the-echolyte

[the-echolyte]

Since you did mention you haven't watched The Mandolorian, could you instead write for a modern reader who knows Ludosport and also somehow ends up in the Star Wars galaxy. The one who finds her is Boba Fett, and the reader dosen’t show him her lightsaber skills until he is in danger, and she's using a lightsaber to battle against enemies that she managed to find/steal. When he asks her how she could battle like that, her vague answer was that she had good teachers.

Make Believe

Summary: Life on Tatooine sucks. It’s hot. And cold. And the sand gets everywhere. And the sand of Tatooine is rough and sharp, not like the soft sandy beaches of where you grew up. And you hate it. Luckily, none of it’s real.

Pairing: Pre Boba Fett x F!Reader - Early Original Series Boba

Word Count: 2173

Warnings: Reader is straight up not having a good time right now, mentions of drugging but nothing detailed

A/N: So I'm not sure if this was what you were wanting, but I had an idea and I decided to run with it. I hope you like it!

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“Oi! Boss wants you to pop into the back and take inventory,” Your co-worker, an older male twi’lek, calls to you as you step into the open building that has become your place of employment.

“Didn’t you do inventory last week?” You ask as you tug your poncho off and shove it into you locker.

“Yeah, well,” He shrugs, almost lazily, “Boss lost a bet to Jabba, and now we need to do another inventory.”

You make a face, but then offer a shrug of your own, “Alright. Toss me my tablet.”

He pauses and shoots you a pitying look, “Datapads, love. They’re called datapads.”

“Yeah. Right. I knew that.”

His pitying look remains even as he grabs a datapad, and then a bound pack of laminated paper and hands both to you. “Your datapad, and your cheat book.” He hesitates for a moment, “So, uh, how was your appointment yesterday?”

“Fine.”

“Did the doc say anything about, well—you know.” He gestures towards your head, and your lips turn down into an unhappy frown.

“He, officially, diagnosed me with Sun Sickness.”

“Yeah. Yeah, well we knew that was going to happen, didn’t we?” He’s trying to be encouraging, but that look still hasn’t faded from his eyes, “And you’re doing so much better than you were when we found you. I mean, you can almost recognize every letter in Aurebesh now.”

“Yeah, but I still can’t understand Huttese or Bocce.”

“Those will come. Just be patient.” He lightly pats your hand, “Now, you’d better get to work. Don’t forget your hat and your work poncho. Last thing we need is to make your Sun Sickness worse.”

“You sound like a dad.”

“I am a dad. Now scoot before the boss catches you.”

You offer him a wave of acknowledgment, and then pull your work poncho and hat from your locker, and head into the back of the scrapyard while pulling them on. As soon as you open the door leading behind the shop, you’re smacked in the face by the sweltering heat of Tatooine.

It’s so hot, in fact, that you feel yourself starting to sweat just from the short walk from the main shop to the back warehouse. You set your water bottle under a sun shade, and sit on an overturned bucket as you power on the tablet—datapad—in your hands.

As you wait for the device to power on, you allow your focus to wander.

You’re still not sure how you ended up in this situation. Well, not this situation specifically. You remember very well how you ended up working at this scrapyard, but in general.

You don’t remember how you ended up on Tatooine.

Or how you ended up wandering the Wastes outside of the city you now work and live in.

You remember what you had been doing before, though.

You are, or were, a college student at the University of Miami in Florida. A Marine Biology student. A student of LudoSport. You remember your best friend inviting you to a party to help you decompress from midterms.

The party itself is mostly a blur. You mostly remember thumping music, the stuffy heat of too many bodies pressed into a too small area, the scent of cheap alcohol, and the sound of too many people pretending to have a good time.

Your working theory is that you were drugged at the party and that this, Tatooine and all of the people, are the result of a coma dream. The miserable heat that you suffer through has to be a side-effect of a fever or an infection or something.

Because it’s not real.

It can’t be real.

You need it to be a hallucination. Because if it’s real then that means you’re never going to see your parents again. Or your siblings. Or your friends.

And that’s just...it’s just not allowed.

Still, it’s a very vivid hallucination. You get corrected on things that you didn’t even known about. Things that never showed up in the movies or the books or games.

Most of the people in Mos Epsa, the town you call home, have been very accommodating to you. In fact, aside from one or two people who aren’t from Tatooine, everyone has been.

They look at you with pitying eyes.

Whispers follow you through the market when you try to do your daily shopping. And people are all too happy to help you with translations or with your shopping.

It’s because of the Sun Sickness.

It’s a real illness, though it’s not caused by bacteria or a virus. It’s caused by over exposure to the sun. There’s no cure or treatment for the symptoms. And the biggest symptoms are a loss of memory, which you have, and aphasia. Basically, words get flipped around in your head and it makes it hard to communicate at times.

Luckily, Basic is pretty much the same as English. For all that the written language is so much different. And no one gives you too hard of a time if you call some things by the wrong name.

You glance at the tablet and sigh softly when you see it’s actively running an update. You’ll be waiting a while, apparently. So you stretch your legs out, and allow your attention to wander again.

For all that none of this is real, you did make a few rules for yourself as soon as you realized you were on Tatooine.

Rule 1: Change nothing. An easy thing to do, really, since you have no idea where, in the timeline, you are. Well, aside from during the time of the Empire. Jabba is a Hutt, after all. And they, apparently live a long ass time.

Rule 2: Don’t interact with anyone who might hurt you. For example, don’t join any of the cartels, don’t draw the attention of any bounty hunters, and don’t talk about Jedi.

Rule 3: Ignorance is bliss. Getting involved in the Rebel Alliance is bad. Getting involved with the Empire is bliss. When people gossip about galactic news in the market, you play dumb.

Rule 4: Do nothing to draw attention to yourself. So far as the rest of Tatooine, and the Galaxy, need to know. You’re just some poor woman with Sun Sickness. It needs to stay that way.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts when the tablet chimes in your hands, and you heave out a sigh of relief as it flickers to life.

You know that you’re lucky. You get paid well enough that you have your own little studio apartment not far from here. And you can afford food and clothes and you’re not a slave.

It’s not so bad, for a coma dream.

Or, well, it could be worse.

It’s later, that same day, when your carefully laid rules crumble around you.

After a long, long day of working in the stifling heat, you finish your work and head to the market to pick up dinner for yourself.

It’s a normal thing to do. You don’t have a fridge or a freezer in your studio, so you have to buy perishable food every day. At first, you struggled with the idea of shopping daily, it just wasn’t a thing you did.

But you’ve adjusted. You think.

But when you turn a corner, you freeze.

Members of the Pyke Syndicate are surrounding someone. You can’t quite see who they’re threatening, but if you had to guess it’s probably a shopkeeper.

The Pykes seem to be doing there best to worm their way into Hutt territory, and if that happens, you’re going to get dragged into a gang war whether you like it or not.

Nervously, you look around, and then you pick up a metal rod. It’s roughly the same length as your old saber that you used in Florida, though it’s a bit heavier since it’s steel.

You have to be quick, and careful.

You’re not actually a Jedi, you can’t dodge blaster bolts.

But they haven’t notice you. So you silently move so you’re standing behind one of the Pykes and you strike.

You crack one over the back of the head, and then use a sweeping motion to knock out the two standing right next to the first one you attacked, and then there’s four blaster shots.

Though, not aimed at you you realize as you straighten and manage to get a look at who the Pykes had been threatening.

Tall and broad, wearing armor painted with flecking green paint.

Boba Fett.

Your weapon falls from your numb fingers, and you feel the blood draining from your face as your fight or flight instincts activate.

Bad. This is bad.

Boba Fett is one of the people on your Do Not Interact list. In fact, he’s near the top. Just under Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and Han Solo to be specific.

You want to flee. To run away to your apartment and never show your face again. But your feet feel rooted to the ground.

And he’s approaching you.

He stops several inches away from you, and then he crouches and picks up the metal rod you used. He turns it this way and that, examining it through his helmet.

“Not bad.” His voice is modulated through the helmet, but he doesn’t sound angry, you don’t think. “A proper weapon would have been more useful.”

“Ah...yes. I know.” You really, really want this conversation to end. Like, now.

He reaches up and pulls his helmet off with one hand, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s...young. Well, younger than you expected.

He has dark curls that are sticking up in weird directions, likely from a mix of sweat and his helmet. And his eyes are focused on your weapon of choice. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“I had teachers, I think. But there’s also only so many ways someone can swing a stick—” Your chest feels tight, and your voice sounds very far away to your own ears.

His gaze flickers to your face, “Are you okay?” A frown appears on his face as he scans you, and then he pulls his blaster out and shoots the three Pykes you knocked out, “They’ll never know you were involved. So far as the Pyke Syndicate will know, I killed them all. You don’t have to look so horrified.”

He’s...worried?

About you.

No. No nononon—

He can’t be. He’s not real.

He’s a fictional character. He’s supposed to be two-dimensional.

“—an you hear me?” A large hand lands on your shoulder, and you cast your panicked gaze up to his face, his brow creases a little more, “Kriff, I thought I recognized you. You’re the sun sickness woman, aren’t you? Are you having an episode?”

Your breathing quickens, and you can see spots at the side of your vision. Is this what a panic attack feels like? You don’t like it.

“-ey! Hey! Stay with me!” You watch, feeling like you’re miles away, as he yanks his helmet back on and a comm crackles to life. You hear him start to report a medical emergency, but you don’t hear him finish, as you black out from hyperventilating.

Boba Fett stares at the young woman resting peacefully on the thin mattress at the local emergency clinic. His helmet is sitting on a table next to him as a pair of older Twi’lek fret around her.

Smoothing her blanket, brushing her hair back, pressing a cool cloth against her head.

“She’s your kid?” Boba asks.

“We were the ones who found her wandering the wastes,” The man says as he takes the young woman’s hand and squeezes it, “Thank you for bringing her here.”

“Of course. She’s sick.”

“She hasn’t had an episode like that in months,” The older woman whispered, “What caused it, do you know?”

“The Pykes, if I had to guess.” Boba replies.

“That would do it. Stress and anxiety are both triggers for these kinds of episodes.” The woman brushes her cheek, “Oh, my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m here now.”

“I want to stay until she wakes up.” Boba says bluntly. Not asking so much as informing her guardians that he wasn’t leaving.

He’s never minded being feared before. But that was more than just fear.

He doesn’t like it.

“I’m sure you have a lot to do—” The old man says hesitantly.

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Sure, he’s supposed to head to Bespin to catch that Solo guy for Jabba, but he’ll pass that job onto Cad Bane. This, right here, feels more important for some reason.

“Well, if that’s what you want—” The old woman murmurs.

Boba glances at them, “I want to make sure the Pykes don’t come after her.” He clarifies, “That’s all.”

“Well, in that case, stay as long as you want.”

Boba nods, and glances at the slumbering woman for a moment, and then settles back in his seat, prepared to stand guard for as long as it takes.

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[the-echolyte]

Meet Me In the Woods

Chapter 1: Victory Val

Author's Note: It's finally here! Chapter 1 of Vol. 1! So excited to launch the first bit of this story. Don't forget to check back here on Wednesday's and Sunday's every week. This time around, art included in the story is by @legacygirlingreen, meanwhile art in cover art by @leenathegreengirl. If you want to be in the know with story updates just ask to join the tag list! Anywho... without further ado: Vol. 1

Summary: On a day meant to showcase order, Captain Howzer can feel the cracks forming. Irritated by a discovery in the barracks, he walks toward the looming speech with a storm quietly building behind his eyes. The crowd gathers, the tension thickens, and somewhere in the distance, a familiar glint catches the light.

Word Count: 4,600

Warnings: General angst/brimming anxiety; briefest mention of order 66, Imperial Crosshair (Granted it's Ryloth but still, know he's not everyone's cup of caf)

The HUB | Masterlist | Next Chapter (coming soon!)

▄︻デ══━一

There was never any question about the quality of the artwork. The craftsmanship was evident—the allure, the realism—it was all there, and Howzer couldn’t deny it. But that didn’t make it acceptable. Had the subject been someone anonymous, someone more abstract, he might’ve brushed it off with nothing more than a sigh. After all, he was no stranger to the pinups his men frequently tacked onto the barrack walls. It was the kind of low-level contraband he typically overlooked. A quiet indulgence, tolerated in the name of morale.

But this was different.

The moment he saw the familiar curves of teal armor—his armor—adorning a Twi’lek figure even more familiar, something in him snapped. The drawing wasn’t just suggestive; it was personal. There she was: Victory Val. Posed as if she had modeled for the piece herself, body angled to exaggerate every flattering line, with the stylized armor sliced and sculpted to show more skin than protection. It wasn’t just distasteful. It was a mockery. A cruel, disrespectful joke at the expense of a woman he deeply respected. 

With a sharp breath and clenched jaw, he tore the image from the wall.

His voice followed swiftly, rising in volume and urgency as he reprimanded the men. Not just for the lack of decorum, but for forgetting what their presence on Ryloth meant. They were here to support, not desecrate. To protect, not objectify. The Twi’lek people had suffered enough. Their mission now was one of restoration: peacekeeping, respect, cooperation. Not ogling their own allies like characters from some tawdry wartime fantasy.

Punishments were handed down accordingly. Disciplinary reports, temporary suspensions of privilege. He made it clear that behavior like this wouldn't be tolerated under his command.

Afterward, at the request of his superiors—and likely for his own composure—he stepped away for a moment.

The war was technically over. Peace, however, remained fragile. And in these volatile times, disrespecting one of Cham Syndulla’s leading fighters wasn’t just foolish, it was dangerous. Victory Val wasn’t just a soldier. She was a symbol of Ryloth’s resistance, of its hope. Of its bright future. 

And to Howzer, she was more than that. A comrade. A leader. A woman who had earned every ounce of his respect.

Not to mention, she was someone he’d felt an undeniable pull toward from the moment they met. The sharp edge of attraction striking him like a live current the first time he locked eyes with Valérie, Gobi Glie’s younger sister. Her teasing smile, the mischievous glint in her eye, the way she carried herself with both confidence and defiance—it had all thrown him off balance in a way he hadn’t expected, and certainly hadn’t prepared for. And if he thought he’d kept those feelings under wraps, he was sorely mistaken.

It wasn’t exactly a well-guarded secret.

Everyone seemed to know that she flustered him to no end. His men noticed it immediately: the sudden stiff posture, the half-second delays in his replies when she was around. Cham’s soldiers caught on just as fast, exchanging knowing looks whenever Val strolled into the room. Even Val herself seemed perfectly aware, though she rarely said anything outright. Instead, she wielded that knowledge with playful precision, tossing casual remarks his way that always hovered just on the edge of flirtation.

She had a way of getting under his skin without even trying, and he hated how obvious it had become.

Or maybe… he didn’t.

And the artwork had no place in the barracks. It was crass, disrespectful, and offensive in every way that mattered. Howzer had no doubt about where it belonged: shredded and dumped in the nearest waste bin. He shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the lingering frustration as he quickened his pace down the corridor. The address to the citizens was about to begin, and the last thing he needed was to arrive late.

The Vice Admiral would be there. So would a full squad of special forces, stiff-backed and watching everything with too much interest. With the new Imperial refinery operational and the Empire pushing harder than ever to dismantle Cham Syndulla’s resistance fighters, making the mood across Ryloth volatile. Tense didn’t even begin to cover it. One misstep—even one word out of place—and the entire illusion of peace could come crashing down. His men pulling a stunt like that, mocking one of Ryloth’s heroes, one of Cham’s own, only added fuel to a fire already threatening to consume them all. But Howzer forced himself to set the anger aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, not now.

As much as he hated the way the Empire operated, as much as Senator Orn Free Taa’s presence made his skin crawl, Howzer still believed in what he was doing… at least, to a degree. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he believed in the people he was doing it for. Cham. Eleni. Ryloth. They were the ones who mattered. And if enduring the hypocrisy and heavy-handed control of the Empire meant he could help shield those people from worse? Then he would. He’d suck it up for their sake.

He adjusted his posture, squared his shoulders, and stepped through the archway into the balcony suite. Below, a crowd had already gathered, their faces a mix of hope, wariness, and quiet skepticism. He braced himself for the speech he knew was coming. A polished string of reassurances, shallow promises dressed up in Imperial rhetoric. He’d heard them before. They were always the same.

His eyes drifted to Cham, standing nearby.

The man looked older than he had months ago. Not necessarily in age, but in weariness. The kind of exhaustion that came from fighting too long and losing too much. The fire that had once burned so brightly in Cham’s eyes had dulled, flickering low and uneven. Howzer hated seeing it. Hated knowing how much Cham had given, how much he still carried on his shoulders.

But Cham wasn’t the only one to contend with.

Gobi Glie hadn’t surrendered the fight, nor had Eleni. Both still held the line, firm in their resistance. But the inclusion of young Hera into these dangerous conversations... it didn’t sit right with him. She was a child—brilliant, yes, and brave beyond her years—but still a child. She shouldn’t have to carry the weight of revolution on her back.

And then there was Valérie.

Unlike the others, she seemed, if not eager then at least ready, to step away from the past. To let go of the endless struggle and try to build something real. Something peaceful. She’d fought, bled, and sacrificed like the rest of them, but now she walked with a quiet kind of resolve, the look of someone who had made peace with leaving the battlefield behind.

He didn’t blame her. In fact, he admired it.

They were all tired. Some of them just hid it better than others.

And some small part of him, buried beneath years of discipline and duty, wondered what came next. What would happen if this “service” of his actually ended? If he was ever given a choice about where to go, who to be?

He already knew the answer. He would stay.

Ryloth had become something more than a post. More than a mission. He had come to respect its people, its resilience, it's quiet beauty. He had learned to appreciate its sunrises, its traditions, its fierce sense of identity. And, perhaps, he had come to feel a certain affection for a sharp-eyed sniper who always seemed to be watching his six—often with a smirk that made his heart beat a little too fast.

He wasn’t sure what kind of future was waiting for him, or if he’d even be lucky enough to claim it. But if freedom ever came, real freedom, he knew exactly where he wanted to spend it.

"I have a visual. Gobi Glie and his fighters are here," came the voice of Crosshair, sharp and biting.

That snake-like tone was becoming increasingly unsettling. Ever since the war had ended, the steadfast Imperial presence had continued to erode his command day by day. At first, the Imperial arrival had been explained away as "extra security" meant to protect the senator, a flimsy excuse that only grew more transparent with time. His position as Captain, once so pivotal overseeing a legion of soldiers, now seemed less and less significant. As the special forces—led by that infuriatingly insufferable defected clone—made their mark, Howzer’s sense of purpose only grew more frayed. The worst part? Hearing that same clone utter the Glie name with such unmistakable distaste made Howzer’s jaw tighten.

Howzer’s gaze swept over the crowd from his position on the balcony. He didn’t need to search too hard—he knew Gobi would be there. It was where he always was. Cham, the idealist, was the face of the movement, the dreamer who believed in a better future. He wasn't unfamiliar with the fight, but he remained the symbol of hope. Gobi, however, was the military leader, the one who understood the cost of war in a way few could comprehend. But where was Val? Wasn’t she with her brother? Howzer’s eyes darted desperately over the sea of Twi'lek faces. Teal, her striking color, wasn’t hard to pick out in the crowd—it was more of a rare shade—but despite his efforts, he found nothing. A growing sense of unease settled over him.

He shook it off, pushing the thought from his mind as he returned to his post near Cham. At least Syndulla seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. He might not always agree with Cham's approach, but there was a certain clarity in his vision of what the future should look like. Gobi and the others, however, weren’t accustomed to peace. How could they be? Peace had been an impossible dream for so long, a luxury they hadn’t been afforded. Howzer couldn't blame them for struggling to adjust. He understood better than most, that survival had been their only focus for too long. Cham was ready to lay down his arms. Even Val, despite her absence, had seemed ready. But now, with so much still unresolved, peace felt more like an illusion than a reality.

"The crowd appears restless, Howzer," Cham muttered, his eyes narrowing as they shifted to where his wife was speaking with the Vice Admiral and the Senator. "I do not like it."

"Adjustments are difficult, Cham," Howzer replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet understanding. "The people have been on the edge for so long. They've lost loved ones, seen too much destruction. It’s only natural for them to remain skeptical about change. After all, peace was a dream we thought was impossible. And now..." Howzer faltered, unsure how to articulate the unease that gnawed at him. "Now, it feels like the transition is too sudden. The execution of the Jedi, the consolidation of power, this insistence that security means sacrificing more and more..." He trailed off, shaking his head. There was too much he couldn’t make sense of—too much about the past few months that didn’t sit right. The locals’ unease was contagious, and he found himself questioning the very nature of what they were supposed to be building.

As he attempted to offer some semblance of comfort to Cham, the crowd’s restlessness seemed to grow. That was when he heard the most ridiculous and revolting statement.

"I speak for the people when I say this partnership is most welcome," came the pompous voice of Orn Free Taa. Howzer's stomach turned at the sound. The man was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the Senate: gluttonous, arrogant, out of touch. A man who served only his own interests, constantly living in a self-made bubble of privilege. Howzer couldn't fathom how anyone could take him seriously. His very presence was an insult to everything they were trying to rebuild. It was clear that Orn Free Taa had no understanding of the sacrifices made by people like Gobi, Cham, or the countless others who had fought for a better future.

At Rampart’s call, Cham slowly turned away from him, as if giving voice to the bitter truth he had long carried but never quite spoken aloud. "After years spent fighting, peace is what is needed," he said, his voice heavy, as if the weight of the words themselves were more than he could bear. Howzer watched him closely. He had no doubt that Cham wanted to believe in the ideal he was voicing, and in many ways, Howzer could feel it in the man’s demeanor. The weariness of battle, the longing for something more, something better. But the smaller, more cynical part of Howzer knew the truth: Cham was a rebel at his core. A soldier who had fought for freedom, who had lived for resistance. And it was hard to imagine that someone like him could truly embrace peace in a way that didn’t still leave room for conflict. Rebels didn’t just stop fighting—they adapted, they evolved, but they rarely laid down arms entirely.

"And with peace comes prosperity," came the booming voice of Orn Free Taa, interrupting his thoughts. Howzer’s lip curled in disdain, his thoughts immediately turning bitter. Leave it to the bloated, self-serving bureaucrat to see the only upside to peace as a financial opportunity. Howzer almost felt sorry for the man, but that was quickly replaced with a sharp pang of disgust. "This is a new era for Ryloth," Taa continued, his hands sweeping the air as though he were offering some grand vision of hope.

A new era for Ryloth, indeed. But for who? Howzer couldn’t shake the feeling that what was being promised was little more than an illusion, a false hope laced with political opportunism. Ryloth had known war for so long, it was hard to believe it could ever really know peace. They had fought for survival, for identity, for a future free from the oppression of the Separatists, and now it felt like they were exchanging one form of subjugation for another. But the worst part was how quickly the promise of prosperity was tied to the same forces that had enslaved them before.

Part of Howzer—just a small part—wanted to believe that this was just the growing pains of a new world, that change could come, that freedom was within their reach. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the new Empire, however flawed, could forge a path that led to something better, something stable. The idea of conscripting soldiers across the galaxy, of building something strong and enduring—perhaps even a place where he could lay down roots, find honest work, a home—was an appealing thought. It could be a chance to give back to the people of Ryloth, to those who had supported him and his men through thick and thin.

But every instinct in him screamed that it was a dream too far-fetched to be real. Unstable. Unlikely. The weight of the galaxy’s history pressed on him, the shadow of the Empire still hanging thick in the air. Could it truly be different this time? Could peace truly come from all of this? Or were they simply spinning the same wheels that had led them into endless conflict for generations?

And what would be left when all the dust settled?

Cham might have wanted to believe in the dream of peace, but Howzer could feel the unease creeping up his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was the ghosts of the past or the uncertainty of the present, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the road ahead would be far more complicated, and far more dangerous, than anyone was willing to admit.

Howzer watched as the Vice Admiral stalked off to join the Senator, leaving Cham standing there, the weariness of the moment visibly heavy on him. The burden of leadership, the weight of what had been won and what still remained uncertain, seemed to settle in his shoulders. Howzer couldn’t help himself. He approached the man. "Everything alright, General?" The title slipped from his lips without thought, a habit ingrained from years of military service. Even though they were no longer soldiers at war, the respect he felt for the man across from him remained, unwavering.

Cham looked at him, his eyes tired but thoughtful. "I should be content that the war is over. But as you said, change is never easy." He paused, the faintest flicker of doubt crossing his face before he spoke again. "I hope my people will embrace this peace."

Howzer took a breath, unsure of what to say. The words they’d just exchanged lingered between them, both carrying the weight of reality and hope, but neither feeling truly secure. Still, he gave it a try. "Ryloth is safe, Cham. This is what you fought for." He tried to muster a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was what they fought for, wasn’t it? 

The truth was, Howzer didn’t have all the answers. The Separatists were defeated, but the victory felt hollow at times. For now, things could be better. He repeated that mantra to himself like a prayer, every morning in the fresher before strapping on his stiff armor and heading out for his rounds. Each day, it felt like the chain of command and all its promises had come in, disrupting the life he had tried to build with the locals. He had come to appreciate the rhythm of this place, the simplicity, the connection to the land and its people. But the empire had changed everything. Every day, it felt more like something else was being taken from him.

Howzer could feel it: the creeping softness in him, the erosion of the old military protocols he had once followed without question. He’d let himself slip into the traditions of the locals, wear their coverings, their clothes. At first, it was just a way for him and his men to connect with the Twi'lek militia—an unspoken gesture of respect. Trust was vital between the Twi’lek and his men when they arrived.

The command that had come before his legion had failed in its duty to the people of Ryloth. They had gotten the Twi'lek to safety, yes, but the planet itself had been lost to the Separatists. And in that loss, Cham had been left behind, abandoned. Howzer could still feel the sting of that betrayal in the air, and it drove him to work tirelessly to rebuild the trust between Cham and the clones. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight, but he believed until it became reality.

He encouraged his men to respect the Twi’lek traditions, to honor their culture. There were things they had to let go of. Old habits, old phrases that had once been the norm but were now offensive. He had worked hard to stamp out the use of “tail heads” after Val had informed him how deeply disrespectful it was to the Twi'lek people. The idea of earning back their respect, of showing that they were allies and not oppressors, was something Howzer took seriously. The cultural divide wasn’t easy to bridge, but it was the only way forward.

And then, of course, there was Val.

Her name lingered in his thoughts like an unspoken truth, a shadow in the corner of his mind that he couldn’t quite banish. The sudden absence of her in the crowd, that feeling of not knowing where she was, gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. She had become a symbol for the delicate balance between duty and desire, between the past and whatever they were trying to build. She was part of this world now, a part of Ryloth's future, and yet she remained an enigma, elusive in a way that was both maddening and strangely comforting.

She was young, but not in the way that most people assumed. There was a quiet wisdom in her, an idealism that wasn’t naïve, but deeply rooted in reality. She didn’t dismiss concerns, didn’t bury her head in the sand, but neither did she let anxiety take over or spiral out of control. She had this rare ability to face the hard truths of the world while still keeping her feet firmly planted. And in doing so, she had a way of lifting his spirits, of giving him a space where he could breathe—somewhere between the weight of Cham’s expectations and the guarded distance of her older brother.

She was the reason he had earned their trust back in the first place. Despite her teasing, her challenges, her refusal to let him off easy, she had always seen through to the heart of things. Her candidness had cut through the layers of suspicion, and her unwillingness to simply follow orders had forced him to prove himself time and again. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

It was just her nature to know how much she meant to him, to understand the effect she had on him, even when she didn’t speak it aloud. And yet, she never let it show. Instead, she’d simply flash him one of those mischievous smiles, the kind that reached her eyes and made the world seem a little less heavy. With a gentle tug on his arm, she’d pull him out of his thoughts, grounding him in the present moment, as if reminding him that in spite of everything, life could still have moments of lightness.

Those moments were rare, of course. They only came when the dust of their work and struggle settled, when the weight of their responsibilities momentarily lifted, and they could simply be. Together. 

In those fleeting moments, he allowed himself to indulge in something softer, something more hopeful. A quiet dream for the future, one that wasn’t weighed down by the uncertainties of the past or the pressure of what was to come. And in that, she gave him something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing: a glimpse of what could be, even in a world that felt so fractured.

Howzer’s mind snapped back to the present when Cham began speaking to the crowd, his voice rising above the murmur of unrest. The general was attempting to calm the brewing disturbance, his words carefully chosen to settle the growing tension before things got out of hand. As Cham gestured toward him, Howzer found himself unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight, the General using him as an example of how the clones had done right by Ryloth.

A part of him wanted to square his shoulders, lift his chin, and stand tall. When Howzer had first arrived on Ryloth, speeches like this—full of gratitude and reverence for the sacrifices of the clones—had been exactly the kind of recognition he fought for. The kind of acknowledgment he believed was deserved after years of battle. But that was before he had met someone who had completely shifted his perspective.

Now, the words felt bitter. He wasn’t the model of selflessness. He wasn’t the embodiment of the heroic clone soldier fighting for the greater good. He wasn’t even sure if he could call himself a soldier anymore.

This mission—this entire period of his life—had become far too personal. He had crossed the line between duty and connection long ago, and now, there was no going back. His loyalty had shifted, his focus had changed. His last few years on Ryloth, the ones spent fighting beside the locals, were no longer about the broader war or some grand idea of serving the Empire or the Republic. They were about the citizens he had come to care for—people who had become more than just comrades in arms.

Hera. Eleni. Gobi. Cham. And… Val.

Each of them had left an imprint on him, some more deeply than others, but all of them had tugged him away from the rigid, cold doctrine of a soldier’s life. He had fought for them—with them. They had shown him a new way of seeing the world, one where duty and compassion could coexist, where there was room for hope amid the ruins of a war-torn galaxy. But in doing so, they had also made him question everything he once believed.

As he stood there, Cham’s voice a low hum in the background, confirming that his people should respect his brother-in-arms, Howzer’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t need to hear the words; his instincts were already on edge. That’s when he saw it: a glint. The solar flare of a reflection, sharp and unmistakable, bouncing off the lens of a scope.

He knew his men had set up parameters around the walls of the city, but this—this was outside the established bounds. A flash of movement atop a distant cliffside to the right, just beyond the edges of their perimeter. Brown eyes narrowing, he shifted his focus. Then, a flicker of color. Teal. The smallest, almost imperceptible flash of it, just behind the ridge.

He should’ve known. She should’ve been the first thing on his mind. Always within earshot, always close, always ready to assist if the situation called for it. But this time it was different.

The Empire had confiscated every weapon the locals had. Every last one, except for the few who had managed to keep theirs hidden, and she was one of them. He’d always known she’d find a way to keep it. But seeing the glint of her scope trained at the city, pointed at their heads, sent a cold jolt of panic through him. It wasn’t for his safety: he didn’t care about that. It wasn’t even for the Senator’s safety. It was for hers.

If the Empire found out, if they discovered she was holding a weapon, it wouldn’t just be a reprimand. She’d be in serious trouble—immediate, deadly trouble—for defying Imperial orders. Worse still, he’d be the one tasked with handing down the punishment. The weight of that responsibility, the gut-wrenching knowledge that it could fall to him to turn her in, to sentence her, gnawed at him with a bitter sense of inevitability.

He scanned the cliffside again, his heart rate picking up as his mind raced. There. Just a shift in the air. He could sense her presence even if she wasn’t visible. With a subtle shake of his head, he gave the smallest of gestures, just a hint of movement. A silent order for her to put the weapon down. It wasn’t just reckless; it was dangerous.

With Crosshair, the special forces sniper, roaming nearby—his every movement designed for precision, his defect almost tailor-made for tasks like this—Howzer knew the risk was amplified. He would be scoping their surroundings, looking for threats, looking for any sign of movement. The thought of her on that cliff, exposed, risking her life for nothing, made his blood run cold.

For a moment, he didn’t see the flash of the scope again, nor did he hear Crosshair’s usual cold, detached commentary about spotting targets. But that didn’t mean it was over. He couldn’t let it go. Once this gods-forsaken speech ended, once the crowd had been dealt with, he’d find her. He’d get to her before anyone else did. And then, he’d make sure that rifle was stashed away, hidden out of sight, out of reach. Her safety depended on it.

The thought of what might happen if anyone discovered her, if she were caught with the weapon, sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t afford to lose her. Not like this.

Tag List

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[the-echolyte]

I know that codywan is purely a fandom invention, so it shouldn’t shock me that the majority of content of the two is fluff, but their canon dynamic can be exploited for some of the best angst known to man.

Like imagine you were always meant to kill him. You were born to kill him and yet he treats you like a person, something that has only been afforded to you by your brothers. He’s everything you were told a jedi would be. He’s certainly not perfect. He had a lot to learn about becoming a general. (You wonder how many of your brothers died because him and his order didn’t study some goddamn tactics before going to war) He acts rather above it all at times, which is annoying, but you guess you would be too if you could move things with your mind. He’s very particular, but somehow able to talk his way out of some of the worst situations you’ve ever seen.

Sometimes he invites you for tea when you could be going over battle plans(the plans calm your nerves more than tea ever could) and despite how much he may pretend not to, how much he is desperate not to, he cares. He cares so deeply about his former padawan (their bickering reminds you of petty fights with the other cadets), he cares about keeping his men alive, and for some inexplicable reason, he cares about you. You find yourself also caring about him. You’re not supposed to be feeling this way, none of your brothers should. He’s your superior officer, so you say nothing when your heart skips a beat when he claps you on the back. You stay for longer than you should when drinking that bitter tea. You ignore the smiles and knowing looks your brother gives you. You’re happy, and the end of this war will make it all worth it.

Except it’s not.

He betrayed you and your brothers. You fought side by side with him and for what? Him to betray everything you ever fought for? You tell them to take the shot, not hesitating for one second. The only thing you need in that moment is him dead. And just like that the war is over. All the hurt, all the suffering, is finally over. But you feel like you have a hole in your chest more hollow than any blaster shot could make you feel.

Your brothers are dying less than they ever have, but you feel even less like a person than before. You follow orders. No one asks for your opinion. No one asks for your name. You are disposable and you know you will be replaced. Citizens who used to flee towards you are now fleeing away from you, as if you were as unfeeling as the droid army that tried to take them over. Only it wasn’t them who took over, was it?

This empire, which the deepest part of yourself is telling you to trust, goes against everything you were ever taught to defend. The first thing this empire ever told you to do was to kill the man who risked his life countless times for you and your brothers and you did it without question. Why? It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Maybe if you had waited, had thought for just a second longer, Obi-Wan Kenobi would still be alive. He would be alive, put a hand on your shoulder, smile in that way that makes the edges of his eyes crease, and tell you “I forgive you, Cody.”

But it’s done. You’ve already killed him. It happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.

[the-echolyte]

I’m super excited to be writing and working on my very first fic for the Star Wars fandom! It’s going to be a Codywan Tatooine AU of sorts. It’s been over a year since I’ve written literally anything, so I can’t help but be excited to share just a snippet of the fic. Please let me know what you think 🥰

-

It had been 365 days since Obi-Wan’s world seemed to come to a screeching halt.

A year since he felt the lights of too many Jedi blink out in the Force. Since Anakin fell. Since facing him on Mustafar, leaving his Padawan, his brother, behind.

365 days since hearing those two words from Cody’s cold, calculated voice.

Blast him!

He could still feel the fall, Boga’s screech merging with his own shout. The way Cody, had gone from a beacon of light in the Force to a dreadful, dark void. One by one his men had followed, blasters raised without hesitation.

It had haunted him for many nights when he first arrived on Tatooine, Luke clutched tightly to his chest.

The boy was the last fragile thread that had connected him to Anakin. In Luke’s face he could see the kind eyes of the boy he raised, paired with a smile that no doubt resembled Padme’s.

Sometimes when the loneliness grew too sharp in his chest, he’d close his eyes and reach out to him in the Force. Just to feel that brightness, unmarred from the weight of the galaxy around him. He never reached out for longer than a few minutes, and never tried to push past the surface level. If he dug deeper into the Force, nothing but the weight of loss and coldness met him, leaving him breathless and with moisture in his eyes that took the rest of the day to get rid of.

So instead, he spent most of his time on the arid planet surviving. He ate and drank enough to sustain himself, and endured the heat and silence alone. He occasionally spoke with Beru and Owen, though after those conversations he always felt drained of any remaining energy. For a year now, he had continued this routine.

And yet on the 366th day, the routine changed.

He had been meditating on a nearby large rock, when a tickle, a nudge almost, had run down his spine. He had felt his body tense on instinct, the feeling settling uncomfortably in his stomach. The Force hadn’t shown him danger exactly—not the kind that screamed— but instead gave him a sense of something familiar, something once-trusted.

He had opened his eyes and just on the edge of the horizon, he had seen what the Force had been trying to warn him of.

Cody.

[the-echolyte]

When You Least Expect It - Chapter 1

(A CodyWan Story)

This is my first attempt at a modern AU and I've enjoyed this so much. I really hope you do too!

Summary: Obi Wan Kenobi wasn't sure things could get worse. He was struggling to care for his siblings on a teacher's salary, his brother's girlfriend was pregnant, and his furnace just died. But when Cody Fett comes to repair his furnace, things take an unexpected turn.

The First Two Chapters are Up! Read on AO3

Obi Wan huffed and saw a white cloud of breath escape him. Not ideal, especially when he was inside. The heat was out; frost had started to gather on the windows of his office. He wasn’t entirely sure when the heat failed, sometime while he and the rest of the family were at school, but as the sun had set on the cool October evening, their predicament became much worse.

He flexed his frozen hands around the red grading pen and circled the third time his student had used ‘there’ instead of ‘their’.

He heard the stomp of feet on the porch and let out a sigh of relief as the doorbell rang.

“ANAKIN.” He called up the stairs. He waited for the pounding footsteps of his lanky brother but was met with silence. “ANAKIN. GET THE DOOR.” He called again.

The doorbell rang again, and he grumbled under his breath. “AN…”

“YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, I HEARD YOU!” he shouted as he stomped down the stairs.

“Thank you.” Obi Wan said acidly.

There were murmurs as the door opened and Obi Wan saw a figure following Anakin down to the basement. Anakin’s feet stomped up the basement stairs, his young face poking through the door of the office and scowling. “Happy?” he said.

“Yes. Thank you. You said you’d take care of it so I could…”

“Work, yeah, I know. When don’t you work?”

Obi Wan leaned back in the chair and scratched his beard before rubbing his hands on his thighs in the hopes of thawing them.

“When you get a job in order to provide for your pregnant girlfriend, perhaps then I wouldn’t have to work so much. Until that time, I will work so we can all eat. Does that suit you?”

Anakin screwed up his face, wordlessly mimicking his brother.

“Have you checked on Padme? Is she warm enough?”

“She’s fine. She’s under the covers with a heated blanket. Ahsoka’s there too. God, forbid we get any time alone.”

Obi Wan raised an accusatory eyebrow. “I think you’ll find that’s how you got into this mess in the first place, Anakin.” He said, picking up his pen and starting on a new paper.

Anakin stuck out his tongue.

“Perhaps you should check on her before rejoining the repair man.” He said, listening as the teenager hammered up the stairs.

He actually wasn’t upset about Padme. Obviously, two high school seniors getting pregnant wasn’t ideal, but she brought out a softness in Anakin that had been lost since his mother and their father had died, and that was worth a lot to Obi Wan.

He turned back to the job at hand, breathing hot breath on his hands in the hopes he could get through the stack of atrocious essays before having to worry about dinner.

An hour later he was alarmed to see an unknown figure standing in the doorway. He jumped and clutched his chest until the man walked into the light, and he recognized the uniform of the repairman.

“Sorry.” He said, his hands raised in surrender.

“No, It’s fine. I was in my own little world.” Obi Wan said. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering where the other guy went. I’ve been waiting for a few…”

“Christ, I’m sorry. ANAKIN.” He called up the stairs. The thundering sound of an action movie carried back down, and Obi Wan rolled his eyes. “For fucks sake.” He said under his breath, chuckling his pen on the desk and getting up. “How can I help?”

“Well, I just need to take you through my findings.”

“Right.” Obi wan said, scowling up the stairs before following the man into the basement.

Anakin was the one who knew about mechanics. Obi Wan was less than useless with this sort of stuff.

He yanked at the pulls on the light bulbs as he descended the stairs. “He had you working in the bloody dark?” Obi Wan said, exasperated.

The tech chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ve worked in worse.”

They moved over to the far corner of the house and the tech pulled back a panel on the side of the furnace.

“So, the bad news is, it’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, I’ve had to red tag it.”

Obi Wan blinked at him. “What does that mean?”

The man smiled and the whole room lit up. Obi Wan leaned over and yanked on another light bulb pull, finally able to see the man properly. He was ridiculously good looking. His arms were thick with muscles as were his thighs which seemed to be protesting being contained in his uniform.

The man opened the panel further and stuck his head inside with a flashlight in his hand. “Do you see that?”

Obi Wan bent down and didn’t have the faintest idea what he was looking for. He was close to the man, probably closer than he should be and despite the faint scent of sweat, he smelled good.

Obi Wan sank further until he could see the crusted, orange rust coating the entire inside of the furnace.

The man lowered the light and they both moved away.

“Oh, it looks like you’ve picked up a little…” Obi Wan said, brushing the cobwebs out of his hair.

“Oh.” The tech said, running his hand over his hair, his hand meeting Obi Wan’s.

“Sorry.” They both said in unison and laughed.

Obi Wan noticed that he had a kind face, a large scar on his forehead that curved around his temple. His skin was dark, like his eyes and Obi Wan thought he’d detected a faint lilt of a New Zealand accent. What he was doing in a basement in the Midwest was anyone’s guess.

“Okay, so rust is bad, presumably. But what does red tag, mean?”

“It means you can’t use it. I’m honestly not sure how it passed its last inspection. It could even be original to the house which would be…crazy. It’s a hazard and you’ll need a new one.”

“Fuck,” Obi Wan said, his hands on his hips, face on the floor as though wishing it was swallow him whole. “Okay so how much does it cost for a new one?”

The man scratched the back of his neck apprehensively. “It depends on what you’re looking for, but they can run from fifteen to twenty…”

“Grand?” Obi Wan asked, his eyes wide. “Shit.” He said stroking his beard in an attempt to keep the panic at bay.

“We have payment plans.” He said quickly.

“Good. Otherwise, I’d be forced to turn tricks just so we don’t freeze to death.”

The man laughed, it was warm and sweet and Obi Wan was momentarily calmed by it. “Well, we don’t want that, do we? I am sorry. Seems like it has come at a bad time.”

“It’s all been a bad time of late. Seems par for the course, if I’m honest.” The light bulb above them swung slightly in the draft of the basement and Obi Wan pulled his arms around himself. “Should we discuss this upstairs?”

“Ah, yeah. Of course.”

The tech went over the next steps, visit from the sales team, scheduling installation etcetera. Obi Wan was only half listening, wondering how he was going to keep the minor and two almost minors in his care warm until they could get things sorted out.

“Look, I don’t want to play the sympathy card,” Obi Wan said as he walked the tech to the door. “But I do have a pregnant eighteen-year-old upstairs and my fourteen-year-old sister to think about. It’s supposed to snow on Thursday. Is there any chance we can get this done, tomorrow?”

“You have a what?”

Obi Wan rolled eyes, “Sorry, my delinquent brother and his pregnant girlfriend are upstairs. I’m concerned about, you know, her specifically.”

“Ah, got it. Sorry, that’s not really possible. I will flag you as a priority for our sales team. Make them come out tomorrow.”

Obi Wan let out a sigh. “That’s something I suppose.” He said, absentmindedly. He looked up at the tech and caught himself, “I’m sorry, that was rude. I appreciate any help, ah…”

“Cody.” The man supplied, reaching out his hand.

“Thank you, Cody. I’m Obi Wan…Ben.” He corrected, taking the strong hand in his and shaking it.

Cody smiled and Obi Wan had to stifle a flutter. “Which is it?”

Obi Wan smiled. “Obi Wan is my given name. My parents apparently didn’t think me being ginger was curse enough so they bestowed an old English name the likes of which Tolkien would say, ‘okay, you need to calm down.’”

Cody laughed again. “So, you go by Ben?”

“Yes.” He said simply.

“Does anyone call you Obi?” Cody asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Obi Wan raised an eyebrow, “not twice.” He said threateningly.

“Got it. Ben.”

Obi Wan moved closer to the door. “Thank you for all your help. I do appreciate you coming out this late.”

“It’s no problem.” Cody said, pausing and pulling something out of his shirt pocket. “Look, here’s my card. If you need anything, or it gets worse.”

Obi Wan’s brow furrowed. “What could be worse than it not working?”

“Um…exploding?” Cody suggested.

Obi Wan’s eyes went wide. “Is that likely?”

Cody laughed, “no, unless you tried to turn it on. Don’t do that.”

“Right.” Obi Wan said, not entirely sure if the Kiwi was serious or not.

“It’ll be fine. What I meant to say was, if you need anything, give me a call.”

Obi Wan looked down at the card briefly and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Thanks.”

“No Problem. Sales will be over tomorrow to get you set up.”

Obi Wan nodded and opened the door. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, Ben.” Cody said with a wave as he walked to his truck.

Obi Wan watched him go longer than was strictly necessary before turning back inside.

[the-echolyte]

A Second Chance

Rating: 18+, Minors do NOT read

Pairing: TBB Echo x fem!reader

Wordcount: 7k

Warnings: Some sadness and pining, hurt/comfort, romance, friends to lovers, porn with plot...

A/N: Reader has hair but no further description. The story is settled somewhere before TBB S1 and after S3... and in my fantasy he'll always wear that damn sexy kama. Credit and a huuuge Thank you to @tecker for being an inspiration, muse, friend and part of my life.

Summary: Some things aren’t just meant to be... at least when it comes to Echo and you. Right?

The dark grey dust that was stirred up during landing has not yet had time to settle when the boarding ramp of the Remora lowers. Rex is the first to leave the ship. He nods politely your way as the clones step onto the surface of Yavin 4 one by one. But something about him seems to be different… somehow… constrained. Not only a second later, following in his wake, the Bad Batch appears. Hunter, Crosshair… and then... Luckily the ambient noise is so loud that no one can hear your gasp. Echo.

For a moment, he appears like a vision, blurred in the veil of dust. His head held high, his shoulders squared. The kama is gently swaying around his legs with every brisk step he takes down the ramp. Not... not again. Desperately, you try to ignore the stab in your heart. And yet, the very first glimpse of him feels so painful, so real, as if it were only yesterday. Yet it's been more than two years.

It was one of those hot summer nights on Coruscant. Once again, you were at 79s with friends, and once again, you spent the evening glancing over at him, furtively adoring him, until your friend finally gave you a little push in his direction.

“Come on! Go ahead and ask him if he wants to have a drink with you.”

“What do I do if he says no?”

“You’re kidding me? You did see the way he’s looking at you? Echo definitely won't say no.”

The way he’s looking at you?! No, you actually hadn't noticed, and the knowledge about it only made you more nervous than you already were. Especially with all the other women in the bar, who were buzzing around the boys in white, or in this case, black and red, like moths to a flame. And why had she suddenly known his name?

"Yeah… but… what am I even supposed to tell him? Excuse me... but I think I'm madly in love with you?" Your voice had vibrated with excitement and you had shaken your head, too embarrassed and unsure. "No. No, I can't."

"Hun..." Your friend's hands wrapped around your shoulders, giving you an encouraging squeeze.

"...just try the gentle approach. Tell him you've seen him before and you'd like to talk to him. And then... who knows what might happen?" She winked at you, and the next moment you found yourself eye to eye with the most attractive, most handsome man you'd ever met. Despite and because of the fact that he was a clone.

What followed was the best evening of your life up to that point. The two of you had sat at a small table in a booth at the edge of the bar, chatting. You had laughed together and... flirted. Or what else could you call it when he was hanging on your every word, literally... his eyes, that is... and he blushed whenever you caught him doing it and teased him a little by nibbling on said lips with your teeth.

Every now and then, his hand had found yours, his fingertips brushing against yours for a split second, each time lighting you up like a live wire. And each time, he'd pulled them back as if he'd burned himself on you. This mixture of boldness and shyness, his entire being dancing on a fine line of extremes. Simply ravishing.

And then... when the evening was almost over and it was time for you to leave...

"I have to go. Thank you so much for a truly lovely evening, mesh'la. It's so rare..." Echo shook his head and grinned at you, "that there are women in here who don't want to get laid by us clones right away. None of them see anything in me or my brothers other than a bargain. Or an opportunity to play with fire. Not one of them seems to care that there might already be someone in my life. You are so pleasantly different. That means a lot to me."

He stood up, and you did the same, the lump in your throat almost made you choke. But how could you have said anything other than what he wanted to hear when the gentle expression on his face revealed nothing but gratitude for your friendship? And so you swallowed your grief, careful not to let him see it, and gave him your brightest smile.

"Anytime. I hope to see you again, Echo. You know where to find me." With trembling fingers, you wrote down your personal com number for him.

"I'm looking forward to it."

For half a minute, he just stood there, gazing at you. There was a tinge of regret in his eyes. Or was that just your wounded vanity trying to deceive you? Suddenly, his arms were around you, his body as strong and sturdy and as close as he'd ever been before, and his lips were placing a peck on your cheek just below your ear.

"Ret'urcye mhi, mesh'la."

And then he was gone... and all you had left was the soft, warm feeling, the inkling of what could have been, on your skin.

Then the tears came.

And right now, you feel that kiss again, as if it were only minutes ago. And as always, the desire burns as hot as the grief on your cheek. At least you can hold back the tears, even when he's standing right in front of you: tall, strong, imposing.

"Hello."

Even if your voice sounds a little rough, you still can be proud of yourself that you've managed to get a word out at all. He doesn't seem to notice your inner struggle, instead he puts his arms around you in greeting and hugs you tightly, pulling you flash against him, as he always does. Well, to the unyielding plastoid armor. And as always, you return his gesture with a brave smile, wishing time would stand still for just a moment. It was Rex who told you long ago that Echo and his girlfriend broke off. And yet... Whatever you had hoped for, it never happened. Echo and you... you had never tested the boundaries of your friendship, let alone crossed them. He obviously wanted it that way, and you were never brave enough to reveal your true feelings to him. The chance had passed.

"Su'cuy, mesh'la." He swallows dryly. You can see his Adam's apple nervously rise and fall again.

A few seconds pass in silence, then a few more. Kriff, why is it so hard for you to act normal and easy-going around him? It was what you promised him. Friendship. While he spends his few free hours in someone else's bed... You almost sob, but you manage to pull yourself together just in time. Or not? He suddenly looks so self-conscious.

"Would you have...?"

Echo gives a weary sigh and breaks off, so unsure in stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor. The one that turns your knees to jelly every time you meet him. And now? Something's bothering him. You'd like to throw all restraint aside and clasp him in your arms for comfort, but you don't know if you'd be able to hold back then. In a way, the whole thing is even more... dangerous.

“Would I — what?” you try to help him, noticing how difficult it seems for him to continue speaking.

With a shy smile finally appearing on his face, he asks you, “Would you have a minute for me? I… um… would like to… um… talk to you.” After a quick glance over at his brothers, he adds, so quietly that you have trouble hearing, “Alone.”

“Sure.”

Weird. In all the years you've known each other, you've met, celebrated, and talked to each other many times. Though not as often as you would have liked. But not once has it felt like it does now. Somehow... precarious.

Echo starts walking, leading you away from the ship and the base, a little way into the surrounding jungle. You follow with a tight feeling in your chest. Did something go wrong on the last mission? No. The others all seemed normal when they left the ship, and you can make out a few new faces in the crowd of clones, which means this rescue mission was a success. So is it something personal that's bothering him? Kriff... he... he doesn't want to ask you for relationship advice or anything, does he?

About two minutes later - two endlessly long minutes in which the thoughts are spinning inside your head, wondering what he might want and why in the nine hells you feel like a terrified nuna, after all, you're taking a walk with a friend - he suddenly stops in a small clearing, turning to you, and regarding you intently. Almost like back on Coruscant... when...

Echo takes a step closer to you, and in that moment, in the amber gleam of his brown eyes, you recognize the same chaos of emotions raging within you. Or are you just imagining it? No. Suddenly, his voice sounds even deeper than usual. The timbre, already warm and soft, is even a touch softer. Your knees are now on the verge of giving way, and if it weren't for the thousand birdsongs and the chirping of insects, you'd be sure your heartbeat would be heard throughout the entire area.

“There's something I need to figure out.”

That doesn't sound good, does it?

Another small step closer. Now he's so close that you have to tilt your head back a little to maintain eye contact with him. The familiar scent mixed with traces of blaster residues, Echo's scent, suddenly envelops you like a soft veil, his warm breath wafting across your face and sending a shiver of excitement through your body. Whatever it’s happening here is so unprecedented, inappropriate in a sort of way, and so incredibly hot…

“A-And what would that be?”

While you're still trying to somehow comprehend the situation, to figure out whether this is a dream or reality, his left hand finds your neck and his fingers wind ever so gently into your hair, while his right arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer. And then his lips are on yours. So soft and gentle. Tentative.

Maybe you would be shocked by the way things suddenly have changed between you, but in that moment your mind decided to stop working and your heart... With a quiet sigh you let yourself fall into the indescribable feeling of his closeness.

KARK.

Kark, kark, kark…

His eyes are still open, afraid that if he closes them, you might suddenly disappear. And so he can vaguely perceive how your shocked expression gives way to a sweet smile, while his own emotions rush over him like waves. For one thing, there's this overwhelming guilty conscience. He… he had one, no, a thousand reasons why he did not want to strike up a relationship with you. Why he didn't want to expose you to the danger that he is, to disappointment. For so long, he's remained strong, resisted the temptation, and stayed away from you. No matter how much it hurt him.

And how much he grated on his brothers’ nerves. Not a single day had gone by in the last few years without him mentioning you. Whether he was talking about what you had done or said in one situation or another, or whether he was wondering aloud what you were doing right now… unfortunately, he had voiced his thoughts unwittingly instead of just keeping them to himself. Your face appeared so bright and clear in his mind's eye when he was crouching in some shab’la cover, the plasma charges of blaster shots whizzing past him. Would you ever know what had become of him? Would you care? And as much as he wanted you to be the one he comes home to and holding him, he didn't want you to be the one who would undoubtedly cry for him one day.

Besides, you had said that you were friends. Friends. How could he have compromised what you had built up over the years, just like that? He felt cheap night after night, imagining you naked. He dreamed it wasn't his own hand touching himself and giving him what he craved, but your soft body. It was almost ridiculous how easily he could get into that mood and let himself be overcome by desire. He hated himself for it.

And even though he thought he had kept his feelings private, he couldn't fool Rex.

"Go and talk to her!"

"I can't. She... doesn't feel anything like that for me. Not..." He almost said, 'like I do feel for her,' but then he remembered that this should remain a secret he would take to his grave, and he fell silent. Rex gave him a smug grin. Kark! The two had known each other for so long, there was nothing he could keep a secret from his captain. Echo scowled.

"I won't let you continue destroying yourself with your self-imposed restraint, Echo. I won't let you endanger yourself or any of our brothers because you're zoned out!" Rex's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Sir... I..."

"That's an order. Kark, Echo! You're an ARC. Go and make do."

As if it were that simple. First of all, he was no longer an ARC, but just another clone among many, lucky enough to be half-cyborg instead of dead, no matter what Rex claimed otherwise, and secondly...

"What if she doesn't want me after all this time?" After all, years had passed since that summer night on Coruscant. And even though he remembered the glimmer in your eyes all too well... Things could be different by now.

"Why so sure?" Rex smiled once again and then turned away. Echo stayed behind. Confused. He wanted to run after him and ask how the captain knew he wouldn't leave a huge mess behind when he’d confront you and himself with the truth. But he didn't. Instead, he had spent hour after hour on the flight back, thinking about how to address you. Every word seemed too much and out of place.

But right now, you raise your hand to cup his cheek. He feels the careful movement of your thumb brushing against his stubble. The gentle tingling... The part of him that has fought time and again, the guilt, the question of whether it is right or wrong to be with you, lays down his arms, and Echo surrenders.

With a deep groan, he closes his eyes and pulls you even tighter to him. Holding you like this is both bliss and torture. He had fought it for so long. So long... The soft sound of his longing echoes between the two of you, tingling where his lips brush against yours like the gentle hint of something much more profound. When he finally, slowly pulls away from you, he's not the only one left breathless.

A second or two pass, yet it feels like an eternity, until you open your eyes and look up at him. His own tenderness and fear are reflected in your gaze. The coil in his chest tightens at the sight. The spark that has been ignited between the two of you all those years ago hadn't been extinguished. And yet...

"Echo." You whisper his name, and it feels like a gentle touch. "Did... did you find out what you wanted to know?"

"Hmmm." He carefully leans back a little and reluctantly releases you from his embrace. But in that same moment, he realizes he's made a mistake. He's only increased your self-doubt. Ner mirsh solus.

"I'm sorry. I... am a hypocrite. I should have told you, but I didn't mean..." he hears you stammer and curses himself for his insensitivity. You give him a long, fear-filled look from beneath your lowered lashes, and it seems to him as if you're peering directly into his soul, if he has one at all. "Please forgive me."

Everything, he would forgive you everything. But... A twinge of panic rises within him. You can't want that you both just continue as before. Cause he certainly can't. From the beginning, he knew that once he held you, he wouldn't be able to let go. Can't you see that? Can't you feel it? He'd always thought he was an open book to you. Now he sees how wrong he was.

"Cyar'ika," the sound of his voice is now husky, almost hoarse. His hand breaks free from its rigidity, gliding up the curve of your neck. Finally, his index finger slides under your chin, gently lifting it. "I've wanted to kiss you ever since the day you talked to me. I thought I'd missed my chance."

Well…

Who is this man you've pined after for so long, the man who consistently irritates you and yet captivated you from the very beginning? The man who doesn't just make your heart beat faster... The man who, despite everything you've experienced together, has left you in the dark about his true feelings. Until today... Until this very moment.

There's so much you could say in response. You could tell him that back then, you also had wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Or how often you've imagined this kiss in your dreams in the meantime. You could quip that he'd better get going now, after all, there's so much to catch up on. Or you could tell him that no matter how many chances he needs, you'll give them to him again and again, because no matter what… you could never give up on the dream of the two of you ending up as a couple. No matter how unlikely it is... was... But you can't utter a single damn word and remain silent. The words form a lump in your throat and make your lips tremble, while he still gently holds your chin up. Don't... don't cry.

For a while, the two of you just keep standing there, so close to each other, and all the sounds on the base are nothing more than a faint white noise in the background. You feel the comfort of his presence, giving you warmth and making you forget that you’ve been stricken by sorrow about him. Every damned, lonely night you spent without him fades into the sea of ​​oblivion.

With a smile, you finally summon the courage to place your hands around his waist, touching the battered plastoid of his armor as gently as you've never touched it before. He answers your silent approach and embraces you. His hand wraps around the side of your ribcage, demure, yet close enough that you feel the warmth radiating onto your curves. His scomp mimics the touch, awkward yet eager.

"Do you know how many times I've wondered what it would be like to hold you in my arms? Not as a friend..."

His words elicit a soft gasp from you. And finally, finally, you find your voice again. Even if it’s still hesitant.

"What then?"

He doesn’t answer.

The tension between you is almost palpable, like he’s determined to hold onto it and drag it out as long as he can. You're aware that you're playing with fire, with the way you breathe the words. The way you look at him, pleading and challenging, and catching your lower lip between your teeth…

Almost forcefully he tears himself away from your gaze. Exuding his exciting, masculine scent, he lowers his head again to kiss you. And this time it's not a tentative touch, nor testing the waters. This time it's pure, desperate desire. Your body is about to combust as his tongue pushes itself insistently between your lips, tasting your passion. This kiss is long and deep and so much more.

Finally! A sweet shiver of arousal rushes through you. And his own, desperate arousal, presses against your stomach as you snuggle even closer to him. With gentle determination, his hand gropes its way down to your buttock, skirting it eventually. A pleasurable, unprecedented sensation pools in your core. So this is what it feels like…

"Echo..." The rest of whatever you were about to say fades into a stifled sigh as his hand resumes roaming, dipping under your tunic, and then slides up and further up, until it finally cups your curve. For a second, he hesitates, giving you the opportunity to retreat. Nothing is further from your mind. Then his thumb slowly brushes the spot where your bud peeks beneath the cotton of your bra. His soft touch makes it bloom and harden just for him.

"Echo..." Are...? 'Are we doing the right thing?' you want to ask, but all that slips out of your mouth is a moan of pleasure.

When he pulls away after what felt like eternity and yet could only be minutes, your lips are swollen, your hair is disheveled, and your heart is racing like a galloping fathier. You almost feel dizzy as you watch him run his tongue over his own flushed lips.

"Cyar'ika. Haar'chak!" His voice sounds even raspier now, his voice that you’ve heard a million times… but right now it’s so… intimate.

You giggle. Everything inside you suddenly feels so light and carefree. "I don't know what that means, but if you say it, it must be true."

That, in turn, makes him laugh and the sound of his joy makes your heart leap.

It is the right thing. You spent years right next to him, trying to ignore the gap separating you. You've been casually talking about the weather and missions, and neither one of you was saying a damn word about this intangible thing between you while you gazed at each other. And you never saw him as happy as he’s right now. For years you were both winding up each other, pretending - no forcing - this relationship to be strictly platonic, while in fact it was kind of an agonizing foreplay.

It's never been a question of 'if', you realise, but a question of 'when' he’ll finally give in and touch you. Every second you spent together or lightyears apart from each other, lying to yourselves, were meant to get you into his arms... into his bed...

"You are all I've ever wanted," you whisper.

His lips find the sensitive spot in the crook of your neck, and he murmurs something in Mando'a on your skin you don't understand. How you wish you knew what those melodious words mean, but you lack the strength to ask.

When he raises his head and looks at you, there is burning desire in his amber eyes. Light as a breeze, his lips brush against yours, while his scomp strokes a spot just above your backside that you didn't even know would bring you so much pleasure, making your loins tingle.

"I want you," he whispers back.

You know what he’s asking... He’s asking you to irreversibly cross the line from being just friends to lovers. He's asking to expose you and quench this bottled-up desire. And it fills your belly with a simmering heat, twisting up your insides with need and setting you on fire.

Your body is giving the answer your voice can't find. The desire for him nearly consumes you, and you feel dizzy as your hand slides to the inside of his thigh, finding the gap in the armor. With skillful fingers, you gingerly massage the taint between his tense legs, amazed about the warm and sweaty sensation.

"Come," Echo rasps.

While you're still trying to reach out your hand so he can lead you back to your quarters, he already slides his arm under you with a decisive motion and lifts you as effortlessly as anything from the ground. Kriff! It’s not that you didn’t expect him to be strong, yet he still surprises you with this sheer display of physical performance. The tinge of showing-off from the otherwise level-headed trooper. It doesn’t fail its purpose. You gasp and entrust your weight to his strong arms.

In a way you still feel as if caught in a dream, even though his body does in fact feel pretty solid, wrapped around you like that. It makes you almost frantic with the desire to fulfil your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it was before.

The evening breeze gently blows through the branches of the trees and palms. As Echo purposefully carries you back to base and across the hangar into the ancient Massassi temple where the quarters are located, you see a few of his brothers leering and hear one or two of them shouting something to Echo that you don't understand. The strangest thing, however, is when you look over Echo's shoulder and see Rex smiling at you with a satisfied smile on his lips, almost as if he… You wink, and he mouths a silent ‘You’re welcome.’

With a quiet hissing noise, the door to your quarters closes. The dim light in the windowless room welcomes you, barely revealing the small table, chairs, and a bed. It’s not much that you call your own since you’ve joined the clone rebellion, but the few things are all you need. No ballast if you have to strike camp abruptly. Yet as uninviting as the room may be, right now it’s the perfect love shack for you and him. Echo. He’s been in your quarters every now and then: for smalltalk, to pick you up for a briefing, to say goodbye. He always held up a platonic impression and pretended the bed wasn’t there. Now the tempting piece of furniture is the only thing that matters. Carefully, as if holding a fragile treasure in his arms, he lays you down on the sheet. The mattress sinks in when he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Are you comfortable?” Echo asks, his amber eyes regarding you coseley.

“Mmmm,” you hum in response. “Never felt better.”

Echo chuckles. How much better will you even feel when he’s going to have his way with you? But then again, he can totally relate to your sentiment. Still incredible to see you like this.

Almost reverently, he grazes along your jawline with his scomp. The sight of the harsh, battered metal against your silky skin stabs his chest for a split second. He can’t feel a single karking thing in his right arm, at least the lower part. And maybe it has been one of the more idiotic reasons to stay away from you, but somewhere deep inside Echo wondered all those years if he could ever be enough for you. More machine than man, at least percentage wise. Yes, thank you very much Tech. You never gave the impression that you’d see him inferior to one of his brothers or that his disability would mind you at all. It took him lots of self-persuasion to agree with you. Until that moment that is. You’ve raised your hand to place it gently on his scomp, your fingers running across the insensitive device. The scomp may be a part of him, a pretty useful most of the time to be honest, but of what use is the thing if he can't sense your touch right now. Tech did make him a prosthetic hand, covered with synth-flesh, one that was actually able to sense… but somehow it doesn’t feel right to interrupt your togetherness to ‘switch’ arms. Ridiculous. And unnecessary, he notes as you turn your head to softly blow a kiss on the drill bit.

The gesture, as small and insignificant as it is, is the last reassurance he needs to dive into this new and thrilling experience with you. To indulge in desires long held back and turn friendship into something new. Instantly, he imagines you splayed out on your bed, your cheeks flushed with excitement and your hair disheveled. This time… the pictures won’t remain just wishful thinking, not just a wet dream at night. His hard-on presses ever more fiercely against the confines of his codpiece, reminding him that some of his parts are still human and that he’s enough of a man to satisfy the both of you. Multiple times.

Echo bends with a smile. "I want you to feel good. I'm gonna make you feel good. Waited far too long for this," he murmurs next to your ear. His nimble fingers carefully free you from your tunic and binders shortly after, and the warmth you radiate only adds fuel to the fire of his own lustful thoughts. Nothing's gonna stop him from becoming one with you. Next, his hand pushes your pants and underwear over your hips leaving you lying exposed before him. For a moment, he lets his gaze glide over your nakedness, taking his time to admire your body before…

The kiss he places on your mouth is softer than any other he has ever given… and yet it turns into a sinful, tender, slow motion as he drops his head to follow the curve of your neck. His lips brush along your skin and his tongue unhastingly, almost lazily, licks wet patterns as he discovers your taste with relish, and devotes himself to you. A burning desire washes over him and makes him almost combust inside his armor when his mouth climbs your mound and your tempting scent enfolds him.

You gasp in surprise, eyes shut in delight, as his lips wrap around your erect nipple and suckle while he’s thumbing the neglected one with a gloved hand. Ugh… just… just the mental picture of him in full armor bent over your naked body…

"Please... don't stop," you whisper hotly, your hands starting to roam over his head, neck and shoulders.

Somewhere in your sex-addled mind you wonder if he’s been too impatient to undress himself first or if he’s doing it on purpose. Spoiling you and serving your undoubted kink. Kriff… the things you wanted to do to that particular armor for years. And now your legs wrap themselves around his back, and the pressure as the edges dig into your skin in stark contrast to the soft and tender way his hand massages your breast, almost has you reaching your climax just then and there.

Plop. With a throaty chuckle, he interrupts his attention and raises his head. In the dim light, you can see him licking his lips. "Not for anything in the galaxy."

He smirks then lowers his head again, and his lips wander further. Deeper. Your own lips part in a silent gasp as he circles his tongue around your navel. And then you toss your head to the side as his soft kisses tingle on your lower belly while he leaves an agonizingly slow, moist trail down your slope…

"E-Ech..." Your body arches up from the mattress in blinding pleasure as he tastes your wet warmth for the first time with a loud moan.

“Sweet like honey.”

Or something like that you think he whimpers between your legs while he’s rutting against the mattress, but you can’t be sure cause you’re about to lose your mind. In a slow and steady pace he starts lapping at your leaking arousal, curling and flicking his tongue around your clit as if it’s all he ever wanted. All you can do is to moan helplessly as you feel his fingers ever so slowly sink into you and his mouth sucking on your most sensitive parts. Consumed by desire you give in to the loving play of his tongue and fingers before you eventually fall apart in a shivering orgasm.

“You have no idea, cyar’ika, how often I’ve thought about this. Of how you’d taste…,” he rasps quietly as he emerges from between your thighs. And by gods, what a sight he is. Not a hint of his usual, subliminal scowl. There’s a soft expression on his face, his eyes brim over with affection and his lips still shimmer sinfully with your juice coating them.

“You… all you had to do was ask,” you say brokenly. And are those tears in your beautiful eyes?

There is it again… the sharp pain of regret flashing up and he swallows the lump in his throat. He’s wasted so many precious years. Time he could have spent in your embrace passed by.

“I was nervous… didn’t know how to act…“ He takes a second of consideration before he resumes speaking and wipes his thumb across your cheek.

“Cyar’ika… look… I’m everything but proud about how I’ve treated you on this first night.”

But… but what could he have done differently? He was trapped. In a relationship that demanded more of him than it gave him. And trapped in his own convictions and misplaced loyalty. He was too much of a coward or maybe too coaxed by the attention he got. And then there were you like the glow of a spark of hope in the darkness. He could not have stayed away from you even if it would have been the right thing to do. He was too stubborn for his own good. But no matter how much he wishes to turn back time, it’s beyond his power.

“And if you would have told me that you never wanted to talk to me again, I couldn’t have blamed you. I can’t undo what happened… but I will be damned if I won’t treat you like you deserve from this day on…” ‘…and for the rest of my life if only you’ll let me.’ Instead of voicing his promise, he leans in again to kiss you sweetly… sweet… swee… t… ho.. hot… How salacious is that to let you taste yourself from his lips? And why’s he still wearing that karking armor to keep himself in rein?

Yes, he wants to please you. Wants to make you feel what you mean to him. He wants to make sure that there’s no doubt about his words. But… nghhh…. Now that he gets a taste of your passion with the way you respond to his kiss, he longs to find out how you feel when you move against him… when it’s your skin on his.

The air in the room is cold against your heated body as Echo gets up. With your eyes still closed the reminiscence of his warmth still wafts through your senses like a vanishing dream in the morning. Only you’re not dreaming this time… he’s still there as you open your eyes, right next to your bed. At the edge of your consciousness, you watch him stripping off his armor. Piece by piece... until he's only wrapped in his undersuit. The supple black fabric hugs and accentuates every elevated plain and valley of his muscles, turning your friend in the the shell of a hardened ARC trooper into that gorgeous man with all his edges… yet so soft to the touch. You've been waiting so long to see him like that, and against all odds, tonight your time together has come. Your gaze caresses every inch of his shape. You want to touch him so badly…

Letting your fingertips brush down along his thigh, you feel him hesitate for a second as you reach the patch where the strong corded muscles change over to the transtibial prosthesis. Yet before you even have a chance to pull back and apologize for being too pushy, he apparently has decided for himself that you’ll get all of what makes him. And finally, the last barrier slides to the floor, and you hear yourself quietly suck in a breath as he stands before you in all his masculinity. Beautiful and… The skin of his shoulders and chest is coated with a thin layer of sweat, the many ports all over his torso gleam like liquid gold in the lamplight. He’s taking your breath away just by letting you see him like this.

“You’re so beautiful, Echo.” The outspoken compliment really makes him blush, and you almost sob as you watch him bashfully rub his neck.

“I’m just…,” he trails off.

“No… not ‘just’. You’re beautiful Echo… and I will say it again and again until you’ll believe me.”

Propped up on your forearm, you let your free hand trace along his ribcage, the hipbone, the outer curve of his thigh.. The tender touch causes goosebumps on his skin and makes him shiver… the strangled sigh that slips from his throat tells you that it’s the good kind of shiver. The very good kind of, actually… and it emboldens you to purr your next words: “Or… you'll give me a reason to keep quiet.”

Deliberately, you lick your lips, and your gaze drops from his eyes down to his crotch, where you watch the most enticing hard-on you've ever seen. The velvety skin is a shade darker than his other slightly tanned skin, the glans glistening with a thin icing of precum. The thick vein pulsing imperceptibly…

“Not yet.” He interrupts your delicious daydream, denying you the opportunity to taste his desire. When you pout, he chuckles… and like a predator chasing his prey, he crawls on the bed, hovering over you far enough to be out of reach for the moment, close enough to let you feel the radiating body heat.

“I promise, cyar’ika, that you can have whatever you want from me. Any time, anywhere… I'm gonna fuck you in every position you want me to…” To emphasize his words, he tilts his hips just the littlest bit to let you feel his cock grind like a delusion against your pubis. The slight touch still sends a jolt of arousal through your whole body. On their own will your legs fall open for him as your heartbeat accelerates and your quiet whimper fans over his face.

“But first….” His head drops enough that you can brush the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip. “Let me have you like that. Let me make love to you…”

Ohhh…. You’re about to faint. And to keep you anchored in reality, your hands cling to his shoulders. Your body arches, chasing after him as he keeps hovering above you and your lips seal with his. All of that convincing you that he’s not just another dream.

Finally, he can no longer contain his own excitement. Echo lines himself up at your velvety folds, prodding the entrance tentatively…. For a split second, your eyes meet, sealing the promise of your bodies in silent consent as his weight settles heavily and comfortably over you. With a firm, agonizingly slow thrust, he sinks into you.

Both of you gasp, a mixture of excitement and relief, indulging in the overwhelming feeling of being melted and truly one. Even now, without him moving at all, he can feel your walls clench around him and hold him deep inside you. Sh…

“Shit. I’m so distracted… forgot to wear… protection.”

Immediately, he’s about to pull out, cursing himself for his inattentiveness, yet you hold him in place.

“I’m safe… Ech… you don’t need any protection when you’re with me.”

You’re a dream, right? Some celestial being, made just for him. At least that’s how he feels right now. For another endless moment, he just remains motionless, letting the two of you float in limbo until nothing else matters anymore except you and him, two souls and bodies in unison. Echo grinds his hips against yours, and he’s drowning in your wet heat, consumed by the sensation of you, soft and pliable around him. The moan that leaves your lungs in reward, he's swallowing eagerly. He then starts moving, settling into a slow but firm rhythm, pounding into you again and again.

You lustfully dig your fingers into firm muscles on his upper back as you move rhythmically in concert on the cool sheets, both panting and moaning with pleasure. And still he doesn’t have you close enough, still needs more of you. His hand is reaching for your leg, hooking it around his waist. And he never saw something as erotic as that, when you throw your head back with a load groan, baring your neck to him, as he hits inside you just right. You surrender to him, and he’s more than willing to satisfy your every desire. Only vaguely he's aware of how your mutual pleasure reaches ever higher heights. In a frenzy of unbridled passion, held back for far too long, he makes love to you until the wave finally, finally, crashes over you in another consuming orgasm and your quivering body is sweeping him along. He's shaking and trembling, filling you with white, hot ropes of his seed… almost crying.

He never would have believed love could feel like this…

“I love you, cyar'ika.”

“I love you too, Echo.”

Drenched in sweat, you snuggle against him, and he listens to the soft sound of your breathing as you calm down in his arms a few minutes later. Your curves fit his angular, battered body as if they were made for him.

The first rush of unbridled lust has subsided… Now he's bathing in the warm feeling of your love. For the first time in forever, maybe for the first time at all, Echo feels safe and sound. Loved. Not just another one among a million. Your fingertips prickle on his skin as they dance tenderly around his ports, assuring him that you'll accept him the way he is… More man than machine in all term that matter. And more than enough to love you… in each and every way possible. Why the kriff, did he need so long to find out?

"Thank you for giving me a second chance."

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[the-echolyte]

What if

Rating: 18+, Minors do NOT read

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Wordcount: 6,9k

Warning: Smut, fluff, porn with plot, helmet less Din in darkness

A/N: OP 2021/04/01 Back then... I couldn’t stop writing for him when I first got a taste. Settled after Season 2

Summary: When your journey with the Mandalorian ends it’s time to start something new.

Din sits in the cockpit and looks out of the viewport. Outside the galaxy flies by. A sight that he loves so much because it envelops him with tranquility and makes him feel at home. Something he actually hasn't had since his tribe was killed for saving the child from a terrible fate. Now the child is his family, his spaceship, hyperspace. A clan of two. So easy - until you came.

It should have been a favor for Peli. When he'd stopped at Mos Eisley looking for assignments not commissioned by the Guild. The Razor Crest had been a wreck at the time. No droids - that was his condition and Peli introduced YOU as a mechanic. Plan B as she called it. But when Fennec had persuaded Toro at the last moment to turn against Mando, he could no longer afford to pay Peli. Instead, she asked him to take you with him and escort you safely to Trask. There you should develop your skills as a mechanic. Learn for a better life. Do not eke out a living on the inhospitable Tatooine with no perspective. “I'm no taxi service” he said. However, since he couldn't make the payment any other way, he finally took you with him.

Unfortunately, the work on Tatooine had taken more time and credit than originally planned. And so, if he wanted to earn money for a living and eventually get his reputation back in the guild, he first had to carry out further assignments and get some dirty Jobs done. Weeks with you on board instead of hours. That wouldn't have bothered him, after all, it gave him more time to plan what to do with the child as it was safe with you in the meantime instead of attending him to risky jobs. BUT. However, with every hour you spend in its orbit, it becomes harder for him to stay away from you. With your first step into his ship you were omnipresent. Your voice and your laugh when you play with the little one. Sometimes even singing. The scent of your hair and skin, smelled like honey and flowers. Your warm aura of everlasting kindness and joy. You are cautious in his company, not out of fear, he is sure of that, but out of respect for him and his way of life. You are always there at the right time in the right place but never disturbing or intrusive. He would never have thought to get used to anything similar and yet he still enjoys it more and more.

Din was never a man of many words. What he had to say was confined to business issues in the guild and those could be set out in short, concise sentences. He didn't need to talk much to his quarries and all the other times he was alone anyways. It was different with the child. The little one did not answer, at least in an intelligible way, but Din had the urge to strengthen the connection between him and his foundling by speaking out loud his thoughts or describing his actions. And the little green bean always thanked him with friendly babbling and cooing.

You were the first person he had real conversations with in a long time. Admittedly, the majority of those conversations you talked about, he only gave short answers to your questions about Mandalorians and their history, about what is happening in the guild, about bounty hunting in general, about fighting techniques or about planets and moons in the galaxy. Sometimes he listened to you talking about yourself and your life in Mos Eisley. He enjoyed sitting in the pilot's chair, looking outside and listening to your soft voice.

Lately, more and more often, when a conversation was nearing its end, he found himself dragging it out by asking you questions. About life on Tatooine, about your work, about necessary repairs to the crest. And then - oh Maker - he just watched you. Thanks to the helmet, he could look at you unashamed. Studying your face and body curves, your features, while you continued talking. Every little movement, every wrinkle, every freckle, the faintest change in your color, the slightest pitch in your voice, the ups and downs in your body heat - he absorbed. Locked in his mind for the time after you.

Then at night he lay in his bunk thinking of you. How would you feel? How much more intense you would smell if he could just inhale you unhindered through helmet and clothing? Which sweet sound would you groan in need below him when he brought you pleasure? How would it feel to take you? Which way would he actually fuck you? Slow and thorough or hard and possessive? No matter how, it would be intoxicating and addicting in any case. And every night his cock becomes hard and aches with desire and Din can’t do anything more than take care of himself with his own hand, imagine it would be yours with a picture of you in his mind.

And even now that he is sitting here, he has this picture of you clearly in front of him again. Imagine what if… But tomorrow you will arrive on Trask. Tomorrow you will leave his ship and his life. Hoping for a better one like Peli wants for you. His life is no better, it can't be, could not suit you, even if the child would love to keep you company. And so he won't ask you if you want to stay, even if that's what he probably wants. He is sure of that. A selfish thought! What if? But now he has to stop thinking indecently about you, otherwise he'll lose his mind. Tomorrow it will be over and at some point you will vanish from his thoughts, too. Hopefully…

Damn it! No, he's sure you won't. He will spend the rest of his days - on a hunt, in the ship, wherever he’ll be - wondering what might have been ...

The well-known scent of honey and flowers rises into his nose ...

After you showered on the crest for the last time, you pack your things in your travel bag. It is not much of what you have taken with you into your new life. On one hand it’s because you don't have much and on the other you hope to return to your aunt after a while. It is not an exciting life but it is what you know. From tomorrow everything will be so incredibly different than before. The people, the environment, the working conditions. The security of being at home. And beyond that, you will miss the past weeks, no doubt about it. The simple yet comforting surroundings on the ship. The beauty of the passing galaxy. The joy of the child during your shared time. Nursing the little womp rat or just playing with him. This feeling of being needed and of giving a baby safety and love.

And well, Mando.

What a man! So dangerous and impressive. Big, slim, strong and so lithe. You got hit the moment you first saw him as he arrived in the hangar. He exuded calm and security despite the impressive arsenal that he had literally strapped to his body. His shiny beskar armor, which had underlined each of his limbs. The helmet with the intimidating black T. It might be ashaming, but you could spend hours and hours just watching him walk and get hot at the sight.

He's a quiet man, that's what you learned about him during your journey together. What he has to say is limited to one word statements and short sentences. But always kind. If you've talked to him, he'd answer every silly question you asked about whatever. Only the questions you wanted to ask never escaped your lips. It didn't feel right for you to ask personal questions about him. You told him about yourself. But since he never came out on top of himself with similar answers, even if there had been more than one opportunity, you assumed he did not want to reveal anything about himself. His right. And yet you think it's a shame not even to know his name or how old he is.

Not knowing - that is what keeps you awake late at night. The imagination of what is hidden beneath the armor. What does he look like? Nobody has seen his face, this is the way, and so you will go on living with curiosity unspoken. It's been so long since you had a relationship with a man. In the sexual sense and beyond anyway. Maybe that’s what makes him only more attractive to you. How much would you like to touch him and show him how gentle life can be apart from hunting and death and quarries. How badly you want to help him relax when he's sitting so tired and tense in the cockpit and staring out the viewport. You would like to whisper to him what kind of desire you feel for him and ask him to satisfy it.

But tomorrow you'll leave him and it's probably better that way. Even if there are so many other short sexual relationships everywhere, would it be right for you? Could you just start a new life knowing what it feels like to lay down with him?

Unfortunately, Mando has never given any signs that he has any similar feelings or desires towards you - you don't even know whether he is allowed to do so, whether it would be possible, since he is hidden from the gaze of others. So you will limit yourself to one-sided, faceless daydreams and think back to your short time. He will never know what kind of wildfire he sparked in you without ever having intended.

You are done packing. The child sleeps peacefully in his flying cot in Mando's bunk. The only thing left now is to enter the cockpit. One last conversation. Say thank you for everything he did for you. The tingling sensation that you feel every time in your stomach and between your thighs as soon as you see him starts all over again with incredible intensity. You climb the ladder.

"Hey Mando!"

"Hey"

The Mandalorian turns the chair in your direction. He sits so casually with his legs spread wide, hands on thighs. It's incredible how much space he is able to fill in. Oh if you could just sit on his lap. You carefully walk closer until you stand next to him and look at him. You put your hand on the dashboard your fingers move absent minded over the buttons. You hope that your behavior seems natural and not as nervous as you obviously are.

“My bags are packed. So I shouldn't hold you back for too long after our arrival. "

You don't get an answer. With his visor pointed at you, he just sits there and looks at you. Probably. You can never be sure, but it feels like his gaze is burning on your skin.

How much will you miss this sight? This intense feeling of excitement burning inside, only triggered by his mere charisma and gaze. Will there ever be a man in your life who can give you just that? Now that you've got to know it, you never want to go on without it again. Every man will be compared to this special one . And fail.

Before there is silence, too long, which you may not be able to end without looking awkward, you remember why you came up.

"Mando, I want to thank you for everything you have done and endured for me."

"Endured?"

“The restrictions that you obviously had with a stranger here in such a confined space. Without me at least you will have your privacy again. You can do whatever you want, no more need for hiding. "

You can hear a low sigh from him and you think it's adorable. The otherwise self-confident Mandalorian seems more amenable. After a few more quiet moments, he finally finds his words

“Listen - I know I'm not the easiest to deal with due to my chosen path. So - if it looked like that - I'm sorry but - fuck - you are far from having to be endured. "

What? Was that a compliment from him now? You feel your face getting hot and your cheeks blushing while you look at him spellbound.

Din slowly gets up unfolding his full height and takes a step towards you. He towers over you so you have to lift your chin to keep looking at him. It turns him on. He notices how he likes to crowd you in. Your eyes blink but keep focusing on his. He wonders how you manage to find his eyes despite the visor. To look right into him. Every time.

You look so different to him from this angle. He feels like the hunter over his prey. No, he can't let that happen. The last thing he wants is for you to be scared of him. But what he can see in your gaze is far from fear. May it be that you wanted more from him than just a chance to fly? He can even hear your heart beating faster.

He has to hold back. Din feels himself losing control, breathing faster. No he just can't give in - so close to the inevitable end. He mustn't do this to you, to push you into something that you might regret. His hands are clenched to fists.

Suddenly he feels that it is much too hot in here and that he needs to breathe more freely. He loosens his cape with one hand and lets it slide carelessly onto the floor behind him. Before he even understands what he has actually done, he tugs his cowl from beneath the helmet, too, and enjoys the feeling of the cool air that gently brushes his pulse.

"What will you do when we arrive?"

“Well, first of all, go to the shipyards at the spaceport and ask for employment. As soon as I know whether I'll have work, I will take care of accommodation. "

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Oh come on! Be a little more positive! I don't want to imagine being stranded on a strange moon with no perspective. So I won't even think about it at first."

"Is that your tactic? You are such a carefree and fearless sweet girl. "

Mando's tone sounds skeptical. But there is more that you can hear. Is it caring? And since when does he give you nicknames?

Unconsciously, he took another step towards you, so close that his thigh plate brushes against your thigh.

You are torn - whether to take a step back from him or not. That sudden closeness makes you feel hot and your knees go weak. You can see your reflection in his helmet, the obvious excitement shimmering in your eyes. The dashboard behind you makes the decision for you. You have no way of evading. If you only dared to raise your hand you could touch him. You could just push the collar of his tunic aside without his cape, you could touch an inch of his skin.

“Well sometimes life is worth taking risks, isn't it? Even if the conditions are unfavorable. "

Mando lifts his hand and brushes a strand of hair back from your face. You feel the feather-light touch of warm leather on your cheek and nuzzling in his palm as if it were the most normal thing in the galaxy. Even if it's not his skin, that single touch gives you so much more than you could ever have hoped for. Your lips are dry and you wet them with the tip of your tongue before you continue speaking. Your voice trembles and sounds needy as you hear yourself say:

“You have to be sure which direction you want to take on your ongoing path, even if you know that it can be painful, which you have decided to do. But the pain of making a wrong decision or not deciding at all can be just as consuming. Do you even know something like that? I get the impression that you are so confident. You always seem to know where your way leads you. No matter how painful, long and lonely it may be. "

“No, you're wrong. I've known pain almost my entire life. Not each is equally bearable. And I - fuck - I don't know if I can take this one. "

"What are you talking about?"

When Mando leans close to your ear and begins to whisper as if he were revealing a secret that he would rather have taken with him to the grave, you are on the verge of fainting.

"Sweet girl - about tormenting myself with the thought of how you feel and what you taste like. It can only be worse to actually know it but never to be able to experience it again. This pain would be overwhelming. "

Stars! Your vision blurs and you lean into him because your legs decide to NOT carry you any longer, you slide your face into the crook of his neck and gently nuzzle against. Its smell infatuates you. Sweat, leather, Beskar. So overwhelming! You must have more of it. You raise your hand between your flush pressed bodies and your fingers gently slide the collar of his tunic aside.

“Why should I cause you pain? That is completely the opposite of my intention. "

"I know it might be wrong but for you I would still endure it."

That tiny piece of tan skin looks so alluring. You just have to kiss it.

Time seems to stop.

The moment your lips gently touch his skin, it hits him. Din’s world is shaken and his whole existence lies in your hands. He is at your mercy. That is what he had feared and yet longed for it at the same time. With every passing moment he feels how the doubts slowly melt away in his whole body like ice in spring and an unknown warmth spreads steadily. More, he wants more. So much more. He wants to experience the intoxication, feel it with skin and hair and give it back to you. For the first time in his life, he wants another person to know exactly what is going on in his mind and what drives him. And furthermore, share that drive.

"Please ..." A single word he seems to exhale with a sigh. He doesn't know if it's a curse or a prayer. "Ni copaanir aalar gar - I want to feel you" his voice sounds so soft and shaky through the vocoder, the sound of the unknown language is so gentle, restrained, in complete contrast to his body language.

As if your weight were nothing to him, he suddenly lifts you up. Your legs wrap around his hips as if by themselves, your bodies adapt to each other, your hands cling to his pauldrons as if your life depended on it, your face is nestled against the crook of his neck. When he starts to whisper again you feel his voice vibrating inside you. "Come with me - so we can meet in the darkness". You want to say yes, even if you can’t yet fathom his intention behind it, but you cannot find your voice in the close embrace. You have thrown off every thought of right or wrong, can only indulge and nod vigorously. The answer seems to be enough for him.

As further proof of his enormous strength and body control, he carries you to the ladder from the cockpit and, pressed flush against him, slides down with you. There he carries you to your makeshift bed in the corner of the cargo hold and slowly kneels, lays you on top of the blankets. Bent over you, he lifts his head and tilts it to one side. Almost as if he were asking for your consent one last time, even if he is sure that he has already exceeded the borders of restraint. Your eyes are dark, pupils dilated with lust and you bite your lower lip nervously. He relishes the sight of you, admires your ravenous gaze. You are on edge just like himself, he realizes with a jolt in his loins.

Reluctantly, he releases himself from your embrace with a low hum and rises to his full height above you. Skillful through years of practice and so deliberately slow he takes off one part after the other of his Beskar armor and throws it aside. Din can recognize so easily how you squirm in anticipation in front of him and he likes to savor the moment and attract you. As soon as the chest plate has hit the ground with a loud noise, it takes him just a few smooth steps to get to the light switch. His visor points in your direction again. The last thing he sees is you lying on your back, wrapped in the soft cotton of your tunic. Your hands cling to the fabric on your neckline, your cleavage rising and falling due to the quick breath of your tension.

In the pitch black you don't see him approaching again. Step by step. Without his boots he makes practically no noise and you give a startled squeak when he comes over you. He straddled over you at the level of your thighs, his knees framing them from the outside. He pushes your legs together with light pressure. You feel your crotch tingling and wet. Apart from his legs you cannot feel anything from him. You are still in the process of plucking up the courage to reach out your hands to touch him, as you have wanted to do for a long time.

Then your heart skips a beat!

First a soft hissing noise. You can feel a slight twist in his torso, but without vision you cannot see what he is doing. You feel how his thighs tighten as he bends down to you, a hand strokes your temple. His thumb draws small patterns over your ear and the sensitive skin behind it you lean into the touch and on the other side of your face you suddenly feel - Maker! His head hovers close next to yours and you feel hair brush your skin. You can feel and hear his warm breath on your face. With a long exhalation he breathes into your ear:

"Din. Din Djarin."

His voice is so warm and full without the modulator. The meaning of this single revelation send hot waves of excitement through your entire body and burns under your skin. You have to hear how it feels on your lips. The name escapes your smiling mouth with a mixture of sighs and pleading.

"Din. Nice to meet you."

The sound of his name from your lips makes him moan. The grip of his hand on your neck becomes tighter, his fingers tangle with your hair. You raise your hands to his face, turn it to you and feather its contours with your fingertips. This sensation is so new to him, more infatuating than anything he has ever known and it makes him smile. Unseen by you. But you can feel it, everything, his forehead, the sharp curved line of his nose, his cheekbones, a single dimple on his cheek. Small wrinkles in the corner of his eye. Short stubbles on his jaw and a mustache. It is as if you can see him, right in front of you, clear as day, in spite of complete darkness.

"May I kiss you Din?"

He nods and his eyes close, eager to finally feel the touch of your lips passionately on his. But you surprise him. The kiss is gentle and tender, like a whisper, a soft breath. Your lips barely touch his, your tongue brushes the corner of his mouth before you detach yourself from him again. Leaves nothing behind but a hunch, a longing for more. Din is done. His heart is beating so fast it almost pops out of his chest. His hands grab your neck possessively. And with a feral groan, he presses his mouth over yours. Desperate, as if you could be snatched away from him in the next instant, his lips press at yours, he nibbles on your bottom lip, sucks, presses again, slides into your mouth and licks your tongue. When he lifts his head briefly to take a breath, you gasp and push him slightly to calm him, to slow him down and give him the assurance you will not be vanished if he takes his time and relishes this overwhelming experience. It takes all of his self-control to slow down, to not pounce on you and overtake your body, and to let himself enjoy what is up to come. But you were right. The next time your lips meet, it's a kiss like no one has ever been before. He dips into your hot mouth and your tongues dance together. You mutually explore the caverns of your mouths, the edges of your teeth, he gently strokes your tongue, breathes you in. You taste him and he tastes you in the sweetest possible way. And when he lets his body sink onto yours, you feel his weight on you, grounding, it is as if you would melt into one another.

Finally he kisses hungrily down your neck over your collarbone. He lets his wet, warm tongue slide over your throat, dip the hollow below, slide to your cleavage. His warm hands caress over your flanks and push your tunic upwards inch by inch. You lift your upper body slightly to show that he can take it off for you. He obeys you and frees you from the unnecessary garment. Skillful fingers loosen your binders and eventually you lie underneath him with your chest bare. First nothing happens and you only feel his gaze upon you. The cool air in the ship tickles but that is nothing compared to the intoxicating feeling when he leans in and circles your nipple with his fingertip until it becomes hard. Finally he tugs at it and pinches, captivated by the immediate reaction of your body. The pleasurable pain makes your breath hitch, but he is already enveloping his lips around your bud and gently circling his tongue around it to ease it. He quietly hums into your skin and alternately nibbles and suckles on your hard bud, his hand embracing your mound, kneading gently. You can't help but ecstatically moan and arch your back. He chuckles at the sensual response and gives your other breast the same treatment.

The darkness intensifies your perception, and it overwhelms you to feel his tongue on your stomach. His determined movements. How he glides inexorably deeper, sometimes slow and then greedier, leaving behind wet patterns. You tangle your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp as his mouth reaches the hem of your leggings. His fingers hook into your waistband and lift it twice lightly. The unspoken question - can I go on? He needs your confirmation, won’t take what he urgently craves for without permission. This is what keeps him human and does not turn him into a raging hunter over his prey. As your hips rise in a rolling motion towards him, he slowly lets both his hands pull your pants down over your hips and the curve of your ass at the same time his face slides down your mound into your crotch. His hot breath stops with a gasp and you are so much aware of the damp moisture on your panties.

Din moans softly as he breathes in the sweet scent of your arousal and his mouth is watering. He can feel the wet stain on your panties and presses his thumb gently on it, moving in small circles.

"Fuck- you're so wet! Is that for me?”

The filthy words make you squirm under him. “Cyare, I want to taste you. Will- will you let me?” His endearing word for you surprises him and yet it feels right inside. You nod vigorously, but he needs to hear you.

"Use your words!"

"Stars! Please, yes Din, please!"

His trigger finger hooks under the delicate fabric and tugs it aside. Even if he can only vaguely guess what sight is in front of him, it runs down his spine like a warm shower. With gentle fingers he carefully spreads your lips and opens you slightly. "What a beautiful sight", he whispers and lets his lips and the tip of his nose slide carefully over your crevice. Captured by the enchanting scent and the ever stronger aching desire in his loins, he dips the tip of his tongue into you. Without being able to restrain himself, he throws his head back, groans and goes down on you again, now eagerly licking more and more from your slick, tasting you from the source until he finally closes his lips around your clit and sucks. He didn't think that this would make you even wetter and he wonders how he can coax even more out of you. A greater goal in mind, he eventually leans up in order to practically tear off your panties. Your desperate cry about the lack of physical contact spurs him on and he quickly sinks back between your thighs. And then deliberately slow, he pushes one finger first, then a second into your wet entrance and starts again to massage your sensitive bud with his tongue. You are practically leaking when he starts to pump his fingers into you, slow and steady, and hit the heavenly spot inside you that gives you bliss. Over and over again as time flies by. Your hips stutter, you put your feet in the ground, toes curling. You are panting louder and louder. He can feel your walls clenching and tighten around his fingers and he is so eager to see you come undone underneath him. "Yes, sweet girl, that’s it. Relax and let it go." His words are all you need in your erratic state and you obey him. The orgasm shoots through your body like a tsunami. Your whole body is shaking and with every surge that flows through you, you release more and more of your juices, gushing right onto his tongue. He greedily drinks every single drop you pour on him, enjoying the feeling of drowning after being dried-out for so long.

You are an absolute mess under him and whine when he shifts and kneels between your legs again. His hands caress over your tummy, your groin, sliding down your hips, following the curve of your thighs down to your knees and back on the inside up to your apex. Repeatedly with firm pressure. Bringing you back to the ground.

You reach out with your arms to him with the intention of pulling him towards you, but when you can feel the fabric of his clothing you realize that you are a helpless bundle under him, completely exposed and he is not even nearly undressed. You long to take care of him just as much as he did to you and crave to feel the touch of his bare skin. So, you shift until you are finally sitting in front of him.

"Now it's my turn to take care of you. Will you let me?" you whisper the same crucial question in his ear that he seduced you with earlier and place a chaste kiss on his plush lips. You don’t get a verbal answer, but his hands tenderly wrap around your shoulders, pulling you closer. Encouraged you gracefully slide his shirt up and caress his flanks with your fingers, letting your fingernails cautiously scratch his sensitive skin along his ribcage. You can feel goose bumps spreading on his upper body and he stiffens. His hands shoot down and his grip tightens around your forearms. You pause briefly to give him time to decide. You realize how difficult it must be for him to bare himself, to make himself vulnerable when he is otherwise hidden behind his unyielding armor. If you exactly think about it, you can imagine how overwhelming it must be for him. Has he ever been touched like that? With a long exhale he releases your arms, giving you permission to take control over his body and his sensations - and you take off his shirt.

Your hands caress his bare torso and for the second time this evening you enjoy being able to see with more than just your eyes. How much more intimate it is for you to feel every muscle of his strong, slim upper body, to trace every scar with your sensitive fingertips instead of just seeing him. How much else do you miss when the focus is on seeing. You gently explore his chest and knead more vigorously the muscles at his back, following the hills and valley with your palms. Now you experience him, every fine hair that stirs under the touch, every shiver that creates goosebumps on his warm and soft skin, every breath that stretches his chest, every heartbeat that pulsates under your palms. How utterly alive he is among all the layers that otherwise separate him from the world. And you give both of you time to live this experience. Slowly and extensively. With every passing moment you learn more about him, at the same time you give him more of you. Coming on your knees, you lean over to him and blow a kiss on his collarbone.

"May I kiss you here, Din?" His answer is a long, cozy "hmmmm" and his hands curl around your waist again as if he had to ground himself.

And so you open your mouth and let it glide the long and enjoyable way down his chest. You place careful bites into the tense flesh of his muscles only to instantly ease the pain with wet kisses. His quickening gasps gives you confidence and the reassurance that he is enjoying it. His body writhes under your sweet torments. When you reach his waistband, you can hear how he catches his breath. Carefully you bend down a little further and nuzzle the hard bulge in his crotch. The palm of your hand glides over his lap with light pressure. Maker! How hard and big his erection feels. Your core trembles in response and you are starting to leak again in anticipation. He grinds against your touch lightly. Carefully you pull the hem of his trousers down all along with his shorts and bring him relief after the oppressive tightness in his pants. Din emits a feral growl, and you feel his fingers dig into your waist. His length is twitching and throbbing in front of you, and you can feel the precum dripping out of it as you carefully draw circular patterns on it with your index finger. He’s practically leaking for you. For you! This thought fills you with a strange pride. Having the big, strong Mandalorian under your spell - at your mercy. Then you lower your head and slowly and tenderly you lick the tip of his cock. You enjoy the salty and sweet taste on your tongue.

Finally, you close your lips around him and put his head in your mouth. Your tongue flutters over his frenulum. Din's hips rock up, and you struggle at the sudden intrusion of his length. Your fingers twist around his girth holding him stable when you swallow hard around him and start to bob your head up and down his shaft. He moans your name and arches into your movement. His hips start to jerk into you, his hands gripping your hair firm but gentle. Abruptly Din pulls himself out of your mouth and you whine about the sudden emptiness.

"Fuck- you feel so soft. How can it be so soft? Stop it or I won't last much longer.”

Din bends over you for a moment, catches his breath, and then he suddenly grabs to hoist you up and pulls you close to himself. Your breasts pressed flush against his chest and you can feel your thunderous hearts beating together. Your hands cling around his neck again and you both are melting into another deep and desperate kiss. His hands reach under the curve of your bum and pull you onto his lap. Your slippery folds slide along his long shaft. His deft hands knead the meat of your cheeks. You want him! No more teasing or pleasing. No stroking and licking. The pure desire sets you on fire to feel him deep inside you, to surrender and to become one with him. Your legs wrap around his hips. They fit around him so perfectly as if they were made for it. Without parting your lips, you mumble into his mouth: "Please Din ..."

"Cyare! Tell me what you need!”

"You! I need you! Everything of you! Inside me!”

He freezes, hesitating, suddenly insecure.

You suspect what is going on in him. “It's ok, I'm safe!”

"Sweet girl you are a dream, my fulfillment and my downfall."

And without any further word or hesitation he lifts you up and slowly lets you slide down on his cock. You clench tight around him and the friction makes you both groan uncontrollably. You pause for an instant to savor the sensation and not get lost in the heat of the moment too soon.

"Oh Maker, you are so tight. Your pussy is so soft and warm. Take me so well. Like it was made for me.”

Then you start to move in sync. At the beginning your hips move in a slowly rolling motion and then faster and faster over his lap, he thrusts into you with a rocking movement always deep down inside you. The angle allows him to grind into your swollen sensitive core. The fine line between pain and pure bliss pushes you higher and higher inexorably closer to the edge. Your head falls forward on his shoulder, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck and moaning with excitement. Your hair cascades on his chest and is stuck in the sweat that coats his skin. His mouth falls agape and he is panting, following the rhythm of your movements.

You are filling and stretching each other. And against all odds that an act like this could ever have happened between you, it's like you've already done it a thousand times. His hands are all over your back, looking for support, caressing you and pressing you against him. He grabs your hair and tugs it, clings to you tightly. His thrusts are becoming faster when he feels how you clench yourself more and more around his erection.

“Cyare, come for me - again. Let me feel it.” You cry, tears starting to run down your face, and you bend your torso backwards. Your head falls on your nape and Din bites and kisses all over your collarbone, your shoulders and bare neck. He will leave marks, but you will wear them with pride in memory of your night of love together. The audacity behind his possessiveness finally makes you come undone. And while you pulsate hard around him and feel like you are being pulled straight into hyperspace and seem to dissolve at the speed of light at the same time, you hear him sigh "good girl". Tears of salvation run down your face, your orgasm seems to continue endlessly and it’s all consuming and so you plea him: “Please Din come with me. Come inside me. Fill me." He cries out your name, and with two more powerful thrusts into your convulsing, wet channel he finally falls apart along with you. Drifts with you through infinite pleasure.

You remain seated in your embrace long after your bodies have come back on the ground of reality. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, it’s your new favorite place. He knows there you can feel his warmth, feel his pulse, smell him. There he is just as alive and vulnerable as you are. Unprotected. Din feels how your mixed arousals drip from you and slide down its length in a creamy manner. Your touch feels electrifying and runs through his limbs and tingles in his loins, recharging him. He has just come back with you from undreamt heights and yet he is possessed by the desire to rise to new ones with you. He is insatiable. Just as he feared it. He will have to live forever with the need to want more, over and over again, even if you will be light years apart.

"Din?"

"Yes?"

"What does that word mean? What do you call me? "

He swallows hard. The term of endearment came so easily from his lips. Because it expresses exactly what he feels for you and yet he had hoped that you will never find out. He didn't expect you to ask, even though he wanted to.

"It's Mando’a. It means beloved ... "

Silence.

He patiently waits for an answer that may never come. Especially he, a man of few words, should understand when saying nothing means that everything is said. And yet his heart betrays him with a wild pounding.

"Din?"

"Yes?"

"I think my path has just taken an unexpected turn."

Din cannot suppress the smile that spreads over his face. The unsaid truth between your words. He's ready to see how things will go on.

"Wherever it leads, I'll be there!"

[the-echolyte]

Hi! Your writing is superb and I love your fic with the reader and Crosshair bantering. Do you think you could do a Crosshair x Fem!reader where she finally gets him flustered and blushing? Maybe a bit of spice at the end if that’s ok? Xx

“Right on Target”

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: No explicit smut, but it’s definitely mature

⸻

Crosshair was used to being in control—of his aim, of his surroundings, of people. He liked it that way.

What he didn’t like was how you always had a retort ready for him, sharp as the toothpick between his teeth.

“Your stalking’s getting obvious, sharpshooter,” you drawled, slinging your rifle over your shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Didn’t know you liked watching me walk that much.”

“I wasn’t watching you walk,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So you were watching my ass. Got it.”

He glanced away, jaw tight, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Score one.

“You’re lucky I’m into grumpy, brooding types who pretend they don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhm,” you said, voice thick with amusement. “That why you always hover when I’m patching up, or growl when I flirt with other clones?”

He stopped walking. You didn’t. Not until he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back with just enough force to make it known he was done playing.

“I don’t growl.”

“Oh, honey,” you smirked, stepping in close. “You practically purr when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed, but his pulse jumped beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t meant to touch his chest—but your hand was there now, and he wasn’t moving.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Why? You gonna shoot me?”

“No. But I might do something you’ll like.”

You gave him a slow, wicked grin. “That’s the idea.”

And that’s when it happened—the blush. Subtle at first, just a dusting of pink across those high cheekbones. But you saw it. He knew you saw it.

“You’re blushing,” you whispered, grinning like you’d just landed a perfect headshot.

He scoffed. “It’s hot in here.”

“We’re on Hoth.”

Silence. You let it stretch. Delicious, victorious silence.

“…You gonna keep staring, or—”

You silenced him with a kiss—soft, heated, and just enough tongue to make his breath hitch. His hand gripped your waist in reflex, grounding, needing.

“You gonna let me keep talking like that,” you breathed against his lips, “or are you finally gonna shut me up properly?”

He backed you into the nearest wall faster than you could blink, lips crashing against yours harder this time, heat surging between you both like a live wire. When he pulled back, his voice was husky, feral.

“Be careful what you ask for.”

You smirked, heart hammering. “Right on target.”

The wall was cold at your back, but Crosshair was not.

His body pressed flush to yours, lean and strong, caging you in with one hand braced above your head and the other gripping your hip like you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t anchor you.

“You’ve got a real smart mouth,” he muttered, voice dark and ragged.

“I know,” you breathed, dragging your nails lightly down the front of his blacks. “You like it.”

He growled—a low, almost feral sound—then tilted your chin up with his gloved fingers and kissed you again. This time, there was no holding back. Teeth, tongue, heat. He kissed like he fought—focused, controlled, but with a dangerous edge that said he might snap.

You wanted him to snap.

Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging along the sharp dip of his waist. His abs flexed beneath your touch, and his breath caught.

“What’s wrong, Cross?” you purred, nipping at his jaw. “You usually have so much to say.”

“I’m busy shutting you up,” he rasped.

And oh—he did.

His hands were everywhere now, sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, tugging you closer. You rolled your hips against his and felt just how not unaffected he was. The air between you grew hot, heavy, thick with need.

“You wanna keep teasing,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “I’ll make good on every threat I’ve ever made.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the promise laced in his tone. He sounded dangerous. And you? You’d never wanted anything more.

“I dare you.”

He chuckled, low and rough, and it did something to you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, curling your fingers in his shirt and pulling him closer. “And I want all of it.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—possessive, claiming, his. His teeth grazed your bottom lip as he pulled away, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with heat.

“Later,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours. “When we’re not seconds from being interrupted by someone like Wrecker.”

You groaned. “He would walk in right now.”

“Which is why,” he said, voice sharp and wicked, “you’re going to think about this all day until I do something about it.”

He stepped back, leaving you breathless, flushed, and absolutely wrecked.

And the smirk he shot you?

It said he knew exactly what he’d done.

[the-echolyte]

Hi!! Could you please write a Reader/Captain Rex fic where Reader has a nightmare and Rex find them panicking and then he calms them down? shipping if possible?

Thank you sm and no worries if you don't want to write it!!!<3

"Stay with Me", a Reader/Captain Rex ficlet

Hi Anon!!!

Of course I could write this — thank you so much for trusting me with such a soft and emotional idea!!!💙 I had way too many feelings about it (Rex my beloved) and I hope you enjoy this little piece of comfort!!!

Sending you the biggest hugs and a very small, very loyal squad of clone troopers to protect your dreams 😌✨

Title: "Stay With Me" Pairing: Captain Rex/Reader Prompt/Tags: Nightmare / Panic Attack, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Fluff)

The first thing you register is the cold.

It sinks into your bones, wraps around your lungs like wire, makes it impossible to draw a full breath. Cold sweat clings to your skin, your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your back. Cold air burns every shaky gasp you drag into your chest. Your hands won’t stop trembling, fingers clawing uselessly at the tabletop you’d slumped over hours ago.

The world around you is all wrong — too loud, too sharp, tilting dangerously like a ship about to capsize.

And it hits you all at once.

The terror.

The blind, clawing panic tearing its way up your throat, hollowing you out from the inside. Your heart hammers against your ribs, too fast, too hard, and you can’t catch up. You can't slow it down. You can’t—

You don’t even realize you’re gasping, half-choking on thin air, until someone says your name.

It cuts through the rising storm in your head — distant, urgent — but the words don’t make sense at first. Everything’s muffled, underwater.

Then again, sharper this time. Closer.

“—’ey, cyare. Hey. Look at me.”

Fingers — warm, steady — wrap around your wrist. Not yanking. Not hurting. Just anchoring. Holding.

You flinch, a strangled sound scraping from your throat.

“Hey, hey, easy,” the voice says, low and steady, trying to meet you wherever you’ve fallen. “You’re alright. You’re safe. I got you.”

You blink, or maybe you don’t — your vision swims either way — and suddenly there’s a face in front of you, close enough that you can see the way the worry creases the corners of his mouth.

It’s Rex.

Of course it’s Rex.

You’re not sure when you started needing him this badly. Maybe it was the late nights in the barracks, the way he always found you when the walls felt like they were closing in. Maybe it was the soft way he said your name when you forgot how to breathe.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms into them until you see stars. You're still half in the nightmare — trapped in the awful dark — the mission gone wrong, the blasterfire too loud, blood pooling too fast for your hands to stop it—

Something shatters inside your chest, a tidal wave of relief and shame and helplessness crashing down all at once.

“I— I can’t—” you choke out, words broken and useless. Your whole body is shaking like a speeder at top speed about to fall apart.

Rex moves instantly, pushing your scattered datapads and notes aside with a sweep of his hand. He crouches in front of you, putting himself right in your line of sight, like he’s trying to block out the rest of the spinning, punishing world.

“Focus on me, cyare,” he says, voice firm but so gentle it hurts. “Just me.”

You blink again, and this time a tear slips loose, sliding hot and miserable down your cheek.

You hate this. You hate being weak.

But Rex just shifts closer, so close you could fall right into him, and taps his forehead against yours.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking slow, steady circles against your skin. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

His voice is low and rough, still wrecked from sleep. “You're safe. You’re right here with me.”

Your breath stutters again, shallow and panicked.

The table you'd been working at is littered with datapads, half-finished reports, the cold dregs of a cup of caf. You must have dozed off right there — nodded off without meaning to, without Rex around to nudge you to bed — and the nightmares had grabbed you in their claws the second your guard was down.

“Can you give me your hand?” he asks, soft but firm.

You shake your head, squeezing your fists tighter into your eyes. It's too much. You're trembling too hard. He can't want to touch you, not like this.

But Rex just hums low in his chest — a patient sound — and waits.

After a moment, you peel one hand away from your face, shaking like a leaf.

Rex catches it in his gloved one, warm and sure.

He presses your palm flat against the rough plates of his chest armor.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s real. I'm here. You're not alone.”

Your fingers flex helplessly against him. His heartbeat thuds steady beneath your hand — solid, grounding.

You cling to it like a lifeline.

“Deep breath, cyare,” he says, so gently it wrecks you. “With me. In… and out.”

You try. You fail. You try again.

Rex doesn’t let go.

He keeps murmuring encouragements, rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s settling a scared tooka kit.

When you finally, finally drag in a breath that doesn't feel like broken glass, you sag forward, boneless and exhausted.

Without hesitating, Rex catches you.

He tugs you down into his lap, wrapping you up in his arms like it's the most natural thing in the galaxy. His armor digs into your skin in places, but you don't care. You're too busy anchoring yourself to the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Got you,” he says, rumbling low against your hair. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

You whimper, tiny and wrecked, and Rex just holds you tighter.

The room hums around you — the faint buzz of the lights, the distant roar of Coruscant traffic. You bury your face against the crook of his neck, breathing in the warm, familiar smell of him: leather, metal polish, soap.

Safe. Alive. Here.

After a while, your shudders slow. Your fists unclench. Your heartbeat, once frantic, starts to sync with his.

“You didn't have to—” you start, voice cracking apart on the first word.

“Shh,” Rex says, thumbing gently along the back of your neck. “None of that.”

You let yourself fall silent, too wrung-out to argue.

For a long time, the two of you just stay like that, tangled up together in the half-dark. Then Rex tilts his head, brushing his nose lightly against your temple.

“You scare me when you don’t come to bed,” he murmurs, a confession barely louder than a breath. “Don’t like waking up without you.”

You blink blearily against him.

“…Didn't mean to,” you rasp.

“I know.” His hand finds yours again, threading your fingers together. His thumb rubs slow, soothing circles into your knuckles. “You’re allowed to need help, cyare.”

You press your forehead against the cool curve of his armor.

“I don’t wanna be a burden,” you whisper.

“You’re not,” he says fiercely. “Never.”

You close your eyes, feeling the world finally, finally start to settle around you.

Rex shifts a little, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

“You’re stuck with me, mesh’la,” he says, voice rough and fond. “Nightmares and all.”

You manage a tiny, broken laugh against his throat.

“Good,” you whisper. “You’re stuck with me too.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way.”

When your breathing finally evens out against his throat, Rex lets himself relax a little.

Only a little.

You're curled into him like you were made to fit there, but the stiff chair and the cluttered table, the cold armor plates pressed awkwardly against you — it’s no good. Not for someone who deserves to sleep soft and safe.

He huffs a breath into your hair, half a laugh, half a sigh.

“You stubborn thing,” he murmurs, low and fond. “Tryin’ to pass out on a damn workbench.”

You make a tiny noise — half a sigh, half a whimper — but you don’t wake fully.

Rex shifts carefully, keeping one hand steady behind your shoulders, the other braced under your knees. In one smooth, practiced motion, he scoops you up against his chest like you weigh nothing at all.

You let out a soft, breathy whine at the movement but nuzzle closer without waking, instinctively seeking out his warmth.

Rex’s heart damn near stops.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you,” he says under his breath, a helpless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t leave you to drool all over the paperwork, now, can I?”

He makes his way toward the bunks, his boots thudding quietly against the floor.

It’s slow going — not because you’re heavy, never that — but because he can’t bring himself to jostle you too much. You deserve better than being startled awake after a night like this.

The door to your shared quarters hisses open.

Rex nudges it shut behind him with his foot and crosses the room in a few strides.

He’s careful lowering you onto the bed — slow, steady — peeling your arms from around his neck like untangling vines.

You mumble something incoherent, fingers clenching weakly in his sleeve.

Rex leans in close, letting his forehead brush against yours.

“Still here, cyare,” he whispers. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

You settle again with a soft, shuddery sigh.

But when Rex moves to back away, your hand finds his gauntlet, tugging weakly.

He glances down at his armor, grimacing.

“Not sleepin’ in full kit, mesh’la,” he says, teasing low, as he starts peeling off the chestplate. “Might be part durasteel, but you’re not. You deserve better than cuddlin' cold plastoid.”

Bit by bit, he sheds the armor, setting each piece aside with quiet, careful movements.

When he’s finally down to the blacks, he slides into bed beside you, gathering you close again.

This time, when you curl against him, it's all warm fabric and steady heartbeat and the sure, safe weight of his arms around you.

Rex presses a kiss to the crown of your head — featherlight.

“You’re safe,” he breathes against your hair.

You don’t answer — not out loud. But your hand fists weakly in the front of his blacks, anchoring yourself there, and that's answer enough.

He stays awake a little longer, listening to the soft hitch of your breaths smoothing out into real sleep.

Only when he’s sure you’re deep under — nightmare-free, finally at peace — does Rex let his eyes drift closed too, his hand never once letting go of yours.

And if he wakes up sore and cramped because he refused to shift and risk waking you?

Well. He figures that’s a small price to pay for keeping you safe through the night.

[the-echolyte]

blood stains

hunter x gn reader

summary: hunter finds you with an injury you tried to hide from the squad, but you’re struggling to open up despite your feelings for him.

warnings: none .. this is a pretty short read

a/n: and i am once again reminded why hunter bad batch is my favorite clone to write about 🧟‍♀️

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

The Marauder is silent other than Wrecker’s thunderous snoring that you’ve learned to tune out whenever the night reaches this dead hour. Right now is the only time there’s no movement flashing back and forth from the cockpit to the gunner’s seat. No orders falling from the many voices you hear more than your own self these days. No bickering, either.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath as you peel part of your shirt away from your skin. A warm and sticky ache begins to throb harder under your wound, which is now messily clotted from the hours that passed since the mission from today. It’s all just another part of your life, especially with this squad at the center of your commitments. Skin doesn’t take much to break, but you’re a different story. No amount of blood spilled to your feet or streaked across your hands as you try to stitch yourself back together can stop you from turning away. This place—these people—are your family. Some more than others, though.

“You’re bleeding all over my ship.”

His voice cuts through the quiet, raising hairs on the back of your neck. He was just sleeping, too, or at least pretending. You keep your eyes on your stomach, catching the captain’s seat turn toward you in your peripheral. A small smile crosses your lips without meaning to, but this is soon replaced by a sharp wince that both of you hear. The sting goes numb like your words when you reply, “Then I guess you’ll have no problem cleaning up. Since she’s all yours.”

You hear some rustling over his low chuckle as he makes his way toward you, slow enough to tease your quickening heartbeat. It isn’t until he reaches for you with the intention of turning you to face him that you flinch away and say, “Hunter, I’m fine.”

His hand drops to his side, and the collision sounds disappointed despite its normalcy. You finally look up at him, frowning when you see the gaunt shadows framing his face. He refuses sleep like abstinence these days, and it shows. It also hurts, though you can’t bring yourself to admit why.

“You always look at me like that,” he sighs sarcastically while sliding into the seat in front of you.

Suddenly, he’s taking the alcohol from your hands and pulling your body between his spread legs. You stand over him with a hot flush creeping up your neck, bracing yourself for another sting as he cleans the overdramatic gash that looks worse than it feels. Really.

“Maybe I’m just unhappy to see you,” you manage to get out through a pained gasp.

“Uh-huh,” he smiles up at you when your hand finds his shoulder and squeezes, “Almost done.”

“You’re overdoing it.”

“You can handle it.”

Your eyes flutter open just in time for you to see the look on his face as he says this. It’s not exactly like the typical solemnity he carries throughout the day, among all the other responsibilities that weigh heavily on his relentless spirit. But it’s familiarly stern, nothing that you wouldn’t expect from someone like him. Someone as confident, that is. You don’t even notice that he’s begun stitching your wound shut, too busy catching your own breath. The thin needle going in and out of your skin barely registers at this point in the process.

“Still hurts?”

Taking your hand off his shoulder, you reply, “No.”

“Good.”

You flick your gaze between his face and lap before nudging his bouncing knee with yours. He hardly reacts to this, only going completely still as the two of you fall silent. This lack of conversation is nothing new, but it makes you increasingly aware of your own state of being. Unsure what to do with your hands, you fold them over your chest. But that doesn’t feel comfortable—and his rough fingers skimming across your bare skin isn’t helping with any sort of thought process—so you drop your hands back down to your sides.

If he notices your restless decision making, he doesn’t point it out. Maybe he would if it was daytime, and his brothers were listening. Maybe he would if he was in the mood to fall into another unnecessary argument. Or maybe, he’s too far gone in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even realize you’re fighting a war in your mind every day you spend with him. You can’t afford to feel anything more than you already do. Neither can he. And yet…

“You’re lucky this isn’t infected,” he eventually speaks up in a hushed tone so the others don’t wake.

You roll your eyes, and your neck follows this movement in a slow stretch. “Don’t play doctor with me.”

“Don’t wait until now to do something about this,” he retorts. The natural authority in his tone comes crawling back at this demand, one that you ignore to preserve your own pride.

You shrug, surprising yourself with your words that tumble out like the wild waters back on Kamino. “Got your attention, though.”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he glances up at you.

“If that’s what you wanted,” he says, “You could’ve just asked.”

You raise your eyebrows skeptically, unsure if he’s simply pulling your strings. He has more power over you than you prefer to show, but he’s also not an idiot. Hardly anything gets past him, hence the reason why he’s sitting before you with a threaded needle and a death grip on your body. The knot in your stomach seems to unravel as his eyes search yours, so dark and brown that you almost mistake them for the night sky.

“Save it,” you sigh and rub your eyes, “Humor me in the morning.”

“You think I’m joking.”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

The breath he releases sounds like a laugh as he shakes his head and peers at your wound closer, almost done with the stitches. Even while you feel like shit, you can’t stop yourself from biting back at the warmth that keeps trying to invade your priorities.

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on your stomach and tilts his head to the side, “I think you’re just scared.”

Your chest seizes uncomfortably. “Where is this coming from?”

The question falls between the cracks of your curiosity since he doesn’t respond, shifting his focus on wrapping your waist with what you believe is the last of your available bandages. You don’t point this out, though, because you know he’ll just add that to his list of the many things he plans on taking care of alone instead of asking for help. How can he of all people expect vulnerability from you? You’ve already accepted this—whatever this even is—will end up as a lost cause. But standing above him as his hands travel near places you shouldn’t dare to think about, especially when he’s looking up at you with stars dancing in his pupils, feels much better than running away.

You snap out of your circling thoughts when Hunter tugs your shirt down and leans back in his seat. His fingers are slightly stained with your blood, outstretched from his palm to avoid making more of a mess. Yours, however, are relatively clean from his favor of taking over the moment. A wordless stare passes between the two of you before you carefully run your hand through his hair, and it’s too soft for you to regret this move. It’s also a little heavy—wilder than usual without the bandana keeping it under control. He closes his eyes at your touch. Leans in just a bit. You step forward with your other hand cupping the side of his face, tilting upward by the jaw so he can look at you. But he doesn’t. He almost seems at peace for once.

You don’t want to ruin that. Just like you don’t want to ruin anything—with him, but also between the rest of this squad. Sliding your hand from out of his hair, you startle when he catches it with his own and tangles your fingers together. No snide remark or irritated comment comes to mind from either of you. Your thoughts are especially blank as he peers up at you, daring you to pull away. When you don’t, he brings your hand to his lips for a brief second that leaves you dizzy and breathless. It doesn’t feel like a kiss when it reads so much like a sentence you’ll never say to each other.

“You’re welcome,” he quips softly before letting your arms fall back to your sides. And then he’s standing so abruptly that you fail to answer, even though his movements appear calm and collected as always. Your head turns to follow his steps, looking straight into his backside with an impatient desperation telling you to reach for him again.

“Good night,” you only offer weakly in return, rubbing your fingers together to feel the blood from his touch. Your blood.

The darkness hides his smile when he glances at you over his shoulder. You can only see the silhouette of his figure, from the plane of his shoulders to the curve of his nose. And then there’s that gleam in his eye—the one you recognize as trouble. So much trouble.

“Good night.”

[the-echolyte]

The Lost Brother

Summary: Order 66 didn't happen. The Jedi were able to defeat Palpatine but Anakin's involvement with the Sith Lord has him banished and under guard in the Jedi Temple. On the eve of his appearance in front of the Council to decide his fate, Obi Wan pays him a visit.

Read on AO3

Obi Wan hesitated as his footsteps echoed down the ornate lower corridor of the Jedi temple. The lights were dimmer down here and Obi Wan’s shadow trailed behind him like a beast stalking him.

The temple didn’t really hold a jail, per se, just a small living quarters once used but a Jedi centuries ago whose species was unable to go above ground during the day.

Obi Wan could sense the distress coming from the end of the hall and sighed. He longed to be able to help his former padawan in a more constructive way, but Anakin had gotten in so deep, Obi Wan knew he alone wasn’t enough to pull him out.

The strength of Anakin’s anguish hit the jedi master like a wall. It was thick, as though he were wading through mud. He collected himself as he reached the door to the room.

Two masked Jedi temple guards stood at the entrance, their sabers humming and crossed over the door.

“I wish to see him.” Obi Wan said calmly. The short guard’s head ticked towards the taller one who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Their yellow sabers disengaged with a hiss and Obi Wan pressed the door release and the stepped over the threshold and down into the room.

The quarters consisted of three separate rooms, a bedroom, fresher and small kitchenette. Obi Wan knew it wasn’t what Anakin was used to, especially with the knowledge he had been spending so much time at Padme Amidala’s luxury apartment.

It took a moment for Obi Wan’s eyes to adjust to the dark, but he could feel him, radiating out of the corner of the room.

“I’m finally graced with your presence, Master?” Anakin said in a petulant voice, “and here I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

Obi Wan signed, “if only I could, Anakin.”

The Jedi rounded on him, his hair longer than when he had last seen him, a beard growing unkempt on his chin.

Anakin chuckled as he scratched at his face, “Is it like looking in a mirror, Obi Wan?” he sneered, “perhaps we look more like brothers now.”

Obi Wan’s heart ached.

He had tried his best to compartmentalize the situation. Justify Anakin’s thinking in some way, knowing stronger men than he had fallen to the dark side or been tempted. The disappointment gnawed at him. Not disappointment in Anakin, but in himself.

He had given his word that he would train this boy to become a Jedi. It had been his Master’s dying wish. And this is where is had ended up. A murderous young man, ready to slaughter millions and set the galaxy ablaze for a single soul.

Obi Wan wasn’t callus, he knew love was a powerful emotion, had felt it firsthand, but his failure in realizing how deep in love Anakin was, and how untethered he had become to the Jedi teachings had almost ended in a calamity of proportions he couldn’t comprehend.

He wanted to apologize, to be punished for his failings as a master, as a man. But he knew that wouldn’t change anything. Anakin’s fate was now in the hands of the council. He was just here to relay to date of his appearance before them.

“Are you keeping well, given the circumstances?” Obi Wan asked conversationally, not wanting his appearance to seem as transactional as he was instructed it to be.

Anakin laughed again and Obi Wan could sense the rage behind it.

“You want to ask about the weather next?” the young jedi asked, gesturing at the windowless space.

“Anakin.”

“Why are you here, Obi Wan?” Anakin spat, his temper flaring. Obi Wan could sense how close it was to the surface, raw and unchecked.

The Jedi Master’s shoulders slumped. He supposed he was being optimistic in requesting this task. Hoping that in seeing his former padawan, former brother, he would be able to fix the situation somehow.

Obi Wan sighed, “The Council would like to inform you that you your hearing will take place tomorrow.”

“Noted,” Anakin replied, collapsing onto the bed with his back turned towards his former master. “Is that it?”

Obi Wan stepped forward, pulling out a folded piece of flimsi from the arm of his robes and setting it down gently next to Anakin.

“What’s this?” he barked.

“Padme says Hello.” He said in a soft voice as he crossed to the door.

Anakin jumped up, ripping the flimsi apart and reading it so fast his eyes looked like they were vibrating. Obi Wan was caught in a wave of joy that reverberated around the room. Anakin turned the page over and frowned.

“Is she okay?” Anakin asked, getting up and stepping closer to his former master.

Obi Wan nodded. “She is doing well. And has medical staff attending to her around the clock, just in case.”

Anakin looked back down at the letter before meeting Obi Wan’s eyes again. “Thank you, Master.” He said quietly, sounding like himself for the first time since Obi Wan had entered the room.

Obi Wan smiled, “You are most welcome, Anakin.” He placed his arm on his shoulder and for a moment felt how he always had. An impossibly strong bond with the boy he had raised.

“Will you be there? Tomorrow I mean. Will you come?” Anakin asked, and for a moment Obi Wan thought the young man was regressing. He could almost see his hair shorten, the beard disappear,  his height diminish until a small, sandy haired child stood before him.

“I shall be there as a member of the Council. Yes.” Obi Wan said.

“But not to defend me?”

Obi Wan looked away and stroked his beard. “Anakin…I…”

“The galaxy would have fallen into darkness if it wasn’t for me. I did the right thing. I stopped it.”

“Eventually, yes.” Obi Wan said hesitantly. “But you have been treading a dark path for a while, Anakin. Since Tatooine and the sand people…”

A flash of range exploded out of Anakin, his eyes narrowed in a scowl.

Obi Wan stepped back, feeling the weight of the other man’s emotions sink into him, permeating his skin. “Palpatine used that darkness, but he did not create it. I am sorry I wasn’t more helpful in your time of need…”

“I don’t need your pity, Master or your false platitudes.”

“Then what is it you do need from me?” Obi Wan asked.

“Nothing. Just go.”

Obi Wan sighed and turned away, before turning back. “You were a good Jedi, Anakin. And a good man. Remind them of it. Perhaps they will give you the opportunity to become it again.”

“And what if I can’t?” Anakin whispered.

“Well then, I’m sure Padme and your twins could give you a life many Jedi could only dream of.”

Obi Wan pressed the door release, giving his brother one final look before leaving him to his own thoughts once more.

[the-echolyte]

Hunter + Separated

Hunter x fem!reader, established relationship

This was written to answer @leotawrites request from... like a year ago: They get separated during the battle on Tantiss and find each other again after it's all done.

I realized way too late in the process that I didn't need to write what she was doing during the battle itself. 🤦 But this got me through the worst of my writer's block, so thank you!

Word Count: 3,100

Warnings: Spoilers for the series finale of Star Wars: The Bad Batch, references to battle, mentions of torture and myriad injuries, guilt, and grief.

Masterlist

---

Hunter scanned the dark treeline over and over, calling your name as loudly as he dared. 

“Shut up!” Crosshair hissed, shoving at his shoulder. “You’ll give away our position.” 

Hunter glared at his brother. “Pretty sure those bolts mean they already know our position.” 

Crosshair gave him a mulish look. “Not exactly. They have an idea, but everyone who actually saw us was neutralized by Wrecker’s new friend.” 

“Wouldn’t call it a friend,” Wrecker muttered, gripping his shoulder. The unknown beast had done its best to take a chunk out of him before Wrecker could fight it off. Even through the cover of his helmet, Hunter could tell that Wrecker was wincing. 

“She’s gone,” Hunter told them both, not needing to explain who exactly ‘she’ was. You were the only unknown in the situation outside of Echo and Omega. And the Batch was closing in on their location as quickly as possible. 

“I saw,” Crosshair agreed. “She went after Rampart.” 

Wrecker scoffed, glancing out at the forest. “Rampart? He’s not gonna last ten minutes out there with those things.” 

Hunter could feel the look Crosshair gave Wrecker, just as he could sense Wrecker’s sheepish regret. “Not that she won’t- She can take care of herself. She’s fast.” 

“I can find her,” Hunter insisted. It wasn’t a lie, or even an exaggeration. The two of you had been dating for some time - well, as much as anyone could find time to date around the horrors of fleeing the Empire. He knew your face, your voice, your scent, the vibrations of your footsteps. 

He knew where you were at that very moment. Not an exact location, since there were a lot of people in these woods, but he could get within a few yards of your trail and track you from there.

Even as Wrecker and Crosshair glanced at each other, Hunter scowled behind his helmet. He could find you with his eyes closed, even on Tantiss, but there just wasn’t time.

“But we’re here for Omega.” The gravity of the situation dripped from Hunter’s tone, mingling with frustration and a tinge of defeat. “We need to get her out of there while we still can.” 

“You two track her and I’ll go get Omega,” Crosshair offered. “You can get past the creatures and Wrecker can guard your back from the reinforcements that were sent out.”

Wrecker froze. “Wai- What? No. We need to stay together.”

You were getting further away. Hunter could feel it, sense the way your footsteps were heading deeper into the forest. He listened until the sound of his own heartbeat covered the sound of yours. It seemed… empty without the steadily echoing thump of your heart behind his. 

“Clone Force 99 died with Tech,” Crosshair snapped, and Hunter pulled his full attention to the conversation at hand. Crosshair was… offering to go retrieve Omega. Without backup. He would be totally alone, all so Hunter could search for you with Wrecker along for backup. 

“No,” Hunter refused, drawing on the familiar authority he’d held when he was the sergeant of the squad. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he slipped into the old role like it had never left him. “Omega needs us. All of us. So we’re doing this together.” 

Hunter glanced between his brothers, seeing the ghost of a goggled face among them. “Let’s go get Omega.” 

—

You were so sick of Rampart. 

The man had never been anything other than a thorn in your side, but you had agreed that capturing him was your best chance of finding Tantiss’s location. That didn’t mean you had to like him. 

Still, you weren’t willing to let him run off and die horribly… or, as a bigger concern, tell the Empire about the Bad Batch’s location. That would be exactly something he would do, you thought grimly, give up everyone else in a last-ditch effort to save his own skin. 

And then you had to try really hard not to think about parallels, because you watched a group of troopers capture him, and you did nothing to help. You reasoned that there wasn’t much you could do against a whole platoon, but you really didn’t feel guilty in the slightest as you watched them attach the binders to Rampart’s wrists and march him roughly onto their waiting transport. 

At least you had done your best to recapture the asset. 

You turned, fighting the urge to literally dust your hands free of the situation, but you froze soon afterward. You… had no idea where the rest of the Batch could be. Rampart had run in a reasonably straight line, but there weren’t many distinguishing marks in the forest. You had no idea whether you could find the others and, even if you could get back to the right clearing, whether anyone would still be there. It wasn’t like they could wait around forever. 

Traveling with the Bad Batch had honed a lot of your skills, especially in choosing a path and executing the right steps for it, but you froze for a moment as you weighed the pros and cons of the different ways you could handle the situation. 

A loud, horrible crack drew your attention toward the mountain. You had half a moment to wonder whether the Empire would be stupid enough to build their ultra-secret laboratory into an active volcano, but a rush of sound told you something else was happening. 

You picked your way through the trees, moving gingerly to avoid the hyper-alert troopers. Eventually, you made your way to a ridge tall enough to look out over the mountain. There, so far around the other side that it was nearly out of view, you could see an interruption in the otherwise-uniform silhouette of the mountain’s slopes. 

Squinting didn’t help much in the dim light of the moon, but you tried it anyway. Was it a landslide? That would be an incredible coincidence, and you were starting to doubt that those ever truly happened. 

Your eyes widened when you finally saw the towering creature fighting its way free of the mountain. You hadn’t the slightest clue what it was or how it had gotten there, but it had to have something to do with the Bad Batch. There wasn’t enough coincidence in the entire galaxy to explain that away. 

At first, the giant hole in the side of the mountain seemed like an ideal place to get inside, but then you saw a swarm of troopers descending on the area. 

You ducked for cover as an approaching ship hovered lower and lower until it gently came to land in a nearby clearing. The doors opened, releasing another platoon. Every trooper took up a position, aiming into the forest. You held your breath to cut off all movement, but you noticed that they weren’t aiming at anything in particular. 

“Make for the entrance, men,” the leader ordered, his voice slightly rough through the distortion of his helmet’s external speakers. “We got warning that some of the insurgents are trying to infiltrate through it.” 

One of the other troopers piped up: “Sir, we don’t have the men to build a formation big enough to-”

“Then we’ll start a partial formation,” the leader said grimly. “Our backup can fill in the gaps when they arrive. Understood?” 

A chorus of ‘Yes, sir!’s met him, then they clattered their way off through the dark forest toward the smoking ruin that formed a large chunk of the mountain’s base. 

You eyed the now-empty ship. There was a pilot onboard, and you didn’t think you could do anything as wild as capture a transport before he alerted the chain of command about what was happening. But you could sneak on, especially since he was only just starting to prepare the ship for takeoff. 

A low, scurrying run wasn’t elegant and you knew that Crosshair would mock you mercilessly if he ever saw it, but it got you to the ship before the doors closed, and the pilot didn’t seem to have seen you. There were holorecorders in the main section of the ship, but their activation happened fairly late in the pre-flight process and you were pretty sure the pilot hadn’t gotten there yet. 

The small corridor built for droids would work to shield you from the holorecorders, as well as anyone who might board the ship. If you were lucky, you could get off the ship between landing inside the mountain and the next group of soldiers getting onboard. And if you were unlucky, you could ride comfortably in the corridor. It wasn’t pressurized, but you would be fine as long as the ship didn’t break atmosphere. 

However, when the ship landed, the pilot powered down the ship and left. You sat huddled in the droid corridor for a count of three-hundred, but didn’t hear any sounds. Not on the ship, anyway - distant explosions echoed through the hangar. 

Finally, you emerged, checking carefully that you were alone. You were, but you hesitated before you left the dubious shelter of the LAAT/i. It wouldn’t be impossible for the Batch to blow up Tantiss entirely, in which case, it would be smartest to take the ship and leave. 

But they could also need your help. And if they did, you couldn’t bear to leave them behind and risk them being injured or worse. 

So you stepped off the ship, reasoning that they wouldn’t have had time to evacuate all of the troopers yet. Still, there was an extra energy in your step as you raced toward the action. You needed to make sure they knew you were there so they didn’t leave you behind.

When you were close enough to smell the smoke, a skull emerged from the shadows. 

You gasped, freezing in place with your hands raised defensively. With more than a split second to look ahead, you could see that it wasn’t a skull at all, but a dangerously emaciated clone trooper. 

He was watching you, sunken eyes wary. You kept your hands where they were, though you were less concerned about ghosts than you were about the DC-17M blaster rifle the trooper held pointed at your heart. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, a reedy edge to his harsh voice. 

You gave your name. You were only dimly aware that there were other troopers approaching behind the one with the rifle - your entire focus had narrowed on the muzzle of the blaster and the wild eyes of the clone trooper. “I’m with-” 

“Stand down, trooper,” a more familiar voice ordered. 

“Echo!” you greeted gratefully. A glance to the side made your smile grow. “And Omega! Good to see you both.” 

“What are you doing here?” Omega asked, watching the unfamiliar clone trooper lower the blaster. 

“Looking for the others,” you explained. “I lost them outside of the mountain. Have you seen them?” 

“Captured,” Echo said grimly. 

Your heart squeezed with fear and horror. Some of that must have bled through to your expression, because Omega gave an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry - we’re going to save them now. We just need to get these injured clones to a ship.” 

“There are a few LAAT/is in the hangar,” you remembered, hooking a thumb back over your shoulder. “That’s how I got here.” 

“You can fly a LAAT/i?” Echo asked. 

You shook your head. “I stowed away.” 

“I can,” one of the other troopers volunteered. “I can fly any ship in the Republic fleet. Just get to me to it and I can do the rest.” 

There was a sinking feeling in your gut at that. Sure enough, Omega was watching you hopefully when you turned around.

“Omega, I-” 

“We need you to,” Echo interrupted firmly. “I’ll take a volunteer group of troopers to go save them, but we need you to get these men to a ship.” 

“I can’t just leave,” you argued. 

“No one said you have to leave,” Omega corrected. “Just take them to the hangar and get them on a ship. Then come find us. You have Echo’s comlink frequency. Track it and that’ll show you where we are.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Echo said, looking uncomfortable at the idea of bringing someone new into whatever situation he expected to find. 

Omega shrugged up at him. “We need all the help we can get.” 

Echo’s sigh only served as a wordless agreement. 

“Fine, I’ll see you both soon,” you decided. “Everyone else, follow me. I’ll get you to the hangar.” 

The process of guiding the troopers wasn’t quick, but it was remarkably efficient. They had already figured out who was well enough to help the others and who should be at the front of the group to help set the pace. That was especially convenient, since it allowed you to help the troopers who were struggling the most without having to leave your place leading the group. 

At long last, you had helped everyone load onto a LAAT/i and passed along the coordinates Echo had sent to get them to a safe system. The instant you were safely off the ship, the pilot deftly flew the ship into the pouring rain and you rushed back into the belly of the mountain. 

Echo’s comlink frequency wasn’t moving. 

That wouldn’t have been too concerning, but it continued not to move for most of the time it took you to reach it. You sent up a prayer to whatever gods were listening that he had simply dropped the comlink. The idea of something worse happening was enough to send you into near-panic. 

The sound of your name being called behind you made you freeze. “Hunter-?”

When you had passed the large door, it had been closed. You hadn’t actually known that it led outside, but with the door panel standing open, you could see the long path to a landing platform fading away behind sheets of rain. 

More importantly, Hunter, Crosshair, and Omega were just inside that door, dripping wet and looking exhausted. 

“What happened?” you demanded, rushing to them. “Are you hurt? Crosshair, your hand… We have to go! Hemlock could be here any moment-” 

“Mesh’la,” Hunter cut in, grasping your shoulders so you would pay attention. “We don’t have to worry about Hemlock. Not now. Not ever again.” He took a shaking breath and hugged you close. “We’re finally safe.” 

You cradled him against you, nodding in acknowledgment as Omega gestured that she was going to find a ship. She and Crosshair moved around you both, headed toward the hangar. 

Hunter smelled like sweat and electricity, his body trembling like a leaf. He pressed his face beneath your jaw and took a deep breath. You could feel the heat of tears against the skin of your neck. Even there, in the horrible aftermath of a long and painful battle, you found a moment to soak each other in. 

Later that night, you jolted awake in your bunk aboard the Havoc Marauder. The lights of hyperspace flashed beyond the viewport covers, but that wasn’t what had jarred you back to consciousness - the bed was empty. 

It didn’t take long to find Hunter; he was in the cockpit. There wasn’t any manual flying to do, since you were in hyperspace and would continue to be for hours, but he was staring through the viewport as if he was concentrating intently. 

“Hunter?” you asked gently. 

With his enhanced senses, there was no way he hadn’t heard you approaching, but there was something odd about the set of his shoulders. You wouldn’t risk startling him, not after he had been through so much so recently. 

He hummed softly in answer. You took that as an invitation and stepped into the cockpit. 

When you were sitting in the copilot’s chair, you let yourself look over at Hunter. His eyes were aimed out of the viewport, but they weren’t as sharp as you thought they would be. Instead, he seemed to be staring through the transparisteel blankly, his focus clearly aimed at his own thoughts instead of at the stars rushing past. 

“Are… are you okay?” you asked, fully knowing how silly the question was but unable to articulate it any other way. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

The answer was quiet and soft, more thoughtful than dismissive. You nodded understandingly. 

“It’s hard to believe it’s all over.” 

“Is it over?” Hunter shook his head. “Every time I think about… about today… I have to wonder if there isn’t something else going on.” 

You frowned. It was hard not to ask too many questions, especially when he was saying things that made you worry. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Hunter sighed lightly, little more than an exhale through his nose. “Not much to talk about. The Kaminoans could break us down and put us back together by the molecule. Hemlock had to do it the hard way. Shocks, beatings, psychological reprogramming. He wanted to turn us into his own soldiers.”

Your throat went tight at the dismissive tone he used. You reached out, closing the distance between your chair and his to hold his hand. Hunter accepted the touch easily, slipping his fingers through yours and giving a little squeeze. 

“You want to know the worst part?” Strictly speaking, you weren’t sure that you did, but you nodded anyway. “There were others there that were Hemlock’s soldiers. He had a team he used to capture us and I couldn’t stop thinking… What if he did that to Tech? What if one of those men was my own brother?” 

Hunter’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, his voice tight. You stood, wrapping him in the tightest hug you could manage. Even as he returned your hug, Hunter choked out, “How can things be over if Tech could still be out there?” 

“Let’s get everyone to safety first,” you suggested slowly. “When that’s done, we can go wherever you want. We’ll find him.”

“And Omega?” he asked, almost desperate. “She finally has a chance to be a normal kid. How could I take that from her?” 

“Stars, Hunter, we have contacts across the galaxy.” You stroked gentle fingertips through his hair. “We can gather leads from Pabu and, if we find something solid enough, we’ll go check it out. You can decide then if you want to get anyone else involved or not.” 

Hunter’s laugh was teary but sincere. “How do you make it sound so simple?” 

“Because it is,” you reminded him. “We’re together and we’re alive. We can figure out anything else.” 

“You’re right,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to your palm. “We’ll figure it out. Together. I love you, mesh’la.”  “I love you too, Hunter,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his forehead, cheeks, and finally his lips. “Everything will be okay. We’ll make it okay.”

---

Author's Note - As you can probably tell, I lean toward the theory that Tech isn't perma-dead. We'll see!

Thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone who made requests and is being so so patient while I work through my insane number of wips.

[the-echolyte]

I LOVE THEM

Late (A CodyWan Story)

This is the result of being sick and waking up at 3am. Utter fluff and nonsense, I'm afraid. Enjoy!

Summary: Cody wakes up late in his General's quarters. Obi Wan is less than helpful as the commander tries to get out the door.

Read on AO3

Cody stirred with a groan. He could feel the warmth of Obi Wan next to him and reached over to pull him closer. Light was streaming through the large arched window in the Jedi’s quarters.

Light.

Fuck.

Cody sat bolt upright, searching for a chrono.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, looking desperately for the time.

“Fuck,” he said again, louder this time as he dove over Obi Wan and reached for his datapad.

“Maybe a little later, darling. I’m still sleeping,” the Jedi said wistfully.

Cody’s stomach dropped as he saw 07:34 glaring at him and was finally able to focus enough to watch the traffic whizz by the window.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He cursed.

Obi Wan rolled over; his eyes still closed but a coy smile on his lips. “Well, if you insist, darling, but I can’t guarantee I’ll…”

“No, Obi Wan. I overslept. I’m late.”

Obi Wan’s eyes opened lazily, his head not lifting off the pillow despite his lover’s obvious angst.

“Oh, I see.” He said cautiously, “so then…we have time for…”

“Obi Wan!” Codye scolded as he jumped out of bed searching for his clothes.

The Jedi chuckled to himself and watched as Cody ran about the room.

“I can’t believe I did this. How am I going to get out of the temple unnoticed? He asked, pulling his blacks on while trying to pick up his armor and falling back into the bed.

Obi Wan sat up, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his Commander’s shoulder. Cody wasn’t sure how, but he imbued the kiss with a sense of calm serenity that made his heart rate calm.

“We shall put on a united front and leave together. No one will question it if I am with you.” Obi Wan said with a serene smile.

Cody sighed, “they won’t wonder why we’re together in the temple so early?” Cody asked with an eye roll.

“Jedi, as a whole, don’t automatically assume misdeeds or deception, my love. It is perhaps one of our greatest flaws.”

Cody paused, “one that you’re willing to exploit? Cody asked, suddenly aware of what Obi Wan was offering to do for him.

The Jedi shrugged and crawled forward on the bed so their faces were inches away from each other, “what wouldn’t I do for you, Cody?” he purred.

Cody rolled his eyes but smiled. Obi Wan looked at him adoringly, his ginger eyebrows raised in mirth. The sleepiness that had enveloped him moments ago was gone, he was primed, wide awake, and flirting with his full attention.

Cody wasn’t sure who had taught this Jedi to flirt or whether it was something that just poured out of him like charisma. Whatever it was, Cody was helpless against it, always had been.

His eyes roved the room, falling on the chrono that had been knocked off the nightstand the night before. They weren’t on a battlefield, just at the capital, fielding meetings with Senators and drumming up support for the war effort. Being late wasn’t, strictly speaking, as bad as it could be.

No. He had to get moving.

Time kept ticking and Cody was seemingly frozen. Obi Wan hovered in front of him. He wouldn’t ask, he never did, he never needed to. Cody was more than willing to fall into his orbit at the mere hint of offered affection. Obi Wan was a drug. One Cody just couldn’t get enough of.

On Kamino he had been trained to be obedient, timely, strict and strong, but faced with this blue-eyed Jedi, his usually neat mop of sandy hair ruffled and falling in his face, Cody’s training vanished. He was just a man in love. Utterly besotted and wanting nothing more than to devour the creature in front of him.

His eyes went to the chrono again as Obi Wan moved slightly, his lip curling into a grin as he undoubtably felt the shift in Cody’s mood.

“What’s another hour at this point,” the commander said, crashing into the Jedi and pushing him back onto the bed.

All of Cody’s anxiety dissipated as he kissed Obi Wan’s perfectly plump lips hungrily. Anyone would think he was starved for affection, that they hadn’t collapsed in a panting heap just a few hours ago after exploring every inch of each other.

That was just it though, there could never be enough of him and Obi Wan. It would never be enough. Not just physically, either. Cody couldn’t get enough of his voice, the swagger with which he walked, the chuckle that developed deep in his throat and came out as a barking laugh. He wanted endless crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes and the tickle of his beard on his skin. He wanted the closeness of falling asleep in his arms and the tenderness of a soft kiss on the cheek. He wanted it all, always, and was still amazed that he had it.

He heard a chuckle in Obi Wan’s throat as his lips moved down his neck and his hands started to wander.

“Well, this is certainly a pleasant way to wake up.” The Jedi said with a grin.

“Just you wait,” Cody said as he sank below the covers, eliciting a groan from the Jedi.

***

Cody’s cheeks were still pink and burning when he strapped on his armor fifty-eight minutes later. He looked at the chrono on the floor with a grin, picking it up and throwing it on the bed.

“We’re really in for it now,” Cody said, as his pauldrons clipped into place.

Obi Wan languished behind him, securing the last of his robes over his sleek, toned body and clipping his lightsaber at his waist.

“Strictly speaking, it is up to me to discipline you for events such as tardiness.” He said with a wide grin, his hand grazing down Cody’s back.

“Oh?” Cody with a smile as the Jedi rounded on him.

“Oh yes. But I’d say we’ve…hashed things out already. Wouldn’t you say?”

Cody laughed outright this time, pulling the Jedi’s lips to him and relishing in the pink hue decorating his cheeks.

“You certainly taught me a lesson, Obi Wan.” He said with a wink.

“And you, I, my love.” Obi Wan replied sweetly, leaning in again for a soft, tender kiss.

“Ready?” Cody asked.

“Ready,” Obi Wan said with a smile before pressing the door release, revealing the corridor to the other Jedi quarters.

Cody took a step forward before Obi Wan’s hands were on him, pulling Cody to the side of the door by his chest plate, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him so passionately the commander thought his legs might give out.

The Jedi released him with a wink and walked through the open door, leaving Cody’s whole face flushed and his codpiece tighter than it had been moments before.

“Anakin, you’re arriving home late.” He heard Obi Wan chastise in the hallway.

Cody pulled on his helmet with a smirk and followed.

“I…er…couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk.” Anakin replied shiftily as he inched towards his door.

Cody came up behind Obi Wan and noticed the Jedi’s eyes flicking from his master to the commander.

“Morning Cody,” Anakin said, his eyes narrowing.

“Morning, Sir.” Cody said professionally.

Anakin smirked, putting his hand on his hip, “burning the candle at both ends, Master?”

Obi Wan chuckled, “don’t be absurd, Anakin. Cody graciously brought me some reports I forgot to sign last night. I suppose this war is having an effect on me after all.”

Anakin smirked again, “where are they? The reports?” he asked in a would be casual voice.

Cody’s stomach dropped. There were no reports. He had nothing in his hands. He was grateful his panic was covered by his helmet.

Perhaps staying in bed hadn’t been worth it after all.

Obi Wan grinned and lazily pulled his datapad out from under his robes. “Here, of course.” He said with a grin. “You should get some sleep. Anakin. You look like a Bantha’s ass.”

The jedi laughed and nodded, disappearing into his quarters next to Obi Wan’s.

“Shall we?” Obi Wan asked.

Cody smiled, “You’re certainly full of surprises, General.” Cody said with a smirk.

“Oh, my dear Commander, you have no idea.” The Jedi replied with a grin.

[the-echolyte]

I dont know if polyamorous relationships is your thing (you can ignore this if it isnt) but I think Fox x reader x Wolffe is an insanely underrated concept. I was wondering if you have any thoughts on what they'd be like to date at the same time (nsfw or sfw). Hope you have a good night!! <3

As it happens, one of my oc ships is Rynn x Delta Squad, so I'm totally fine with poly relationships.

The relationship starts between you and Fox, a simple thing since he's on Coruscant all of the time. Wolffe comes along later, after he loses his eye to Ventress.

You meet Wolffe in the hospital on Coruscant when you're visiting with Fox. You and Wolffe hit it off, and that's the first time Fox considers sharing you with anyone.

Slowly, Wolffe starts coming on your dates with Fox. And one day, you realize that you can't remember the last time you and Fox went on a date without Wolffe there. It doesn't bother you, but you are curious.

Finally, when you're able to sit down with Fox and Wolffe to talk with them about it, you're able to work out something that works for all of you.

You get solo dates with each of them, and then a couple of nights a week, you have dinner with both of them. And it's great. Perfect even.

When you're together, Wolffe and Fox can't keep their hands off you, and that's totally fair because you're exactly the same when it comes to them.

And when it comes to being with them in bed? Well, they're very competitive men and you reap through best rewards from it.

[the-echolyte]

A New Dream

Summary: Crosshair comes home from work, and takes a moment with his wife.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1206

Warnings: None

A/N: I was in a Crosshair mood this morning, so I wrote this. I'm a bit worried it's not very good, but I'm still posting it anyway. This story is not set at any specific point in TBB, but Crosshair used to live on Pabu and now doesn't.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“So, any plans with the misses tonight, Cross?”

Crosshair doesn’t look up from the engine he’s rebuilding even as he responds, “Nothing too special. Dinner, maybe watch a movie. Why?”

“Because,” The other man leans across his desk, “I’m going dancing with my girl.”

“The girl you won’t marry because you might find someone better? That girl.”

“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for keeping his options open!”

“I can and I will.” Crosshair shoos him off of the table, “Aren’t you supposed to be working on the heating unit?”

His coworker, and sometimes friend, shrugs. “It’s totally busted. I had to put in an order for new parts. How’s the engine?”

“Totally shot. At this point it’ll be cheaper to replace the engine rather than rebuild it.” Crosshair rolls his shoulder, and glances at the chrono, “But I suppose that’s not up to us.”

“Some people really have more money than sense, don’t they.” His coworker laughs and slaps his shoulder, “You sure I can’t convince you and the misses to join us when we go dancing.”

“Not this time. She’s not allowed to do much physical activity until she’s healed fully.” Crosshair glances at him, “Maybe next time.”

“Sure.” An alarm blares from across the shop, and Crosshair releases a sigh of relief. Workday’s done. “Well, I’ll see you in two days, Cross. Say hi to your lady for me! We definitely need to throw another cook-out, you know what. I’ll talk to Dunn about it, and he can get it set up.”

Crosshair shakes his head as his coworker runs off, nearly skipping in his excitement to leave for the day, and then he turns and cleans up his mess, and heads to the fresher to wash the grease off his hands and to change out of his work clothes into something more comfortable.

As soon as that’s done, he leaves the garage and makes the fifteen minute walk back to the house he shares with his wife. At this point, he could make the walk blindfolded, he walks it so often. But he doesn’t mind.

The walk is nice, and when it’s a nice day like today it helps him decompress from his workday.

The home Crosshair shares with his wife is, what she calls, a ranch. Long and spread out across a wide stretch of land. Once upon a time, her family were ranchers, though they’ve not ran cattle in generations at this point.

These days, large portions of the land are rented out for weddings or parties. Save, of course, for the decent stretch of backyard that’s dedicated to his wife’s herb and vegetable gardens, his woodworking shed, and the swimming pool.

He might be a bit biased, but he thinks his home is the best.

Crosshair sits on the swing next to the front door long enough to pull his work boots off, and he sets them next to the door, before he opens the screen door and steps into the house.

“I’m home!” He calls from the front door, as he turns and opens the door to the laundry room, tossing his work clothes in the basket dedicated to his work jumpsuits.

“Welcome back, how was your day?”

Crosshair turns and a smile lifts his lips when he sees his wife heading his way, “Long and miserable.” He opens his arms, allowing her to slide into them. Immediately, she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her face into his shoulder.

“Oh? Did something happen?” She asks, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Yeah. I couldn’t see you or hear your voice all day.” He teases as he drops a kiss to the top of her head, “I missed you.”

She pulls back and grins up at him, “You saw me this morning.”

“That was so long ago, though.”

A laugh spills from her lips, “Well, you could always come home for lunch.”

“If I did that I’d never want to return to work,” He points out with a growing grin, “You’re far, far too tempting.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“Always.” He leans in and kisses her, unable to help himself when she’s so close and so adorable, “Were you gardening?” He asks against her lips.

“Mm-hmm,” normally she would be a bit more chatty, but she’s far too distracted with pressing light kisses all across his face.

“I take it you missed me,” He teases, a sigh slipping from him as her lips fall on a spot just below his ear.

“Only a little.”

“Yeah? This is only a little?” He settles his hands on her hips and squeezes tightly enough that she squeaks. “What would you do if you really missed me then?”

She pulls back and grins at him, “More.”

“I like the idea of more.”

“That’s because you’re a man.”

“You’ve never complained before, sweets.”

“Wasn’t a complaint~”

Crosshair chuckles and lifts her so that she’s able to hook her legs around his waist, “Well then, what have you been up to today?”

“I went swimming,” She replies cheerfully, “It’s supposed to be good for my knee. And then I did some gardening work, and I did some cleaning.”

“You used your stool when you were gardening, yes?”

“Yes, mother.” She rolls her eyes, and then squeaks when he prods her side, “I’m being careful with my knee, Cross. Don’t worry.”

“Good.” He kisses her cheek, “What else did you do today?”

She hums thoughtfully, her slender fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck, “Well, I talked to Hunter today.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to know if we would be willing to house Omega this summer, she misses you apparently.” She shifts in his arms, “I told him I’d talk to you about it before saying one way or another.”

“We can talk about it, sure. Our home isn’t exactly kid friendly.” Crosshair admits with a sigh, “What else?”

“They want you to move back to Pabu.”

“Never going to happen.” He says immediately.

“They just miss you, Cross.”

“They can keep missing me. I can go skiing here, sweets. And snowboarding. I can do that on a tropical planet.” He leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “Besides, this is your home. I could never ask you to leave.”

“You could.” She offers, her voice soft, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

“I would never ask you to give up your home and your life for me.” Crosshair says, “Not when we’ve worked so hard to make it ours.”

Her smile becomes slightly watery, “I love you.”

“Love you more.” He replies as he leans in and kisses her again and again. “Now, how about we do some swimming before dinner, hm?”

“We could use the hot tub in the fresher,” She offers.

Crosshair grins at her, “Well, that sounds like a much better plan. You wanna go get it ready while I find us a bottle of wine?”

And she giggles, “Yeah, I can do that.” She steals one more kiss, and then slides down his body to hurry to the bedroom. Crosshair watches her go with a fond smile on his face.

Yeah, this is so much better than anything he could have on Pabu.

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[the-echolyte]

well thanks for kicking the Kix bees nest in my brain.

it was dormant.

now it is not.

Like Stars

Summary: You’ve never liked your appearance, specifically the hundreds of thousands of freckles that cover your entire body. You claim they’re ugly and that they make you look ugly, so you hide them under makeup. And you’ve done so since you were a teenager. But now you’re a Doctor attached to the 501st and you don’t always have the time for makeup.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1806

Warnings: Reader is described as having lots of noticeable freckles, Reader makes several comments about how they hate their appearance, Kix is a Guy about the reader and makes some suggestive comments

A/N: So I had an idea last night, and decided to write it. I hope you all like it.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

There’s something about hyperspace travel that leaves the Resolute cold. No matter how much you layer, or how high you turn the heat in your personal quarters, you can still feel a chill down to your bones.

You hate it.

But you wouldn’t change anything about your life.

The men of the 501st are genial men, and they treat you with the utmost respect. Not to mention, they can be funny and they don’t treat you like an outsider, something your coworker attached to the 104th has had to deal with since day one.

More importantly, you get to work with Kix. The Chief Medical Officer for the 501st, and someone you’d be more than happy to call a friend even outside of work.

Okay, full disclosure, you’ve been nursing a crush on him for the better part of six months, and it’s not getting better. You thought—hoped, really—that spending time with him would kill the crush, it’s happened before after all, but no. The more time you spend with Kix the larger your crush grows.

He complimented your hair the other day, and you, the suave, smooth person you are, blurted, “Thanks, I was born with it.”

Luckily, he thought it was funny rather than just you being an awkward mess of a person. But you can already foresee the future. Kix is going to keep saying nice things to you, and you’re going to keep saying weird awkward things because you’re apparently a failure of a person.

You can already feel your face burning with remembered embarrassment, and you groan as you roll over to bury your face in your pillow. Maybe if you smother yourself, the remembered embarrassment will fade and you’ll be able to do your damn job.

Then your alarm goes off, and you release an ugly oath in three different languages. You lift your head off your pillow and glare at the chrono built into the wall next to your bed.

You’re not ready for another day.

You need another hour, at least, to obsess over how embarrassing your crush on Kix is before you can guilt yourself out of bed and into the sonic.

The chrono doesn’t care, though. It just keeps blaring it’s alarm, until you groan and roll off your bed to smack the button to turn it off.

And, well, now that you’re awake and on your feet, it just makes the most sense to drag yourself to the fresher and start your day.

You hop in the sonic and power it on. Sure, the sonic might be more efficient than a water based shower, but you’d sell your brother’s soul for a proper water based shower. Not yours, obviously. You need yours.

As soon as the sonic times down, you step in front of the mirror and absently grab your headband and pull it on. This, particular, headband was designed to hold your hair out of your face while you wash your face and apply your makeup.

You yawn as you open a drawer and pull a face wipe out of it’s container, and then grab the bottle of foundation from where it’s laying next to it.

At this point in your life, you don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror when you wash and apply your face. You could probably do it with your eyes closed, at this point, but you always watch anyway.

You scrunch up your nose in distaste as you examine your makeup free face. How is it that you have more freckles now than you did a week ago? You prod at your cheek and scowl, maybe you should save up some money to have the freckles removed, like at a clinic or something.

Your comm chimes a warning, and you release another curse. You got distracted, you’re going to be late.

Blindly, you grab the bottle of foundation and flip open the lid so you can pour some of the liquid on a small foam sponge, only for nothing to come out. You stare, bewildered, for a moment. And then you finally register that the bottle it empty.

A quick glance inside the drawer tells you that the bottle was faulty, since makeup now covers the bottom of the drawer.

Tragically, this bottle was supposed to last you the entire deployment. You don’t have another one. Which means, for the first time since you were a teenager, you have to go without makeup.

Maybe, if you just don’t look at anyone, they won’t see the freckles.

A fool’s hope, you know. Your freckles are very noticeable even from across the room.

You rub your hands across your face, and then tug your work clothes on, and turn to head out of your quarters.

You really, and truly, never wanted Kix to see you without makeup.

Vanity? Maybe. But you’ve hated the freckles since you were a small kid, and age has only made you hate them more. Kids can be cruel, after all. And parents can be even more so.

The walk from your quarters to the medbay is quick, as your room is intentionally just down the hall, just in case. The medics, Kix and the others, have their bunk on the other side of the medbay.

It means it is nearly impossible for you to be later, since your work station is only a couple of feet from your room, but it also means that you’re never the first person in.

So as the door slides open, you see the back of Kix’s head as he does his morning inventory. You grab your datapad from next to the door, and power it on, pulling it up to your face so no one can see what you look like, and then you read what’s on the screen.

“Oh, motherfuck. Today’s the day for physicals?”

Kix laughs and glances at you, “Did you forget?”

“I think I blocked it out since the last one was so traumatic.” You grouse as you scroll down the list, “Wait, how come I have both Tano and Skywalker?”

“Commander Tano didn’t feel comfortable receiving a physical from me,” Kix says easily, “And I gave you Skywalker since I’m unfamiliar with Jedi physiology.”

“You fucker.” You say, though there’s no heat in your voice, “Are we doing natborns and clones today?”

“Most of the natborns had their physicals already, it’s just Tano and Skywalker on that side. I am giving you the Shinies though.” Kix replies as he lifts his own datapad to glance at it.

“Just say you hate me, Kix. There’s no need to be passive aggressive.”

“They’re afraid of me, and I need them to come to the physicals, so you’re just going to have to suck it up, buttercup.”

“Yeah, well. If you were nicer—” You trail off as you scroll down the list, “I’m doing you? Uh...I mean,” You feel your face burn, “I’m giving you your physical today?”

You can feel him grinning at you at your slip of the tongue, “Yup. And I’m doing yours.” He replies, sounding delighted.

You finally drop your datapad away from your face, “I don’t need a physical? I already had mine.”

“Well, it wasn’t put in your file, so you’re getting another one.” Kix scans your face, and then he takes a step towards you, “Do you have freckles?”

“Shut up, don’t look at me.” You lift your datapad again, only Kix is faster as he yanks it out of your hand and lightly grips your chin. “Kix?!”

“You do! How have I never seen them?”

He’s standing really close to you. Too close for your sanity.

“I hide them with makeup,” You manage to get out, your voice slightly strangled

His thumb trails against your jaw, “Why would you do that?” There’s something awed in your voice and you start slightly when his other hand comes up to press against your cheek.

“I—well...they’re ugly,” You stammer, his hands are warm against your skin, slightly calloused from years of weapon handling, and dry from overusing hand sanitizer, but you can’t help but think that his hands feel nice against your skin.

“Says who?”

“Uh, lots of people, actually.” You shift, slightly uncomfortable, “And since they’re ugly it means I’m ugly, but I ran out of makeup. So…”

“You’re not ugly, and neither are the freckles.” Kix counters sternly, his fingers still lightly trailing from one freckle to the next, “It’s like—” He trails off, something soft in his gaze.

“Kix?”

“Someone painted the stars on your face,” He murmurs, “How can anyone think you’re ugly when you have entire galaxies written on your body.”

Something about his words, and the way he’s saying them, makes your entire body burn with flustered embarrassment, “Please stop.”

“Why?”

“You’re embarrassing me.” You whine.

He releases a low chuckle, “I know. You’re so cute when you’re flustered and tripping over yourself.”

“You’re doing it on purpose?!”

“Yeah. I like seeing how flustered I make you. Especially since you don’t get flustered near any of my brothers.” Kix grins and shifts a little closer, so you’re able to feel his armor pressed against you, “You have a crush on me.”

You glare at him, or you try to. You’re pretty sure it comes across as a pout based on how he’s grinning.

“That’s alright. I have a crush on you too.”

“...you can’t say that!” You lightly pound your fist against his chest plate.

“Why not?” His grin has grown.

“Because I have to give you a physical later and now that’s all I’ll be thinking about!”

And then Kix leans in so his lips are hovering just over yours, “Good.” He purrs out, and then his lips are against yours in a surprisingly heated kiss.

He’s gone before you can properly respond, and before you can even ask why and how and what, the door opens and Ahsoka pokes her head into the room, “Um...am I early?” She asks, her eyes darting from you to Kix and then back again.

“I...uh...no. No, you’re right on time.” You struggle to shift your brain back into doctor mode, and judging by the grin on his face he can tell, “We’re going behind the blue curtain, alright Ahsoka? I just need a moment to find your file.”

She nods nervously, “Alright. I’ll just so sit…”

The teenager wanders off and you scowl at Kix as soon as she’s behind the curtain, “You’re trouble.”

“I can’t wait to show you just how much.” He counters with a wink. And then you both have to go to work as Rex steps into the room for his physical as well.

But, for the first time in your life, you think that maybe, just maybe, your freckles aren’t something that needs to be hidden away.

@heidnspeak

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[the-echolyte]

Home Sweet Home (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes: No warnings, fluff, established Hunter x Reader, Tech is a little shiz, Hunter is a homemaker. Literally.

Tech watched his brother with fascination. Hunter sat atop the wooden frame he'd put together all on his own within the last few hours, nailing the crossbeams together. His shirt was tied around his waist, the sweat dripping down his upper torso with his hair tied back. It wasn't an unusual sight, Hunter had been helping rebuild many of the houses on Pabu since their arrival and the subsequent tsunami, but this one was special.

Pabu didn't have much readily available wood, so it was only used to build a rough outline of a house, providing a support for the clay mixture that kept the homes of Pabu nice and cool beneath the beating sun.

"I believe it is the bowerbird of Naboo that creates elaborate and sometimes whimsical structures in order to find potential mates." he said nonchalantly.

Hunter wiped the sweat from his brow and took the nails from between his teeth, "Are you going to help me or are you just gonna watch all day?"

Tech took another sip of the fruit juice Phee gave him, "I am perfectly content to sit back and watch you perform such an elaborate courting ritual."

Hunter frowned, "You make it sound like I'm doing something wrong here," He glanced around at the framework. It was almost done, he just needed to finish the roof, and then he could start mixing the clay. He'd seen Shep and the others making it, but he hadn't quite put it to practice yet himself.

"Oh no, you're doing quite wonderfully." Tech said.

"That sounded sarcastic! " Hunter accused. Tech merely shrugged.

"Hunter?"

Hunter's heart soared when he heard your voice. He spotted you walking up the cobblestone path towards him, and leaped down from the roof, running towards you.

"Hello, Cyare!" he ran towards you, lifting you up into his arms and spinning around.

"Hello!" You laughed breathlessly. "Phee said you wanted to show me something you're working on?"

"Yes, come on!" Hunter took your hand and pulled you over to the house. You carefully stepped over the threshold into the framework.

"I needed to know what you think," Hunter gently took your shoulders, moving you to face one wall, "So, the sun comes up in the east, over on this side. And I'm trying to figure out if I should put the bedrooms here, or the common room."

"Hmmm, well, the light is nice to wake up with, but if the common room is where they'll spend the most time, and the natural light will be nice and inviting."

"Uh huh."

You bit your lip, "I dunno, I like the idea of the sitting room and kitchen having all that natural light, but then the bedroom will be all dim," You waved toward the other side of the house, which was up against a house that had been finished the other day. This house was at the edge of a hill, so there wouldn't be anything to block the view. You shook your head and looked up at him. "Have you asked the people who will be living here? What did they think?"

"I did." he said.

You waited for a beat. "And? What do they want?"

Hunter looked in your eyes, "What do you want?"

You blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah," Hunter nodded, "Us."

You took a deep breath and stumbled back a few steps, "Oh wow," You pressed your hands against your cheeks as they flushed. You spun around, taking in the framework. It wasn't anything egregioisly big, but it was far bigger than the Marauder was. It was far from finished, but there would be bedrooms, actual bedrooms, and a real kitchen, and space to sit.

"Cyare? You alright?" Hunter asked, holding out his hands to you.

"I'm good, I am so good," You gasped, throwing your arms around him.

"You're making this for us?"

"For you and me," He said quickly, "And Omega, if she wants it."

"What about the others?"

"Wrecker's working on his own right now. And as for Tech, I think he's got his own plans."

You stood up straighter, wiping an errant tear from your eye. You didn't know what had come over you. There was something so wonderful about the idea of having a home, someplace to call your own. And the idea of sharing such a home with Hunter was almost more than you could imagine.

"So, bedrooms or sitting room?"

"Sitting room. Absolutely." You giggled, and Hunter smiled at you. He cradled your cheeks in his hands and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. His warmth enveloped you, smelling like the sun-baked mulch of a childhood playground on a hot summer day, and a wave of nostalgia washed over you.

"There's one more thing I need your help with before I keep building," Hunter brought you over to the lintel of the front door. On the inside, he'd carved his own name.

"I need you to carve your name in here too," He said, placing his knife in your hand

"But I can't- whoo!"Hunter had his arms around your waist and boosted you up onto his shoulder before you could finish your protest of how you couldn't reach comfortably. You fumbled with the knife for a moment, trying not to drop it.

"How did you reach this?" you asked, examining the distance from Hunter's head to the crossbeam he'd carved.

"Used a ladder." He shrugged.

"Couldn't I just use one too?" You asked.

"Sure you could, but then I wouldn't get a chance to hold ya now, would I?" He grinned up at you, and you couldn't hide the flush in your face.

You leaned forward, bracing your arms against the wood frame, and gently traced the letters that Hunter had carved. You weren't as skilled with a knife as he was, but Hunter knew that. If he was insisting, he probably didn't care.

With sharp, rigid lines, you painstakingly carved out your name, adding a little heart at the end for good measure. When you told him you were done, Hunter lowered you back to solid ground, raising one hand to admire your carvings next to his.

"Beautiful," He murmured.

You smiled shyly, bumping your hip against his, "You're corny."

"Gotta make up for lost time. Not much opportunity to court you properly and all when we were on the run from job to job."

"Sergeant Hunter," You folded your arms, "Is that what building this whole house is for? Just to court me?" You placed a hand over your heart and fluttered your eyelashes at him.

It was Hunter's turn to blush, unable to meet your gaze, "Well, Tech was telling me about all the different species of birds that build a nest to attract potential mates-"

You laughed out loud and threw your arms around his waist, "Well, it's working."

"Good," He kissed your forehead again, "I don't know what I'd do if it didn't."