngest member of the Wolfpack?"

"I'm okay," she says.

From the kitchen, Comet watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Auggie?" he asks. "Why Auggie?"

"She doesn't like to say Warthog," Wolffe explains as he pulls out the bag of pancakes. "So, she shortened it... I think."

Comet crosses his arms. "How come we don't get cool nicknames?"

Wolffe rolls his eyes and places the bag of pancakes on the counter. "You really want to be called Come, Sink, and Boo?"

"Nevermind," Comet says. "I'm good."

Wolffe laughs and clasps a hand on Comet's shoulder. "That's what I thought."

Wolffe walks past Comet and over to the door to greet Warthog. He's not happy to see him, but that's not Warthog's problem, it's his. The general commed Wolffe not long after they left the hospital to let him know that he would be sending Warthog to pick them and their things up late morning and bring them to the Jedi Temple so they can get settled before the funeral that evening. The funeral. That's something else Wolffe has been trying not to think about too much.

Warthog bounces Cara in his arms and looks at Wolffe with concern. "You alright, Commander?"

Wolffe sighs. "That obvious?"

Warthog makes a knowing face. "Kinda."

"I've been better," Wolffe breathes.

"Daddy!" she calls while squirming in Warthog's arms.

"I'm right here, baby," Wolffe says. "What's the matter?"

Cara bends backwards in Warthog's arms to see Wolffe. "I'm thirsty," she whines. "And I'm hungry."

A lightbulb goes off in Wolffe's mind. "Cup," he says as he walks back to the kitchen. "I forgot her cup."

Warthog laughs and pulls Cara back upright. "You are a handful, aren't you?"

Cara scrunches her nose and wiggles to get out of Warthog's arms. "Daddy!" she screams.

Wolffe sighs. "Can you–"

"On it," Comet says and he walks over to the struggling pair. "Ad'ika, what happened?"

"Auggie is mean," she whines while pushing away from him.

"Auggie," Comet says with an accusatory tone. "How could you? She's just a kid."

"I didn't do anything!" Warthog exclaims, mildly hurt by the accusation. He grunts. "Here. You take her. I'm going to go pack their things in the speeder."

Comet shrugs. "Suit yourself." He takes Cara from Warthog and she settles down in his arms.

"I'm hungry," she whines again.

Comet sighs and walks them both into the kitchen, quickly finding the bag of pancakes sitting on the kitchen counter where Wolffe left them. He opens the bag with one hand and pulls out a colorful, yet oddly shaped pancake and gives it to Cara. She grabs it from him and starts nibbling on it. Warthog's arrival doesn't bode well just for Wolffe. It puts them all on edge. They all know the transition is going to be tough for Cara, but there are worse things on the horizon.

Cara easily downs the first pancake and Comet gives her another one. She takes a few bites, then gives it back to Comet with the explanation that she's full. He thinks about putting it back in the bag with the others for later, but then he feels his stomach growl and realizes that he didn't get a chance to eat breakfast either. So, he pops the nibbled pancake into his mouth and eats it himself.

"Hey," Cara says. "That was mine."

Comet raises an eyebrow. "You said you were full."

"But it was mine!" she exclaims. "Daddy!"

Wolffe, with Cara's cup in hand, hears his daughter yell for him once again and decides it's time to take his child back from his overworked men. "Alright," he begins. "Auggie I can understand, but Comet? Now you're just being fussy."

Cara makes a whining noise and Wolffe trades Comet the cup for Cara, then takes the cup and gives it to Cara who drinks it down eagerly.

"See?" Wolffe says while running his hand through her hair. "You were just thirsty. And you probably need a nap, huh?"

Cara yawns and leans her head against Wolffe's shoulder.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Warthog asks as he steps back into the apartment.

The answer gets stuck in Wolffe's throat and he rubs Cara's back nervously.

"It's okay, daddy," she says and nuzzles her face into his neck.

Wolffe takes a deep breath. "Yeah, we're ready."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Masterlist

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[whorekneecentral]

Winter Wonderland

Toto Wolff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: toto would do anything for reader, some friendly teasing, alcohol and the consumption of, a bit of an age gap (reader's late 20s/early 30s), handsy toto, the two of you are kinda drunk, daddy kink, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight edging, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie.

Word Count: 1,772

Author's Note: this one goes out to all the dilf lovers.

merry smutmas series

--

Your husband skips out on Christmas every year due to work but this year, he ends up in London. You make it your mission to introduce him to some holiday fun.

Toto had one last work engagement to do this week before he's officially off for the holidays and it took him to London. So by extension, you made it to London as well.

Your husband had left you in the hotel, promising you that he'll be back in a few hours after doing his final work meeting before he was on holiday break.

When he returns, he finds you in the same spot he left you, on the couch. "Babe, have you not gotten up all day?"He asks, shrugging his coat off.

"I did, I ordered room service so I had to get it from the door," you tell him, eyes glued to the TV.

Toto laughs, making his way over to sit next to you. You lean into the man, his arms wrapped around you and you can still feel the chill on his skin despite him wearing a coat when he was outside. It takes him a second to realize that you weren't in your pyjamas, but you were dressed as if you were going out.

The man looks at you with raised eyebrows, there's a hint of a smile on your face. "I know that look, what are you up to?" He asked.

"Okay I know you're probably tired but we leave for home tomorrow and I really wanna go!"

"Go where?"

"Hyde park," you tell him, showing him the pictures of their winter wonderland on your phone. "I saw the ad already for their winter wonderland today and then I looked it up and I fell into a loophole, so now we have tickets." You smiled sweetly at him - if there was one thing more important to Toto than work, it was you and your happiness.

"Are you serious, y/n?"

"Yes, now come on," you get up, trying to pull him up. Toto huffs, "I have emails to answer." He reluctantly follows you to the door.

"The emails will still be here when you get back," you handed him his coat before putting your own on. "Let's go."

Toto drives, of course - not like he ever lets you drive anyways. The first half hour was just the two of you trying to find your way around, it was a lot more packed than you were expecting but to be fair it was a week until Christmas, so it was to be expected you suppose.

You grab his hand and pull him towards what seems to be a circus tent. Toto looks at you a bit unsure for a moment, "is this.. an actual circus?" He followed you in and his question was answered; it was.

He sits next to you in the back row, the two of you waiting for the show to start. "Are you 5? Why are we at the circus ?"

"I mean, in comparison to you, I basically am." You smiled and he chuckled, his hand in yours as you two watched the show.

He would never admit it to you but he enjoyed doing things like this with you, it was nice to see that you kept a bit of your childishness alive.

After the circus, you made your way around the park once more, taking a million photos and trying out all the games until Toto was lugging around a big bag with stuffed animals.

"Do you think that's enough?" He asks, walking towards the car. You shrugged, "I guess but I'm hungry now."

"Dinner then?" He suggests, nodding to the busy street. You're not, fingers interlocking with your husband as you walk down the street towards no actual destination in mind. You were just hoping to stumble upon a place that wasn't too busy.

And eventually you did, a little restaurant tucked away between all the madness. You and Toto sat at a table by the window, the table covered in junk food and a bottle of cheap wine.

"Did you have fun tonight ?" You asked your husband, popping a fry into your mouth. He shrugs, taking a sip of wine. You can't help but roll your eyes, "you totally did! Don't lie."

Toto laughs, a grin on his face. "Yeah, okay. I did have a little fun, but maybe next time find an indoor activity?"

"Nope," you popped the P, "as your wife, it's my job to make your life unnecessarily complicated, just for fun."

He rolls his eyes, taking some fries off your plate. "You'll be the death of me."

You two ended up topping off the bottle of wine, Toto pays the bill and his fingers interlock with yours as you walk back to the car. The streets have calmed by now, but there's a few people walking around on their way to wherever.

Your husband pulls you into his side, your arm wrapped around his torso as you make it back to the car. The man has you leaning on the hood, his cold hands cupping your cheeks before he kisses you. His hands wander and you blush, stopping him.

"Not here."

"Don't tell me you're getting shy on me." He kisses along your cheek, the tip of his nose cold as it rubs against your skin.

You giggled, giving him a slight shove off of you. "We're in the middle of the street, it's more like stopping you from getting arrested for public indecency."

He laughs, opening the car door for you and letting you get in. Toto's hand rests on your thigh the entire drive back to the hotel and he can barely keep his hands off of you to make it up to the room.

His lips on your neck, arms wrapped around you from behind, the two of you giggling as you attempt to open the door.

"It's not opening," you grumbled, trying to unlock the door.

Toto pulls on the handle a bit, pressing the key to it. "Finally," he says when the lock clicks, "let me unwrap my gift."

You giggled, rolling your eyes at your husband's cheesy use of the words, but you let him drag you into the room and drop you on the bed.

He's careful, even though he's drunk - his movements are exact as he undoes the buttons on your shirt, tossing it into the pile of clothes that's developing on the floor.

"Move your legs, baby." He whispers, moving them up to rest on the edge of the bed as he drops himself down onto his knees. You’ve propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him and Toto drags his fingers up your thigh, moving to your clothed pussy. 

“I like this,” he tells you, fingers rubbing over the red lace that covered your cunt.

You smile, “I know. Wore it just for you, daddy." The name makes the man smile.

Toto can feel your eyes on him, he reaches for the red lace you’re wrapped up in and tugs it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He shifts to lay on his stomach between your legs, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his way up to your cunt. 

Your eyes meet his, he knows you’re looking. He wants you to look at him. 

Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his hair. He knew you like the back of his hand, gripping your thighs to keep them in place as his tongue lapped your clit. Your hips buck, your way of saying you want more.

Two fingers pushing into you, he glances up to see your head tossed back onto the pillows, eyes fluttering shut and your free hand groping your tit. 

Between his fingers and his tongue, your orgasm was teetering on the edge; he knew that much. 

He's sick and twisted and pulls his hands away, the sticky fingers wiped on your inner thighs. A whimper leaves your lips at the loss of fullness. 

"I hate you," you grumbled, your husband smiles as he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "You love me."

"Sometimes."

He smiles, standing up to undo his pants. Toto pulls you back to the edge of the bed, one of your legs hitch on his hip as his hand wanders.

Your eyes fixed on his hand that was moving down your chest at the moment. Toto's lips follow his fingers, kissing and leaving little marks as he goes along his way. His tongue brushes over your nipple, your back arches involuntarily; your body betrays you. 

Your eyes find his and his hand rubbing along your thigh before pulling you toward the edge of the bed a little more before he pushes into you. The other ankle is over his shoulder now.

He fucks you the way he knows you like it; rough.

You were a sight to see; back arched off the bed, hair sprawled out in perfect curls, eyes closed and your head tilted back, his name tumbling from your lips for what felt like the millionth time.

He’s never seen a prettiest sight.

He feels you clench around him, the hand on his shoulder digs in, your nails leaving behind their own set of marks. His hand reaches between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit once again.

“Oh my god,” your hips bucked, his fingers matching the pace of his hips, your body rocking back and forth to get the most out of him.  

“C’mon pretty girl, want you to cum for me.” he says, knowing it won't be long more, especially not after him leaving you on the edge earlier.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut and he reaches you with his other hand, holding your jaw and pulling you up a little, your elbows holding up the weight of your body.

"Open your eyes, baby, look at me." He whispers, kissing you softly.

A few more sloppy thrusts and between that and his fingers, you’re over the edge.  He kisses you, muffling the noise you were making. The wetness wrapping around his cock, and with a few sloppy thrusts, he follows behind you. 

It takes you a second to gather yourself and register that your husband has collapsed on top of you. Your hands rubbing over his back.

"You okay?" you asked him quietly and the man nodded, moving so you two could lay comfortably.

Your leg draped over his, his arm wrapped over your shoulder. You catch him staring at you and you smile, nodding. "What?"

"We should come to London every year."

"Yeah," you nod, resting your head on his chest. "I'd like that."

---

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[sinfulsalutations]

Congrats on 500 followers! Can I see Wolffe with a female reader for Prompt 2 (“I can’t believe you’re mine.”)? Maybe something soft and domestic?

➼ ɴᴏᴜʀ'ꜱ 500 ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏɴɴɪᴇ! ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ꜱᴏꜰᴛʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇꜱ ɪᴛ 🥰

➼ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ☆ "ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ"

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 531

The morning air boils deep in your stomach when you awake, the sound of early rising birds chirping outside your window. You stir slowly, a deep groan leaving your lips as your senses come back to you gradually; first, your sight, as you allow your eyelids to peel back and gaze toward the sun peaking through sheer blinds, searing them half shut again when the light finally begins to burn your sight render less once again. Then, you become aware of the looming presence of a strong, muscular arm laid over your waist, hand pressing to your stomach to keep you pressed against his hard, sturdy chest.

You hum again when you feel his lashes brush against you and his lips purse, placing a lazy kiss onto your shoulders where he’d rested his head.

“Morning, baby,” He rasps in your ear, voice so honeyed and alligatored with misuse, and you smile softly to yourself.

“Morning,” you mutter back, turning over. Instinctively, your hands rise up to rest on his shoulders, and you bite your lip to contain your smile. He looks so good like this, bathed in morning light and still trying to get his bearings back. You don’t seem to be doing a very good job. 

Wolffe leans in, and you purse your lips, expecting him to give you a sweet, afterglow-covered kiss, but instead, he slowly creeps up over you, pinning his knees over your thighs and his elbows by your head. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow, and he just leans in toward your temple, leaving a kiss there instead. He then asks in a hushed whisper into your ear,

“What time is it?”

“Not sure,” You respond, hands returning to their rightful place in the crooks between his neck and shoulder. “0900, something like that.”

“Hmm,” Wolffe rumbles, pulling his face away from the side of your face and finally slotting your lips together. You keep wanting to break away, allow yourself to smile in the basking glow of his affection, but instead let him kiss you silly until he’s forced to pull away and catch his breath.

He repeats the action from before, lips pressing against your temple, then your cheek, then softly swiping down to your jaw, before coming back to your ear.

“You sleep well?” He asks. You sense the slight rustling of blankets around you and feel his hand trail over your skin, delicate and innocent, yet it lights your body aflame all the same as the sensual and intoxicating caresses he graces you with in times of heated passion. Perhaps you just can’t help yourself.

“I did,” You answer coolly, tilting your chin up as he slowly journeys down again. When his lips linger on certain spots and you feel that slight curl of a smirk against your skin, you know he’s admiring marks he’s left from the night before.

Suddenly, he pulls away, and you whine meekly, looking up with wide eyes.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Wolffe sighs, eyebrows creasing together. But he doesn’t seem annoyed. 

“I just… I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You giggle softly, pulling him down and pressing your noses together.

“You better start, handsome.”

tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @star-burned @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @aconstructofamind