tcwmatchmakingau - Tumblr blog

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Thank you for your submission!

Date Night Pt 4

Pairing: Dogma x F!OC (Yen Ori'ken)

Rating: G

Warnings: Self-doubt/negative self thinking (by Dogma)

W/C: 4,025 (literally longer than the other 3 parts combined. Sorry that's what took so long!)

Summary: No O66 AU. Right to Love Matchmaking is a service to help clone troopers assimilate into civvie society and kick start their romantic lives following the reveal of Palpatine as a sith and the end of the Galactic Civil War. Dogma, reassigned to the 501st but dealing with lingering trauma from Umbara, never intended to utilize their services, committing himself to being the perfect solider he feels he failed to be before. That is, until Captain Rex intervenes, introducing the reluctant trooper to another stubborn force of nature: Matchmaker Yen Ori'ken.

Date Night: Part 1 (Rex x Reader), Part 2 (Cody x Reader), Part 3 (Dogma x F!OC. Only Part 3 needed to understand Pt 4). Right to Love AU Page

It was the best date she had ever been on.

And she hated herself for enjoying it.

Yen had lost objectivity. The very trap she knew to avoid, the pitfall over which she had built a scaffolding of professionalism to protect against. Guilt gnawed at her stomach, making it churn uncomfortably as she looked through another batch of profiles.

And as much as she wanted to follow her kneejerk reaction and blame Daria for the hair-brained idea to go on a date with a client, Yen knew the fault lay solely within herself.

And possibly a little with Dogma.

It was insidious, just a tiny flutter at the way he had used his body to help her move through the crowd. It was a small gesture, barely anything. Something she’d smile knowingly at if a client had mentioned it to her after one of their own dates.

But no one had ever done anything like that for her. Not once. Not even on a real first date. In fact, looking back on her, admittedly sparce, dating history, Yen couldn’t think of a single previous boyfriend who had ever done anything remotely chivalrous.

No one who’s gentle hand and quiet guidance made her ever feel so … precious. Worth the effort of protection.

Honestly, if any had, she probably would have looked at them as if they had grown another limb. She never liked being treated as if she were incompetent, unable to handle herself without assistance in public.

But with Dogma, it didn’t feel like that at all.

A slow, sweet heat crawled over the tops of her cheeks as she remembered the warmth of his body against hers. He didn’t steer her or make a show of his actions. He just silently helped her, giving her a little more space in the crush of bodies, a little more room to move comfortably. His hand on her back wasn’t controlling. It was warm and gentle, a soothing reassurance.

That’s all. That’s it. But the kind consideration rocked her deep. The fact that she knew that Dogma had no expectations of her beyond her doing her job made the warm feeling settle in Yen’s core.

She tried to ignore it at first, but as the night continued, it only got worse. Relieved of the propriety of their previously formal interactions and released from expectations himself, Dogma bloomed before her, revealing his dry humor and kind heart in between performances.

A gentle man who had wrapped himself in steel to keep himself and others safe.

Yen now understood why all those women were so broken hearted over failing to secure a second date.  For one brief night, all of that was focused on her.

And she hated how much she wanted it to happen again.

Because it couldn’t. She knew that. He was her client and she promised to do right by him. Her professionalism demanded it and Dogma deserved nothing less.

Of course, that was her other problem.

It had been two weeks since their faux date and Dogma was still refusing to meet anyone for a second time, forcing Yen to sort through even more potential matches for him than before, hating that the next one she reaches out to could be the reason she will cut ties with Dogma.

Worse, she hated how the jealousy settled thick and heavy in her gut. It was pulling her down and with each profile she sent, she could feel it constricting within her.

She needed to purge it to regain some semblance of sanity. Usually, an issue of this caliber would have her trudging into Daria’s office for her out-of-the-box ideas that are usually just crazy enough to work.

But not this time. Not if it meant admitting to the soft flutter that was slowly turning to bitterness inside her.

And, her initial reaction aside, she didn’t want Dar taking any of this on her own shoulders.

Wait a minute! That’s it!

The solution she needed was staring her right in the face! She may not be able to control her little crush, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t still uphold her commitment to her profession and to Dogma.

With renewed optimism quieting the churn of her nerves, if only a little, Yen composed one more message.

Dear Dogma, In light of our lack of progress in finding you a partner, I think it prudent for us to meet face to face again. I apologize for being forward, but I’ve canceled your scheduled date tomorrow evening so we can discuss a clear solution and direction forward. Let’s meet then at the café from our first encounter. Thank you for your time, Yen

Her writing always came across more formal than she really spoke. Or maybe it was her tone that softened the words to his ears when he heard her directly.

But Dogma could tell even through the text that Yen was angry when she wrote the comm message. And he didn’t blame her.

Sitting on his bed in the barracks on Coruscant, Dogma ran a hand through his regulation-cut hair, for once uncaring how a few errant curls escaped the careful style. Ever since he realized his feelings for her, he was stuck. He was still unable to connect with any of his dates, but Yen’s next-day questioning morphed from feeling supportive to invasive, probing as if she could sense he was hiding something.

He could tell she was growing more frustrated with his non-answers.

The thought made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He never wanted to disappoint her. But he couldn’t — wouldn’t — lie to her or these other women and pull them all into his mess.

But you’ll lie to keep them out of it, he thought bitterly.

“Damn another in-person meeting?” Fives’ voice rang right in his ear.

“Kriff, Fives! Haven’t you heard it’s rude to read other people’s comms?” Dogma growled.

His brother ignored his righteous indignation. “I know finding someone who’ll accept the planet-sized stick up your ass is a tall order, but I never would have thought Yen would struggle this much.”

“Kark off, sha’buir.”

Fives’ hand came down hard on his shoulder and while Dogma knew his brother’s teasing was well-intended, he couldn’t handle the unique combination of arrogance and optimism that fueled the ARC trooper. With a shrug, he flung it off, and Fives pulled back, hands in front of him in surrender.

“Sorry, vod. Just trying to help lighten the mood.”

“Only you are used to being flattered by insults, Fives,” Tup said, no bite in his voice as he entered the barracks. “But seriously, Dogma, you look like you’ve just been assigned a suicide mission. I know this part is a lot to handle, but I think you’re thinking too hard. Yen will find someone. Trust her and the process and you’ll get through it.”

He could feel the truth bubbling up inside him, shifting his stomach uncomfortably as it rose up his throat.

“No, I won’t.”

It was a single drop of relief. Nowhere near satisfying … and enough to make him need more.

“Sure you will,” Fives assured, sincerity filling his tone despite his flippant delivery.

Tup rolled his eyes at the older trooper before sitting next to his squad mate. “He’s right, you know. Right to Love has had great success. I’m not as familiar with Yen, but I can’t imagine anyone else could have possibly helped Fives.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, go be insulted by something you didn’t say first,” Tup teased before turning back to Dogma. “But he is right. A few more dates and you’ll find someone who’s right for you.”

Dogma shook his head as it fell forward into his hands. “You don’t understand.” He felt Tup’s hand resting on his back, encouraging him without words. “I … I have found someone I connected with.”

“That’s great!” Tup’s cheer was short-lived as he saw Dogma’s grim expression didn’t budge. “But …?”

With a sigh, Dogma steeled himself against his brothers’ reaction. “But it’s Yen.”

Fives scoffed. “I know she’s tough as nails, but don’t take it personally. She’ll be pissed about the paperwork if you realized you liked a girl after you passed more than she’ll be put off by your indecision.”

“No, you nerfherder.” Dogma spat, unable to spare Fives any more patience. “It’s Yen. The person I connected with is Yen. When we went on our fake date, it … it just hit me.”

Both his brothers blinked owlishly in response, their twin expressions of surprise almost funny. But Dogma felt any tinge of humor fade the longer they stood there in silence. He dropped their gaze, head hanging in shame.

Tup’s hand moved up to his shoulder, gripping gently yet firmly to pull his brother up. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Of course it’s a bad thing. I can’t tell her about it, so I’m stuck going on dates I don’t want and know will fail, and now I can feel her getting frustrated as well. I’m lying to everyone and I can’t keep it up anymore!”

“Why do you have to?” Tup asked gently.

“Yeah, no reason why you can’t just tell Yen how you feel,” Fives added. “It’s not like it’s against regulations anymore.”

“No.” Dogma shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not. She’s been nothing but kind and professional through everything. And this? This is highly unprofessional. I can’t even imagine how she’d react to a client crossing that kind of boundary with her.”

“Unless she wants you, too.”

“She doesn’t.”

“You know that for sure?”

“No, but …”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re ori’vod is an ARC! Advanced Reconnaissance Trooper, remember? I’ll do some sleuthing and –

“Not even over my dead body, Fives. I don’t want you within ten feet of this situation.”

“I have to agree with him here,” Tup shrugs softly. “This is for Dogma to sort out on his own.” He turned back to Dogma then. “But you should still tell her. You don’t know for sure. So she could return your feelings. And even if she doesn’t, then at least you won’t be stuck in limbo like this.”

The option did sound tempting, even if the shadow of Yen’s rejection chilled him to the bone.

But the thought that really frightened him was one of her saying yes. Like his confession, he could feel his self-doubt bubbling up and despite every instinct to keep it hidden, Dogma just didn’t have the fight left in him. Not in front of his brothers.

His voice was quiet, subdued as he gave words to the thoughts that polluted his mind. “But I’m defective. Why would she want someone like me when she could choose anyone else?”

“What!?”

Fives dropped to rest a knee on the bed on Dogma’s other side, his hand pulling him back and forcing him to meet his gaze.

“In what galaxy are you defective?”

“In the one where I was willing to let you get shot, where I executed a general, where I was literally almost decommissioned for being defective.”

“But you weren’t! Because you’re not!”

“I am!” The shout rang through the barracks, and even the reverberating echoes didn’t soften it. “I always have been.”

“No, Dogma, you’re not.” Tup’s hand came to rest on Dogma’s shoulder just as gently as his words had. “You’re uptight, anxious, and annoyingly strict at times. You over-analyze everything and are so obnoxious when things don’t go the way you want them to.

“You have a lot of flaws, brother, but they’re not defects.”

Before Dogma could refute anything, Fives chimed in.

“More than that, you’re also loyal to a fault. You bend over backwards for others just because it’s the right thing to do. You’re patient and kind and solid in a tight spot and I’m proud to fight beside you and call you my brother.

“You went against the regs on Umbara because the regs were wrong. They never were written for a situation where we couldn’t trust our leaders. And that was by design. The Kaminoans may have considered your actions there defective, but we don’t. We’re all here because you put an end to Krell, and that’s the only story I need to know.”

Fives moved to kneel in front of him, forcing Dogma to meet his gaze. And for once, he could see no tease or mirth at all in his brother’s eyes.

“I have a feeling Yen will see it that way, too.”

This time, Yen beat him to their meeting. Back at the café where they first met, he saw her sitting at the same table. Shoulders back, chin level as she read something on her datapad. Whatever it was had her complete attention as she mindlessly caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Dogma’s heart shook his ribs. This — seeing the battle ahead and being the one who needs to start it — was worse than sitting in that cell on the Resolute after Umbara. At least there, all he had to do was wait for his fate.

But the chance for an outcome he could never have conceived of lay on the other side. And the small, selfish part of his soul he never acknowledged refused to let him leave this alone.

And if it did, his brothers wouldn’t.

So now, everything rested on how well he executed his plan. Not that it was much of one. But it was the best he could do.

With one last calming breath — that did little to actually calm him — Dogma made his way to the table, clearing his throat as he pulled out his chair to announce himself.

 “Dogma!” Yen’s head popped up, surprise clear on her face as he sat. He knew his experience with things that could be considered “adorable” was close to non-existent, but there was no other way to quantify her expression. He let himself escape into that soft flutter for just a moment before reining it in.

He offered a sheepish smile in return. “Sorry, Ma- Yen. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries. It’s good to see you.” Yen’s small answering smile sent a spark of delight up the back of Dogma’s skull.

“Likewise.”

As Yen shifted in her seat, her sweet smile slipped away, and Dogma steeled himself as her professional persona took over.

“Thank you for meeting me again. I have to stay, I’m at a loss here and I don’t like it.” For once, Yen didn’t meet his gaze as she spoke, and Dogma found himself anticipating catching her eyes again. But each moment that past left him waiting.

“You’re perfectly wonderful to be around — which all your dates have said and I confirmed myself. I’d even say you’re quite the catch. And I know the matches I picked would relate well to you in their own ways. But you’ve been so tight-lipped about your experience on these dates that it’s making my job hard. I thought maybe an in-person vent session would help illuminate the situation. So what happened?”

Dogma’s gaze fell to his place setting. He liked that Yen didn’t beat around the push or press for small talk. He liked even more to hear her praise. But he didn’t expect her to rip the bacta patch off at the gate and it still stung.

He looked back up, finally able to meet Yen’s eyes and confess his sins … only for his plan, his prepared speech to fly out of his head the moment her bright, intense eyes locked on his.

Say. Something!

But as the seconds ticked by in silence, Yen’s lips pursed into what Dogma could only call a scowl only had the beast of his worry claw harder in his stomach. Bile bubbled, and it took all his strength not to retch.

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you. But you can’t expect a campaign to be successful with shoddy intel, right? Well, that’s where I am right now. Finding you a partner is my campaign, and right now I’m planning a battle strategy blind since I don’t know why past attempts didn’t pan out.”

“No! No, it’s not you,” Dogma shakes his head. Stars, he was stupid. He expected her to see everything up until this point as his fault, his failure. He should have realized she’d mistake it for the other way around.  

Yen softened and reached out to rest her hand on his, and Dogma took no more than a second to thank the Force that Tup had convinced him to wear his civvies. Without his gloves, he could feel the soft warmth of her skin against his.

“Thank you for saying that. But your happiness is my goal, and I’m not seeing happy yet.” She paused then, clearly measuring her next words carefully. “Do I need to blacklist any of your dates?”

“What!?”

She looked positively shocked by his alarm, eyes wide as she sat back. “Of course. If anyoney did something inappropriate or that made you uncomfortable, then they’re not clients we can continue a relationship with. For everyone’s safety,” she explained.

“No, no they didn’t do anything like that. Please don’t kick them out.”

“OK.” Yen paused and collected herself. But hands that pulled back toward her body to press against the side of the table told a different story than her stoic exterior. Dogma focused on her hands, on that little display of nerves, feeling his own soar in step. “Well, if everything has been above board, then it’s likely that I am not the best matchmaker for you. It doesn’t happen often, but we do have procedures in place for situations like this.

The weight in his heart he had been battling since he first got Yen’s comm finally won out. He felt it sink into the pit of his stomach as his chest tightened. Felt his blood cooling in his veins.

Felt the déjà vu kick in as he recognized the moment was a precipice. Just like when he shot Krell. This moment, this choice, would change everything.

He survived a leap of faith once. Could he be lucky twice?

Yen opened her mouth to continue, but Dogma spoke over her, silencing her in a panicked rush. “What if I said I don’t want another random date?”

Her mouth hung open, confusion bleeding into her expression as her head tiled to the side, as if a different angle would reveal more to her. But her eyes remained sharp and steady on his.

“Random is sort of the nature of the game.” she said, the furrow in her brow deepening.

“Not … not if you say yes when I ask you on another date. A-A real one this time.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The following silence left him with nothing. Even her reaction left Dogma in limbo.

Yen sat across from him, looking neither joyful or repulsed. Rather her expression looked for all the galaxy like he just spoke an unknown language. Her head tilted to the side, eyebrows pinched together and her eyes bore into his, and he was sure she was looking into his very core.

It was unsettling and invasive and had every hair on his body standing at attention. But just like that first night, he wanted it. He craved it. For all the discomfort, there was a pleasure in having her focus so intensely on him. On only him.

Dogma wanted her to see into his depths and keep looking at him like he was someone worth seeing.

Finally, her voice shattered the silence, though it was softer than he had ever heard her, forcing him to lean in just to catch it. “You want to go on a date with me?”

He was sure the couple at the next table could hear him swallow, almost choking on his adrenaline as he nodded.

With a sigh, Yen leaned back into her chair before nodding as well. “Well, that changes things. Alright. I’ll need you to submit an official letter stating you’re terminating your previous agreement with Right to Love.”

And just like that, cold reality came crashing down on him. He imagined this is what being sucked into space without a kit felt like. Dogma felt the cracks forming and redoubled his efforts to keep his posture and face from crumbling.

Then, like a dunk in a bacta tank, Yen grabbed onto his hands and held them across the table.

“No! No, Dogma, not like that!” Her eyes were shining and wide with more emotion than he’d ever seen. A weakness in her façade finally showing itself and he devoured it hungrily, possessively indulging on her desperation. “We need to formally end our professional relationship before I can agree to a second date.”

“Oh,” he said as if it were the simplest thing in the galaxy. It was all he was capable of as the panic and pain and anxiety drained from his body slowly, his brain struggling to keep up and accept what was happening.

“Yeah. Oh.” Yen laughed, squeezing his hands in hers. “I think we both came here with the same goal. Though my plan was a little more, shall we say, stealthy.”

“What do you mean?”

A twisted smile on her lips had his hard twisting itself to match. “I was going to officially transfer your management to a colleague, so when she recommended me as a match, it would be more … acceptable.”

“I didn’t realize not dating was a condition of your employment. Are you going to get in trouble for tonight?”

“No, not at all. It isn’t a condition, just frowned upon. It’s … just …” She pursed her lips, clearly struggling with her words and Dogma grew even more relaxed as he watched her. “It’s an ethical sticking point for me. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise, like I’d be taking advantage of you.”

The thought that she either would ever or could ever force him into anything forced a sharp bark of laughter from him as Dogma finally felt his trepidation melt away.  

It was strange, this new … lightness? Good, though. Very good. Dogma wasn’t sure how to describe the lack of fear, of feeling like it was constantly on the back foot. But he didn’t need to. He reveled in it regardless.

“Hey, don’t you laugh! I take my job seriously. And my grandmother would kill me if I didn’t uphold professional standards!”

“Don’t worry, then,” he said, still chuckling. “I’ll wait until your grandmother is comfortable with you going on a second date with a former client.”

His grin deepened as Yen’s mouth dropped open. Sitting back, she stared at him, shaking her head but never letting go of his hands. “Did … did you just tease me about having a reasonable boundary between my personal and professional lives?”

“Not at all. I think that’s perfectly reasonable. Very smart, in fact.” Emboldened, Dogma twisted his wrist to run the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m teasing you about using your grandmother to intimidate me into behaving.”

Yen laughed, a small, light thing that Dogma wanted to hear again. And again. He’d have to get that paperwork together as soon as he returned to the barracks.

“Well, that isn’t the only reason I need that letter, you know.”

“No?”

“I need it to delete your file officially. Don’t want any of my colleagues finding you a cute date to tempt you away.”

He lifted a hand to her cheek, cradling it gently. “You couldn’t even find someone who could tempt me into a second date. Your colleagues could search for a century and never find someone who could pull me away from you.”

A small hand cupped the back of his, holding it to Yen’s face as she turned to press the smallest kiss to his palm, sending a soul-deep shiver through Dogma that he didn’t even try to hide. Her smile unfurled against his skin and he realized he’d likely need to get used to that feeling with her.

“Walk me home?” she asked softly.

“It would be my honor.”

A/N: Date Night was my first planned multi-chapter story and the longest story that I have ever officially finished! While I wish I could have gotten this out sooner, I'm so thrilled I was able to close this chapter (literally!). I'll still write about Yen and Dogma in the future, but their origin AU is over.

My taglist sign up sheet is still broken (I AM SO SORRY but I'm gonna blame my husband. My tech skills are blowing on an N64 cartridge to make it work and he has an IT degree and he said he'd help me) so just message me if you want to be added.

@wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite @secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @freesia-writes @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations @sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @dhawerdaverd @mythical-illustrator

[tcwmatchmakingau]

The Captain

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: Rex meets the four year old daughter of the woman he met through Right to Love (@tcwmatchmakingau mentioned, but not part of) Warnings: None Word Count :1133 Graphic Header and Dividers by:@sunshinesdaydream (me)

Rex had let you go on about your daughter, Eryka. You had felt bad spending time on your dates going on about her.  But he had encouraged it, asking about how she was doing.  He remembered the things going on in her life just as he did yours.  

“Mesh’la, I knew from the start you have Eryka. She’s part of your life, and since I hope to be too, I also hope to be part of hers,” he told you two weeks in. 

About a month after you first met him through the Right to Love matchmaking service, you had decided that it was time for the two of them to meet.  

Rather past time. The whole point in the matchmaking service was to find the right long term partner. So you asked him to meet the two of you for dinner. Unfortunately he was sent on an emergency deployment the next morning.

So you used the time he was gone to tell your four year old about Rex. Immediately it was the same thing the other way around.  She had pouted when you had insisted she wait and meet him in person instead of over holocall. You also didn’t tell her that he agreed that they should wait for an in person introduction.  

Now, when he was due to arrive any minute, you were just finishing her hair. “Mama? Can I call him Captain? Or do I call him Rex?”

“I think that is something you should ask him.  But which would you be most okay with?” you ask.

“Captain.  It's weird calling big people by their name unless I say mister first,” she answers, decisively. 

“I’m sure he will think that’s absolutely fine then,” you assure her. “But you can ask to be sure,”

“Okay,” she answers.  The chime sounded that he had gotten to your door and Eryka bolted out from under your hands faster than you could blink. 

“Can I open it?” Her hand reaches for the panel by the door. “He is only kind of a stranger because you know him, Mama,”  

“You can open the door for Rex, that’s fine,”  you sigh. 

With a grin she pushes the button and the door slid open. Face to face with each other they both pause. Then Rex took a knee, getting on her level. 

“Hello, Eryka, it’s nice to finally meet you” he says, offering his hand. 

You have to stifle a laugh when your precocious daughter responds in her best “tea party” manners. She reaches with her small hand to shake his and said, “Pleased to meet you sir, may I call you Captain?”

He gently takes her hand and shakes it. With a serious, but pleasant expression, he responds “If you would like,”

“Yes, please” She answers.

“When I was planetside on my last mission I found this in a shop. Thought you might like it,” Rex offers a white plush fathier. 

With that she breaks character. Eryka’s eyes went wide and she gasps. With a bright smile, he sets the stuffed animal in her arms. 

“Oh, thank you!” She squeals, hugging the toy close.

“You’re welcome,” Rex answers before getting to his feet. “And this is for your mom,” he hands you a small shimersilk pouch. Out of it tumbles a silvery charm bracelet with a crystal fathier charm. 

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” you breathe as he helps you with the clasp on your wrist. 

“Aren’t you going to give him a kiss, Mama? The princess in the stories gives the prince a kiss,” Eryka asks, causing both of you to freeze.  This was not something that had occurred to either of you to discuss.

“Oh! You’re being shy!” She covers her face with the stuffed animal and spins around to face the other way. “‘Kay, not looking!” Her voice is muffled. 

You bite your lip to prevent the giggle from escaping, and it was clear Rex was restraining his own laugh. You go up on your toes to give him a soft kiss. “Thank you, and welcome back,” you murmur. 

Rex leans in and gives you a firmer, longer lasting kiss.  “It’s good to be back, ner Cyare,” he answers. 

Eryka clears her throat dramatically and Rex grins at you before doing the same and saying, “Right, are we ready to go?”

Over dinner the two of them ask all the questions they had asked you and more. By the time you were eating dessert he had learned everything about her preschool and she knew the names of his closest brothers and enough about boloball that she asked him to teach her. 

As you made your way home Eryka was visibly wilting, swaying on her feet. You start to pick her up to carry her the rest of the way. But his hand is on your shoulder. “Allow me?” He asks. 

You nod in response and he addresses Eryka. “Ad’ika, is it okay if I carry you home? You look very tired.”

She reaches up for him and he scoops her up.  She immediately lays her head against him and you both thought she had passed out until she says, sleepily”Captain?”

“Yes, ad’ika?” He answers.

“What’s that word?” She mumbles. 

“It means little one in mando’a, a language my brothers and I speak,” he explains. 

Eryka’s head pops up immediately, clearly half asleep she says, “teach me, please?”

He laughs quietly, “of course, but another day,”

“Mmmkay,” she mumbles as she snuggled against him.  

Rex then took your hand with his free one, lacing his fingers with yours, and continued back to your apartment in quiet conversation with you. 

Once to your home he follows you to Eryka’s room. While you pulled a nightgown out of the drawer for her he laid her gently on her bed, cradling her head as if she was a newborn, and took her shoes off of her.   When you pull her dress off he has her nightgown ready to go on over her head, disturbing her as little as possible.  He waits next to you as you cover her with her blanket and quietly follows you out of the room. 

When you both are away from the door to her room he pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing his face to your neck.  You pull back just enough to capture his lips and give him a proper welcome home kiss. 

“Will you stay tonight?” you ask him.

“Can’t, have a post mission inspection tomorrow morning,” he strokes your cheek while he answers. “If you both want to meet me in the park tomorrow afternoon,”

“We can make dinner after,” you continue, smiling up at him. “Maybe you can stay then?”

Cradling your face in his hands, he gives you a gentle kiss, “Sounds like a good plan,”

Thanks for reading!

☀️Love & Wrecker Hugs☀️

Sunshine

Taglist:@sleepycreativewriter @523rdrebel @cloneloverrrrr @trappedinlimbo15 @merkitty49 @cdblake1565 @littlemissmanga @skywlker-sluvtt @the-bad-batch-baroness @padawancat97 @clonemedickix@dystopicjumpsuit@moonlightwarriorqueen@idontgetanysleep@littlemissmanga@starrylothcat@sinfulsalutations@anxiouspineapple99@clonemedickix@multi-fan-dom-madness@wolffegirlsunite@sev-on-kamino@dickarchivist@secondaryrealm @wings-and-beskar @captain-rexs-cyare @cw80831

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Thank you for your submission!

Of Frogs and Clones

Hardcase x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Liquid

Summary: It's the clone's last night in the barracks together as soldiers and Hardcase drinks a mysterious liquid from Jesse's duffle that turns him into a frog. With the help of his brothers and the Right To Love Matchmaking service, they work against the clock to find him "true love's kiss" and turn him back into a human.

Pairing: Hardcase x Fem!Reader

Characters: Hardcase, Jesse, Kix, Rex, Fives, Echo, Tup, Dogma

Tags & Warnings: matchmaking!au, fluff, humor, strange magic, clone shenanigans, unconventional love story, dialogue heavy

Word Count: 3.6k

Author's Note: My first entry for the @tcwmatchmakingau! This series is pure fun and ridiculousness. There's no angst, no hurt, no underlying themes, and no deep meanings. Only utter nonsense. Reader and RTL are not in the first chapter. I know I have other series to finish, but I needed to cross off another bingo square first 😅 As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Mystery

Chapter 1

The Clone Wars have finally drawn to a close, leaving the remaining clones in a precarious spot of facing the unknown civilian life before them. To aid in their assimilation, the senate passed legislation to give clones official citizenship status, government subsidized housing, a credit stipend, and help with job placement. Tonight is their last night sleeping in the barracks and as they pack their belongings and prepare for life outside of the GAR, things get a little hectic.

“What do you think it’s going to be like?” Jesse asks while pulling things out of his overstuffed duffle.

“Dunno,” Hardcase answers as he stares at the bunk above him, hands laced behind his head. His duffle doesn’t have much in it, so he finished packing a while ago.

“I bet it’s going to be fun,” Fives smiles while throwing his things haphazardly into his duffle. “No rules, no regulations, no chain of command.”

Echo stops folding his blacks and grimaces at the thought. “That sounds awful.”

“Lighten up,” Tup playfully punches Echo’s shoulder. “We can finally do whatever we want.”

“I’m with Echo,” Dogma adds. “A bunch of people doing whatever they want sounds chaotic. Where’s the order?”

“We make our own order,” Kix chimes in. “We follow the laws and do the right thing. Like we’ve always done.”

“What if we mess up?” Echo wonders, a twinge of apprehension in his voice. “I don’t want to be court-martialed on day one.”

“You can’t be court-martialed if you’re a civilian,” Fives chuckles. “But if you do mess up… Then Fox will get you!” Fives jumps on Echo’s back for dramatic effect.

Echo groans and pushes Fives off while the rest of the group laughs.

“As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine,” Jesse reassures.

Murmurs of agreements resound through the barracks and they resume organizing what little belongings they have.

Hardcase rolls onto his side and watches Jesse attempt to pack his duffle bag so that the zipper will close. He’s still unsure how Jesse accumulated so much junk over the past few years. The ARC has a souvenir from almost every planet he’s ever been on. Even after everyone else is done packing, Jesse is still sifting through his things, picking which ones to take with him and which ones to leave behind. He pulls out a bottle of green liquid and places it on the ground.

“What’s that?” Hardcase asks while pointing at the bottle.

“I’m not sure,” Jesse answers. He picks up the bottle and inspects it for a second before setting it back down. “It was given to me by a local at the beginning of the war. I must have forgotten about it.”

“Is it alcohol?” Hardcase asks curiously. He sits up in his bunk and grabs the bottle off the floor, tilting it from side to side to watch the strange liquid slosh around.

“Maybe,” Jesse shrugs. “I couldn’t understand the local language and I never opened it to try it.”

Hardcase wonders what it could be as he continues to turn the bottle in different directions, completely mesmerized by its shimmering contents. “Can I drink it?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jesse says.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kix warns. He swipes the bottle from Hardcase’s hands.

“Hey,” Hardcase pouts. He sits back down on his bunk and crosses his arms. “That’s mine.”

“Technically–”

“You don’t know what’s in it,” Kix interrupts Jesse’s rebuttal to give a warning. “It could be poisonous.”

“We won’t know that unless we try it,” Hardcase argues.

“Listen,” Kix sighs. “We’re one night away from being free men. I’m not going to let a bottle of suspicious liquid ruin that for you.”

“Isn’t that my choice now?” Hardcase questions.

“Not until 05:00,” Rex chimes in. Upon hearing their captain's voice, all of the Torrent Company stops what they’re doing and stands to attention.

In preparation for their official discharge from the GAR, Rex spent the entire day with the senate and a specialized CCL (civilian clone liaison) to make sure that his men’s transition was taken care of and that it would be as smooth as possible. He meticulously worked each clone’s case with the CCL to approve their housing, their new identichips, and their credit stipends. It was an exhausting process, but his signature was required on every form in the assimilation packets.

“At ease men,” Rex says.

“So,” Fives begins with anticipation. “What’s the word?”

Rex smiles and reveals a stack of identichips. “It’s official.”

Rex walks around to each one of his men and hands them their new identichip. The clones take them eagerly and marvel with wonder at the digital cards with their chosen names and faces inscribed on them. Not a CT number in sight. The excitement in the room is almost too much for the clones to contain. Whispers and wide-eyes turn into hollers, whoops, and hugs. They’re now official citizens of Coruscant and have the same rights as any other citizen.

“Settle down and listen up!” Rex exclaims. “These identichips are your key to life. Do not lose them. They will go into effect at 05:00 tomorrow morning, so until then, you are still under my command.”

The clones stop their chatter and nod their heads in understanding.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be free men,” he starts, “and I will no longer be your captain, but your friend. You’ll be able to make your own choices, live your own lives, and decide your own destinies.” Rex pauses and shifts his weight. “Help each other, help others, and be good citizens.” Rex pauses one more time, his voice wavering with emotion. “It truly has been an honor to serve alongside the finest men in the galaxy.”

The barrack of clones erupts with the sound of clapping and whistling. Rex takes in the moment before he puts up his hand to quiet the men and pull out his data-pad.

“A couple more things,” he begins while scrolling through a list. “Housing assignments have been allocated and your new addresses can be found on your identichips. The apartments are fully furnished, but you’ll have to buy your own clothes, food, and any extra comforts. Credit stipends will be automatically deposited monthly into your bank account until you gain employment. You can keep your armor, but they have asked that you not wear it in public. You are also allowed to own a single DC-17 hand blaster, but it must be registered with the Coruscant Police and tied to your identichips. Any questions?”

Hardcase raises his hand, a look of concern painting his face. “So, I can’t keep my Z-6?”

“No, you can’t,” Rex answers. “Anything that was considered infantry or heavy weaponry cannot be owned by civilians and must be turned in to the Coruscant Police. It was difficult enough to convince them to let us keep a single hand blaster.”

Hardcase plops onto his bunk and crosses his arms while grumbling to himself. That Z-6 was his best friend during the war and now he has to give it up. It really is a shame.

“Any other questions?” Rex asks as he scans the room. “Alright then. Get a good night's sleep and I’ll touch base with you in the morning.”

As Rex leaves the barracks, more chatter erupts amongst the clones. They are both excited and nervous to get their new lives started. The jitters are evident and no one is sure they can actually sleep tonight. They’re like children on Christmas Eve, wanting to stay up late and wait for their presents to arrive instead of sleeping. The anticipation is too much to contain. However, once curfew rolls around, the clones have to turn out the lights and at least try to go to sleep.

The clones all nestle into their bunks for one last night and fall into dreams of what their new lives will be like. Well, everyone that is except for Hardcase. He’s lying awake, staring up at the bunk above him and feeling restless. He’s still thinking about that bottle of green liquid Kix took away from him. He’s not sure what it is about that mysterious bottle that has him so enraptured. Maybe it’s the color, or the way the liquid moves from one end of the glass bottle to the other.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Hardcase decides he wants the bottle back. He waits a couple of hours, and when he hears some of his brothers snoring, he quietly gets out of his bunk and meanders his way to Kix’s bunk. Kix is sleeping on his stomach, one hand under his shirt and the other stretched out over his pillow, with his leg hanging off the side with the blanket falling off. Hardcase shakes his head. He’ll never understand how Kix finds that sleeping position comfortable.

He waves his hand near Kix’s face, checking to make sure he is asleep, then crouches down to look through his duffle. He quietly rummages around, being careful not to knock anything too far out of place, and eventually finds the little glass bottle of green liquid under a pack of gauze. He picks it up, smiles, and admires the bottle like it’s a precious jewel. He puts Kix’s duffle back together, brings the bottle back to his bunk, then looks around to make sure no one saw him.

Once he knows he’s alone and the only one awake, Hardcase pulls the cork off the top of the bottle and it makes a loud popping sound. He winces at the unexpected noise as it echoes through the barracks, then looks around to make sure no one woke up. He relaxes his shoulders and sighs when no one stirs. He looks into the glass bottle and swishes the green liquid around. It’s a shame to drink it when it’s so pretty, but he has to know what it tastes like.

“Bottoms up,” he whispers to himself. He knocks the drink back like a shot and swallows. His face scrunches at the bitter aftertaste and he makes an audible noise of disgust. “Yuck! Definitely not alcohol.”

Disappointed in the gross tasting drink, Hardcase flops back onto his bunk and sighs. He doesn’t feel any different, so it’s probably not poison. If he had to venture a guess, it’s probably some type of tribal medicine native to the planet Jesse got it from. Medicine is the only thing he’s ever tasted that matches that level of bitterness, and he hates medicine. He shutters at the residual taste in the back of his throat, then tucks himself into his bunk to finally go to sleep.

As dawn breaks and the light of the morning peeks into the barracks, Jesse stirs in his bunk. He stretches his limbs and yawns while sitting up, then breathes a contented sigh when he remembers that today is the day he’s a free man. He looks around the sunlit room and sees the rest of the clones stirring as their internal alarm clocks activate. Excited to get moving, he slides down the back ladder of the bunk, his bare feet hitting the barrack’s cold floor with a dull thud.

Jesse looks at Hardcase’s bunk, which sits right beneath his, but his brother is not in it. “Has anyone seen Hardcase?”

“Not since lights out,” Echo answers while stretching his arms.

“I haven’t seen him either,” Tup yawns.

“Got me,” Kix shrugs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fives catches the blanket on Hardcase’s bunk move. “Did anyone else see that?”

“See what?” Dogma asks while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Fives stares at the blanket and watches it move again. He points his finger at the lump in the center. “That!”

“What do you think it is?” Jesse asks as he moves to stand next to Fives.

“I don’t know,” Fives tilts his head to the side as he thinks.

“Only one way to find out,” Echo says as he grabs the corner of the blanket and rips it off, revealing what is underneath.

“It’s a… frog?” Kix raises an eyebrow at Fives.

“Don’t look at me!” Fives puts up his hands in defense. “I didn’t put it there.”

“Guys, it’s me,” a voice says.

The group of clones whip around looking for the source of the voice.

“That sounds like Hardcase,” Jesse says. “But I don’t see him.”

“Down here,” the voice says.

Tup crouches down on the ground and looks under the bunk, but there’s no one there.

“Too far,” the voice says. “On the bunk.”

Tup slowly peeks up from his crouched position and looks at the frog sitting on the bunk. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Hey,” the frog says.

“Ah!” Tup startles and crashes backwards into the adjacent bunk. “That frog just talked!”

Dogma rolls his eyes. “Frogs don’t talk.”

“I'm telling you that frog talked,” Tup argues.

Jesse snorts. “Tup, I think you’ve lost a few marbles.”

“You're the one who’s lost his marbles,” the frog says as it jumps from the bunk onto Jesse’s arm.

“Ah!” Jesse jerks and flings the frog off his arm.

“Catch it!” Tup yells.

Kix catches the frog in his hands and examines it curiously. It looks like a regular bullfrog to him. Mottled olive-green mucus-covered skin, a dull-yellow belly, raised eyes, short little forelegs, and long-webbed hind legs. The only strange thing about this bullfrog is the blue lines going down the left side of its body. He’s never seen a bullfrog with blue stripes before, but then again, he doesn’t claim to be an expert in frog species. Kix brings the frog closer to his face to look at the lines.

“Hi Kix,” the frog says.

Kix startles and opens his hands, dropping the talking frog onto the floor of the barracks.

“Hey!” the frog says. “Watch it!”

Fives kneels down in front of the frog. “Hardcase?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Hardcase sighs.

“You’re a frog!” Fives exclaims as he picks him up.

“I noticed,” Hardcase says.

“How is that even possible?” Echo questions in bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” Hardcase says. “I just woke up like this. I had a heck of a time trying to find my way out of that blanket though. Thanks.”

“Kix?” Dogma looks at the shocked medic for an explanation.

“Don’t ask me,” Kix raises his hands. “There’s nothing in the medical texts about clones turning into frogs.”

Jesse looks at the frog, that is Hardcase, and narrows his eyes. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean, ‘what did I do’?” Hardcase retorts as he jumps from Fives’ hands to Jesse’s.

Jesse cups his hands together to catch Hardcase. “Kix is right, clones don’t just turn into frogs,” he says. "What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Hardcase shouts. “I just woke up like this. I’m as lost as you are!”

Kix gets curious and looks around Hardcase’s bunk area. He rifles through his duffle bag and grabs the empty bottle. He takes a deep breath, straightens up, and crosses his arms. “You drank it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hardcase chuckles nervously. “I forgot about that.”

Kix grabs Hardcase out of Jesse’s hands, encircling his fingers around Hardcase’s stomach as his long hind legs dangle down freely. He brings Hardcase’s little frog face close to his. “You idiot!"

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” Hardcase argues as he squirms to escape Kix’s grasp.

Kix closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with his free hand. “If you would've waited one rotation, I could have done an analysis!”

“Oops,” Hardcase says.

“Oops?” Kix scowls. “That’s all you have to say for yourself, oops? You’re a kriffing frog!”

Hardcase tries to roll his eyes, then spits out his tongue and whacks Kix’s nose to shut him up.

Kix scrunches his face in disgust, pulls Hardcase away, and places him back in Jesse’s hands.

“He’s your problem now,” Kix says as he wipes the slime off of his nose.

“Me?” Jesse protests as he looks between Hardcase and Kix. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“I don’t know,” Kix says. “Figure it out.”

“Can someone please explain to me what is going on?” Dogma asks in confusion. “I’m so lost.”

“Hardcase drank some weird liquid and it turned him into a frog,” Fives recounts.

Dogma takes a moment to digest Fives’ words. “You’re joking, right?”

“Wait!” Tup interjects. “I’ve heard about this before.”

Everyone turns to look at Tup. “You have?” the group asks in unison.

“Yes!” Tup says. “I read it in a holo-book once.”

“Since when do you read?” Dogma asks with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you read before.”

Tup shoots Dogma an unamused look. “I did when I was a cadet.”

“So, what did the holo-book say?” Jesse eagerly asks.

Tup thinks for a moment. “There were a couple different stories. I can’t remember if this is the one where he’ll turn into a pumpkin at midnight or fall asleep and never wake up. Either way he needs a true love’s kiss to turn him back into a human.”

Silence fills the room.

“Jesse?” Hardcase asks while looking up at him.

“Yes,” Jesse answers while looking down at him.

“I don’t like squash,” Hardcase says.

Jesse sighs. “Then we’ll hope for the ‘sleep and never wake up’ one.”

Hardcase turns to face Tup. “So, if I get a girl to kiss me, I’ll turn back into a man?”

“According to the stories,” Tup explains. “Except it can’t be any random kiss. It has to be a true love’s kiss.”

“What’s the difference?” Hardcase asks.

Tup knits his eyebrows. “Not really sure to be honest.”

“Amateurs,” Fives says. “True love is when you love someone more than anyone else.”

“Oh,” Hardcase says. “I still don’t get it.”

Fives sighs. “You need to get a girl to fall in love with you.”

“In three days!” Tup interjects.

Fives nods his head. “Yes, in three day– Wait, what?”

“I think,” Tup says. “That might have been the seafoam story.”

“Can we focus on the frog story please?” Jesse says with exasperation.

“Does it really matter?” Hardcase asks. 

“Yes, it matters!” Jesse exclaims. “We don’t need you dying on us!”

The room goes silent at the words that everyone is thinking, but no one wants to say. As funny as the situation is, they really have no idea what will happen to him and it has them all worried. They're finally free men, but that freedom won’t mean much if one of them is missing from it. They can’t replace Hardcase and they don’t want to think about enjoying their new lives without him. Regardless of how dumb his action was, they all need to work together to try and save him.

“I think we should tell Rex,” Echo says. “Maybe he can–”

“Maybe he can do what?” Dogma interjects. “Look it up in a reg manual?”

Echo huffs. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“And we appreciate it,” Kix places a hand on Echo’s shoulder. “I agree with him. The next course of action is to tell Rex and then work together to turn him back to normal.”

As Kix finishes his sentence, Rex enters the barracks. The group of clones mumble amongst themselves on how they’ll break the news to their captain that one of his men is no longer a man, but a frog. It sounds like a joke, and maybe it is, but this is their reality at the moment and lying is not an option. They think about hiding Hardcase and telling Rex at a later time, but they can’t come up with a good excuse as to why he isn’t in the barracks and where he is.

“Morning,” Rex happily greets the clones with a smile.

Jesse hides Hardcase behind his back.

“Morning, captain,” Kix says.

Rex chuckles. “It’s just Rex now.”

“Oh, right,” Kix rubs his neck in embarrassment. “That’s gonna be an adjustment.”

“Are you boys ready to check out your new home?” Rex asks with excitement.

The room stays silent.

Rex furrows his brows. “Don’t everyone jump up at once…”

The room is still silent.

Rex puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, spit it out. What’s going on?”

“We have a slight problem,” Fives says.

Rex sighs. “What did you do this time?”

“It wasn’t Fives,” Echo answers quickly.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Rex mumbles under his breath. “Then what is it?”

Jesse brings his hands around from his back to show Rex the frog.

Rex is confused. “Okay… It’s a frog. I don’t get it.”

“Hi Rex,” Hardcase says.

Rex jumps. “Kriffing stars! Did that thing just talk?”

“That thing,” Kix begins, “is Hardcase.”

“What?!” Rex asks, his mouth hung open in shock.

The group of clones explain to Rex the events leading up to this point. Rex listens intently, but maintains a bewildered expression on his face. He’s not surprised at Hardcase’s actions, but he’s not once in his life ever heard of a man changing into a frog. He wonders if the green bottle of liquid was some kind of magic potion. Unfortunately, Jesse can’t remember which planet it came from, so researching it is out. Rex ends up agreeing with the only other option, true love’s kiss.

“First things first,” Rex starts. “Let’s get moved out of the barracks and into our new apartments. Then we can strategize a plan of attack.”

The group of clones nod in agreement and disperse to grab their belongings. Jesse puts Hardcase down on his bunk while he grabs his things.

“Oh, and Hardcase,” Rex squats down to look Hardcase in his little frog eyes. “Don’t get squashed in the meantime.”

“Yes, sir,” Hardcase sighs.

Chapter 1

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @nahoney22 @kixs-husband @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @starrrgazingbunny @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @mooncommlink @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @novas-daydreaming

Join my taglist HERE

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Old Flames

Prompt : What if Fives somehow matched with an old fling he had feelings for early in the war and they rekindle that old romance?

Pairing : Fives x Female OC

Rating : NFM

Word Count : 4,985  sorry :/

Content Warnings : Mention of death. Swearing. Sexual innuendo. Otherwise fluff and a bit of angst

The music was in a minor key and pumping, just the way Veera liked it. She loved to dance and her music loud but feeling a little self-conscious, (she was slightly older than the average patron), she kept to a darker corner of the dance floor. She’d not been to this club before but had already decided she would return, especially if this DJ was appearing… just, not on a night like tonight. Speed dating was on in the room next door and she’d come to support a work colleague who’d wanted company to be on the safe side. But that had worked to her own advantage, as she had arranged to meet a date of her own here. Veera had bitten the bullet! After a failed relationship with a clone officer, she’d decided to enlist the help of RTL Matchmaking, an agency dedicated to clones. Veera had always preferred letting nature take its course, so to enlist the help of an agency to speed up the process of finding a partner, went right against her grain. At least they were a not-for-profit! It took a hell of a lot for her to submit but the man she’d lost was going to take some beating, no standard fellow would cut it, she wanted to meet another clone but with an aversion to 79’s, she knew she needed professional help.

The first round of ‘speeding’ had finished and contenders were now hitting the main room, most of them remaining in their ‘chat up’ frame of mind. Veera’s friend was in round two, so she had another good hour of meat market diplomacy to contend with. Still, she was grateful for any chance to go out. One week shy of the Battle of Geonosis and the start of the war, Veera had found herself a short-term detainee in Coruscant’s immigration detention. She’d been deported from Raxus, accused of ‘Pro-Republic Views’. It wasn’t as black and white as that though, Veera was more a conscientious objector and had made some political comments that angered her regional governor, a man of dubious character. A deal had been struck that saw Veera and her university colleagues released from a labour camp but deported, “To their obviously preferred home world,” as punishment. Needless to say, being from a Separatist world during the height of the conflict meant life hadn’t been easy on Coruscant.

But now, Palpatine was dead, the war was over and Veera had freedom! She could be with whomever she wanted and go wherever she wanted and right now, she wanted to go to the bar! She ordered two bottles of water, downed one on the spot and thought to hell with it, “A morning concoction too, please!”

She’d barely finished her first sip when some boy saddled up to her, attempting a vulgar chat up line. The bartender heard and locked eyes with Veera, waiting to see her response and her first thought was to verbally bite a great chunk out of the lad but she restrained herself.

“I’m seeing someone,” she told him short and sweet. Tucking her bottled water under her arm, she took her drink in hand and moved to slip away.

“Are they here tonight though?” he followed up.

Veera just inhaled and walked away to find a table, concentrating solely on not spilling her drink as she watched the liquid swirling close to the rim of the glass. She thought a quick sip would lessen the chance of any spillage but didn’t see the group of animated young men advancing towards the bar and they were too busy talking to see her. It was an accident waiting to happen and sure enough, one ploughed straight into her! Next thing Veera knew, other than a hefty jolt, was caf and vodka up her nose and her water bottle hitting the floor. Swiftly registering that even more of her drink was dribbling over her mouth like a horseshoe moustache, she feigned looking for her bottle whilst quickly wiping her chin. One of the men had already retrieved it and was passing it to her with a, “Miss, your water.”

She was taken aback to realise he was a clone. It was then she realised another of the group had grabbed her hand to steady her drink, thus preventing any further disaster. Looking up at him with admittedly a little trepidation, to both apologise and thank him, she froze! She could tell by his expression that he too was doing a double take. But that goatee and tattoo, it was definitely him. She gasped for air.

“Fives!”

“Veera?”

Panic set in and her eyes darted around the club, “Fives, you’ll get into trouble!”

“Veera, the war’s over. I doubt we have to worry about that anymore.”

His comment brought her back to the here and now and she realised to her embarrassment she was on the cusp of hyperventilating. He had taken her other hand as well while the boys with him were looking at them in total confusion.

“I was never what they said I was,” she blurted out, surprising herself even.

“Hey cyar’rika, I never thought you were.”

It took a moment for his words to register and he looked at her with such a deep empathy she was transfixed.

“Um, this is awkward,” he continued. He gave her hand a tiny squeeze before letting go, “I’m actually here to meet someone. I don’t want to be rude but I’m about to be late.”

“Oh! That’s ok,” she swiftly answered. “I um, sorry to hold you up, I didn’t spill anything on you did I? Best let you go then. I’m supposed to be meeting someone as well anyway, so er –“

“Yeah well, uh, it would be nice to see you again… might even catch you before I leave tonight, if my plans don’t work out?”

“Sure, maybe later then…. unless you were here to meet with a Jane Doe to begin with?” she said jokingly. It was the name oddly given by RTL to identify herself to her match.

His mouth gaped, “Were you told to meet up with a John Doe?” he asked suspiciously.

Now Veera stood stunned, “Did you get that name from RTL?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“You’re John Doe?”

“Yeah, and you’re Jane Doe?”

“Yes!”

The lads were watching their conversation toing and froing as if watching a null-racket match.

“They matched us!” Veera stated.

“Looks like it,” he laughed a little. “Wow!”

“Yeah, wow! …Oh, well er… now I know why they gave us pseudonyms.”

“Yeah, bet they’re sitting in their office looking at their chronos thinking, any…minute…now!” Fives joked.

They took each other in for a moment before Fives clapped his hands together and turned to his junior clones.

“Ok gentlemen, it would appear I’ve stumbled across my date. You can all go now and sign up to the speed dating. We’ve got some serious catching up to do.” And with that, Fives led Veera to a table, sat her down first then joined next to her.

“I have to admit I’m staggered!” said Veera, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

“Me too…although, I wanted to see you again.”

“As did I but –” Veera let out a big sigh. “When RTL interviewed you, did you tell them about –?“

“Yeah, I did,” he preempted her words, “You?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “So, where do we start?”

Fives huffed in acknowledgement they’d have a bit to get through. “How about er… where do you work?” he teased.

Veera saw the funny side of his hackneyed first-date question, “Same hospital but I’ve moved to the ED, which I’d wanted all along. What about you, you’re out of armour, still an ARC with the Five-o-First?”

“Yes, although thinking of applying for an instructor’s position. It comes with a promotion.”

“Really? You’d be good at that that…. I’d like for you to get a promotion.” Veera then nodded at the lads who had come with Fives, “So, no Echo, although I’d dare say this wouldn’t be his scene, how is he?”

Fives paused and momentarily drew on the tabletop with his finger, “Actually, we lost him over a year ago, killed in action.”

Veera’s heart sank, “Fives! I am so sorry.” She instinctively reached out to hold Fives by the hand, “That wasn’t very smart of me, I didn’t think, I am so sorry.”

Fives placed his other hand on Veera’s to fully envelope hers but couldn’t bring himself to look at her, “It’s alright, time heals as they say.”

“Hmm, they say.” Veera brought her other hand into the mix and they silently sat holding each other.

“You know,” he said, turning to look at her, “it happened only about a week after we deployed.”

“So soon after I met you both!” It deeply unnerved Veera to think that on meeting Echo, his days were already numbered.

“And about two days after I was ordered to not see you again.”

Veera was silently registering his despondency when he scoffed, “The irony still gets me, only Echo could console me after losing you, then I would’ve given anything for you to console me after losing Echo.”

Fives was staring blankly at their hands watching his thumb slowly caresses her when he realised Veera was letting go to scoop him up in a hug and Force, he hadn’t realised how much he needed the gesture.

“I’m sorry. I thought Echo was such a lovely fellow.”

“Huh, you might not say that when I tell you he told me to dump you like a hot kebroot! He did a very good job of talking me out of wanting to defy my orders.”

Veera laughed as she sat back. “Oh, did he now?” she said with a knowing smile. “Guess I can’t blame him after what they probably said about me. Ultimately he was looking out for you. Bless him!” She raised her glass in a toast and took a sip of its remnants, offering Fives the rest. He took it and raised it in return.

“Yeah, good ol’ Echo,” he toasted, and then finished off her drink. He laughed to himself as he put the glass down with a faint sniff, “He was filthy on finding out you were Raxian.”

Veera wasn’t prepared for how much that would hit a nerve, “He wasn’t alone on that front.”

“Sorry, put my foot in it, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” But as he lent on the table his memories kept swirling around in his head and it ended up too much for him, finally turning to face Veera and spitting out, “What in Sith’s Hell was going on?”

Veera retracted a little at his gesture and he was quick to apologise, taking her hand again and holding it firmly in both his. “I’m sorry it’s just, it drove me nuts, even after all this time it would crop up to bug me…. It couldn’t have been too bad or they wouldn’t have let you join a clone matchmaking service.”

Veera couldn’t help acknowledge his logic with a slight laugh.

“I’ll talk officer,” she joked, raising her hands in surrender, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know but I’m gonna need a drink while I’m at it.”

“I do want to know,” said Fives decidedly, “I do… Let’s get something.”

He turned the switch for the holo-menu on their table and they lent in to see what was on offer. Despite the uncertainty of what he would learn, he felt a pleasant familiarity being next to Veera and he hoped she felt the same, so close together their arms almost touching, and as they finalised their choices he’d sneak a look here and there, the length of her eye-lashes, the straight line of her nose and her cheek bones, or more so the plump bit right at the top, he was sure the girls would have a name for it when doing their makeup but he knew it as the part he loved to brush his thumbs over, if he could just hold her face in his hands. Force, he’d forgotten just how captivating she was.

“Oh let’s get both bottles!” she said.

“What?” he snapped back to paying attention, “Two bottles of wine?”

“Why not? The war’s over and we should live it up - they matched us up for a reason! Our friends can help with any leftovers.”

“Oh mesh’la.” He smiled at her and hit the order button with conviction. Turning to face Veera, Fives sat with one arm resting on the table, the other on the back of his chair and in a tone that hinted he was accustomed to giving orders, said short and sharp, “Ok then, from the beginning!”  

Veera sighed deeply and made herself comfy in her chair.

“Before you lads got rec leave and we were looking after Wolffe in our hospital, I’d worked out that somebody was going through my apartment messing it up, as if toying with me. I was convinced the politician that got me deported had hired Raxian goons to intimidate me.”

Fives was taken aback.

“I reported it to the police and told Wolffe and my uncle, you remember he was Wolffe’s surgeon, during one of Wolffe’s check-ups, that’s when he started helping me out with bug detectors and the like. He knew I was from Raxus, he’d read my dossier but still, he was taking a bit of risk with me being a new arrival. What we didn’t know then, was that Homeworld were also going through my flat.”

“What? I thought they were just watching your place, not going through it.”

“Turns out they’d been watching the Raxians going into my joint so assumed I ran some safe house. Homeworld would go in and rifle around after the Raxians had been in.”

Fives nodded to hold off as their waiter arrived with their order. He then did the honours and poured Veera a glass of wine whilst she decided on something to eat from their mixed platters.

“So,” he continued, taking some food for himself, “you had two groups routinely rifling through your apartment.”

“Yes, then you clones got granted rec leave and Wolffe arranged that One-o-Fourth party at 79’s to thank our ward staff.”

“The night me met,” Fives smiled and Veera couldn’t help smiling back.

“Yes and because Homeworld were watching my place, they’d seen Wolffe visit but then saw me come home with you after our date.”

“And from that they accused you of entrapment?” Fives shook his head and helped himself again to the platter. “Did they not realise all I scored that night was a caf and data pad full of legal documents to read while you got changed for your night shift?” he playfully bemoaned.

Veera shrugged, “Bureaucrats, maybe getting invited in for caf and to read someone’s data pad is their idea of sexy.”

Fives laughed out loud.

“No, hang on!” Veera remembered, “You got a kiss when you later dropped me off at the hospital so you can’t complain!”

“I’ll complain I only got the one,” he said with a wink and a sip of his wine. He was pretty certain she’d blushed at that.

“Anyway,” she stalled to recover, “a few nights later, Wolffe visited and crashed on the couch while I went to work. They actually broke in that night and he caught one of them.”

“For real? Go Wolffie!”

“He then arranged a meeting with Fox for information on who he’d caught but it turned out he caught a Homeworld agent. That’s how we found out their involvement.”  

“No way!” Fives laughed, “Incompetent lot.”

“Yeah, I have my opinions, anyhow, Wolffe’s meeting with Fox was then interrupted by Homeworld. Wolffe was told you and he were getting orders to sever contact but Fox argued it would be better if Wolffe stayed in touch as an informant.”

Fives paused for a few minutes to absorb the latest bit of information. “Hmm, so Wolffe go to stay onboard yet I was thrown overboard? Crafty bastard that Fox. It’s not for nothing he’s called that.”

Veera shifted a little uncomfortably.

“And Wolffe started informing on you?” said Fives surprised and with a little shake of his head, picked over the platters again and Veera joined him. “How did you find that out?”

“Let’s just say Wolffe told me without telling me, if you catch my drift. He thankfully didn’t believe them and disagreed with what they were doing, so, hell of a risk on his behalf!”

“It was either very trusting or foolish of him.”

“Since when have you known him to be foolish?” Veera was feeling a little pressured and pulled the menu up to order some more water. “Look a lot happened in the hospital and Wolffe came to trust me. I just can’t tell you what because that would be a breach of client confidentiality.”

Fives prickled. “And now the war’s over and we’re all friends again? That and or I take it they never found anything?”

“There never was anything.” Veera said pointedly.

“Well, not that they could prove,” he teased.

“You’d better be bloody joking!”

“Mesh’la, I tease you too cruelly.” He picked up the wine bottle and topped up her glass as if a peace offering. She took a sip and continued.

“After Wolffe caught the Homeworld guy, I think they were a bit embarrassed so they stepped up their surveillance and finally caught one of the others. He admitted they’d been hired by someone off-world to harass me, there was nothing more to it.” And with one hand on her heart and the other raised to swear an oath, she added, “And that’s the truth!”

Fives lowered his eyes and bowed his head in acknowledgement of her declaration.

“Now, I want to know what happened to you,” she blurted out.

Fives lent back in his chair with his glass of wine and pulled a platter nearer for easier pickings. “Well, we flew out the morning after our date and I got commed to present to the captain’s office. Had to stand to attention whilst this Homeworld officer strutted up and down with his chest puffed out, telling me I’d been seen at your place. He asked me how long I’d known you, where and how did we meet, where had we been, what did we do there, was ours a romantic relationship and if so, how romantic? Surprised he didn’t ask for the length of my cock.”

Veera choked on her wine and tried to scold him but Fives just laughed for having caught her off guard, “Oh they all gag, cyar’rika.”

She eyed him with a look of disbelief, “Fives, you are shameless!”

He laughed some more, then confessed, “Sorry, had to let off steam, I still get angry at the thought of that shebs’palon.”

Veera gathered herself then added her two credits worth, “I’m surprisedyoudidn’t volunteer the information.”

“Oh but I told them in my RTL interview.”

“Fives!” she shook her head..

“Which is clearly why they matched us up!” he said with a grin that implied he was either happy or done something wrong, probably both.

“Fives!!!”

Veera buried her head in her hands.

“Ok, I’ll behave. Back to my interrogation. The best bit was when he asked me, as if he were springing it on me, if I knew you were from Raxus? His face was priceless when I said you’d told me upfront and let me read your court documents. That pleasure however was short lived. He screamed at me that they were fakes you used to trick people –”

“What?”

“–and that known Raxian operatives had been seen going to your flat so you clearly were up to no good. I was lucky not to be getting charged with fraternisation but if I did anything after his dressing down, I’d get treason!”

Veera stared at him wide-eyed and silently contemplated the unpleasantness of Fives’ encounter. “I knew from Wolffe they were saying entrapment but didn’t realise they threatened you with treason. That’s horrible!”

“It was downright scary. He then told me to visit the doxies if I wanted company, I was ropable.”

“I’m sorry Fives. I really shouldn’t have agreed to that date.”

“Oh cyar’rika, I understand I’m impossible to resist,”

“Oh Fives,” Veera rubbed her forehead, “You got the impossible bit right,” she teased, “and for the record, my documents aren’t fake!” Veera said indignantly.

“Oh I know. I was having a heart to heart with Skywalker a month later, he put in a request for evidence so I could get a copy from the courts which I read in full.”

“Oh! You did your research…. I’m impressed, in a back-handed compliment kinda way.”

“I wanted to get to the truth! Then all I wanted was to let you know I hadn’t ghosted you but I couldn’t work out how. Then, time just…” he shrugged, looked away and went back to leaning on the table.

Fives’ honesty and honey eyes had warmed Veera as he’d told her his story. She felt guilt for what he’d been through, getting threatened by Homeworld.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had ghosted me,” she finally said, “I gave you the notes to read for a reason. Wolffe told me what happened about two weeks after you deployed, said he didn’t want me thinking the worst of you.” She paused and inhaled deeply, “I was livid to learn I couldn’t see you again or explain anything.”

Silence followed as the two looked at each other with small expressions of hopelessness over the past. Then Fives swiftly moved in, cupping her face with both hands and kissed her. Veera found herself feeling a little surprised by his urgency but a cosiness soon took over and she felt suspended in time. His lips soft, his nose pressing into her cheek, warm. He moved gently, savouring the moment, making her feel she was going to melt entirely and needed to grasp onto him for dear life wherever her hands landed, as if that was going to save her from being rendered into a liquid on the floor. He pulled back to breathe but she kept her eyes closed, she didn’t want the feeling to evaporate.

“So you felt the same as me?”

He delicately pressed his forehead to hers as he spoke and Veera could barely whisper, “I did.”

She could clearly hear his breathing over the music.

“And now?” he asked.

“I’m so grateful for a second chance.”

He pushed his chair back a little further out of the light and pulled her up to straddle him. They sat compressing themselves together, behaving the best they could in a public space yet wanting to feel everything of the other, their kisses deep and sensuous.

Eventually they pulled back before things got out of hand but remained as seated, not breaking the hold their eyes had on each other for a long time, no words needing to be spoken. Then Veera laid against his chest and he gently held her. Feeling each other’s warmth they relished in the stillness.

“I want to take you home now,” he whispered.

“I want that too…but it’s rude to ditch our friends. Besides,” she said, sitting back up to look at him, “the wait will make it a thousand times sweeter.” She ran her hands through his hair and he looked at her as if to say you’re playing a dangerous game.

They were all flushed as they righted themselves back in their seats then topped up their glasses, sharing tidbits with each other from their platters.

But curiosity got the better of Fives, “Still can’t believe Wolffe was able to stay. Did you and he ever ….get together?”

Veera was caught totally off-guard.

“That look is admission enough,” he said with a faint, understanding smile. “Always thought he was keen on you.”

“How?”

“You didn’t see him looking down at us every five seconds at 79’s?”

Veera shook her head.

“Oh he was keeping an eye on us.”

Veera looked down at the table.

“I’m pissed he got to stay on while I got banished.”

“Well it’s not like he had any say in the matter, Homeworld ultimately made the decision and ordered him.”

Fives sat silently, finally nodding and screwing up his nose he drawled under his breath, “Still think Fox is a crafty bastard.” He poured himself another glass.

“Pour me one too please….and actually, they say it’s not proper to talk about an ex on a first date. Can we please not talk about Wolffe anymore, not today.

“Veera, forgive me, because I want to believe it was all unintended and we got caught up in the crossfire of war but because of you, I was threatened with charges of fraternisation and treason. That’s a hot date with a firing squad! It also tarnished my reputation with my seniors. I am well aware standard first date protocol means we discuss hobbies, art galleries and preferred pets but really, we are not on our first date and we have history, so I think I deserve some background knowledge if I’m to entertain this match-up any further.  The One-o-Fourth extracted us from our mission. He knew I’d lost Echo and he even told me he got the same orders as me so I’m very pissed to learn that wasn’t true and he got to stay with you. Dammit, we’d even been in 79’s together drinking in Echo’s memory and you knew nothing?”

Veera couldn’t tell if it were nausea or hurt she was feeling but she couldn’t have looked good because it made Fives

swiftly work to make amends.

“Mesh’la, I’m sorry, I’m sorry –“

“If you’re feeling pissed,” said Veera firmly, “I get it….but piss on Homeworld, not Wolffe. You know what I think? I think he chose not to tell me because he knew I was already very upset and the news of Echo would’ve crushed me. He also felt that if we didn’t talk of military matters, they’d have no evidence they could twist against me, or all three us for that matter. He knew I like you. He also knew I liked him but I was a mess. Yes, I was sweet on him before I met you but thought I’d read him all wrong. You asked me out first. If it’s any consolation, we both felt guilt that he got to stay and that I’d dated you and that you were taken out of my hands before the natural flow of things could take their course. Those issues gnawed at us constantly.”

Fives went quiet. He sat for a long while with his arms crossed, his thumb stroking his bottom lip. The sound of Veera sniffing snapped him out of his reflections.  She was dabbing her eyes and wiping her hands on her skirt when he took them in his and rested them on his knees.

“Forgive me, please? I don’t want any more sadness or hurt. I’m sorry.” He started sniffling himself. “Look, I can lay all my cards on the table and tell you about my exes and exploits but I went to RTL to find something serious. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would lead to a second chance with you! You knocked me out the park when I met you at 79’s. Then we dated and I thought wow, this girl’s unbelievable! No one since has ever made me laugh like you did, or made me think of them in awe. I’m so sorry I upset you.” He sniffed again and swallowed hard. The look of pleading on his face too much for Veera.

“Come here you,” she said and gently drew him towards her.

They kissed, slowly, simply, sniffled a bit in between then rested their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry too,” she said.

After a moment of regaining their calm she asked him, “Do you think they matched us cause they knew we needed to get this off our chests or cause we actually do match?”

Fives huffed a little laugh, “I’d like to think both.”

“You’re such a diplomat.”

Fives threw his head back laughing, “Me, a diplomat? Cyar’rika, you’ve been drinking,” he winked. “Oh I hope we don’t have to wait too much longer for the kids, I want to go home.”

The twinkle in his eye made Veera blush.

“You were going to take me out dancing, remember?”

“Hmm, fond memories of the night we met, another thing I couldn’t forget about you.”

Veera laughed, “You know the saying about dancing?”

Fives shook his head.

“The vertical expression of a horizontal desire, legalised by music.”

“Young lady!” he beamed.

“Come on hazard stripes! Let’s dance.”

“Hazard stripes? Oh  girl…you’ve been warned!”

Fives and Veera’ companions eventually emerged from their speed dating. Having agreed to look for them together, they finally spotted them on the dance floor but they weren’t dancing, rather leaning against a pillar, enfolded in each other’s arms.

“I’ve never seen him so….peaceful,” said one of the clones.

“Yeah, especially not with a lady!” another added.

Veera’s colleague asked them what they meant.

“Well, he’s usually so animated, like flirty and joshing with them –“

“Or all over them!”

The boys laughed heartily.

Veera’s colleague however looked at them, enamoured. “Well, all I can say is there must be something to this RTL Matchmaking lot cause look at them both, that’s pure tenderness right there. Think I might sign myself up.”

“Hey, what for?” exclaimed the first clone, “You’ve just met me!”

“Uh, uh, cheeky! I’ve just met all three of you. The agency would’ve narrowed it down to one for me, saving me a load of grief. Anyway, let’s go get a drink, we might be here a while.”

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Thank you for your submission!

A supplement to The Power of Love

Pairing: Hardcase x Reader (She/They-Uterus possessing?) AU: Right to Love Clone Matchmaking AU Rating: SFW Summary: Hardcase is a disaster when he witnesses an "my period came on early and hard while I slept" accident first hand. Content Warning: Mensuration and Period talk and confusion. Blood mention. Vague pregnancy mention. Clones and reader speak Mando'a badly because I can't language. Word Count: 1508

-Special thanks to @blueink-bluesoul for helping with the title.

-Credit for dividers goes to @freesia-writes and the clone trooper helmets @lornaka

-End graphic credit to @tcwmatchmakingau for the reward for completing a request.

-Title image by me

“Cyare, wake up” Hardcase’s insistent and panicked voice pulled you to wakefulness. “Cyare, don’t panic,”

Groggily you blink, him calling you beloved as opposed to babe usually indicated something was amiss.  “You mean like you are?” you ask, still groggy, moving to sit up.

“No, don’t move!” he says, stopping you.

Reality comes more into focus and multiple emotions slam into you as you feel an all too familiar sensation from the lower portion of your body.  Your period had decided not only to be several days early, but also to arrive in a more dramatic fashion this month.  

Annoyance at the mess, pain, and general grossness you felt during your period.  Additionally, deep embarrassment. Your relationship was four months along, and with some reassurance he had stayed at your apartment every night he was on planet and not on call.

 But he had somehow managed to be deployed or in some sort of training for each and every one you had since the beginning. And now here you were waking up in a puddle of blood, freaking your boyfriend out. 

Overall you felt the insane need to laugh. He wasn’t being serious, was he?

“Just stay still, I’m going to call the medics,” he says, urgently. He was serious.

“Love, no, wait,” You try to contain the laughter in your voice.

“You need medical attention, Cyare,” he insists. “And you need to stay still,”

“As much as I hate it, this is completely normal,”  You get up, wincing at the gush and sudden cramp as you sit up. 

“This can’t be normal,” he says. “I’m calling Kix,”

You can’t hold the laughter in anymore, you erupt into giggles. 

“Babe, this isn’t a laughing matter! You’re bleeding!!” He exclaims while he contacts his brother. 

“Kix, they're bleeding a lot and now they are hysterical,” you overhear his end of the conversation, making you laugh harder. 

You get a message from Kix, while Hardcase is harassing him. 

‘Started your period?’

‘Yup’

‘Must be a rough one if it’s an eighth of as bad as he’s making it to be,’

‘It’s not pleasant’

‘Middle of the kriffing night too, you doing okay?’

‘Yeah just you know early so kind of a mess’

‘I knew he wasn’t paying attention in that training. You okay with me taking this opportunity for a little payback?’

You laugh harder and answer ‘Please do’

‘Excellent!’

When you get up, Hardcase is still in the hall pleading with Kix. You strip the bed and throw the bloody bedding on the

fresher floor so you could add your pajamas to them before putting them in the washer. 

As you are getting in the shower when he returns to the bedroom.  

“Babe! Where’d you go? You shouldn’t be up,” he calls out, moving towards the bathroom and the sound of the shower. 

You start laughing again, doubled over and gasping in the ‘fresher between the laughing and the cramps.

His panic spikes again and he yanks the shower door open, stripping his sleep pants off and getting in. He wraps his  arms around you to hold you up.

“See, you should be laying down!” He says, as if your cramping plus giggle fit gasping meant you were on death’s doorstep. 

“What did Kix say?” You finally ask, calmed somewhat. 

“Something about I should have paid attention in his lecture. I’m not a medic,” he answers, ”That’s why I want to take you to one!”

Laughter takes you again. 

“Right,” he says,”you are going even if I have to carry you,”

“Don’t need to Babe, this happens all the time,” you answer.

“Not all the time, I would have noticed!” He says. 

“So far you have been on a mission or training. It’s just a couple days earlier than usual or there would have been less mess,” you answer. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest.  It was the middle of the night as far as you were concerned and the general malaise you got along with the cramps and headaches had set in. Even with him panicking it his solid presence was comforting.  

”Can you get me a glass of water?” as he steps out ahead of you, still holding your hand as if you were going to fall.

“You don’t need water, you need medical attention,” he insists, drying off and going to get it anyway. 

“I am fine!” You answer as he leaves the room, you can hear him making a call as he does. 

You are getting out of the shower you hear him on the com in the bedroom.

“No, Rex he refuses to help,” 

A moment later Hardcase burst into the fresher to check on you as you pulled clean pajamas on. 

“Babe, I really think…” he begins.

“I’m fine, really. It’s normal.  Why don’t you go for your run?”you suggest. 

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself!” He insists. “Will you atleast lay back down?”

“Gladly! Until I have to get ready for work,” you answer with a yawn. 

“You are not going to work in your condition!” He exclaims. “Kix wouldn’t let anything truly bad happen to you, but I can’t imagine how it can be this much and you shouldn’t need to be in bed!”

“Fine, let me message Watcher and get the heating pad,” you respond.  

“You lay down and send your message. I’ll get your heating pad,”Hardcase gestures to the freshly made bed, then picks up the dirty bedding, before heading towards the washer. 

You send the message to your co-manager, Watcher, that you won’t be in due to illness and you would tell him the story later.  You take some pain relievers, drinking the glass of water Hardcase had left on the nightstand. 

“Babe, I’m really worried,” he says, returning to the room and handing you the heating pad. 

“I know,” you answer, sleepily. “I’m fine, really.” 

He nods, face still crinkled with concern, and got into bed with you.  He wraps his arms around you as you lay your head on his chest, tucking the heating pad against your stomach. The scent of his skin and weight of his arms around you taking the edge off.

As you drift off you hear his com ping with the arrival of a file and feel him reach for his headphones on the nightstand.

You are vaguely aware, as you usually are, when he slips away to go on his morning run.  At least that’s what your nearly asleep mind assumed as he eased you off of him and settled you among the pillows and blankets with a kiss to the forehead like he usually did. 

The next time you wake it’s to Hardcase calling your name and scooping you up into his arms as he sat on the bed. Like usual this time of morning he smelled freshly of his soap. “Ner Cyare, there’s my bad ass sweetheart,” he says with a smile, before kissing you good morning. “Sorry I panicked,”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you say, as you lean your cheek against his shoulder. 

“Oh, that’s right!” He reached for a bottle on the nightstand. “Kix brought these by. He said to make sure you are hydrated too,” he handed you the cup of water and then a dose of the pain medicine. 

“You didn’t harass Kix too much, did you?” You ask. 

“Kix is fine, we went for a run and I stopped to get some breakfast for us,” he answered. “You want to have breakfast while we watch a holofilm?”

You nod against his shoulder, you really did feel miserable. Sure you powered through it every month and went to work.   But it didn’t mean it was pleasant in the slightest. 

He lifts you to carry you to the living room. 

“I can walk, I thought you talked to Kix,” you exclaim.

“Yeah, I’m only slightly less horrified. If I could make it to where you didn’t have to go through it I would,” he tells you. 

“No!” You almost yell, eyes widening, “no, no way”

You see him go pale, “Oh kriff no! It’s not what I meant! That’s even more terrifying,” he squeezes you closer. You snuggled into him. 

“Just, let me take care of you through it whenever I’m home,��� he says softly. 

Tears sprang to your eyes, you curse your overactive hormones. 

“You okay?” He asks, worry flooding his voice once more. 

You press your face into his neck, and nod. “Love you, ‘Case”

“Love you too, Babe” he whispers into your hair.

You answer the door to a delivery droid. You had just gotten out of the shower after work. Head aching with cramps that make you feel like you  are being stabbed. 

The droid unloads a case of your favorite fizzy water, chocolates, and a brightly colored bouquet into your hands before retreating to the lift.

Once back inside you took the note from the flowers. 

“Relax, I’ll bring dinner home!”

Years later he was still taking care of you. 

Tag list (Send a message, ask or use this form to join or be removed)

@lightwise @captainbutterflynonsense @sleepycreativewriter @523rdrebel @inneedoffanfics @cloneloverrrrr @trappedinlimbo15 @chubbyhedgehog @blueink-bluesoul @anoushe01 @cdblake1565 @littlemissmanga @skywlker-sluvtt @padawancat97 @clonemedickix @dystopicjumpsuit @moonlightwarriorqueen @idontgetanysleep @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @ailyr92 @anxiouspineapple99 @wizardofrozz

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Clone Matchmaker AU Weekly Roundup

Welcome to our weekly roundup! Below, you'll find a list of all the Clone Matchmaker AU fic submissions and reader requests/prompts we received in the last seven days. Roundups post on Fridays, and entries are listed in the order received. Submissions received after 9 PM Pacific time on Thursdays will be included in the next week's roundup.

Thank you to all of the talented writers who have so generously contributed their work! If you have a fic, a prompt, or an artwork you'd like to submit to our page, please check out our submission guidelines, and when you're ready, submit your fic!

See the full masterlist with all stories here!

This week's submissions

🍋 denotes mature content

"A Match for Mayday, Chapter 3," art by @nika6q; fic by @dystopicjumpsuit - Commander Mayday 🍋

"A Match for Mayday, Chapter 4," art by @nika6q; fic by @dystopicjumpsuit - Commander Mayday 🍋

This week's reader requests

What if fives somehow matched with an old fling he had feelings for early in the war and they rekindle that old romance?

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 4

Editor’s note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader 

Rating: M (18+ Minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; oral sex; irresponsible amounts of fluff; mentions of alcohol/hangovers; a little more smut; PIV; a happily-ever-after that will make your teeth hurt

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

You stumble backward into your cabin, tangled in Mayday's arms. His mouth is everywhere, trailing kisses across your skin, his beard teasing you almost to the point of oversensitivity, his tongue hot and slick against your neck, your shoulders, your chest. He nudges the control panel to close the door without ever removing his lovely, strong hands from your body, and you almost—almost—forgive him for being such a hot karking dumbass.

“You know,” you gasp as you fumble with his belt buckle, “it’s the biggest cliche in nuptial history for the best man and the maid of honor to sleep together the night before the wedding.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” he asks, unbuttoning his shirt with impressive speed.

“Just remember I still have to make it down the aisle tomorrow,” you reply as you finally get his trousers unbuttoned. “You’ll have to go easy enough that I can still walk.”

“No promises.” He yanks your dress off over your head and then stills abruptly as he gazes at you, his mouth falling open in awe. “Oh, kriff, I am such an idiot.”

You look at him a little uncertainly, hoping that he doesn’t regret this. 

“Nobody’s perfect,” you say with false bravado.

He trails his fingertips across your clavicles and down your chest, tracing the curve of your bra to the valley between your breasts, and then continues, following your sternum and lower down your body.

“Can’t say I agree,” he murmurs. “You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kisses you again, his fingers still drawing lovely, intricate patterns across your skin. You’re so distracted by the sensation that you don’t even notice him unhooking your bra until the band loosens and he slips the straps down your shoulders. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he cups your breasts in his large, strong hands. His skin is rough and calloused, but he touches you with aching gentleness. “I dreamed about this so many times. You’re so beautiful. More beautiful than I ever even imagined, all those times.”

Under his heated gaze, your skin feels as though fire chases just beneath the surface. He leans forward and rests his forehead on your shoulder, staring down your body. Desperate to feel him, you splay your hands across his broad, bare shoulders and up the back of his head, pressing soft kisses into his hair as his warm breath fans over your skin. He lowers his mouth to your skin and begins to explore your body with his mouth, kissing a path down your chest. As he does, he guides you gently backward until the backs of your knees collide with the mattress, and he holds you securely in his strong arms as he leans you back slowly onto it.

He follows closely, easing his body between your thighs. His lips close around your nipple, and you arch against him with a breathy moan as his tongue swirls over your sensitive skin. His hands roam over you, stroking, kneading, caressing. He moves slowly down your body, lighting up your nerves as his lips and tongue work across your skin, leaving a glistening, heated trail from your breasts to your pelvis.

He moves backward steadily, until he kneels on the floor next to the bed, and he carefully maneuvers your thighs to rest on his shoulders. Beginning at your knee, he kisses a lazy, meandering trail up the inside of your leg, until you are a whimpering, pleading mess. You roll your hips, trying to entice him closer to your center.

“Be patient,” he whispers, flattening a large hand over your lower belly and pressing you back down into the mattress.

“I’ve been waiting for weeks,” you gasp. “I’m all out of patience.”

He licks a long, leisurely line up the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis, teasing you relentlessly. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“No!” you reply. “I’m vindictive and horny, Mayday. I swear to the Force, if you don’t get that tongue in my pussy—”

He swirls his tongue over your clit and into your cunt without warning, and you let out an abrupt cry, cutting off your own words. He laughs quietly against you, the sound vibrating deliciously into your body, causing you to writhe and grind against his mouth. His hands tighten around your hips, and he holds you firmly in place as he feasts on you. He uses his entire mouth to bring you pleasure: lips, tongue, even teeth, as he sucks and kisses and licks and nibbles. 

He doesn’t allow you to move your hips at all, controlling your body with ease as he presses you to the bed. Faster than you think possible, you feel all of the muscles in your thighs and core begin to tense as Mayday pushes you ever closer to bliss. He slides one strong forearm across the top of your pelvis and clamps down as he begins to tease you with his free hand, tracing his fingertips over your entrance before sliding inside. He locates that perfect spot inside you, and he presses against it firmly, his clever mouth working your clit, driving the tension in your body higher and higher until you snap, convulsing against him as you come so hard your vision goes blank. 

You ride out your orgasm against his face as your thighs tighten around his head. He doesn’t release his forearm, holding your hips implacably in place, drawing out your climax until you fall back against the mattress, lungs heaving and body utterly drained. Mayday climbs onto the bed and pulls you into his arms, cradling your head against his chest.

“Did that make up for the past few weeks?” he asks.

“It’s a start,” you reply breathlessly.

“Then I suppose I’d better get back to it,” he says with a devilish smirk.

Luckily, the entire wedding party is far too hungover the next day to notice the slight awkwardness of your gait. They pile out of the shuttle with drawn, pinched faces, squinting against the cheerful sunshine of Nakadia. It is a glorious day, to Sunni’s immense disgust. You can’t resist needling her, just a little, as revenge for dragging you on a guided tour of Coruscant’s most crowded nightclubs.

“What a beautiful day!” you say in a voice that is just a hair too loud. “Incredible weather for a wedding.”

Sunni winces and mumbles indistinctly. Mayday shoots you a knowing look, then walks over to Hexx and pounds him enthusiastically on the back.

“Congratulations, Hexx old boy!”

Hexx sways alarmingly as a sheen of sweat breaks out across his skin. “Th��thank you, Commander.”

Fortunately, the wedding will not start for several hours, so there’s plenty of time for people to recover, whether by sleeping it off, indulging in a little hair of the voorpak, or in Brax’s case, a hurried trip to the refresher. Several liters of water, two mimosas, and four hours later, Sunni is back to her usual radiant self—or at least close enough to fool the droid in charge of her hair and makeup.

“I have seen worse,” it declares as it twists Sunni’s hair into a stunning work of art.

The ceremony is timed to coincide with the sunset, and as Hexx and Sunni exchange their vows against the vivid crimson backdrop, you meet Mayday’s eyes with a tiny smile, remembering his words from the day you’d met: We do what we can for them, but in the end, we have to trust them to know what they’re doing. Hexx and Sunni gaze at each other with naked adoration, and it occurs to you that yes, in fact, they do know exactly what they are doing, and they are going to be just fine.

The party begins at dusk and goes on until the small hours of morning, or so you gather. You don’t stay to witness all of the festivities. Instead, long after night has fallen, as the stars twinkle over the dancing guests, you and Mayday slip quietly away into the darkness and make your way back to the farmhouse.

“Your bed is way more comfortable than the one in my guest room,” Mayday observes as you push him into the mattress.

“And to think, you could have been enjoying it this whole time,” you tease, rolling your hips to take him deeper inside your body.

“Holy kriff, you feel amazing,” he pants. “You’re still mad about that?”

He pulls you closer and nuzzles his face against your breasts as they sway and bounce over him. His tongue flicks over your nipple and then draws it into his mouth, pulling a soft, delighted moan from you.

“By my count, you’ve only made me come five times so far,” you point out breathlessly. “That’s not even one for each week we’ve known each other.”

He grips your hips in his hands to steady you and abruptly flips you both over so he’s on top of you, cock still buried deep in your cunt.

“I suppose I’ll need to get those numbers up, then.”

The next day, after all the guests have departed, Mayday stays to help you clean up after the wedding. There is so much to do that he stays the next night as well, and the next. On the fourth night, you mention that the night-blooming macan flowers should begin to open soon.

“Never seen a macan flower,” he remarks casually. 

“They’re lovely. It would be a shame to miss it,” you reply.

Tragically, the macan flowers do not bloom that night, or the next, or the one after that. By the time they finally do, you both have stopped pretending. Mayday doesn’t have much in the way of personal belongings, so it’s a simple matter for him to move into the farmhouse. He fits seamlessly into your home, and by the time you realize you’ve fallen completely in love with him, you cannot imagine ever disentangling your life from his.

After Sunni’s wedding, word about your farm spreads quickly in the GAR. During the reception, you had overheard several guests discussing the beauty of the location, and more than one couple speculating about the possibility of celebrating their own wedding at your farm. Before long, you have a thriving side business as a clone-friendly wedding venue. Mayday was rendered fully speechless the first time a member of the 77th Heavy Brigade asked him to officiate their wedding. His reactions improved after that, but he still hasn’t quite gotten used to the idea that all of his men still want their old commander to be the one who presides over their weddings.

Mayday is fully retired now, and life on the farm suits him. He spends his days on woodworking projects, or helping you on the farm, or sprawled out on one of the cozy chairs in your reading room, diligently making his way through your entire book collection. There’s a little more gray in his hair, and a few more lines around his eyes when he laughs, but he’s just as handsome and commanding as he was the day you met him. His former troopers visit often, as do Sunni and Hexx, and Mayday’s favorite woodworking project ever is the cradle he made for them about two years after their wedding.

Your own wedding is a quiet affair. Sunni and Hexx are there, of course, with their darling little boy. He has Sunni’s smile and Hexx’s eyes. Veetch attends with his latest conquest, a genial and quietly witty Twi’lek who has the trooper absolutely wrapped around his finger. Tarsi also attends, shamelessly taking credit for your match with Mayday, since, according to her, you would never have met if she hadn’t set up Sunni and Hexx.

“It’s the transitive property, darling,” she declares.

You do have to make one slight alteration to your original, hypothetical wedding plans, though. Mayday requests a brunch party instead of dinner so you still have plenty of time to watch the sunset together from the front porch.

A/N: Thank you to @nika6q for letting me steal the line about Mayday being a hot karking dumbass!

[tcwmatchmakingau]

I don't really know how to request. But what if fives somehow matched with an old fling he had feelings for early in the war and they rekindle that old romance? I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS AU BTW!!!

Attention writers! We have a reader request/prompt!

This is a perfect way to request, and what an amazing idea for a fic!

As always, anyone is free to fill this prompt, and if more than one writer wants to fill it, that is 100% fine! As an incentive, we will offer a set of two custom dividers (one “support writers” and one “MDNI”) to the first person to submit a fic for this request.

Important: if you want to claim the dividers, please be sure to select the "prompt response" tag so we know your story is intended to fill this request!

Please see below for examples of our work.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 3

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader 

Rating: M (18+ Minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: fluff; mild angst; sensuality; smut; fingering; it is not actually impossible for DJ to write a SFW story, but it does cause hives

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

“Gorgeous,” Sunni declares with a flourish as she steers you toward her mirror.

“I’m not sure why you’re going to this much effort on me when you’re supposed to be the center of attention,” you point out as you turn obediently.

“Because you deserve a little pampering, and you never have an excuse to get dressed up on Nakadia,” Sunni replies. “What do you think?”

You examine your reflection, taking in the artfully arranged hair, the perfect makeup, and the dress that displays a tasteful amount of skin while concealing all the things you prefer to keep to yourself.

“You’re a magician,” you reply frankly. “I can’t remember the last time I took so long to get ready.”

One of the bridesmaids, Tarsi, flops down on the bed and takes a sip of sparkling wine as she declares, “Nothing wrong with a little self-indulgence every now and then. Everything in moderation, including moderation, am I right, ladies?”

The other two bridesmaids chorus their agreement from the adjoining room, and you smile. Unsurprisingly, Sunni has a delightful group of friends, and they’ve made the week leading up to the wedding far more fun and  relaxed than you expected. Tarsi does have a bad habit of trying to talk you into signing up for RTL, though; she’s so proud of her success with Hexx and Sunni that she’s determined to find a match for every one of her friends.

“You’re beautiful, kind, successful, and you live on the most idyllic planet in the galaxy,” she declares. “Troopers will be lining up around the block to meet you. How do you feel about children?”

“I’ll pass,” you say firmly.

“On the children or the troopers?”

“Both,” you reply.

Tarsi pouts but lets it go. Meanwhile, the other two bridesmaids, Brax and Mione, burst into the room carrying a round of raava shots.

“Pregame!” Brax announces. “Everybody grab a shot.”

“Oh, no!” you laugh. “I’m the designated drunk-herder tonight. It is my responsibility to make sure you all make it onto the charter shuttle to Nakadia at the end of the night so this wedding can actually happen. I need to keep a clear head.”

“One shot isn’t going to do anything,” Sunni declares. “As bride, I hereby absolve you of all responsibility if I’m late to my own wedding. Now take the shot.”

You roll your eyes in good-humored exasperation, and you all toss back the raava, reactions ranging from Tarsi’s delicate cringe to Brax’s exaggerated sputter.

“Well, that was awful,” Sunni coughs. “Shall we get this party started?”

The group makes its way through several bars and dance clubs in Coruscant’s mid-levels, each successively louder and more crowded, before heading to a place that is apparently well-known to Sunni and her friends. As the five of you pile out of the air-taxi onto the landing platform, a gigantic sign reading 79’s bathes you all in a neon haze. There are an unusually high number of clones milling about outside the club, but Sunni and the others head straight for the entrance, throwing open the doors dramatically.

“Gentlemen, I have arrived!” Sunni announces with a confident swagger born partly of inebriation and partly of her own innate love of a spectacular entrance.

From inside the club, a cacophony of male voices lets out a deafening cheer interspersed with a few whistles and catcalls. Not for the first time of the night, you wish that you were getting as lit up as the rest of the group, because from the sound of things, you are about to head into exactly the kind of crowded, chaotic environment that seems perfectly designed to trigger your panic response. Right about now, you would kill for some liquid courage, but none is forthcoming, so you square your shoulders and walk into the club.

It’s crowded, smoky, and dark, and the music is loud enough to buzz across your skin and throb in your chest. It is also packed with clones, all of whom look absolutely delighted to see your group.

“What is this place?” you call to Tarsi over the roar of the crowd.

“Clone bar!” she yells back. “Isn’t it great?”

“Great,” you parrot back with false enthusiasm.

Unsurprisingly, the bartender has already poured a round of shots for your group by the time you reach the bar, courtesy of some unknown patron. You know you shouldn’t drink yours, but it’s been hours since you had the raava shot, and you have a feeling you’re going to need it if you’re going to make it out of 79’s without going ballistic, so you toss it back quickly. Within seconds, all five of you are pulled onto the dancefloor, and at least two clones begin to grind on each of you. There are so many people, and your heart starts to race as the crowd presses against you. The lights flash disorientingly. It’s hot and sweaty and loud, and your cheeks are starting to cramp from the overly bright smile you’re trying to keep in place. 

You look over to Sunni and are surprised to see her dancing with Hexx. Veetch is plastered against Tarsi, along with a clone you don’t recognize. You can’t see Brax or Mione, because there are three farking clones grinding their dicks against you, and if you have to put up with this for another minute you are going to kriffing lose your shit!

Abruptly, a hand closes around your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly away from the sausage fest. A little space opens up around you, and you finally feel like you can breathe again. You turn to thank your rescuer, and your heart gives a hard, involuntary lurch when you recognize Mayday’s long, dark curls. He asks a question that you can’t hear over the music. You shake your head and point to your ears. He nods in understanding, and his eyes are so damned kind that you want to weep with relief.

Another strange clone starts to move toward you, but Mayday fixes him with a stare that has him putting up his hands and backing away. You don’t want to leave the dancefloor and abandon Sunni and the others, but you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to stay, either. Mayday moves closer and rests his hands on your hips. You glance up at him, startled. He gives you a reassuring smile and starts to move your body to the rhythm of the music.

“I thought you didn’t dance!” you try to say over the music, but he shakes his head to indicate he can’t hear you, either. 

Instead, he pulls you closer to himself and oh, Maker. He does dance. He’s a really kriffing good dancer. He moves with a sinuous grace that has your mind racing with the possibilities of what else he can do with moves like that. And while his hands stay well within respectful boundaries, they leave a trail of blazing heat as they move across your body. 

You war with yourself. Mayday has you dizzy and off-balance. One moment he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the galaxy, and the next he’s telling you not to touch him. But now he’s caressing your waist and hips like he never wants to stop, and he’s shielding you with his body, and he’s keeping you safe in the midst of the crowd. It’s a heady experience, to be at the center of that intense focus. Eventually, you stop thinking and simply let go and exist in the moment.

You lose track of time, of place, of people—it all fades into the background, and all you can see is Mayday. The way he touches you, moves you, guides you through the dance. He turns you so your back is to him, and you lean against his strong body, your hips swaying against his. You raise one hand over your shoulder to tangle in his hair, and you feel the heat of his breath against your wrist. His fingers trail over your arm, lighting up the nerves and sending tingles racing through you. And then his mouth descends onto your bare shoulder, his beard teasing your sensitive skin as he works his way up the side of your neck. Your knees nearly buckle at the sensation, but somehow you hold onto both your balance and your dignity.

You are shocked when the bartender announces the last call. How has the time passed so quickly? You’ve been so wrapped up in Mayday that you didn’t even notice as the crowd began to thin, and now it is time to round up the rest of the wedding party and head to the spaceport, where the luxurious private shuttle Sunni has chartered awaited your arrival. You and Mayday are the only reasonably sober members of the group, and so you coordinate with him to hustle everyone into two air taxis.

It’s a loud and raucous trip to the spaceport, but eventually, you bundle Sunni and the others onto the shuttle and perform one last headcount before Mayday signals the pilot to depart. It takes a significant amount of time and effort, but eventually, everyone aboard makes it to their assigned quarters, and you retreat to the shuttle’s opulent lounge to decompress and have a well-deserved drink. 

You stop short when you enter the room and find Mayday already inside. You flirt with the idea of fleeing, of going straight to your quarters and trying to get some sleep on the long jump to Nakadia, but it’s too late. He’s already spotted you, and you can’t avoid him without being openly rude. 

“I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to wrangle drunk people,” you say as you enter the room. 

“Mmm,” Mayday agrees with a rumble. “Makes fighting the war look easy.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you reply.

He smiles. “You’re right. Want a glass?”

“I think we’ve earned it,” you reply, settling into an armchair as he pours two tumblers of liquor out of a mysterious decanter.

The tawny liquid catches the light as he hands you a glass, reminding you of his eyes. You sniff it curiously and are greeted with a sweet, smoky aroma.

“I knew you were a whiskey man,” you say as you clink your glass quietly against his and take a sip. 

“I don’t usually turn down a free drink,” Mayday replies. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know the good stuff when I see it.”

You regard him steadily before you ask, “Is that so?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his eyes guarded.

“I can’t figure you out, Mayday,” you say. 

At least he doesn’t insult you by pretending to misunderstand. He watches you for a moment, and when you don’t flinch under his scrutiny, he takes another drink of his whiskey.

“I told you I don’t play games,” he says.

“You could have fooled me,” you retort.

“You’re with someone else,” he says in a low voice. He sets his jaw firmly, but his eyes flicker over your body, and for an instant, you see a flash of naked hunger in them. “I’m not going to chase after someone who’s unavailable.”

What the kark? Your eyebrows snap together. “Is that why you couldn’t keep your hands off me tonight? Why every time we’re in the same room, you look at me like—like that?”

“Why the kriff do you think I was avoiding you?” he growls. “When I’m with you, I can’t think straight. I am trying to respect your relationship, but fuck, you drive me wild.”

You let out a short, angry laugh and drain your glass. “You think I would dance with you like that when I was with someone else? I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of me.”

“You said you were taken. You—” he pauses as though the words choke him with their bitterness. “You planned your wedding.”

“That was hypothetical!” You set your glass down with a snap as you rise abruptly. “I’m going to bed. Alone. Like I do every night. Which you should have realized when you spent a week in my house.”

“We’re not finished,” Mayday says, rising to block your exit.

“There’s nothing else to say,” you snap.

“What the kark did you expect me to do?” he demands. “I met the girl of my dreams, and two seconds later she told me she wasn’t interested.”

“I said I wasn’t interested in RTL!” you exclaim. “A matchmaker sounds like my worst nightmare. Although at least it would have prevented this level of absolute banthashit.” 

“Then—” he begins.

“For kark’s sake, how much clearer can I possibly be?” you cut him off. “Do I need to hang up a neon sign that says OPEN FOR BUSINESS? Do you want me to send you a handwritten letter? ‘Dear Mayday, please tear off all my clothes and have your way with me on the nearest available surf—mmph!’”

Mayday’s mouth cuts off your tirade. His lips crash against yours, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his hands pull you close against him. He tastes like whiskey, and he smells like woodsmoke and spices, overwhelming your senses. You clutch his shoulders for balance, and then immediately slide your hands up his neck to twine your fingers through his hair. You tug on it gently, and he groans into your mouth in response. His arms tighten around you, pinning you to him as he grips your ass and grinds his hips against you. You let out a strangled moan as you feel the hardness of his cock press against your abdomen.

“This karking dress,” he rasps, breaking away from your kiss for a moment as his fingers find your hemline and snake up the inside of your bare thigh. “Did you wear it just to torture me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he preempts your response with another breathtaking kiss. He slips past the lace of your panties—thank the Force I wore pretty ones—and glides his fingertips over your heated skin. His hands are as clever and talented as you knew they would be, and a fresh wave of irritation hits you. You tug his hair lightly as you pull away from his kiss.

“I’m still mad at you!” you exclaim. “We could have been doing this for weeks, oooh—”

He slides one of those thick, skilled fingers into you as he drops his mouth to your throat.

“I’m planning on doing it a lot longer than that, mesh’la.”

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Clone Matchmaker AU Weekly Roundup

Welcome to our weekly roundup! Below, you'll find a list of all the Clone Matchmaker AU fic submissions and reader requests/prompts we received in the last seven days. Roundups post on Fridays, and entries are listed in the order received. Submissions received after 9 PM Pacific time on Thursdays will be included in the next week's roundup.

Thank you to all of the talented writers who have so generously contributed their work! If you have a fic, a prompt, or an artwork you'd like to submit to our page, please check out our submission guidelines, and when you're ready, submit your fic!

See the full masterlist with all stories here!

This week's submissions

"A Match for Mayday, Chapter 1," art by @nika6q; fic by @dystopicjumpsuit - Commander Mayday

"Take a Chance (Part 2)," by @multi-fan-dom-madness - Crosshair

"A Match for Mayday, Chapter 2," art by @nika6q; fic by @dystopicjumpsuit - Commander Mayday

This week's reader requests

N/A

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 2

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader 

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings and tags: fluff and mild angst

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Read Chapter 1 here!

After another day of dirty, sweaty work, you hurry through your shower and grab two bottles of beer out of the conservator, opening them quickly and heading to the front porch for your nightly rendezvous. Mayday hasn’t arrived yet, which is a first, so you settle in to wait for him. The sun dips lazily below the horizon, lighting up the sky in brilliant shades of pink and gold, and then fading into a lavender haze, and finally darkening to a field of deep blue dappled by brilliant points of light as the stars blink into view. You finish your beer slowly, and then drink the second as well, wishing you hadn’t opened it so hastily earlier.

It’s surprising and a little alarming how quickly you’ve adopted your evening conversations with Mayday into your daily routine, and how much you miss it tonight. You can’t help but wonder, What will I do when he leaves?

Eventually, once the evening has fully transitioned to night, you stand with a sigh, stretching your tired muscles and making your way into the house. You can’t stay up and wait forever; tomorrow will be another hard day’s labor, and you are already exhausted. Everyone else has already gone to bed, and the house is as quiet as it can possibly be considering the sheer number of clones currently sleeping in your guest bedrooms.

Just as you turn off your bedroom light and settle into bed, you hear the sound of an approaching speeder bike. You rarely receive guests, particularly not in the middle of the night, so you hop out of bed and cross to your window to peek outside. The vehicle slows to a halt in front of your garden, and the rider dismounts and leans against the bike. 

Mayday. You recognize him immediately. He stares contemplatively at the garden for a while, and then he turns his head and looks directly at you. His movement startles you, and you nearly flinch away from the window before you realize that you are standing in total darkness and there is no way he can see you watching him. Can he?

He stares at your window for a long, long time, until at last, he straightens and walks into the house. You don’t hear him enter, and you don’t hear him go to his bedroom, and at last, you return to your bed and will yourself to sleep, ignoring the quiet voice in your head that asks where he had gone. It’s none of my business, you think, and you almost convince yourself.

Rain begins to fall in a steady drizzle the next morning. By noon, the weather is miserable enough to chase everyone indoors. Hexx and Sunni, enthusiastic hosts that they are, round up the rest of the clones for a loud game with incredibly complex rules. You scan the group but don’t see Mayday, so you slip quietly out the door while they’re all distracted. As you make your way to the barn, you hear a rhythmic scraping sound that piques your curiosity. Warm light spills out of the open doors, beckoning you in from the cold, gray rain.

The barn hasn’t housed animals in decades. Instead, you use it to store your farm equipment and agricultural droids when they’re not at work, and as a place to dry the flowers that you sell in the off-season. The familiar botanical aroma washes over you as you enter, along with something new—something at once strange and nostalgic. When you see Mayday, you slow to a halt just inside the barn. 

He has set up a workstation at the open end of the barn, and as you watch, he runs a hand planer over a large beam of lumber, shaving off flimsi-thin curls of pale wood that flutter to the ground. You immediately identify the fresh lumber as the source of the unknown scent. That slow, rhythmic rasping sound comes again and again as you watch him work, and something about it sends tingles down the back of your neck.

Mayday hasn’t spotted you yet, and you take a moment to appreciate the confident way he moves. His bare hands glide over the wood as he feels for rough and uneven spots, and the muscles of his forearms flex and bulge as he drags the planer across the surface. His movements are hypnotic, mesmerizing. He handles the wood with scrupulous care and attention, and you feel a brief, ridiculous surge of envy toward an inanimate object. He stills abruptly, and you raise your eyes from his hands to see him watching you.

“Hello,” you say, feeling a little foolish that he caught you gawking.

He doesn’t look angry, though, or even amused. He regards you with the same intense focus that he had directed toward his project only a moment before. You lick your lips reflexively, and his gaze drops to your mouth and then back up to your eyes.

“I came to see if you wanted to come in out of the rain,” you say, feeling a little proud that you managed to get the entire sentence out without stuttering, even if your voice catches suspiciously.

He looks briefly out the door to the torrential deluge. “I didn’t even realize it had started raining.”

“It’s been raining for hours,” you say. “Aren’t you cold?”

He smiles at that. “This is nothing compared to Barton IV.”

“What happened on Barton IV?” you ask.

“Nothing good,” he replies. “We were lucky to make it out alive. If I never see snow again, it will be too soon.”

“You should be safe from snow here,” you reply. “Even in the winter, we rarely get anything more than rain. It’s what makes Nakadia such an ideal agricultural planet.”

Ugh, am I seriously talking about the weather right now? you chastise yourself. Still, Mayday looks intrigued as he arranges his tools neatly and walks across the barn to join you. 

“Where are the others?” he asks.

“They’re all inside playing a game,” you reply. 

“I’ve never been one for games,” he comments offhandedly.

“Me neither,” you say. “But I’ve also never been one for standing out in the rain when there’s a perfectly warm house available.”

“We’re not standing in the rain,” he points out, moving subtly closer to you, close enough that you can smell the vanillin of the sawdust on his shirt; the salt of his skin; and beneath it, the faintest hint of something spicy and warm and a little smoky—something uniquely Mayday.

“True,” you admit.

He frowns and starts to reach for you before pulling back. “But you were. Your hair and clothes are all wet. You should go inside and get warm and dry.”

“Will you come with me?” you ask. He hesitates, and you scramble to add, “We can go in the back and avoid the crowd if you’d rather.”

“Is there somewhere we can go where they won’t find us and drag us into their game?” he asks with a smile.

You shrug. “It’s a big house. I’m sure we can find something.”

“Lead the way,” he replies.

On impulse, you take his hand and tug him along with you, dashing across the field through the downpour. Mayday follows at a more sedate pace, and he slows you down as his fingers tighten around your hand to keep you from slipping away.

“Don’t you know you know you get wetter when you run in the rain?” he asks, his voice laden with amusement.

“But we’ll be out of it and into the warm house sooner this way,” you laugh. “Come on!”

He allows you to hustle him along, and soon the two of you slip quietly into the back of the house and kick off your muddy boots. Uproarious laughter bursts from the front of the house, signaling that the game is still in full swing. Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you lead him down the hallway and duck into a room, easing the door closed behind you. You turn to see Mayday surveying the room with astonishment.

“What is this place?” he asks.

“It’s my reading room,” you reply.

His eyes widen as he takes in the bookshelves that line the walls; the soft, overstuffed armchairs; the small wood stove that crackles cheerfully in the corner.

“I’ve never seen so many books in one place,” he says. “At least, not paper ones.”

“Holonovels are wonderful, but there’s something so comforting about a physical book,” you say by way of explanation. “I started collecting them when I was little, and I just never stopped.”

“Have you read them all?” he asks curiously.

You laugh. “I intend to read them all, but I have to admit, there’s an embarrassingly large stack of them waiting for me to find the time. You’re welcome to anything that catches your eye, though.”

His gaze flicks almost imperceptibly toward you before he turns to examine the contents of the shelves. “Which one is your favorite?”

“That would be like asking me to pick a favorite child,” you reply. “I can’t choose just one.”

“Humor me.” His voice is a low rumble.

You pull a well-worn volume off a shelf, and then another, and another. Mayday chuckles as you pass them to him.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get through all of these in the time I have left here.”

“You can take them with you, if you’d like,” you offer. “You can give them back at the wedding.”

“You’d trust me with them?” he asks.

You think of the care with which he handled the fire lily, the conscientiousness and respect you witnessed as he worked on the planks of hardwood in the barn.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. 

His hair is wet with rain. A strand has fallen forward, and you raise your hand to brush it out of his eyes, but he stops you, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist.

“Don’t.” 

Startled, you meet his eyes. They blaze with intensity, but he steps back to put a little distance between you. 

“Mayday?” you whisper.

“Don’t do something we’ll both regret,” he says quietly.

“Sorry,” you stammer as mortification floods you. You pull away from him. “I’ll go.”

He doesn’t try to stop you as you retreat and close the door behind you. You hurry to your bedroom, pressing your cold hands against your burning cheeks. How could I have misread the situation so badly? No wonder he would have preferred to stay in the barn.

You don’t bother going to the porch that night. With all the rain, there’s no sunset, anyway.

It’s easy enough to avoid Mayday after that. He keeps to the barn, and you have plenty of work to do elsewhere. You miss watching the sunset each night, but it’s a small sacrifice for your peace of mind. Before many days pass, the wedding preparations are complete. The rest of the wedding party arrives, and your farmhouse is absolutely at capacity, but at least by tomorrow everyone will be gone and you’ll have your farm to yourself again until the wedding day. All that remains now is the rehearsal.

It is awkward as kriff. You subtly keep your distance from Mayday as long as possible, forcing yourself not to look at him. You try to focus on literally everything else: the wedding planner, Sunni’s lovely dress, the way Hexx’s eyes light up when he looks at her, the excited chatter of the other bridesmaids. Anything except him. He doesn’t approach you, either, so at least that makes your life infinitesimally easier, even though it stings.

Unfortunately, you can’t evade him forever, and as the wedding planner hustles the bridal party into position, you brace yourself for impact. Mayday moves to stand beside you, and you meet his eyes briefly. He looks so kriffing handsome, it’s unfair. The late afternoon sunshine glints in his dark curls and lights his eyes in shades of gold. You paste a bland, polite smile on your face as he holds out his hand to take yours. You walk down the makeshift aisle on Mayday’s arm—maid of honor and best man, as bad luck would have it. That unmistakable warm, spicy, smoky Mayday scent washes over you, and you breathe shallowly as you try to ignore it. It’s a simple ceremony, thank the Force, because you are too distracted by trying to appear nonchalant to pay much attention to the officiant’s instructions.

The ceremony is set to take place with the expansive fields of flowers as a backdrop, and at the entrance to the garden, a gorgeous wooden archway has been constructed. You realize with a start that this is what Mayday has been building since he arrived. The workmanship is stunning. Up close, you can see that the entire structure has been crafted to fit together so perfectly that it requires no screws or fasteners.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sunni sighs happily.

You nod, unable to speak.

“I had him install it permanently as a thank you for letting us have our wedding here,” she says with a radiant smile. “Our gift to you.”

Your breath catches as Sunni envelops you in a crushing hug. Wonderful. A perpetual reminder of how badly I messed up with him. Just what I needed.

By supreme force of will, you make it through the rehearsal and the dinner party afterward. The food is beautiful and by all accounts delicious, and you don’t taste a single bite as you eat. After the meal, the group dances and drinks and parties late into the night as tiny lights twinkle in the trees overhead. Veetch pulls you onto the dancefloor and spins you around until you are giggling and dizzy, and for a moment, the ache in your chest eases.

Mayday doesn’t dance, to the visible disappointment of several bridesmaids. He is wrapped up in a discussion with a few other clones—also commanders, if you remember the introductions correctly. You refuse to give into your impulse to eavesdrop on their conversation, instead smiling brilliantly at Veetch, who is both charming and a surprisingly excellent dancer. The music changes to something slow and romantic, and he pulls you closer and settles a hand on your waist.

Because you are not totally devoid of common courtesy, you focus on your dance partner instead of looking back at Mayday. Had you looked, though, you would have seen the way his eyes, unreadable as ever, follow you across the dancefloor as you sway in Veetch’s embrace. Veetch flirts in a harmless, meaningless way that you know better than to take seriously, even if you were interested. Everything about him screams that he’s enjoying the single life and has no intention of giving it up any time soon.

So you dance with him and with Hexx’s other groomsmen, and by the time you stumble, alone, into your bedroom, you are so exhausted that you fall asleep almost immediately. When you awaken, nearly everyone has gone. Hexx and Sunni are still there, but Sunni tells you that Mayday had ordered the men to wake up early and ensure the house was spotless before they departed. Sunni and Hexx only stay long enough to hug you goodbye before they, too, leave for Coruscant, and then you are alone.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Take a Chance (Part 2)

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Rating: General (but MDNI)

Summary: Crosshair can’t scarcely believe that he’s been matched so quickly. The date he goes on is like nothing he’s experienced before.

Warnings: more Crosshair angst; fluff; more of my matchmaker OC Tal (and a blink-and-you-miss-it of my clone OC Creed); Crosshair has a lot of feelings but doesn’t know how to show them

WC: 5.2k

Read Part 1 here!

Crosshair spent the entire rest of the day in agony. Tal had promised to message as soon as possible, but Crosshair needed information three hours ago. Curse Wrecker for shoving his nose into Crosshair’s business. Curse Wrecker for wearing down his walls, lowering his defenses, putting him into this karking situation. It was nearly enough to dredge up the old itch under his skin for a quick smoke, something to take the edge off. 

No. That wasn’t a promise he’d break anytime soon. 99’s wrinkled face flashed in his mind, and he sighed, slouching farther into his desk chair. 

He’d sit at this damned desk all night if he had to. 

Instead of the intel-gathering he should have done in the first place, all he could do now was sit and wait and hope that his target would stumble blindly into his scopes. It wouldn’t be the first time—but it certainly wasn’t his preferred way of completing a mission. 

He tried, genuinely tried, to not think of this whole endeavor as a mission. The date looming in his near future could very well change the entire trajectory of his life in a way that none of the routine reconnaissance and black ops missions Clone Force 99 took on did. But he couldn’t help it. He was grasping at straws, snagging on anything that gave him a semblance of normalcy.

The dim Coruscanti sun had just begun to set, speared by the innumerable skyscrapers that blocked his view, when the comlink chimed. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he glanced down at the newest message. 

Crosshair— come to my office when you can. Nothing’s wrong. Just want this conversation to happen in person.

His brain shut off after the first sentence. Something had gone wrong. His prospective match—matches—somehow found out who he was and bailed, withdrew their applications with RTL. Worse, the matchmaking service had decided that he was unfit material for their clientele and would be barring him from utilizing the company in the future.

A swell of anger crested through him, burning away the anxiety he’d been wallowing in all day. They really had no idea who they were dealing with, did they? Well, he would just have to go down there and give Tal a piece of his mind. 

Halfway out the door, he fired off a text to the group chat—going out—before putting the comlink on silent and shoving it into his jeans’ pocket. The walk to the shiny, chromium-plated building passed in a blink; before he realized it, Crosshair stood peering up at the clean white sign, a scowl marring his features. 

The receptionist was different from the one he met yesterday, but the man behind the desk seemed to know exactly why he was here as Crosshair stalked to the check-in station. Pressing a button on the intercom, the man spoke in a low tone, holding up one finger for Crosshair to wait. 

“Yes, of course,” the man said. “I’ll let him know.”

Setting the phone back in its cradle, the man gave him a cursory smile. “Tal will be right out.”

Crosshair grunted in acknowledgement, but refused to sit. He lingered in an aisle between chairs, arms crossed over his chest, pointedly staring at the door that led to the back offices. In the corner behind him, two regs conversed quietly. He felt their gazes bore into him. Normally, it pissed him off; right now, all he wanted was an explanation.

The moment the door cracked open, Crosshair yanked the handle. A young woman, eyes wide as plates and hand flying to her heart, shrieked in surprise. 

“Oh—uh, s-sorry,” he muttered out, anger in his chest immediately dousing with embarrassment. “Thought you were—”

“Th-That’s alright,” she said, affixing a smile to her face. Blinking, she peered past him. “Creed?”

One of the two regs stood and straightened his denim jacket before disappearing to the back with the case worker. Before the door fully shut, though, it swung open once more, admitting the familiar figure of Tal.

“Someone’s impatient,” Tal noted with a raised eyebrow. 

With a hard look, Cross merely swaggered past his case worker, taking the monotonous hallways back until he recognized the exact wood grain pattern on the correct door. Tal touched their keycard to it and the door unlocked with a click. 

“Speak,” Crosshair spat as soon as the door shut behind Tal. 

Tal’s jaw worked for a moment, their eyes narrowed as they appraised him. “Wanna try that one again?”

Crosshair deflated, sinking into the silken futon. He gestured helplessly for Tal to break the news, whatever it may be. It was as close to an apology as he felt capable of mustering right now.

“I just thought you ought to know that the match chosen for you,” Tal began, perching in their seat, hands laced in their lap, “doesn’t exactly live nearby.”

Crosshair scarcely dared to breathe. Eyes locked onto a faint stain in the area rug, he swallowed down the riot of emotions coursing through his body and focused on the words. 

He still had a match. 

Exhaling, he dared to glance up. Tal met his gaze with a calm expression of patience. 

“I can see how my message may have worried you,” Tal said. “But I wanted to talk in person. These are very special circumstances, and I want you to know all the options.” 

Still giving him a choice, still giving him control, even after he made an ass of himself. Mollified, Crosshair nodded slowly. 

“Which are what, exactly?”

“Either we bring her here, or send you to her,” they said. “We recently opened up the applications to other planetary systems, intending to establish other branches wherever clones settled down. It just happens that her application matches yours, not any of the men on her own planet.”

He couldn’t quash the childish sense of pride that filled him with. “‘Special circumstances,’ eh?”

Tal nodded and said, “Leadership is willing to cover the cost of transportation for the first meeting at least. I am still negotiating for future meetings should this first one be successful.”

“You’re…fighting for me,” Crosshair said. The disbelief rang harsh, even in his own ears.

“That is my job,” Tal said with a wry smile. “Believe it or not, Crosshair, there are people who want the best for you and your brothers. For all the clones.” 

Leaning back against the futon, he rubbed his hands over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes until starbursts exploded across his vision. 

“It’s a lot to take in,” Tal said. “But what I can tell you is that she is very excited to meet you.”

“You showed her my profile?” he asks, lips baring in a half-snarl. 

“Maker, no,” Tal said with a gentle laugh. “The moment you let me choose was the moment this became a double-blind process. Once you agree to the meeting, you’ll receive just her holoscan and name, and she will get yours.” 

Crosshair turned that information over in his mind. Never no mind the fact that he hadn’t been the one to give up the choice, it wasn’t lost on him that Tal used the word ‘meeting’ rather than ‘date’—removing a lot of the pressure and anxiety that he still felt over this whole situation. And really, what did he have to lose? His brothers would support him whatever his decision, like they always had, once they processed their own emotions. Sure, he’d probably let this mystery woman down, and Tal, too, but his match didn’t even live on Coruscant. He’d likely never meet her if he didn’t do this. And Tal, well… Crosshair was no stranger to shutting others out. 

In reality, the only person who would be hurt if he chose not to do this was himself. 

Maybe he owed it to himself to try. 

“Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll go to her. See the sights.” 

Which is how he found himself, a standard week later, standing in the midst of one of the less busy ports on Coruscant. The shuttle taking him to the nearby system, Stassia, was due to arrive at the terminal in just a few minutes, and Crosshair couldn’t keep his eyes off of the chrono. Would his date—he struggled over the word, even in his own mind—understand if he was late because of traffic delays?

Looking at the chrono meant that he also ended up rereading the series of messages from his brothers. 

Remember, vod, just be yourself.

That is terrible advice, Hunter. Crosshair, be the opposite of how you usually are. -Tech

Don’t listen to Tech. You’re gonna be fine. She’s gonna love you no matter what! Or they wouldn’ta matched ya together.

Grinding his teeth, Crosshair shoved his comlink back in his pocket and tried to ignore the conflicting advice. As starships and people flowed around him like water, he remained unmoving, rooted to the spot. There were very few times in his relatively short life where he could recall feeling like this, and he despised every one of those memories.

He was a wreck. 

Outwardly, he’d never show it. He knew he continued to exude the calm, collected, debonair facade that had practically become his trademark, even as his insides melted to jelly and solidified to permacrete simultaneously. He was being ripped apart from the inside by nerves.

He’d printed out the holoscan that Tal provided him, the only bit of you that he knew so far besides your name. The flimsi crumpled in his grip before he remembered to relax. Even in a holoscan, slightly pixelated and distorted, he knew you were beautiful. A bright smile and shining personality, he realized, staring down at the flimsi clutched in his grasp, he couldn’t wait to meet. 

The shuttle arrived on time, departed the port on time, and made the jump to hyperspace on time. It did little to ease the heavy stone of nerves settled into Crosshair’s stomach. By the time the ship lurched out of the hyperspace lane, he’d bitten his nails down to the beds, one of them bleeding.

During the war, he’d seen his fair share of planets—always in quick bursts, flashes of cultures and climates that sometimes left his mind whirling. In their own ways, every system was unique and beautiful, and this one was no different. The Stassia system was on the smaller side, a surprise given its location in the core, but what little snooping he’d done on the HoloNet revealed a comfortable, temperate planet dominated by agriculture and cattle. As he gazed through the transparisteel viewport down at the vast green landmasses and deep azure oceans of your homeworld, the nerves that had been plaguing him for the past week settled. 

He was here. He could do this. He would do this. 

He still had no idea what activity he’d be expected to partake in. Hunter’s first date with his partner had been a simple dinner; Tech took his to the Coruscant Library; and Wrecker met his to watch a speeder race. But that had all happened on Coruscant, a city-planet; this, he mused, disembarking the shuttle, this planet was much quieter. 

Breathing deep, he enjoyed the scent of hot earth, grass, and animals that filled his lungs. The sun, hanging low in the sky, scattered color across the sky in a vast canvas, oranges bleeding into purples, as fireflies gently warbled lime green across the field ahead of him. “Quiet” was certainly the word for it; this quaint little space port boasted a singular platform and loading dock, nestled at the edge of a small town. 

A few other passengers had gotten off at this stop as well, all of them nat-born. Crosshair watched in silence as they all rushed off the platform, joining their loved ones who waited along the dirt path that led into town. Skimming the small throng, any hopes that had buoyed up upon landing suddenly burst. He didn’t see your face among the crowd.

Biting down on his toothpick, he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and trudged along the dusty footpath toward the town. The closer he got, the more this world came to life around him. The sweet smell of freshly baked bread wafted on the warm evening breeze from open windows, mixing with the joyous sounds of children giggling in whatever game they played. The buildings here were short and square, made of wood instead of metal, but looked comfortable. A string of warm yellow lights flickered to life overhead as he passed through the town center, a latticework of wires, bulbs, and gently chiming trinkets. He watched as lovers linked arms to stroll down the street and parents scolded their spawn for darting too far ahead. 

And then he saw you.

Standing at the end of the main square, clutching at the strap of your crossbody bag, your face quite literally glowed in the incandescent illumination above. Head tilted back, a soft smile playing over your features, Crosshair had never seen someone so…at peace.

He didn’t realize he was staring until you seemed to notice him, frozen in place, eyes locked onto your face.

He watched the recognition spread over your features instantly, your eyes widening and smile broadening into a beaming grin. 

“Crosshair?” you asked, striding toward him. 

He gave a single, curt nod. “That’s me.” 

Holding out your hand, he glanced down at it before shaking it. Your skin was warm against his, smooth and pleasant. You gave him your name, even though he already knew it, already had it committed to memory, and then resumed fidgeting with the strap of your bag. 

“So,” you said, “how do you feel about going to the carnival?” 

“Never been to one.” 

“That’s not what I asked,” you said, squinting up at him, a defiant light sparking there in the yellow lights. 

Arching one thin eyebrow, Crosshair couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I don’t suppose it was.” He let the word fade, let you sit for a moment to ponder whether he would actually answer your question, before continuing, “Carnival works fine. Lead on.”

“We’ll have to take a speeder bike,” you said. Walking backwards to keep your eyes on him, he marveled at the sudden impulse to turn you around if only to avoid you hurting yourself. “It’s not far. And it’s so worth it. The fried dough is to die for.”

To die for. Every time a nat-born let that phrase slip out around him or his brothers, they always followed it up with some asinine question like, “Oh Maker, was that insensitive?” He hated it every time. And now, he tensed, expecting the faux-pity, the sympathy he never wanted. But it didn’t come. You’d since pivoted on your heel to lead him through the gathering dark without a second thought to your words.

He lengthened his stride to match your pace. “You’ve been to it before?”

“Every year since I was a youngling,” you said. “Family tradition. But my parents are gone now, so, it’s just me.”

Another reflexive tensing of his shoulders, jaw clenching around the toothpick. Parents, or any mention of families, also set nat-borns on edge around clones. But again, you didn’t offer any apologies or even showed any sign that you were privy to the way Crosshair reacted.

He simply grunted in response, not sure what to say now that his usual scathing remarks were unnecessary. You seemed content with his response. The pair of you passed through the rest of the town and came upon a secondary, smaller platform with a half dozen speeders parked on it. Moving to the farthest one down the row, you shot him a look as if to say, Coming? 

“This yours?” he drawled, eyes narrowed as he focused on the way that your hands moved with practiced ease over the bike’s controls. 

The engine revved to life. Swinging your leg over the main seat, you nodded. “Used to be my dad’s. C’mon, hop on.” 

Somehow, it hadn’t occurred yet to Crosshair that taking a speeder bike to this carnival would entail some kind of physical contact. He’d just assumed that there would be multiple, that maybe they would race, but not this scenario.

He hesitated only for a split second, processing his options in record time, before hitching his leg over the back of the bike and perching onto the narrow passenger seat. Now faced with another decision, his hands froze in the air as he debated where to hold on.

You saved him the trouble by reaching back and, blindly groping, snagged one of his wrists to draw around your middle. Surprise thrummed through Crosshair, the feeling of your skin once again sending a thrill of excitement down his spine. He leaned against your back, settling his chin in the crook of your shoulder as his arms locked around your body.

Pressed against you like this, he felt the way your body shook with silent laughter.

“Was that a test?” he asked flatly. 

Your laughter rang out as you guided the speeder off the platform and into the tall grass. “No. Maybe. Alright, yeah, it was. I can tell a lot about a person by how they react to sitting behind me.”

Cross hummed. “What can you tell about me?”

“Secure,” you said, and then all conversation ceased as you pushed the speeder to its limits.

The roar of the engine mingled with the rush of wind in his ears. Tall plains grass whipped past; he was grateful he’d chosen denim pants and a thicker leather jacket, the garments offering protection against the sting of the grass. When you leaned forward, urging the bike faster, he had no choice but to lean with you, his chest pressed to your back, warmth blooming somewhere behind his sternum. Even at this speed, whatever perfume you’d put on filled his nose, gentle and peaceful and muted. 

In the rapidly gathering dark, it wasn’t long before he picked out the telltale sign of the carnival. Multicolored lights, strobing and flashing, twinkled like so many beacons in the midst of the sea of grass. You guided the speeder down to a reasonable speed, and Crosshair caught his first real glimpse of the carnival. 

Red and white striped tents dotted the landscape, sprawled like childrens’ toys, clustered around large mechanical rides. He didn’t have names for most of the rides, but already knew that his favorite would be the one just ahead, with four main arms that branched down into double-seater pods. Carnival-goers already sat strapped into the ride seats as the machinery whirred to life. Engrossed, Crosshair watched as the main arms began to orbit the center spoke, and, to his surprise, the groupings of seats rotated around one another.

“That’s the Scrambler,” you explained, following his line of sight. “We can do that one first. It makes me real dizzy.” 

He said nothing as you eased the bike to a stop a short distance away from the main entrance. A large, lighted arch proclaimed Welcome in stylized Basic; a short queue shuffled underneath as visitors bought tickets and darted off once inside. 

He followed you, content to let you lead, as he soaked in every new sight. Children tugged on parents’ hands toward much tamer rides, spinning teacups and dancing bears; gaggles of teens giggled past as they shoved cotton candy into their mouths; other couples, young and starry eyed, traipsed toward the tallest ride, a massive metal circle. But what really caught his attention were the draped stalls. He spied a number of games, all based on aim, all promising prizes of a soft, squishy variety. A small thrill of anticipation hummed through him. How many of those could he win for you?

“Crosshair?” you asked. 

Yanking his attention back, he blinked down at you. “Hm?”

“Should I get enough tickets to do everything once?” 

He nodded and fished in his back pocket for the stack of credits that Hunter had shoved into his hands before he left. But you shook your head with a small smile, saying, “You get food, I’ve got tickets.”

Hesitating only a moment, he nodded once, acquiescing. In no time at all, you exchanged brief pleasantries with the gate attendant, purchased a bundle of tickets, and turned to him with a wide smile, happiness shining in your eyes. 

“Shall we?” 

He twitched his eyebrows up in an approximation of a ‘yes.’ 

You took a step forward, then turned back, a suddenly shy look on your face. “May I?” You reached as if to grab his hand.

He studied your face for the space of a heartbeat, drawing in as much visual information as he could, in only the way that he knew how, a product of his engineering. Now that he was over the initial shock of seeing you in person, his enhanced eyesight cataloged every feature of your expression that you probably weren’t even aware of. The single eyebrow hair that you’d missed while plucking, the way that your left canine was just a smidge crooked where it gleamed between your parted lips, the accrual of living a life outdoors ingrained into your skin. 

Crosshair was, by nature, a visual person. He placed a lot of emphasis on both his appearance and how others presented themselves to him. He’d long since forgiven himself for honing in on the defects, the blemishes, the scars and marks and imperfections. 

Looking at you now, he found that the imperfections were what made you perfect.

In silent approval, he held his hand out for you to take. Skin sliding against skin, his tongue toyed with the damp toothpick as he marveled once again at your softness. You led him directly to the Scrambler, true to your word; handing over the required number of tickets to the attendant, you shot him an expectant look as the two of you joined the short queue.

“So,” you said, leaning against the battered metal railing, “Right to Love, huh?”

Whatever warmth had taken root in his chest wilted a little. Arching one eyebrow down at you, he scoffed. “So, clones, huh?”

“I’ll tell you why if you tell me first,” you offered.

The line moved up as the ride came to a clattering halt. He used the movement as a momentary distraction, enticed and yet unsettled by your forwardness. But to his dismay, the attendant shut the gate before the two of you could go through, putting you at the front of the line. 

As the ride chugged to life once again, Crosshair allowed himself to sigh. “My brothers wouldn’t let up until I set up an appointment.” 

The gaze you fixed him with said you wanted to call his bantha fodder, but you just nodded slowly, digesting that.

“Your turn,” he said. 

You huffed a laugh. “I have high standards.” 

Crosshair felt his eyebrows creep up. “Standards.”

“Yup.” You fiddled with the fraying strap of your bag. “Always wanted more than the farm could give me. Not that there’s anything wrong with the farms here, they’re just…the same they were when I was a kid. And they’ll be the same when I’m old and dying.”

“The stability means nothing to you?” Crosshair asked. Though he supposed he understood your viewpoint: he chafed under routine, living the same days on nearly endless repeat.

Shrugging, you exhaled slowly, turning your face skyward. “I dunno, I just… I look up at the stars and know there’s entire worlds out there.” 

He followed your gaze. He’d seen his fair share of those worlds; he wanted to see them again someday, under better circumstances. 

“Anyways.” You laughed, sounding hollow and forced. “Um. I hope you like this ride.”

“I will,” he said. 

And he did. Though it reminded him of some of the cadet training he went through with his batch, the centripetal force pinning him to the seat also smushed you alongside him, your bodies touching nearly their entire lengths. Your breathless laughs and thrilled squeals as the ride whipped around, faster and faster, set his heart ablaze. Dimly, he was confused—was this supposed to be so easy?—but the low chuckle that escaped him felt right. You felt right. 

He owed Tal an apology, and a thank you.

The pair of you stumbled out of the ride, hair windswept and messy. His lips twitched into a grin as he watched you sway, his own vision tilting on its axis for a moment before righting itself.

“Where to now, trooper?” you asked, giggling.

“You pick.” 

Hours later, when you’d ridden every ride and after he bought you both some overpriced, overly greasy fair food that you insisted he try (and that he silently admitted was amazing), he finally dragged you over to one of the game booths, intent on earning a souvenir, at least for you, if not for himself, too. 

You groaned as he tugged you by the hand. “Crosshair, these things are always rigged—” 

“That’s because you don’t have a marksman’s eye,” he drawled. 

Stepping up to one that seemed like it should be simple—a wall of balloons and a pile of darts—he wordlessly passed the worker the trivial number of tickets and accepted the three darts he was allotted. He turned the darts over in his hand, feeling their balance, calculating angles and trajectories and even wind speeds on autopilot. He could do this part in his sleep. No, he was incredibly aware of the way that you openly stared at him, a smile toying with your lips, as you waited for him to prove you wrong.

“Watch and learn, doll,” he murmured, and then he threw all three darts at the same time.

Pop-pop-pop!

Three balloons exploded into tatters as the darts landed in a neat line. Pride reared its head in his chest as your mouth fell open, an admiring gleam glazing your eyes.

“You were saying?” he said, smug. 

Laughing in disbelief, he couldn’t help but preen as you shook your head. “Wow. Um. That was impressive.”

“Let’s make a bet.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying.

Cocking your head, you grinned. “What kind of bet?” 

“I bet I can win every game here.” He held up a finger at the impatient attendant who tried to interrupt.

He watched as you weighed the options for a moment; he could nearly see the gears turning in your mind, the way your brow scrunched as you thought. Then you nodded. 

“What are we wagering?” you said. 

“If I win, I pick our next date,” he said simply. He enjoyed the way your smile turned shy, face tilting down for a moment. “If I lose, you pick again.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” you said. But when you reached out and gently ran your fingers across the back of his hand, he knew you were just teasing.

“Hey, man, you gonna pick a prize or what?” the huffy attendant asked. 

Rolling his eyes, Cross jerked his head at you. “Pick.” 

“Oh!” Delight sparkled in your eyes as you quickly glanced over the options. “The little green frog, please.” 

He’d lost track of time. This was the most fun he’d had…ever, and he wasn’t even sure how it was possible to feel so connected to a person he’d just met. Let alone a nat-born. He’d only experienced one fit of angst when he thought you weren’t looking, wondering if his snark was grating on you, but every time he quipped, you matched his energy. You held your own. He appreciated it.

But by now, the night was winding down. Fewer people crowded the grounds, and the sounds of screams had declined dramatically. He still had one more game to win—much more at stake, of course, than just the stuffed toy waiting for him. 

“If you win this one,” you said, arms full with an assortment of squishable friends, frogs and Loth-cats and baby banthas and a number of other critters, “you’re picking the prize. I can’t carry any more.”

“Deal.” His eyes skimmed the prizes in this booth. They were the biggest ones yet, massive Loth-cats that probably stood at least half of his height. It would be so out of place in his otherwise sparse bedroom, but it would be his. All he had to do was win.

With only a couple handfuls of tickets left, he doled out the specific amount for this game. The attendant yawned their way through the explanation of the game: toss the rings over the bottlenecks without knocking any down. If he got all five, he got the big prize. As with every other game, he took a moment to feel the balance of the projectiles, assess angles, get a feel for what he had to do. 

Maybe it was just the knowledge that his entire bet rode on this final game, or maybe it was something else, but a nagging doubt wriggled at the back of his brain as he held the rings. 

Shrugging it off, he took one and, aiming, tossed it for the bottle directly in the center. It was a good throw—a perfect one, he knew—but he watched, horror mounting, as the ring caught the lip of the bottle and bounced. 

“What?” he snarled.

Tossing the second ring, he aimed for the same bottle, and again, the ring bounced. Kark. He gritted his teeth and tried again, adjusting his stance. This one was a little better, it at least flipped over the neck of the bottle behind the one he’d aimed for. Holding his pose, he tossed the remaining two rings and got them both on.

You snorted a laugh at his side. “Technically, you won.” 

“No, I didn’t,” he ground out. Throwing tickets at the attendant, he scooped up another five rings. 

Taking his time, he held each individual ring to get a feel for its particular balance. Four of them sat in his hand, identical in every way; but the fifth, that traitorous little piece of plastic and rubber, was unbalanced by the tiniest margin, something he’d obviously missed in his overconfidence the first time. 

He threw that one first, accounting for its unfair design, and it slotted home on exactly the bottle he aimed for. Triumph burned hot and fierce in his chest. The other four rings landed perfectly, as well, testament to his skill as a marksman. And as he clutched the giant, white-and-gray Loth-cat plush to his chest, he caught the way that your gaze softened as you studied him. 

“What?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “Nothing. Do we have enough tickets left for the Ferris Wheel?” 

Only three tickets remained clutched in his palm. The Wheel, he saw, peering over the dwindling crowd, required two tickets per rider. His heart sank in his chest, a peculiar, unfamiliar feeling. 

He saw the exact moment that your disappointment registered, and his heart squeezed. He hated the way that your face fell, eyes downcast, before you reassembled a falsely cheery mask over your expression. 

“That’s alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “We did a lot tonight.”

Crosshair was already searching the ground, eyes darting around in an attempt to locate any stray or discarded tickets. He would fix this. He would make you happy. 

There. 

Balancing his Loth-cat on one hip, he bent to retrieve the trampled, soggy piece of paper. He held it aloft with the barest hint of a grin. “You were saying?” 

Crosshair had never known a softness quite like the one in your eyes as you beamed at him.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 1

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader 

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Read Chapter 2 here!

Your sister has always had immaculate taste. From her gorgeous flat in a Coruscant high-rise, to the handsome trooper currently staring down at her with adoration in his soft brown eyes as she wraps her arm around his waist, to the selection of high-quality brews in the conservator which you are currently raiding, she has curated a beautiful life for herself. She’s been your best friend since the day she was born, and you couldn’t be happier for her. You didn’t have an easy childhood, and seeing your little sister settled and thriving is everything you had hoped for her during those difficult days. 

Her boyfriend—no, make that fiancé—practically worships her. As you watch them through the sliding glass door, you realize you’ve never seen her look as content as she does in that moment, smiling softly up at Hexx. Unbeknownst to you, an identical smile plays on your own lips as you close the conservator door. Just as you do, a latecomer enters the kitchen, and you turn automatically to greet him, your eyes widening as you take him in. 

He’s a clone, but damn, what a clone. He looks older than Hexx and most of his brothers, though that might be due to his beard and longer hair. He’s tall and solidly built, and even in civilian clothing, he looks imposing. His long sleeves are rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, with a hint of tattoo ink peeking from the edge of the fabric.

“Hello,” you greet him, that soft smile still in place as you introduce yourself.

“Mayday,” he replies, and his voice is deeper and and more gravelly than you’ve heard from other clones. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Up close, you can see faint lines around his eyes, and a sprinkle of silver in his hair. Definitely older than Hexx, then. 

“Can I get you a beer?” you offer. “Or are you a whiskey man?”

“A beer sounds great, thanks,” he says, and you hand him the cold bottle you just pulled out of the conservator. His fingers brush against yours, soft and warm, and his eyes follow you as you turn to pull another bottle out of the conservator. “How do you know Hexx and Sunni?”

“Sunni is my sister,” you reply.

“I thought I saw the resemblance,” he says. “Why aren’t you out partying with the others?”

“Just came in for a drink,” you reply. He arches an eyebrow, and you buckle immediately under his unspoken interrogation. “And to hide for a few minutes.”

“Now, why would you want to hide?” he asks, tapping his bottle against yours and taking a long sip.

You shrug. “Not a huge fan of crowds. They make me nervous.”

“You must hate living on Coruscant, then,” he says.

“I would if I lived here,” you reply.

“You’re not local?” he asks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of regret in his tone.

“No, I live on Nakadia,” you reply. “I’m only on Corrie for the engagement party.”

“Nakadia?” he asks. “Then you must be the farmer.”

“Yes, I own a flower farm there,” you reply. “How did you know?”

“Hexx told me they were having the wedding at your farm. You’re a brave woman to agree to host that many clones for a party,” he says with a charming smile.

“I’d do anything for Sunni,” you reply. “But I have to admit it’s weird to think that she’s getting married when I still see the adorable little girl with fluffy hair and a face covered in jelly when I look at her.”

“I know the feeling,” Mayday says with an ironic twist of his mouth. “We do what we can for them, but in the end, we have to trust them to know what they’re doing.”

“Hexx seems like a good man,” you say tentatively. “And he makes her happy.”

“Have you known him long?” he asks.

“I’d only spoken to him on holocalls until I got to Corrie three days ago,” you reply. “What about you? Did you serve with him?”

Mayday nods. “I’m his commanding officer, at least for the moment. I can tell you that there’s not a more loyal soldier in the GAR. He’ll take good care of your sister.”

“When you say ‘for the moment,’ what does that mean? Is he being reassigned?” you ask curiously. Sunni hadn’t mentioned it.

“Not to my knowledge,” he replies. “But I am retiring.”

He seems too young to be retiring, but there is a weariness about his eyes that makes you think he’s earned it.

“What will you do then?” you ask, relaxing back against the countertop.

Mayday mimics your laid-back posture, leaning against the wall as he answers. “Haven’t decided yet. I might just spend some time enjoying being the only person in charge of my time.”

“You’re not going to rush down to RTL to find the love of your life?” you ask, a teasing light springing into your eyes.

“Nah, not for me,” he replies. “I’d prefer to meet somebody organically.”

“Understandable,” you reply. “Though it certainly worked out well for Sunni and Hexx.”

“And what about you?” he asks.

“What about me?” You take a sip of beer and enjoy its icy effervescence on your tongue.

“Any plans to visit the matchmaker?”

“I’m not really interested,” you admit.

Mayday nods slightly, his eyes unreadable. “So you’re taken, then?”

The door slides open abruptly, and Sunni bursts in like the force of nature that she truly is, tugging Hexx behind her.

“Are you hiding in here?” she demands with an infectious laugh. 

“Of course not!” you lie with dignity. “I was entertaining your guest.”

“Welcome, Commander,” Hexx says, subtly standing at attention.

“Relax, Hexx. You don’t need to salute me at your own engagement party,” Mayday says with that easy, charming smile.

Hexx and Sunni sweep you back outside to join the rest of the party goers before you get a chance to tell Mayday that you are very single.

Months pass before you see Mayday again. Sunni is swept up in wedding plans, and you head back to Nakadia to tend to your farm. There’s plenty to do, between your normal responsibilities and the additional work of getting the property ready to host a large wedding. If you think Sunni is a social butterfly, she pales in comparison to Hexx and his multitude of brothers. Sunni is going to have the largest family-in-law in the galaxy, and it seems like half the GAR will be attending the wedding, along with their plus-ones, most of whom had met through Right to Love Matchmaking. Several of the matchmakers are also invited, and you hope they aren’t so dedicated to their work that they will harass you to sign up for their services. 

A few weeks before the wedding, Sunni and Hexx arrive with a large contingent of clones to help with the labor of getting the farm ready for such a large gathering. Veetch is there, of course, along with numerous members of the 77th Heavy Brigade. 

And, of course, Mayday is there. 

It takes an unbelievable amount of work to get the farm ready, but given that Hexx has quite literally brought a small army to help, it goes faster than you expect. The entire first day is spent clearing brush to make space for the large pavilion where the reception will take place. It is dirty, sweaty, backbreaking work, even with the help of the droids. You are exhausted at the end of the day, and after taking a quick shower, you make your way out to the front porch to watch the sunset. It’s your favorite vantage point, and it’s a nightly ritual that you almost never miss.

Tonight, though, someone has already claimed your spot. His tall, broad form leans casually against the pillar as he surveys your lovely farm. In the golden light of early sunset, you pick up the glints of lighter brown and gold in his dark hair, and for an instant, you wonder what it would feel like to twine your fingers through it. On impulse, you stop in the kitchen and pull two bottles of ale out of your conservator. You join him and offer him a bottle wordlessly. He nods his thanks and goes back to staring out at the kaleidoscopic fields of flowers. 

You didn’t see much of him today. He has been busy working on a special project in the barn, and his sleeves are littered with a fine layer of wood shavings. Your knees creak a little as you lower yourself to sit on the porch step, and soon he joins you. 

“Nice place you have here,” he says at last, breaking the evening serenity. “Peaceful.”

“That’s what drew me here,” you reply.

He looks at you curiously. “Trying to avoid crowds?”

You nod, not wanting to spoil the tranquility of the moment by delving into your personal history. “It’s a good place to live a quiet life.”

“That sounds…” he begins, but he trails off. 

His eyes have a faraway expression, and you wonder what horrors he’s seen to make him look so karking tired. He doesn’t continue, and you don’t prod him. Instead, you quietly watch the sun paint the sky in a wash of pastel. As the light fades and the dusk creeps in, you exchange occasional desultory remarks, but mostly you sit in companionable silence, drinking slowly and simply enjoying each other’s nearness.

“It’s a good place for a wedding,” he observes.

“Yes, I always thought if I ever got married, it would be here.” You smile. “I wouldn’t want the big party, though. Just a few people. Sunni and Hexx, a few close friends. A simple ceremony, and then a cozy dinner party under those trees,” you say, gesturing at the nearby copse of acthorn trees.

“You’ve thought it out,” he observes.

You let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “Kind of hard not to with everything going on.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “I never thought much about weddings. Didn’t think it would be a possibility.”

“Is this the first you’ve been to?” you ask curiously.

He shakes his head. “The matchmakers have been busy. Half of the commanders have paired up, and the other half are just waiting for their turn.”

“But not you?”

He shrugs. “Can’t say I ever thought much about the war ending, until it did. By then, it seemed a little late to start planning a life I never thought I’d have.”

You frown. “It’s not too late. You’ve earned that life, Mayday.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledges. “But I won’t find it on a speed date.”

He’s waiting for you the next night, too, and the one after. Each evening, you open up more to him, and the two of you spend hours conversing in low voices late into the night.

“How many kinds of flowers do you grow?” he asks as he looks out across the vibrant patchwork of blossoms that stretches to the edge of your farm.

“Hundreds,” you reply. “Not all at once. I stagger the plantings to extend the growing season and keep the income a little more predictable.”

“Which ones are your favorite?”

“Fire lilies,” you reply. “They’re unpopular with buyers, but I still grow a patch of them just for myself.”

“I’ve never seen one,” he says.

“Would you like to?”

“Very much,” he replies.

You stand slowly. You’re accustomed to hard work, but the past few days have been a whole other level of manual labor. A tiny moan of relief escapes you as you stretch your tired muscles. When you turn to Mayday, he is watching you with an indecipherable expression. He’s very good at that, you’ve noticed. Sometimes he is very open and easy to read, and others he is incredibly guarded. He must be an excellent sabbac player, you reflect.

With a small smile at the thought, you lead him through the twilight into the garden. In the fading purple light, the lush perfume of the lilies surrounds you in a sweet, heady cloud.

“May I pick one?” he asks.

“Of course,” you reply. 

Most people don’t bother to ask, and you never realized how much it bothered you until Mayday’s courtesy reminds you that you have a right to say no. He plucks a blossom carefully, reverently, making sure not to damage the rest of the plant. 

“They’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “I can see why they’re your favorite. Why don’t buyers like them?”

“They don’t last long once they’re picked,” you reply. “It makes transporting them tricky.”

“Then I’m sorry I picked this one,” he says.

“Don’t be,” you reply. “There will be more tomorrow.”

The sun has fully set now, and his dark eyes reflect the pale light of the moons. He examines the blossom closely, taking in the graceful curves of the petals, the striations and speckles at the center, the delicate filaments of the stamens. His eyes rise to your face, and his hands follow nearly unconsciously. His knuckles brush subtly against your cheek as he tucks the flower into your hair. Your mouth suddenly feels very dry, and you swallow without meaning to.

“Beautiful,” he repeats.

---

Read Chapter 2 here!

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Clone Matchmaker AU Weekly Roundup

Welcome to our weekly roundup! Below, you'll find a list of all the Clone Matchmaker AU fic submissions and reader requests/prompts we received in the last seven days. Roundups post on Fridays, and entries are listed in the order received. Submissions received after 9 PM Pacific time on Thursdays will be included in the next week's roundup.

Thank you to all of the talented writers who have so generously contributed their work! If you have a fic, a prompt, or an artwork you'd like to submit to our page, please check out our submission guidelines, and when you're ready, submit your fic!

See the full masterlist with all stories here!

This week's submissions

"The Beauty In All, Part Two," by @secondaryrealm AKA @deejadabbles - Echo

"Date Night Pt 3," by @littlemissmanga - Clone Trooper Dogma

"Take a Chance (Part 1)," by @multi-fan-dom-madness - Crosshair

This week's reader requests

hello!!! i am here to request a crosshair x reader theme park date!

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Take a Chance (Part 1)

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Rating: General (but MDNI)

Summary: Crosshair finally caves and sets up an appointment with Right to Love. He doesn’t expect much out of it, but what he gets is softer and brighter than even he could ask for. 

Warnings: Crosshair angst (because that’s a warning I guess); peep my matchmaker OC Tal, love them dearly; brotherly teasing

A/N: @wolffegirlsunite submitted a prompt about Crosshair at carnivals and I just kinda…ran with it. In this AU, the Citadel never happened, so Echo is not with the Batch.

WC: 3.2k

Keep reading

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Take a Chance (Part 1)

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Rating: General (but MDNI)

Summary: Crosshair finally caves and sets up an appointment with Right to Love. He doesn’t expect much out of it, but what he gets is softer and brighter than even he could ask for. 

Warnings: Crosshair angst (because that’s a warning I guess); peep my matchmaker OC Tal, love them dearly; brotherly teasing

A/N: @wolffegirlsunite submitted a prompt about Crosshair at carnivals and I just kinda…ran with it. In this AU, the Citadel never happened, so Echo is not with the Batch.

WC: 3.2k

Crosshair had mastered the art of patience a long time ago. He had to; it was a requirement of his specialization as a sniper. Sitting for long, boring hours in a secured hideout, there had been times on missions where he didn’t move for hours, at minimum. One learned how to be patient when all one had was time to pass. He thrived in those situations. After all, it was what he was made for. 

What he hadn’t yet mastered was the art of civilian life. He’d rather perch in the branches of some scraggly pine on some far-off Mid-Rim world, teeth chattering in his bucket from the cold, than sit here in this waiting room. Despite the facade this damned service had so clearly cultivated to be comforting, he felt on edge, nerves screaming at him. Soft music chimed pleasantly from the speakers hanging from the ceiling corners. Vanilla, warm and inviting, cloyed in his nose. Adorning the walls, right, cheerful posters touted sickeningly saccharine slogans. We’ll help you find your path! and At Right to Love, we’ll make sure your love is right for you!

His upper lip curled in the barest hint of a scowl. Karking hell, why had he let Wrecker talk him into this? 

With a slight shake of his head, Crosshair refocused on the datapad resting in his lap. He was supposed to fill out this questionnaire to let the matchmakers do their job, but all he could think about was the vulnerability of it all. He had to just…give away personal information? Just like that? Kriff, even his brothers had given up getting him to talk about his feelings before he was ready.

Leading him to another worry, one he’d never admit out loud, and certainly wasn’t about to admit to himself. Was he ready for this? 

His first impulse was, yes of course. He’s Crosshair, member of one of the most elite squadrons of clone troopers in the entire existence of the Grand Army of the Republic. Clone Force 99 didn’t back down from challenges, and had a 100% mission success rate. 

Or at least, they did. When the GAR still existed. When the war still raged and when clones’ lives were valued less than dirt. 

He’d answered exactly three of the twenty-five questions so far. The fourth question, “How would you best describe your personality?” presented options that felt so…restrictive. Was he a) shy and reserved, b) expressive and open, c) humorous but private, d) uncomplicated and easy-going, or e) other? 

Crosshair had been labeled as “other” his entire life. Frustration simmered in his chest, hot and annoying. 

Just as he was about to stand, chuck the datapad back at the receptionist, and storm out, the receptionist in question cleared her throat.

“You don’t have to answer every single question, darlin’,” she said, smacking her gum. “That’s just to help us get started.” 

He felt the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen in spite of himself. “Anyone ever turn in a blank form?”

Her dark eyes met his, narrowed behind square spectacles, before she shook her head with a reluctant grin. “There’s a first time for everythin’. We’re all about firsts here.” 

“Yeah.” He huffed, looking back down at the datapad. The rest of the questions were similarly vague and aggravating as the personality one, but by the time he reached the last one, he was surprised to find that he’d filled in nearly half of the responses. 

Sweeping his gaze across the waiting room once more, he couldn’t help but pick out the imperfections, the way that that one paint stroke lifted some of the first coat underneath there by the corner, or the way that the ceiling tile above him only appeared symmetrical but every third one was slightly shorter, or the way that the receptionist’s eyeliner had one, tiny, nearly imperceptible gap where it had snagged over her skin. He found that the skin around his nail beds was dry and cracked, red and angry—a nervous habit he’d picked up shortly after the war ended. 

Quit stalling, he snarled to himself. 

The receptionist gave him a fleeting smile as he crossed the room to deposit the datapad on her desk. He wished she wouldn’t. 

“One of our case workers will be with you shortly, dear,” she said. 

He returned to his seat, silent, apprehensive. 

  He didn’t have to wait long; at least the receptionist was right about that. Not even fifteen minutes later, a short, kindly individual with a buzzcut and piercings pushed open the faux-wooden door leading to the back. Crosshair appraised their appearance quickly, an old habit. Black eyeliner on their bottom waterline, round, unframed glasses, a black T-shirt with some indie band Cross had never heard of: he hated to admit it, but the sight of someone dressed so casually put him at ease. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. 

“Crosshair?” they asked, as if there was anyone else in this damned waiting room. 

Still, Crosshair rose, toothpick clenched between his teeth. Quiet as a wraith, he followed who he assumed would be his case worker down a labyrinth of hallways. Behind a few of the closed doors, the familiar tones of regs’ voices drifted to him, counterpointed by the unfamiliar strains of other case workers. 

At last, his adorned case worker pushed open a door and gestured for Crosshair to enter first.

Slinking past, Crosshair took in every detail at once. Above the corner desk were at least a dozen framed holoscans, most of them featuring his mystery case worker and two others, a beaming brunette woman and a laid-back, dark-skinned man. Crystals of various colors, cuts, and properties sat scattered across the side table nearest the futon; a tapestry arched across the ceiling. One lone plant, a healthy looking thing with glossy castleton green leaves, breathed life into the room from one corner.

“I’m Tal,” the case worker said as they closed the door behind them. “Make yourself comfy. Or don’t. Everything here is under your control.” 

Crosshair shot a glance at Tal, head tilting just slightly, so minutely that Tal probably missed it. He hesitated for just a moment before sinking into the futon, the silky black fabric cushioning him as he tucked his feet up. 

“Tea?” Tal asked. 

Poison, came the immediate, instinctive thought.

“No, thanks,” he said. 

Tal shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As they poured steaming water into a waiting mug, they glanced at him. “So, Crosshair, here’s how this works. I’ll ask you a few questions, you can ask me some, and after our meeting, I’ll get to work matching you to some of our clients, yeah?”

“Fine.” Cross shifted the toothpick between his teeth, the poky bit softened and no longer quite so poky. He’d need to grab a fresh one soon. 

For a moment, Cross simply watched as Tal scooped honey into their tea mug, spoon clinking softly as they stirred the drink. The faint scent of…was that chamomile? drifted to him, and he nearly wished he’d accepted the offer.

Nearly. 

“Let’s start with the basics.” Tal set the mug down on a cork coaster. “Why are you here?”

Crosshair quirked an eyebrow, leveling his best unimpressed stare at Tal—who, to his surprise, matched Crosshair’s energy.

“That’s starting with the basics?”

Tal shrugged. “Would you rather I coerce answers on these blank questions?” They waggled a datapad in one hand. 

Sucking on his teeth, all Crosshair could do was shake his head. 

“Great, because I’m sure you hate having teeth pulled as much as I hate pulling them,” Tal said. “What brings you in?” 

“My brother,” Crosshair said flatly. Not technically a lie.

“And is that Tech, Hunter, or Wrecker?”

He clamped down on the toothpick, the fragile wood snapping. “Wrecker.”

Tal typed on the datapad for a moment. “Got it. So, no other reason, nothing more self-motivated?”

“No.”

With a hum, Tal typed some more on the ’pad before setting it to the side. They took a tentative sip of their tea, a smile of satisfaction curling over their lips. 

“Tell me if I get any of this wrong, m’kay?” Tal said. “The war ends last year. You and your brothers get to live a normal life, and you each try dating. Maybe it works for them, maybe it doesn’t, but it certainly doesn’t work for you. None of the people you go out with can get past the fact that you’re a sniper, or a science experiment, or just an ass. So you stop going out. 

“But your brothers don’t. In fact, one by one, they make their way here, to this very office in fact, find themselves partners, and settle into the cushy civilian life you just can’t wrap your head around. You’re happy for them, because they’re your brothers. But you’re also annoyed by them, because they have what you just can’t seem to find.”

Crosshair bristled at the nonchalance with which this individual, this…observer, read him for filth. Removing the now-shattered toothpick from his mouth, Crosshair forced himself to go through the ritual of discarding the broken one, selecting a fresh one from the pouch at his belt, and slipping the dry wood into the pocket of his cheek.

He avoided Tal’s gaze the entire time. In their calculating gaze, Crosshair saw himself reflected. 

“You got part of it wrong,” he eventually said. “I never tried in the first place.”

And it was true. He’d been…arrogant, more than usual, refusing to even entertain the idea of finding a fulfilling relationship outside of his vode. He’d seen the way people looked at him on the streets, even here in the capital, where no one should stand out. He couldn’t stomach the thought of having to put himself on parade just to find happiness. 

“Well,” Tal said, “I can’t be right all of the time.”

A wry smile twisted Crosshair’s mouth. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad experience after all.

  By the time that Crosshair left the RTL building, his stomach crawled with ants. He couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or excitement or some combination of both, but he couldn’t remember feeling so hopeful in a long, long time. Tal had given him their comm frequency and promised to answer any questions if Cross thought of them; and swore that as soon as they found him a match, they’d let him know. In return, Crosshair had given his word that he would think of an answer to the last question Tal had posed before their time was up. “What kind of date do you want to go on?”

Given that he’d never been on any, and certainly didn’t ingest media that portrayed such things, he hadn’t been able to give an answer. He hadn’t even wanted to lie, instead defaulting to his training, the instilled need to have the entire picture before making a decision. Kark, this meant he had to do research. 

Climbing the stairs to the apartment he shared with his brothers, he took the time to school his expression into its usual blank mask. The last thing he needed was for any of them to catch a whiff of where he’d been. He hadn’t even told Wrecker he would go to the matchmaking service; he’d just…left in the middle of the morning after they had all gone their separate ways. 

He lingered in the hall just long enough to determine who was already home. Judging by the raucous laughter, snide remarks, and grumbling complaints, it seemed all three of them were. 

Great. 

The door slid open and whooshed shut behind him as he stepped over the threshold. From the living room, Wrecker’s head peeked around the corner, a broad grin on his scarred face. 

"Was wonderin’ where you went,” he called. 

Cross ambled to the living room, pushed Wrecker back out of the way with one thin hand on his brother’s face. Laughing, Wrecker over-sold the push and landed squarely on his ass on the tile floor. 

Plopping into the beige, worn-out recliner, Cross sighed, running a hand through his short silver hair. He’d need a haircut soon. 

“Out,” he finally answered.

Hunter fixed him with a look, eyebrows scrunched. “‘Out’?”

Crosshair nodded once. Kriff, he should have just gone to his room, avoided this whole mess, but he knew his brothers; once they got on the trail of something, they couldn’t let it go. 

Wrecker lightly kicked the recliner—thought a light kick from him meant that the chair still slid a few inches across the floor with an uncomfortable screech. Hunter winced from his spot on the couch. 

“Did you go you-know-where?” Wrecker asked, voice in a stage-whisper, as if Hunter and Tech weren’t right kriffin’ there. 

Cross rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I believe Wrecker is referring to the matchmaking service known as Right to Love, which has helped clones find life partners,” Tech interjected with a glance up from his datapad. “A service to which you have been incredibly averse.”

“Hey, I thought I was convincing!” Wrecker’s voice dripped with indignation. “Wasn’t I, Cross?” 

Crosshair cut a glance at his older brother. “No.”

“Aww, Cross, you’re no fun,” Wrecker whined. He stood and lumbered to the kitchen. 

Crosshair met Hunter’s gaze. Knowing his brother could probably smell the karking vanilla candle and chamomile tea on his clothes, he had tried walking through exhaust vents to douse the scent. But the way that Hunter’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, set Crosshair’s heart sinking.

“Well,” Hunter said with a knowing look, “wherever you went, hope you had a good time.”

The rest of the evening passed quietly, the four of them settling into their usual routines. Dinner ate, holoseries watched, old stories swapped, the clock ticked by with an aching slowness. Even as his brothers recounted the latest triple-date ideas they’d had, he couldn’t help but fixate on the building anticipation in his limbs, a jittery, twitchy feeling that had him on edge. All he wanted to do was shut himself in his room and research. 

As soon as the clock showed 10 PM he bid his brothers goodnight and forced himself to walk normally to his room. The second the door slid shut, he rushed to his desk and booted up his datapad, one of Tech’s old ones. 

While the device blipped to life, he lowered himself into his desk chair and gazed at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, cast in ghostly blue from the ’pad homescreen. Eyes wide with apprehension, Crosshair almost didn’t recognize himself. He forced himself to look beyond the mirror image and focus on the scintillating lights of the ecumenopolis. Skyscrapers reached for the stars, lights dotting every floor in a mockery of the galaxy that laid beyond the polluted skies. Speeders whirred past, traffic lanes cruising steadily. Somewhere out there, came the unbidden thought, somewhere out there was the person for him. 

He snapped the datapad shut. 

Someone being right for him meant he was right for somebody, and that thought alone was too much to bear.

He went to bed trying to ignore the heated worm of jealousy burrowing into his spine at the sounds of his brothers’ laughter.

  The next morning, he awoke to the insistent blip-blip-blip of his comlink. Peering with bleary eyes at the tiny screen, it took his sleep-addled brain a moment to parse together why an unsaved frequency was contacting him this early. A glance to the time revealed that it was, in fact, mid-morning. Still. Early for him.

A few possible matches, the message read. Would you like to come in and chat about them, have me send you their profiles, or just pick for you? 

His eyes shot open, suddenly wide awake, as the message sunk in. Sitting upright in bed, he hesitated over his reply, thumbs dancing aimlessly over the keypad. This was sooner than he expected. The fact that there was more than one match made his stomach lurch—there was no way that was right.

A few? was what he ended up writing back. 

Correct, came the reply. Then three bouncing dots appeared, Tal typing another message. There’s no rush. You’re in control here. 

The reminder did little to calm Crosshair’s racing thoughts. Looking over at his reflection in the window, he grimaced at himself. He’d gone to sleep with his clothes on, his short hair spiked up on one side of his head from the awkward sleeping position he’d been in, and blanket marks criss-crossed his face. He at least needed a solid fifteen minutes to look put together, and then hopefully he would feel awake enough to compose a reasonable reply.

And so, fifteen minutes later, he perched on the edge of the living room recliner, comlink in hand as he stared down at the blinking cursor. He’d been given choices. So few people gave him choices, at least before the war ended. He decided he liked having options. 

So absorbed in wracking his brain for a coherent response, he completely missed the tell-tale sounds of Wrecker sneaking up behind him until it was too late. His brother snatched the comlink out of his grasp. Cross reached for his brother, but Wrecker was faster than he looked and darted to the other side of the couch, nimble as a Nexu. 

“Wrecker!” Crosshair growled. “Give. It. Back.”

Wrecker’s belly laugh echoed off the walls. “You’ve been actin’ weird since you got home. I wanna see why.” He glanced down at the comlink, lips moving as he silently read the messages to himself, then his mismatched eyes widened. 

“You did go you-know-where!”

Crosshair sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I say that I did, can I have my comlink back?”

“Maybe.”

“Kark, fine. Yes, I went. Now, give it back.” This time, as Cross strode forward to nick the comlink back, Wrecker let him, a ear-splitting grin breaking over his face. 

Cross squinted, unease seeping into his veins at the mirthful glint in his brother’s eyes. “What did you do?”

He whipped the comlink up to his face and glared at the screen. There, in his latest sent messages: Pick for me! 

Chuckling, but already backing away, Wrecker flashed him one final smirk before tearing down the hallway to his room. Crosshair sighed, shoulders deflating. Kark it all to hell, now he’d never hear the end of it. 

The comlink bli-bli-b-b-blipped in his grasp as several messages came through at once. Groaning, he collapsed into the couch, head in his hands, determined to ignore the damned device, but as the notifications continued, he ground his teeth and peeked. 

A torrent of messages from the group chat with his vode. 

Crosshair’s going on a date!!! 

I could have told you that. -Tech 

Proud of you, vod’ika. 

Does this mean we can go on QUADRUPLE dates!?!?!?!?

Calm down, Wrecker, let the man actually meet the person he’s being set up with before you start planning. 

We’re gonna have so much fun!!!! 

I can see why Crosshair chose not to reveal this to us. -Tech 

And at the bottom of the notifications, one lone message from Tal: Great. I’ll send you information about your match as soon as it’s confirmed. Thank you for trusting me with this, Crosshair. 

[tcwmatchmakingau]

The Beauty In All, Part Two

Editor’s note: written by @deejadabbles Pairing: Echo x GN!reader Rating: General Audience (but minors DNI) Summary: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice- still shame on you, don’t take advantage of my kindness! After so many times of falling for people who mock and manipulate your kind nature, you thought that love, true love, was simply not in the cards for you. Thankfully, Right to Love is here to make sure you and a lucky ARC trooper get your happy ending together. A.N: For some clarity: in my take on this AU, Palps had his “unfortunate accident” pretty late into the og clone wars timeline, so Echo was still rescued from the techno union and was rolling with the bad batch for awhile. And of course, since this is an everyone lives AU too, Tup’s chip never activated so that whole thing never went down, Everyone lives, everyone’s rescued, happy endings all around! Also….if you guys read this chapter closely, you’ll see references to more stories I have planned for this AU *wink wink* Lastly, Daria is @blueink-bluesoul ’s wonderful OC, who you will find in other works of this AU! Word Count: 2,742

Warnings: Mentions and discussions of ableism

Part One

Keep reading