She/Her(31): A safe place for those that just want every Star Wars character(primarily TCW) to have the happily ever after they deserve. Including: Reblogging of Fluffy/Romance Fanfics(x reader included), and various Fan Art.
The winning prompt was 'Accidental Kiss' for the pairing Rexsoka
Please enjoy :)
“They’re coming,” Ahsoka hissed, pushing Rex towards a rocky outcropping at the side of the mountain. Rex grunted and grimaced as he was forced backwards. Ahsoka winced for him as she realized her hand on his chest was placed over his broken ribs, but did not halt to readjust. The enemy had been pursuing them for hours, and with Rex’s busted ribs and ankle, her concussion and their overall lack of any weaponry, Ahsoka figured deception was a better course of action than head-on battle.
Looking over his shoulder, Rex seemed to spy a suitable spot to take cover, and he tugged Ahsoka’s hand, leading her through the maze of rocks to a crevice near the cliff face. He dropped onto his backside and tugged her down, out of sight. Ahsoka was sure he hadn’t meant for her to end up on top of him, but her slow, concussed brain had her fumbling and nearly falling into his arms. She ended up straddling him, with her hands on his chest, nose to nose. If this rather compromised position affected Rex as much as it did her, he did not show it. His cheeks did not flush, in comparison to the heat she could feel rising into her own; his heart rate, although elevated under her hands on his chest, could merely be from the stress of their current predicament. Or pain, she realized as she recalled his injury, removing her hands from his chest with a mumbled, “Sorry.”
Rex didn’t respond. Instead, he tugged her hood up and over her montrals and pulled her head to rest on his shoulder. They said nothing for a time, just waiting in apprehensive silence as the sound of their pursuers came and went.
Only once there was nothing to be heard but the whistling breeze through the rocks, Ahsoka risked lifting her head from Rex’s shoulder, and peaking over the natural wall of stone beside her. She scanned the area for a time, until she was content nothing moved aside from the mountain grass in the breeze.
“It looks like-“
Ahsoka turned back to Rex, but he’d shifted while she’d turned away. Having propped himself up on his elbows, his face was now where hers needed to be. Ahsoka half-gasped and tried to avoid butting heads. She was successful only in keeping their foreheads apart. Their noses brushed and her heart ran rampant in her chest as their lips pressed together. The kiss was soft, short, and entirely accidental.
Ahsoka jerked back, properly gasping in shock this time. She rocked back into her heels, and Rex sat up, following her into a more upright position. They both stared at each other for an awkward second, until Rex did the most mind boggling thing he could have done.
Leaning forward, he pressed their lips together again. This kiss was short, sweet, but entirely on purpose, and Ahsoka was so stunned she nearly forgot to kiss him back. But all too soon, he pulled away. Clearing his throat, he spoke without meeting her eyes. “We should go, before they return.”
Ahsoka nodded, biting her lip to fight the grin that wanted to split her features. Although they did not acknowledge it, Ahsoka knew something more had begun between them. The subtle blush dusting Rex’s cheek and the bashful smile upon his lips told her all she needed to know.
(Note: Started with an anon asking for the phrase prompt, "Oh. Oh.")
Summary: When Amber Dyer decided to attend a Creator Con, she never expected to run into Of Wolf and Blood lycan hearthrob, Augustine Prime.
But, there he was, stooping over her table, asking to buy the unflattering drawing of his character. Valuing integrity over taking money from a celebrity and running (though she was sorely tempted,) Amber finishes the sketch and delivers it to Augustine.
However, he continues to doggedly pursue her and entwine their lives.
All because of her scent.
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Previous | Masterlist
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Hours later, Amber found herself sitting on a bench in the corridor that led to the VIP section. It had to be a large meeting hall, she decided, after a bit of watching. Con staff flew in and out of the door, some bringing in food and drink while others checked papers on clipboards while appearing stressed. Thanks to room dividers expertly placed just inside the doorway, no wayward fans could even glimpse the bigshots inside.
Anxiety clawed up her back as she stared down at the sketchbook laying atop her thick thighs. For now, it was closed, but she could feel the damned drawing burning a hole in her sense of propriety. She really should just forget about this. Augustine paid upfront and likely wouldn’t even remember her or her silly little art.
“So are we going in?” Next to Amber, Addie piped up. She twirled her bright pink curls - a voluminous wig - around her index finger while noisily snapping her gum. Beside her friend, Amber felt a little dull in her jeans and tee-shirt and hoodie. Addie had brought her A+ cosplay game with the low-cut and high-hemline intricate dress of a popular character from a dating sim.
Closing her eyes, Amber took a steadying breath. Her friend refused to be left at the booth while she made this particular delivery. Which meant Amber had to wait near Artist Alley closing to give Augustine his… commission. Though she couldn't blame Maddie for her disbelief. Amber barely believed her story herself. “Give me a minute.”
“This isn’t helping your credibility, Amby," Addie giggled, a wry grin curled at her lips.
When Amber's eyes opened she shot Addie a frown. This had been a repeated topic of conversation since Maddie heard what happened. “How else do you think our cashbox was so much heavier?”
“Good question." Addie leaned back, making a show of considering Amber's words with a chin-stroking hand and over-the-top hum. With a snap of her fingers, she grinned at Amber and wiggled her eyebrows as she guessed, “Maybe you did do a commission for someone while I was gone, but not for Augustine Prime. Did you take my advice and start taking NSFW comms?”
“No, I haven’t.” Not that Amber hadn't considered that potentiality, but it wasn't exactly something she wanted to discuss in the middle of a busy hall.
That was the kick in the pants she needed to get moving. Pushing herself to her feet, Amber strode to the attendant near the door, Maddie trotting behind her.
The con staff by the door was a burly gargoyle, expression seemingly in a perpetual state of 'extremely not impressed.' They watched silently as Amber approached, only inclining their head as they asked, “Name and reason for entry?”
“A-Amber Dyer. I have a commission for Augustine Prime.” Trying not to feel like she was raising a shield, Amber held up her sketchbook. She immediately regretted that, as well. It was like a prop for a weak lie.
The attendant raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”
Amber pressed her lips tightly together, before raising her chin. “Yes.”
Evidently put out, the gargoyle sighed and held out their hand. “We will make sure he receives it.”
“Fine,” she said after a beat of thought. They likely had to deal with all sorts of fans with harebrained schemes to get in and see their favorite stars. There was no point pressing the issue. If they throw her drawing away, she had already gotten paid, as well.
Having already paper clipped the drawing to a receipt and one of her business cards, Amber held the small stack to the attendant. “Can you please give him the art and his receipt?”
With a heavy sigh and a roll of their eyes, the attendant glanced down at both the drawing and the paper. Their expression pinched at the sight of the less-than-flattering caricature of Mr. Prime’s infamous character, their gaze flickis back up to Amber as if to gauge if this was a joke. She steadily met their eye, somber expression relaying that no, it wasn't a joke.
With a shake of their head, the attendant disappeared into the VIP Lounge without another word to Amber.
—
Inside the VIP Area, it was like an indoor caravan camping out under fluorescent lights. On the outer edges, cabana-like tents lined the walls. Each housed whoever had been wrangled into coming to the convention. TV show and movie casts, TouYuber celebrities, influencers from an array of social media, voice actors - who most often dipped from one cabana to another - and some notable pillars of various nerd communities.
In the middle of the large room, catering had been set up. Cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, rows of soft drinks and water, decadent cupcakes or other treats, plus a few tables from popular eateries. Screens in the corners of the room blared the schedule, which had mostly completed by this point of the day.
In the OWaB camp, Augustine currently sat in a chair, one leg thrown over an arm as his back leaned against the opposite side. “Do we have any media obligations tomorrow?”
“Our big one was done today. Showrunners and writers have a few panels or workshops tomorrow, I think,” answered Delilah, the actor that played the battle-hardened lycan protagonist of the show, stretched across a loveseat. Her sharp blue eyes angled to Augustine, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Don’t you have that charity auction?”
“Fuck, you're right. Winner gets to have dinner with me.” Augustine groaned, head flopping back against the chair’s arm. In a fit of theatrics, he threw his arm over his eyes for good measure.
“Why so bummed about it? Usually you enjoy being fought over.” From their own spot on the floor near an outlet, Camry shot Augustine a curious look. In their hands they held their tablet, currently plugged in.
“If that artist came by, I was hoping to ask them to dinner.” He sighed, slumping further in his chair as he slid his arm off his face.
Thinking of their face, eyes wide with shock and a pinch of a blush on their cheeks made something in his chest twist. The memory of their scent - indescribable and warm, twanging at something in his chest - coupled with the awry curiosity of how they’d feel under his palm. Though they had been sitting and somewhat obscured by a hoodie, he was aware enough they were curvy and round, certainly soft and warm. His fingers flexed, his imagination feeding him phantom sensations. “Guess I could ask them out tonight.”
Just as he finished, Theo entered with a tray piled high with catered food in hand. The human actor gave a knowing snort as they inclined their head to Augustine. “Talking about the smelly artist?”
“They’re not smelly. They’re fragrant. And you wouldn’t even be able to scent them.” Playfully, Augustine tossed a pillow at Theo. It had been a careless and sloppy throw, since the other man merely turned aside to block it from hitting his face.
“I’m pretty sure they’re not coming, Auggie.” Delilah hummed as her castmate shot her a dirty look. She gave a defensive shrug, her voice softening an iota, “From the way you tell it, I think they were off-put by you.”
“Easy $200 for them, that’s for sure,” Theo laughed as he settled down in an empty chair, placing his goodies on a nearby end table.
Augustine grumbled to himself, eyes glued back to his phone. He really should have dallied longer at the table and paid more attention. There was probably plenty there with their name or even online handles. He'd been flustered after finally locating the scent that had been plaguing him since arriving at the convention. He didn't know what he expected when he finally found it. Realizing it belonged to someone versus something just hadn't occurred to him.
“Mr. Prime, an artist dropped this off. Claimed it was for you.”
Those words made his head snap up so fast, his eyes apparently intense as the staff member nearly stumbled backward at his expression. Before Augustine could jump up and snatch the paper from the employee, one of his co-stars beat him to it.
“Oooh, I see what you mean," chuckled Theo, holding the paper at arm’s length while fending off Augustine with his other hand. “They definitely have a talent for catching your essence.”
“Lemme see!" Camry jumped up from the floor, making grabby hands at the innocuous piece of paper. Theo dropped it to them and they snatched it up like a monkey stealing fruit. As soon as they glimpsed it, a cackle escaped their lips.
A flare of heat licked up Augustine’s body, his wolf ears pinned back against his head and bristling tingles spread down his back as he lurched for Camry. “Oi, I should be the first one to look at it!”
Alas, he was too late as Delilah plucked the drawing from her shorter co-star. Sticking her tongue out at Augustine, she grinned and held it away from him, “Shouldn’t have been so slow about it.”
Glaring up at Delilah - usually his height, but currently given a slight advantage with her heeled boots - Augustine had to swallow down a frustrated growl. She smiled viciously down at him, blue eyes almost glowing with a challenge. The chemistry between Montos and Laira, in-show, was aided by the natural playfulness between the actors that often transmuted into challenges. Not to mention the fan-made enemies-to-lovers content that plagued the fandom sphere.
His gaze shifted from Delilah’s gaze to the paper, quietly agonized by the slight crumpledness after exchanging so many hands in such a careless manner. Not to mention the artist’s own scent being lost, obscured by his crewmates’ hands.
His pride was no match for the desire clawing at his thoughts. Ears and tail drooping, Augustine’s lips pursed as he held out his hand to his colleague. “Please, I don’t want it to rip.”
One of Delilah’s eyebrows jumped up, her ears flicking forward in quiet interest at his reaction. Her grin grew, flashing sharp teeth as she held the paper out to him. “Fine, fine. Put that diabolical pout away.”
Augustine had to temper his eagerness as he took the piece of art from her. Looking at it, it was much like how he remembered, except a little more refined. Overall, it was a wonderful caricature of Montos in his second season grimy glory, dirty and in tattered slack with a furred cloak. Mid-shifted his wolf ears peeked out from the mass of chaotic hair that haloed his head.
A beard stretched around his large sharp-toothed - if goofy - smile as he reached out to the viewer. Near his head, a line of fan favorite dialogue and oft-used nickname for Laira hovered: “I’ll give you a bone, Little Bitch.”
Indeed, in his slacks just before the image cut off, there was a hint of an excited bulge. Or maybe it was just a bump to let viewers infer Montos’s - ahem - size. Regardless, there was the implication of stuffing having been utilized, considering the edge of a coin sack stuck out from his trouser’s waistband.
His eyes continued to scan the drawing until he found what he had unconsciously been looking for. A scribble of a signature adorned an empty space near the bottom of it. Narrowing his eyes, Augustine realized it was too difficult to decipher. Damn.
“Bummer that they didn’t come in though, right?” At his elbow, Camry piped up, peering at the drawing once more with an amused smile.
“Yeah,” Augustine glanced up at the staff member who still lingered close, perhaps surprised by the delight over the unflattering and crude drawing, “Why didn’t you escort them to me?”
“They, uh, they weren’t on the list,” the gargoyle stammered, lifting their clipboard as if to provide evidence.
“Shit.” Augustine stared at the signature on the drawing, but no amount of squinting could decipher the squiggle. His head snapped up, gaze landing on the gargoyle once more. “Were they out in the hall when you came in?”
Relief fluttered through the attendant’s voice as they answered, “Yes, I can-”
They didn’t have a chance to finish as Augustine tore off for the exit.
—
Amber and Addie stood by the door for a few minutes, waiting for the staff member to return and formally dismiss them. At the very least, if Augustine did not accept the drawing, Amber wouldn’t have minded having it back.
Eventually, Amber sighed with a shrug, condemning herself to the thought of the drawing being pitched into a trashcan. “Guess that’s it.”
“I suppose so.” Disappointment made Addie’s demeanor slump a little. Trying to rally some humor, she shot Amber a teasing smile. “Still doesn’t prove he actually paid for it.”
“I know,” Amber groaned, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled and started down the hall. It didn’t really matter if Addie was believed or not. She herself knew the truth. Of course, that didn’t keep her friend from ribbing her, all the same.
There were a few moments of quiet as the two strolled further down the hall. Since they had packed up the booth early and now Artist Alley would be closing in fifteen minutes, there was no point in heading back.
“So, what should we do for foo-” A sudden commotion from behind interrupted Addie’s words. Alarmed, both women turned to spot whatever chaos was happening behind them.
A searing tingle shot down Amber’s body, watching as Augustine - with full almost-a-beard stubble already - approached while waving her drawing over his head.
Relief fluttered through Augustine the second he spotted them. They'd gotten aways down the hall, but not so far that Augustine couldn't shout at them. “Mx. Artist, your handwriting is terrible. I cannot make out your name!”
Movement at his feet caught her eye and she was startled to find him partially tangled in a curtain. She quickly recognized it was one of the room dividers. Her eyes flicked back to the door to the VIP section and, sure enough, staff were desperately trying to gather up the fallen pieces of the divider’s frame. One even tailed after Mr. Prime, weakly calling after him.
Had he seriously barreled through privacy screens just to catch her?
She watched as he kicked off the curtain - to which the con staff member gratefully collected the fabric - and trotted the rest of the way to her. Dazedly, Amber mumbled, “My business card is attached to the receipt.”
Augustine blinked, glanced down at the paper in his hand, then flipped it over. Indeed, stapled to the back was her business card. For overlooking that, he'd blame his co-stars and their teasing. He plucked it from the paper, careful to not completely ruin either receipt or card, before peering at it.
AMBER DYER
She/Her/They/Them
Artist - Writer
Creator of Hell’s Promise
As he scrutinized her business card, Amber dutifully ignored Addie’s bugged eyes and barely contained excitement. It was harder to ignore the buzz around her or now the other woman grabbed onto Amber’s arm. It didn’t help that a flush threatened to burn over Amber’s cheeks every time her friend’s big eyes jumped from herself to the actor.
Something in Amber's chest jolted as Augustine looked back at her, that damn charming smile on his lips. “Ms. Dyer, please come back. My co-stars want to meet you.”
“Why?” Taken aback, Amber wasn't even able to censure herself.
Her seeming surprise at simple actions tickled at Augustine’s senses. It was charming, he thought. In response to her, his smile tilted crookedly and he brought his hand to his chin. “They said you captured my essence perfectly.”
“You showed other people?” Amber blanched as her checks heated up. The drawing hadn’t even been her best work. Hells, it had been subpar and kind of mean, if she was being honest! Did his reportedly tight-knit castmates want to rake her across the coals for it?
She was certain he was just low-key harassing her by asking for the drawing. Other than it being some weird powerplay, what explanation was there?
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” A breathy chuckle escaped him as he shot Amber a curious look. Was it so hard to believe he’d want to let others see it? “That’s the point of art, right? To show people.”
Oh, this way something her brain could understand. Amber latched onto his flippant words, eager to gain some footing of understanding in a world that made nose sense. “I mean, there’s other reasons. Why we make art is a philosophical-”
“Ugh, don’t start in on that boring stuff!” Addie finally butted in, shaking Amber's arm dramatically. She flashed a delighted smile in the actor's direction as Amber was startled into silence. “We’d love to come meet your co-stars!”
Still smiling, but blinking blankly, Augustine registered the other person's presence for the first time. They were shorter than the artist and seemed to be wearing a cosplay he couldn't place. Generically attractive, with a round face and full lips upturned with vague amusement at the corners. Pleasant to look at, but something in the air around them put him on edge.
Tilting his head to her, his own lips mirrored her faint grin. “We?”
“I’m Addie Kline, she/her! Amber’s friend, roomie, and the one who talked her into even coming to the con." Addie's chest puffed out as she stepped forward, hand jutted out in a demanding request for a handshake. A sly expression crossed her features as she eyed Augustine. "If it wasn't for me, Amber wouldn't even have attended!"
“Ah, well, the more the merrier.” Augustine's expression brightened, now silently thankful to this previously ignored attendee. He took her hand, giving it an enthusiastic shake. “Are you a fan of the show?”
“Big OWaB fan since day one! I can’t forgive the writers for leaving us on such a heinous cliffhanger last season.” Addie released Amber’s arm, stepping closer to Augustine. Her voice dropped low, into faux inconspicuous territory, as she asked, “Between you and me, care to share what might be in store, Mr. Montos?”
He made a show of glancing around and Amber had to bite back a smile as overt eagerness radiated from Addie. When the man stooped closer to the other woman, Amber involuntarily held her breath.
“There are too many prying ears here,” he growled, using his character’s lilt. The corners of his lips twitched a little as his attention flicked to Amber, watching her expression carefully.
“If you two wish to accompany me…” He let the pause languish as he curled a lip in a mean smile, running his tongue over his sharp teeth before finishing with a bit of gravel, “Perhaps I can be persuaded to talk.”
He couldn’t actually reveal anything, but talking around the questions was something he had learned for media interviews.
Amber bit her tongue to keep from reacting to his eyes gliding over to her. The way his tone shifted, becoming more like Montos, sent shivering sensations over her body. Judging from the way his smile twitched, she thought he knew she was reacting like that. Which only convinced her to batten down against the sensation more.
It didn’t help that others were stopping and staring, snapping photos with their phone and whispering. That realization sent another sizzle of heat through her.
He offered a hand to the bubbly woman, who delightedly took it, before offering his other to Amber. At the very edges of his awareness, her scent taunted him. Despite the relatively scant distance, the urge to bury himself against her throat burned at his thoughts.
She stared at his appendage like it was a venomous snake. A quick glance to Addie, noting her smug look and slight nod as she leaned into the man’s side, finally convinced her to give in.
With a sigh, Amber Dyer took Augustine Prime's hand, happy to be led somewhere less public.
Hopefully, she could get her head on straight by the time they made it to meet his co-stars.
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4 of ???
Inspired by the Man or Bear in the Woods question/meme.
Bambi Barker never anticipated having to run for her life from her ex, Duke Walker, through an Appalachian forest. She also never thought she’d run into a white (polar?) bear in the middle of the god-dang forest, either.
Being stuck between a bear and a man, Bambi is about to get answers to questions she didn’t even know she had.
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Part 1 - Master List - Part 3
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Bambi wasn’t sure what woke her up, exactly. The dawning sun streaming through ragged curtains or the footfalls of people rushing about. Maybe it was her own internal body clock. As her stomach lurched and she registered the scent of coffee and the sound of a ticking toaster, she wondered if it had been food.
Slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position, realizing she was on a familiar couch with a blanket tossed over her. Her eyes trailed around the living room, picking up on old sticks of furniture – well cared for – and a moderately-sized television. A heady, spicy scent filled the air, stirring old memories.
The events of the preceding night filtered into her brain. Being kidnapped and chased through the forest by Duke. The white bear. Mercy and Zeke. Groaning softly to herself, Bambi rubbed at her forehead. A bear turning into Zeke Clements? That couldn’t have been true. Her brain must be playing tricks on her, given the trauma and adrenaline from last night.
She had certainly zonked out once Zeke picked her up. Hadn’t he said something about her helping with his animals?
Remembering the man hefting her into his arms reminded her of her banged-up feet. Just as she cast the blanket off to survey the damage – finding her feet bandaged – a strong voice called out from elsewhere in the home, “Mercy, are you ready yet?”
From upstairs, Mercy Clements’s voice replied, “Not yet, Mawmaw. Just gotta brush my teeth!”
“Hurry up or we’ll lose out on a good spot!”
Mercy’s voice made Bambi start, remembering Casey and Sunny. They were still at her friend’s place.
Pushing off the couch, Bambi carefully tested her feet for stability. Though she thought she didn’t have any wound too severe, she wasn’t sure if it was last night’s adrenaline that had kept her moving through pain or mildness of injury. Thankfully, only slight aches pinged through her feet. Nothing worse than scraping your feet raw in the town’s public cement pool.
Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen, vaguely remembering from her infrequent visits. The smell of coffee and the scent of buttered toast became stronger, making her stomach crimp with hunger.
But she was on a mission, so food would have to wait.
“Can I use your phone, Missus Clements?” The words came out of Bambi before her eyes landed on the woman. The pitiful state she was in sunk into her when the older woman’s eyes landed on her.
“Ah, the Sleeping Beauty awakens!” From her spot at the small kitchen table, Zeke’s mother flashed Bambi a broad smile and raised a mug of coffee to her. The older woman hadn’t changed much from Bambi’s memories. Yona Clements still had cool taupe skin, speckled with freckles, and beautiful long black hair – though rather gray now – carefully woven into a braid that trailed over her shoulder.
She sat at a small yellow kitchen table, a ceramic mug of similar hue in hand.
Yona nodded to the wall next to Bambi. “There’s a landline hangin’ on the wall right over there. Feel free to use it.”
“Thank you,” Bambi replied softly, casting a look around the buttercream yellow kitchen as she turned to the phone.
“Zeke’s out doin’ his morning rounds with the animals,” Yona supplied, a knowingness to her tone that made Bambi tense.
She made an acknowledging sound, before turning fully toward the phone. Trying to ignore how her cheeks burned, she picked up the receiver and dialed the number she knew by heart. As she waited, her heart thrummed with every ring.
What if Duke had tracked down where her kids were? What if he took them? He was legally their father, but it would constitute kidnapping since it wasn’t his court-mandated visitation time. But that meant pursuing further litigation, which meant money. Money that Bambi didn’t really have.
Just as her thoughts started to spiral, the phone picked up and a groggy voice said, “Hello?”
“Ray, it’s me,” she breathed, knowing he’d recognize her voice. Due to the closeness of their surnames, Raymond Barnes and Bambi Barker often found themselves placed close together all through school. They’d been fast friends in elementary, struggled in middle school, and flourished in high school together.
He was one of the few who came to her aid when she began considering leaving Duke, despite their estrangement. Ray’s support had been tantamount for her.
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Bambi heard bedsheets rustle as Ray presumably bolted upright in bed. “I’ve been worried sick!”
“I’m sorry, Duke got ahold of me,” she replied, before thinking better of it. Instantly, her jaw clamped shut as the enormity of what happened tried to slam into her. Bambi fought against it, needing some level of numbness to keep functioning.
It was hard to hold onto the disassociation when Ray muttered, “What?”
“Duke got me last night,” Bambi repeated, forcing the words out as tears threatened to clog her throat. The very memory tried to encroach on her thoughts, making her heart thrum and her stomach lurch sickly.
“What happened? Are you alright?” There was more shifting on Ray’s side of the phone, his bed squeaking to indicate he’d gotten up. “Just let me get dressed, I’ll come get you.”
“It’s okay, I’m fine. Remember Zeke Clements?” Inadvertently, her free hand came up to wave, was if her friend could see it over the phone.
Ray seemed to pause on the other end of the line. “Big, tall, and tasty-looking?”
“He helped me out,” Bambi answered without dignifying the description with an answer. Her brows furrowed, considering the other events of the evening. “Well, I guess the bear helped first, then Zeke.”
“A bear? And you didn’t call me,” gasped Ray, sounding comically outraged, as if they weren’t talking about a kidnapping seconds earlier.
Bambi snorted, shaking her head as a ghost of a smile curled at her lips. “It wasn’t your kind of bear, Ray.”
“Still!” He sighed, as if it was merely a lost opportunity. “Well, what’s the plan now?”
“I lost my purse and phone at Suds when Duke…” Bambi couldn’t finish the sentence. Brief flashes of being at the bar, hanging and enjoying some dancing and pool, before going to the parking lot for a breather. Duke’s truck skidding over the gravel parking lot, pulling up to her. Chaos, screaming, struggles.
The shift of the chair at the kitchen table brought Bambi back to herself. Yona was undoubtedly listening in. Vaguely, Bambi realized Mercy had plodded into the kitchen and she lowered her voice a little more. “Zeke’ll bring me home soon, I think. I might convince him to go back to the bar to look for my purse and phone, first.”
Ray hummed in acknowledgement, before asking, “What should I tell your kids, Bamb?”
Her heart twisted at the mention of her kids. She had shielded them from most of Duke’s bullshit all their lives, even making excuses for him before she learned better. Sometimes, she worried they thought she was as crazy as he told everyone else she was. “Are they still sleepin’?”
“Pretty sure. They stayed up pretty late watching stuff.”
“Just let them know I called. I should be home before lunch, I imagine.” Sunny would cast her a judgy look, knowing what the usual reason for staying out late would mean for an adult. By this point, Casey would know, too, but she was less disapproving. But there was still Ray to consider. He might’ve had plans for the day. “If that’s okay, Ray. If not I can-“
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m happy to watch ‘em,” he said and she heard the bed squeak under him as he settled back again. “Just be prepared to dish when you come back.”
“Thanks,” Bambi murmured again just as heat burned at the back of her eyes. “I’m gonna go now. Let my kids know I love ‘em.”
Once Ray bid good-bye as well, Bambi hung up the phone and turned to Yona and Mercy. She froze when she spotted Zeke, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. His jeans were stuffed into his muddy work boots and his hair had been pulled back, though it still splayed in wild curls.
“You sure you two will be alright without me today?” He stooped over Mercy, fixing her hoodie’s hood so it would lay flat despite how the little girl swatted at his hands.
“We’ve manned the booth without you before, we can do it again. Ain’t that right, Mercy?” Yona tsked and rolled her eyes, her hands on her own hips. She was shorter than Bambi, but had a stoutness that Bambi always found comfort in. Like the woman could outlive anything.
“What Mawmaw said,” Mercy answered, finally stepping away from her father as casting him an annoyed look as she regained her meager independence. “You should be helping Mizz Bambi today anyway, dad.”
Zeke stiffened at that, raising from his hunched posture as he shot Bambi a look from the corner of his eye. “I suppose I should be.”
Bambi just smiled wanly up at him, vaguely realizing she had clasped her wrist in front of herself nervously. Before she could say anything, Yona trundled toward her.
“There’s toast and eggs cooked up for ya’, Bambi. We got OJ and milk in the fridge, so help yourself.” The older woman pressed a light touch to Bambi’s upper arm, motioning toward the stove, where a plate of the aforementioned food sat, then to the yellow fridge. “Mercy and me are headin’ to the Farmer’s Market, but my son’ll treat ya’ well. Ain’t that right, Zeke?”
Yona shot Zeke a look, their dark eyes meeting over the expanse. His gaze shifted from Bambi to his mother, a frown arching under his beard at the chiding. He huffed out an exasperated breath before answering, “I’ve helped her this far, haven’t I, Ma?”
“Stow the sass, mister, and just say yes, Ma.” Yona’s hands went to her hips, her chin tilted up as she shot a hard look at the man. There was no anger in her voice, but certainly a sternness that allowed no argument.
“Yes, ma,” Zeke repeated, with a roll of his eyes and a cross of his beefy arms.
Bambi had to bite back a smile, memories overlaying the present moment. There were countless times she’d seen him give half-hearted answers and a handful of times she watched Yona escort him from the principal’s office, remonstrating him for whatever fight he’d gotten into. Most of the time, Yona would return hours later after getting Zeke’s side and lay into the administration.
After thanking the Clements’ for their hospitality and help, Bambi saw Yona and Mercy off. Of course, when she realized this left her alone with Zeke, an awkwardness suddenly itched along her skin. She managed to ignore it as she inhaled the breakfast Yona left and washed up. Zeke had settled himself at the kitchen table as well, silently flipping through mail.
When Bambi finished washing her dishes and drying her hands, she came up along side his still seated form. “Alright, what’re we doin’ now?”
She had to fight back a nervous swallow as his dark eyes flicked up to her before dropping slowly along her body. At the back of her mind, she remembered how different she was from high school, how her body had changed, and those realizations sounded like Duke ringing in her ears. Despite that, a prickling sensation coasted over her arms again and the air grew warmer.
Bambi skittered back as Zeke pushed back from the table, moving to stand. “Let me get ya some clothes.”
“I have clothes,” she responded automatically, eyebrows furrowing.
Zeke snorted, cocking an eyebrow challengingly as he inclined his head toward her. “You wanna do work ‘round animals dressed like that?”
A retort bloomed on Bambi’s tongue, but she bit it back. Looking down at herself, at how little her outfit covered, she knew she should wear more if she was going to be cleaning animal stalls and stars knew what else. At the very least, she needed a decent pair of shoes.
Last night’s memories of the white bear melting into Zeke flashed through her head. Slowly, her eyes drew back up to his face. A wariness pinched at his expression after he registered the look in her own eyes. Unable to keep a teasing smile from tilting at her lips, Bambi narrowed her eyes and asked, “Are we talkin’ about animal-animals or are we talkin’ about you?”
Delight skittered through Bambi as she watched his eyes slightly widen. But his palm gently pressed against her face, his fingers splayed as if to hide her expression from view.
“I see you’re still bein’ a right fool,” he groused, though she thought she detected embarrassment in his voice. He’d always been fun to embarrass, she recalled.
Laughing, Bambi grasped him by the wrist and moved his hand. A warm bubbly sense of safety and amusement swelled in her and before she knew it she was drawing her lips against his skin. His fingers flexed in surprise, but Bambi pressed her cheek into the cup of his hand, her eyes fluttering shut. “Thanks again for everything, Zeke.”
“Don’t,” he croaked, his half-curled fingers shaking.
When his trembling registered it was like suffering an electric shock. Her eyes bolted open and she pulled away from him, dread twisting her stomach. Turning wide eyes up at him, she winced, realizing she had gone too far. Been too affectionate with a veritable stranger. “Sorry.”
“S’fine,” he gruffly muttered as he hastily stepped back, face turned from her. An ache shot through her chest, guilt swelling when she realized he was refusing to look at her. She flinched when he cleared his throat and started heading for the kitchen’s exit. “Let’s get ya’ those clothes, yeah?”
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
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“We made it, Rex,” Ahsoka reaches up, stroking the beard Rex has been growing for the last week. In the chaos after Endor, he’d been too busy to shave.
“Was there ever any doubt we would?” Rex replies, poking the fire. His smile is bright and there’s a lightness in the Force around him she hadn’t felt, well, ever.
“Maybe just a little. It was a bit touch and go there for…oh a decade or so…” she smiles in return, enjoying the sensation of having nowhere to be anytime soon.
Rex’s eyes darken, and the hand stirring the fire stops.
“Rex?”
“We have to make it worth it,” he says in a whisper.
Ahsoka gently pulls his head down, their foreheads meeting in a keldabe. “We will. For us. For all of them.”
+++
Part of my Fallen AU
The war is finally over. Anakin and his Separatist Empire have been defeated. Rex and Ahsoka finally find a few minutes to themselves and begin to reflect on everything they’ve gone through.
Summary: When Wolffe accidentally interrupts a private moment between you and Fox, dynamics change. And even though you’re mistrustful of most men and reserved with the intimacies of your life, you find yourself opening up to Wolffe. Much to Fox’s pleasure.
Pairings: Established Commander Fox x female!reader. Commander Fox x female!reader x Commander Wolffe.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI.
Word count: 7.6K
Read on AO3.
A/N: Please know that hygiene is of the upmost importance to me. I may not explicitly state in my works that people wash their hands before any type of sexual contact, but they do. Everyone always washes their hands.
A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.
Summary: Commander Wolffe's assignment to embark on a reconnaissance mission takes an unexpected turn when he finds himself stranded with you—a development he was far from prepared to deal with.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, canon typical descriptions of violence and mild injury, mando'a nicknames, mutual pining, idiots in love arguing, Wolffe kriffs up, stubborn Wolffe is stubborn, but stubborn reader is stubborn. Fluff and slightly suggestive at the end.
Word Count: 3,700 (it was supposed to be like 500 but again, brevity is not my strength, okay?)
A/N: Real talk I wrote this in about 3 hours last night. Barely proofread bc I’m a dangerous woman trying to stop falling down editing rabbit holes at 3am. Lots of familiar tropes and scenarios ahead, but my goal was to practice writing conflict dialogue and thought Wolffe would be fun to try. Inspired to write this while watching Nick and Jess argue in New Girl S1E22 😜
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Cyar'ika!" Wolffe's voice boomed through the dilapidated hangar, the sudden sound of it nearly making you drop your spanner. "Cyar- Maker… there you are. What is wrong with you?!" Wolffe demanded as he strode over to you from a room off to the side, angrily trying to get his pauldron to snap back into place.
"Ah, Commander, I see you’ve regained consciousness," you said drily, not looking up from the panel you were rewiring. Your hands were growing tired, just like the rest of you from the tedious task of fixing the power supply in hopes of getting a signal out to the 104th.
"Care to explain why I woke up in a strange room with half my kit off?" Wolffe demanded, his voice a dripping with irritation.
"Because you were much easier to drag without it… and I needed to make sure you weren't bleeding internally while you were unconscious," you said matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry—if I had time to wait for you to come around, I would have asked," you said, your voice losing its edge incrementally as you met his eyes for the first time. “Not like you would have admitted you were injured anyway,” you muttered under your breath.
He regarded you carefully, his expression severe. You could see his mind racing through a hundred scenarios while he’d been unconscious, though thankfully none had come to pass. His ARC trooper instincts kicked in as his eyes scanned the space for potential threats.
"Relax," you sighed. "I cleared the place, there's no one here. By the state of things I don’t think anyone has been here for a long time,” you gestured around to the various consoles and furniture covered in a thick layer of dust and debris. “Except for the scurriers, at least,”
"How… where's the shuttle?" he turned his head towards the closed hangar doors. No shuttle in sight.
"About 5 klicks east where we crashed it…" The panel before you flickered a few times, the power pulsing it to life before it cut out again. "Dank farrik!" you swore and kicked the side of it as the last of your patience with the blasted thing finally left your body. "It's no use, I can't keep the power on long enough to start anything up," you grumbled as you pulled yourself to your feet, wiping your hands on your flight suit in frustration.
When you looked up at Wolffe, he was staring at you with the same unreadable expression. His brow furrowed slightly as he took in your disheveled appearance and the scattered tools around you. His hands perched on his belt, mismatched eyes glittering.
"What?" you shrugged, slightly unnerved by his stern gaze.
"Where we crashed it, Lieutenant?" Wolffe's deep voice thick with implication. "The last thing I remember is you ignoring my direct order to put the ship down in that clearing."
"If I had, the clankers would have advanced on our position, cutting off what looked like the only civilian escape route,” you countered. "Landing further away drew them to us instead…it wasn’t part of the plan to get shot down…" you added as you remembered the chaos of the crash. The impact had been jarring, a barrage of tree branches cracking against the hull like breaking limbs. A second impact threw an already off balance Wolffe into one of the wall panels, knocking him out.
You managed to keep the shuttle in the air long enough to find a patch where the trees thinned out. In all honesty, it wasn't even your worst landing to date. As soon as it stopped moving, you immediately went to Wolffe. The shuttle was trashed, but you thanked the Maker one of the speeders stowed within it had survived. With great difficulty, you dragged Wolffe's unconscious form from the wreck, your muscles screaming in protest as you moved him to a safer distance away. There you were able to quickly assess his injuries, relief washing over you when you found a strong pulse and no signs of severe trauma. A few bruised or broken ribs, maybe, and thankfully he was wearing his helmet in the crash, but you still needed to check him for a concussion.
With Wolffe secured, you turned your attention to finding shelter, knowing that staying put wasn't an option. Your initial scans of the area indicated a hidden structure not too far from your position. So, with even greater difficulty, you heaved him onto the back of the speeder with whatever supplies you could quickly grab, and took off to higher ground.
“We’re both alive, relatively unscathed, gave the civilians a chance to escape, I handled it, Wolffe,” you reasoned, annoyed but not surprised at his reaction. Wolffe was a textbook control freak, but over the last year it had become almost endearing to you. Relishing in the way his eyes widened when he was flustered, or how his gravely tone would elevate ever so slightly when you pissed him off.
Like right now.
"Maybe if you listened to orders for once, you wouldn't have had to," Wolffe retorted, through gritted teeth.
You rolled your eyes. "Oh, because you're such a shining example of following protocol?" Referring to all the times Wolffe and General Plo bent protocol to keep their men alive, to secure the mission’s success.
"That's different and you know it," he growled, taking a step closer.
"How? How is it different, Wolffe?" you challenged.
He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Because I'm trying to keep you safe, dammit."
"And who's been keeping you safe?" you raised your voice, your frustration bubbling. He bristled, but you could tell your words surprised him when he deflected back to you.
“You can’t just keep running into the fray like that, you’re going to get yourself killed!”
“Ok, that’s actually kinda hilarious coming from you,” you chuckled sardonically.
“You’re not a soldier…and lately you seem set on going against everything I say trying to keep you alive!” his voice grew louder with every word.
“Wow, Wolffe. Do you even hear yourself?!” the words came out of your mouth, stopping him in his tracks, scowling at his puzzled expression.
“What?" he snapped in a deep voice. His eyes blazed with both anger and confusion, clearly caught off guard by your outburst. The tension in the air was palpable as you both stood there, locked in a silent standoff.
“I can take care of myself, and believe it or not, I always have, with or without you around,” you growled. “And I don’t appreciate you making me out to be this fragile little thing who needs to be taken care of…I volunteered for this mission, and I dragged your heavy ass here away from the droids while you were taking a nap,”
“I wasn’t aware I was responsible for what happened while I was unconscious, cyar’ika,” his tone filled with warning.
"And I certainly wasn't aware that saving your life would piss you off so badly," you spat, your chest heaving with exasperation.
The tension between you simmered, neither willing to yield. Wolffe had been acting strangely ever since he learned you volunteered for this mission. His behavior grew even more peculiar when you were paired to conduct recon scans for command. It made sense—you were a decorated pilot, and he was a decorated commander—yet his unease was obvious.
While Wolffe is a lot of things, he is not someone who will willingly talk about his feelings. So you stood there, glaring at each other, both too stubborn to acquiesce. You were slowly moving towards one another, your determination coming off you in waves.
“When are you going to stop being so stubborn,” he said, chest puffing out slightly.
“Maybe I’m waiting for you to do the same,” you hissed.
“Don’t count on it, cyar’ika.” he took another step in your direction. The clones were already formidable in their presence, but Wollfe’s brightly painted armor made his presence even more powerful. It took you gritting your teeth and clenching your fists at your side to quell the impulses that were firing in your brain. You closed the distance, showing you weren’t going to back down. Not on this.
“Well, Commander, next time I’ll be sure to avoid any missions you’re assigned to, then you won’t have to carry my ‘dead weight’ around…” you half regretted the words as soon as they left your tongue, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that maybe— maybe you’d misheard things. But it looked like you were going down this road anyway.
His eyes flashed with anger, but also a realization at your words. For a moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a sheepish anger that spoke volumes.
“Yeah Wolffe, I overheard you talking to Rex before we left,” you said as you bit back the fire in your lungs. “Ironic, don’t you think?” you sighed after a few long moments of silence.
Wolffe's conversation with Rex had echoed in your mind, each word a dagger twisting deeper into your heart, fueling your pain. You couldn't shake the feeling, the knowledge that someone you cared for so deeply likely saw you as nothing more than a burden.
His face fell as your words deflated him. “You…” he sighed. “You weren’t supposed to hear that…”
“Clearly. But now that I know how you really feel about my abilities we can stop pretending, so thanks for that I guess,” you looked at the floor, unable to keep the hurt from your voice now.
Wolffe's expression shifted, a sadness crossing his features. He reached out but stopped mid-air, unsure. "That's not... I didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of desperation. "You have to understand, cyar’ika, the situation is-"
“Will you stop calling me that!?” You nearly screamed, your voice echoing off the bare walls in the hangar. You could have sworn he winced, the only sound being the wind blowing through the cracks in the door. Wolffe opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, clearly struggling to find the right words.
"I would never speak about you like that, Wolffe, especially not to Rex," your voice was uncharacteristically small as you crossed your arms protectively. You had considered dropping the mission, faking an injury—anything to avoid this. But Wolffe was still one of your closest friends in the GAR; he'd have seen right through you. So instead, it lit a fire in you to prove him wrong. You knew it was childish to crave his approval, to want him to be proud of you. But what else could you do when you were desperately in love with the man?
Wolffe's eyes searched your face as he stepped closer, shoulders slumped incrementally, but his voice was low and earnest. "Those words were never meant to hurt you," he softly called you cyar'ika again. You ignored it, waiting for him to continue. "What you heard... it wasn't what you think." He reached out once more, but you stood firm against the pull of his warmth. "Please, let me explain?"
His tone was softer than you'd ever heard from him. A tingle ran down your spine as you glanced at his hand, then back into his tawny eye. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you raised your eyebrows, daring him to continue.
"I'm all ears, Commander."
Wolffe grabbed a nearby stool and pointed at it, which you took only after he took a seat on the stool opposite you. He suppressed another wince with a hand over his ribs, you’d apply more bacta later, you thought to yourself as your knees nearly bumped his, but you ignored that too as he let out a ragged sigh. Running a hand through his cropped hair, he sent a few tendrils astray and you had to avert your gaze to avoid being distracted by the sight.
"You’re right, I didn't want you to come here with me," he said quietly. When he felt you bristle and open your mouth to protest, he touched his fingertips to your knee, seeking permission before he continued. “But then you volunteered- and what was I supposed to tell you- tell them?”
“You didn’t think I could handle it,” you said softly shaking your head and shifting in your seat with your eyes still on the floor.
"It's not that," Wolffe said, his voice low. He leaned forward, his knuckle gently nudging your chin. When you looked up he was gazing at you with an intensity that made your heart thrum. You could feel the weight of what he was trying to say in his long pause. “I didn’t think that I could handle it,” he confessed, eyes guarded as he gauged your response.
Wolffe's confession caught you off guard, revealing a rare vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. The bands around your heart loosened as understanding dawned, pieces falling into place. His overprotective nature, steely demeanor, and reluctance to have you on this mission suddenly made sense. Gently, you placed your fingertips over his where they rest on your knee, a silent acknowledgment of this newfound insight. But still, what he said to Rex still had its bitter sting.
“Anything would have been better than you letting Rex think I was a liability, Wolffe,”
“I know…I’m…sorry, I can’t even imagine how angry I’d have been if I were you." He paused, his eyes searching yours.
“I’m still angry,” you said quietly, but a glimmer of your softening resolve shone through, he saw it making his posture relaxing incrementally.
“And I deserve it,” he turned his hand over beneath yours, wrapping his gloved fingers around your palm. The gesture surprising both of you. “I’ll talk to Rex as soon as we get out of here- but I don’t even think I’ll need to once he reads our mission report,” he mused.
You both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your conversation hanging between you. The anger that had fueled your argument earlier had dissipated, replaced by a different kind of tension. Wolffe's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand.
“I won’t make this mistake again, I promise you,” he said before he brought your hand to his lips, gently pressing them to your knuckles. You felt his breath fan over your skin, making your own breath stop in your throat at this unfamiliar, but not unwelcome side of Wolffe.
“Thank you,” you murmured as you moved your hand from his lips to his cheek. "We've always been quite the team," your eyes locked with his mismatched gaze. “We can protect one another. Together. I don’t need a savior, I just need to know you’ve got my back, as I have yours. I always will…”
Wolffe's eyes softened, a mix of gratitude and admiration shining through. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in a gentle Keldabe kiss. "Always, cyar’ika," he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. "Together.”
You chuckled softly at his pet name for you. "Wolffe, why do you keep calling me that?" The question had been on your mind for a while, but you'd never asked before. Truthfully, you were afraid to know the answer. You'd always assumed it was some kind of teasing nickname, especially given how his brothers snickered whenever it slipped from his lips around them.
Wolffe shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. A strange and unfamiliar site, but you couldn’t help but smile internally at your ability to unearth this side of him. After a moment, Wolffe seemed to find some resolve. His gloved hand reached up and brushed a stray hair from your eyes. When you looked at his face again you swore you saw pink in the man’s cheeks.
Wolffe can blush? You thought to yourself, eyes growing wide at this information. “It’s mando’a…there are words in basic that would cover it, but it’s…it’s more like a feeling. A sentiment…” he trailed off. His eyes softened as he looked at you, a hint of vulnerability in his expression. "The closest thing I can think of is…darling, beloved," Wolffe swallowed, his voice low and tender.
The realization dawned on you like a class two Venator crashing down, and between all the tension from the mission and trying to survive on this rock, you could help but burst into a fit of soft laughter.
“What?” Wolffe looked confused.
“So it doesn’t mean ‘idiot’?” You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your giggles.
Wolffe chuckled, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "No, cyar'ika. It definitely doesn't mean 'idiot'." He paused, his eyes crinkling as they met yours.
“I sure feel like one right now,” you murmured, your eyes distant thinking back to some of the times it slipped out in conversation.
“I’m the dik’ut in this case, cyar’ika,” he gazed at you softly, hand brushing another stray hair from your face.
“Well…” you said, leaning in closer. Your skin flushed with the renewed electricity between you. “I suppose it’s alright, now that I know why your brothers have been laughing when you say it…”
Wolffe slapped his forehead. "Kriff," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'll need to have a word with them when we get back." His eyes softened as they met yours again, a hint of amusement dancing in them. "But right now, I'd rather focus on you, cyar'ika." His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin as he leaned in closer. "Have you any idea how long I've wanted to kiss that scowl off your face?" he said softly, his nose brushing against yours. He paused there, giving you time to pull away.
You scowled at him for good measure, “So, what are you going to do about it, Commander?” You whispered, eyes locked on his.
Wolffe's eyes narrowed, something swirling in their depths. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a tentative kiss. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he poured all his unspoken emotions into the gesture. When you finally parted, breathless and redfaced, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Believe me now, cyar’ika?”
"Yes..." you murmured dreamily, your eyes still closed. "But I think I could use a little more convincing," you added, savoring his taste as your tongue grazed your bottom lip. He grinned and leaned in again, this time with more fervor, eager to kiss you properly—to kiss you the way he'd always longed to but never thought he could.
“Thank you,” he murmured against your lips.
You swallowed thickly, your eyebrows knitting together slightly. “What for?”
He put both of his hands on your cheeks, thumbs caressing your skin lightly. You found your eyes fluttering closed at his touch.
“For saving my life,” he whispered.
Your eyes snapped open. The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. You couldn't help but smile, your hand coming up to cover his on your cheek.
“Don’t mention it,” you grinned. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance to repay the favor before we get out of here,” you chuckled.
“At least once, I reckon,” he huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “and about ‘cyar’ika’— I won’t call you that anymore, not if you don’t want me to. It just sort of…slips out…”
You interrupted him by ghosting your lips over his. “Don’t you ever stop calling me that…”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in to kiss you again. The warmth of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself melting into his embrace. As you pulled apart, breathless and giddy, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this insane mission had been worth all the trouble after all.
“Now,” he said, reluctantly pulling away. “As much as I’d like to see where this goes, cyar’ika, we should probably get back to finding a way to contact General Plo,” he said with the faintest edge of regret in his voice.
“I would have gotten it working if you hadn’t interrupted me,” you teased.
Wolffe chuckled, shaking his head. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we'll never know now." He stood up, offering you his hand. "Come on, let's see if I can get that comm working while you get some rest. I can tell you haven’t slept since the crash," His eyes sparkled with a new affection and familiar determination, reminding you why you'd fallen for this gruff commander in the first place.
“I still need to check you for a concussion…” you pointed your finger into his chest plate as he guided you towards the room he’d just left.
“Oh I think it’s safe to say I am— so you’re just going to have to figure out a way to keep me awake tonight I guess, Lieutenant,” he said ominously, but his face gave nothing away.
You couldn't help but laugh. "Is that an order, Commander?" you teased, quirking an eyebrow at him. Wolffe's lips curled up in a rare, mischievous smirk as he pulled you closer, his voice low and husky as he murmured close to your ear. "Consider it a personal request, cyar'ika."
SUMMARY | Newly knighted and unaccustomed to combat, you’re suddenly given your first assignment on the shadowy world of Umbara. Waiting on the planet’s surface is the start of a mission filled with death and deception—and the companionship of someone whose smile you never thought you’d fall for.
PAIRING | Captain Rex x female Jedi!reader
A/N | look i'm in love with this man, i simply Could Not help myself from falling in love with him, and i felt the need to live vicariously through reader insert fics, so here we are (don't ask me why they sent two generals in place of one, it's for the purpose of the fic). also, the reader is female, and i've decided some details such as former master (OC) home planet, and name (because i despise using y/n). everything else is up to you!
WARNINGS | fluff, angst because this is the umbara arc, SLOW BURN, star wars curses, death (no major characters), blood/gore, suggestive themes. the whole shabang.
STATUS: WIP | TAGLIST | Last Updated: May 13, 2024
──── CHAPTER ONE
SUMMARY | after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.
WORD COUNT | 3.9k
WARNINGS | combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it
──── CHAPTER TWO
SUMMARY | The mission continues, and with it, your growing suspicion of Krell’s authoritarian methods. But the troopers relying on you—including Rex—lead you in the right direction: one of unyielding kindness, even when it’s hard.
WORD COUNT | 3.7k
WARNINGS | Combat/action, mentions of injury & death, Krell being a bitch as usual, gender neutral use of the term “sir,” gratuitous use of Mando’a, and one (1) curse word. Also, a Shakespeare reference because I’m a historian & couldn’t help myself.
Plo feels in the force pain-tired-irritated, from one of his men. He decides to walk the ship. They just got everyone on board. There were many men in pain, but this was not coming from Medbay. He follows the pain to the source, which turns out to be Wolffe's room.
He gently knocks on the door, hoping to get an answer. As he waits the feeling of pain intensifies. "Go, away, Sinker. I told you, I'm fine,” he hears Wolffe growl. He enters his room. "Haa'chark, Sinker--" Wolffe stops mid sentence, and just looks at Plo for a moment.
Plo stays silent as Wolffe gathers his thoughts. "Buir, sorry. Sinker is not leaving me alone," Wolffe says tightly.
Plo looks at him intently. His son looks unwell. There are bags under his eyes, there is bloody gauze on the desk. Plo looks into his eyes. "Wolffe, my son. Why are you here and not in the medbay so Med can take a look at you himself?" he asks gently, coming to kneel next to him.
Wolffe looked up at him, eyes filled with pain. "Med was busy and I had work to do.” He gestures to the desk weakly. Plo pulls gauze from Wolffe's hand, gently holding it to the wound on his side. Wolffe groans as he puts pressure on the site. "I didn't want them to see me like this, so soon after...." He trails off as Plo puts his other hand on the side of his face.
They both know what he is talking about, it's the reason Plo is here now. "My son, we are a family. No one will think any less of you because you are injured," Plo says softly, as he moves the gauze to look at the wound. "We will always care and worry, for you and anyone else," he continues as he puts more pressure on the wound. Wolffe groans in response, trying to move away from Plo's hand.
Plo takes in the state Wolffe is in. He is pale, unable to keep his eyes open, so Plo makes the decision to call Med. "Med, I need you to report to Wolffe's quarters, with a medpac," Plo tells him.
"Yes, sir," Med replies. "Keep him awake if you can," he orders before disconnecting the line.
"Buir, please stay?" Wolffe asks quietly.
"Of course, my son," he tells him gently. "After, Med patches you up, I want you to go to the medbay."
Plo puts a finger over Wolffe's mouth, stopping him from arguing. "I can handle the work, Wolffe. Then I want you to stay in the barracks with Sinker, Boost, Comet and the other men," Plo gently tells him.
Wolffe nods just as the door opens to reveal Med and Sinker. They both rush to them, Med gently taking Plo's hand away to look, and Sinker on the other side holding Wolffe's face. "Oh, ori'vod. I should have grabbed Med sooner," Sinker says quietly.
Med stays quiet as he tends to Wolffe. When he is finished, he stands. "He needs the medbay sir, will he come willingly?" Med asks Plo, who nods, keeping an eye on Wolffe. "Alright, Sinker, help me, get him to the medbay," he tells the man. Then he turns to Wolffe, who looks like he is fading fast, telling him, "Wolffe, we got to move you."
Wolffe nods, letting them hoist him up, groaning loudly as they do. "I'm going to pass out now," he tells them before he goes lax in their hold.
Med shakes his head as he says, "I'm surprised he hasn't passed out sooner." Not saying anything more, just guiding them to the medbay.
-----
Hours later after Plo has finished the reports, he makes his way to the medbay. When he walks in he sees Wolffe awake and surrounded by the men. Plo gives them their privacy, walking over to Med.
Who looks up at him, smiles and says, "He'll be fine in a few days. I'll release him into Sinker's care in the morning."
Plo opens his mouth to reply, when he hears Sinker laugh, joined shortly by Boost, Comet and the others. He feels amusement from them and embarrassment tinged with pain from Wolffe. Then someone calls out, "General Buir, come join us." He spots the speaker as Comet.
Plo walks over and sits down in the chair offered to him. "See Wolffe, they don't care. We are a family,” he tells him gently.
Wolffe nods, adjusting himself within a vod hold. "Yes, buir," he says quietly.
Plo was walking to his office when he heard laughing from the Wolfpack's lounge area and wondered what was up. As he walks in he can see Wolffe on the sofa and Sinker, Boost, Comet and some of the other men there keeping him company. Plo can feel in the force, pain-tired-amusement from Wolffe.
"So, so... Fives told me... that he and Echo started another prank war... with the last battalion... they were with the... the 91st," Sinker says through laughter.
All the troopers in the room burst out laughing, including Wolffe and Plo. Plo gets surprise-amusement-happy in the force. "Buir, we were hoping you might stop by," Boost says brightly.
Plo walks over sitting next to Wolffe. "How are we boys?" he asks gently.
-------
They were all chatting for a few hours, when Wolffe fell asleep, his head falling on Plo's shoulder. "Sinker, call Med down to change his bacta patch," Plo quietly tells Sinker, knowing that Med has put Wolffe under his care.
"He gave me some stuff, so I don't have to, buir," Sinker tells him quietly as well while gently moving Wolffe.
When he finishes they all settle down to quietly enjoy each other's company.
This one is set in my Unexpected-verse and features Mira, Wolffe's daughter, who learns the important lesson that not all gifts need to be material.
The comm chimed just as Plo was finishing his afternoon tea. He answered without hesitation, recognizing the comm code.
Mira’s face blinked into view, her curls tousled and her brow furrowed in frustration. “Grandpa,” she said without preamble, “Father’s Day is this weekend and I still don’t know what to get him. I need your help. It’s an emergency.”
Plo folded his hands in front of him. “Ah. A very important mission, then.”
She huffed. “I asked him, and he said, ‘You don’t need to get me anything.’” She dropped her voice, mimicking her father’s accent with surprising accuracy.
Plo smiled behind his mask as she rolled her eyes so perfectly reminiscent of her father that it warmed his chest.
“And what do you think he meant by that?” Plo asked gently.
“I think…” Mira scrunched her nose, thinking hard. “I think he’s bad at gifts. Like, scared of them or something.”
Plo made a thoughtful sound. “That may not be entirely wrong.”
“I wanted to get him something good. Something he’d really like,” she continued, arms crossed now. “But he won’t tell me what he wants. And he never buys anything for himself. So how am I supposed to know?”
“Perhaps,” Plo said slowly, “you and I should discuss it in person.”
Mira stopped pacing. “Like… you’ll come get me?”
“If your mother approves,” Plo replied, “I shall place a call to her and pick you up after school tomorrow. We’ll take a walk. Perhaps near a few shops. And get some ice cream.”
Mira lit up. “With the candied berries?”
“If they have them.”
She leaned closer to the screen, grinning. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
#^#^#^#^##
The next afternoon, Plo met Mira outside the private academy she attended. She came bounding down the front steps, still in her school uniform, her bag slung over one shoulder and her hair only half-tamed. The moment she spotted him, her face lit up.
“You came!” she called, skipping the last step to land in front and hug him tightly.
“I said I would,” Plo replied, patting her head. “Did your lessons go well today?”
“They were fine,” Mira said, brushing the question off with a wave of her hand. “But I’ve been thinking about Dad’s gift all day. We have to figure it out.”
They set off together, Mira walking just slightly ahead, then circling back every so often to match Plo’s slower pace. The plaza they entered was wide and open, lined with fake plants in neat planters and a variety of shops.
“I thought maybe a mug,” Mira began. “Or a shirt. Something cool.”
Plo gave a thoughtful hum. “That is one possibility. Do you believe he needs a mug?”
Mira wrinkled her nose. “He already has like, a million mugs.”
“Mm,” Plo agreed, diplomatic as ever.
“I could get him something for his speeder,” she added after a moment. “But I don’t know what. He doesn’t really like… stuff.”
“No,” Plo agreed. “Your father does not seem to place much value on acquiring new possessions.”
Plo, ever subtly offered, “Sometimes, the most meaningful gifts are the ones made by hand.”
Mira wrinkled her nose again. “I guess. But I want it to be good.”
They walked a little further in silence before Mira brightened.
“He has this old jacket,” she said. “The one he wears on his speeder bike. It’s got a hole in the shoulder.” She reached up to show the spot. “Right here. So… maybe a new jacket?”
“Yes. I recall that jacket. It’s from Liri, I believe.” Plo said.
Mira blinked up at him. “Mom bought it?”
“She did,” Plo confirmed. “It was one of the first civilian garments your father ever owned. I believe it holds some sentimental value.”
Mira went quiet, mulling that over. “So… he won’t get a new one because it reminds him of something?”
“Perhaps,” Plo said. “Or someone.”
Her brows pulled together. “Well… what if we fixed it?” she said suddenly. “Made it better. He won’t get rid of it, but we could fix the hole.”
Plo tilted his head, his tone warm with approval. “How do you propose we do that?”
“I don’t know,” Mira admitted. “Maybe one of those patch things. With a design. You can make those, right?”
“You can,” Plo said. “With patience and the proper tools.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “Do you know how?”
Plo made a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps. With some guidance. And a snack or two… I believe we can figure it out together.”
Mira grinned. “Okay!”
#^#^#^#^#
The gardens at the Jedi Temple were calm and serene. Birds chirped in the canopy, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees and flowers. On a bench under one of them, Mira sat cross-legged beside Plo, surrounded by a carefully arranged bundle of supplies, cloth, threads, needles, and a small sketchpad.
Her brow was furrowed as she focused, tongue caught between her teeth, trying to copy the lines of the Wolfpack symbol onto a square of fabric. Plo sat, one hand steadying the sketchpad as she drew, the other occasionally pointing or nudging to guide her lines.
“Like this?” she asked, holding it up.
Plo tilted his head, studying it with care. “Very close,” he said. “The placement is just right. You captured the spirit of it.”
Mira beamed. Next came the needlework. Plo threaded the needle for her, then gently placed his hand over hers to show the motion. She got the hang of it rather quickly and soon he was merely supervising.
“Yours is a steady hand,” he said.
“It’s not perfect,” she muttered.
“Perfect is not the point,” Plo pointed out. “It is made with care. That is what matters.”
Eventually, the patch began to take shape: the Wolfpack emblem in silvery thread, and just beside it, a smaller silhouette of a wolfcub.
Later, they walked through the plaza near the apartment, on the way to bring Mira home. At a small food stall, Plo ordered his usual shake, and Mira got her ice cream piled high with candied berries.
She took a huge bite. “This was a good idea,” she said, mouth full.
Plo looked down at her, the edge of pride settling warmly in his chest.
“I believe it was.”
#^#^#^#^#
The table was set with a variety of pastries and finger foods, some fruit. A light lunch. Liri set the last of the dishes on the table with a flourish.
“Are you sure you won’t eat?” she asked again.
Plo inclined his head, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Just tea, thank you. I was served a rather generous breakfast earlier, and I still have two more visits and a dinner to attend before the day ends.”
“Well,” Liri said, pouring the tea, amused, “We’re glad you made time for us.”
“Of course.” Plo said warmly.
Across the table, Mira fidgeted in her seat. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her whole body buzzed with barely contained excitement. She kept casting glances toward Plo and her father, clearly waiting for the right moment.
Wolffe was finishing his caf, the cue she’d been waiting for, when she finally burst out with, “I have something for you!”
He blinked, caught surprised. “You do?”
“Uh huh. It’s Father’s Day,” she reminded him, matter-of-fact. She darted across the room and retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box from behind a cushion on the sofa. She placed it in front of him. “Open it.”
Wolffe glanced between her and Plo, with just a hint of suspicion. Plo gave a faint, knowing nod and Wolffe pulled the twine and opened the box. Inside was the embroidered patch that Mira had worked so hard on. The stitching was beautiful, the lines a little uneven in places perhaps, but she had done a remarkable job.
Wolffe stared down at it, silent.
“It’s for your jacket,” Mira said, her voice quick. “The one with the hole. That’s your symbol. And the little one is…” She hesitated. “Me.”
He looked up slowly, and something in his expression cracked wide open. His mouth twitched toward a smile, but it was his eyes that gave him away. He cleared his throat, voice low and a little rough.
“We’ll sew it on later,” he said, brushing a thumb over the edge of the patch. “Right over the shoulder.”
Mira beamed.
Liri was already reaching for a napkin, watching them, blinking against the emotion.
It was rare to see Wolffe so moved, rarer still to see him allow it.
“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” Mira said softly.
Wolffe reached for her, pulling her into his arms. He pressed his forehead to hers and kissed her temple. “Thank you.”
“Grandpa helped,” Mira added. “He taught me how.”
Wolffe looked over at Plo and nodded once, his voice steady now. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Wolffe stood slowly from the table, taking a deep, almost shaky breath. The emotion lingered in his expression as he crossed the room and pulled a box from a drawer..
He returned to the table and set it in front of Plo.
“Happy Father’s Day,” he said.
Plo tilted his head in quiet curiosity, then opened the box.
Inside lay a custom-made bracer, similar to the ones he wore, but clearly newer in a dark, polished material. It had his usual markings, the Jedi Order emblem and the Wolfpack symbol, carefully etched and painted. The inner lining was clearly custom.
“It’s reinforced,” Wolffe explained quietly. “Adjustable straps for support. Heard your wrist was acting up again.”
Plo paused, claws tracing the curve of the bracer. “And who, may I ask, told you about my wrist?”
Wolffe’s eyes flicked toward Mira, amused, almost conspiratorial. “A little bird,” he said. “Or cub, rather.”
Mira grinned wide. “You did say handmade things were better than buying them.”
“I did.” Plo agreed, and this time it was he who was overwhelmed by emotion. Plo looked between them, and then reached for both. One arm wrapped around Mira, the other around Wolffe, pulling them close.
“You devoted your whole life to helping others,” he continued. His voice filled with admiration as he recalled his earliest memories of her. “Since you were a child, you’ve been fighting this war and you still haven't given up. Every day you get up and decide to keep going. The thing I admire most about you… It’s not the Force or lightsabers – it’s your heart. The fact that after all you’ve been through, it’s still pure. War didn’t change you; didn’t break you.” He swallowed back tears, his voice shaking. “Please don’t let them break you now.”
~~~ from Get your act together by @imperfectedprose
Dividers by @ahsokathegray
Thank you to @snarkyfina for suggesting this quote!
If you would like to submit a Fivesoka fic quote to be posted in the future, feel free to send in an ask!
Glad you’re sharing more of your writing with us! Looking forward to seeing more of your art too. 💙
Hi! Yes you may ask about September 6th!!
September’s theme was Song Fics, and the 6th was Something Just Like This (by The Chainsmokers)
This is a Rexsoka drabble (not one of my favs but I’m giving myself grace cause it’s older writing)
.
The atmosphere was heavy in the room, and the suffocating energy hit Ahsoka unexpectedly. The lights were off too, but she didn’t need that hint.
“Rex?” she asked, pressing forward through the darkness. “Is everything okay?”
Silence persisted and Ahsoka carefully made her way over to the bed.
“You are here right?” she half laughed reaching out in front of her.
She found his face and could feel him smile, but it lasted only a second.
“Yes, I’m here, love,” Rex sighed pulling her hands down to hold them.
Ahsoka sat down beside him, running her thumb across the backs of his hands. “What’s wrong? And don’t try to say nothing because I can feel the energy radiating off of you.”
“Sorry,” Rex muttered. “I just…” he half scoffed and dropped his head. “I…bad dreams…”
Ahsoka furrowed her brow and pulled her legs up onto the bed to face him. The position helped ease her nausea. “Do you need to talk about it?”
“The dream? I’d rather not.”
“Okay,” Ahsoka said slowly. “Should you?”
Rex took a deep breath. “I don’t think the dream requires discussion, honestly I don’t. But…”
LThe atmosphere quickly became very heavy again. The acidity of her bile burned her throat, but she pushed it down.
“What is it, cyare?” Ahsoka asked. She didn’t bother trying to calm her voice to hide the concern.
Rex kept his head down. “I’m…just feeling off…Insecure.”
Ahsoka frowned and moved behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. Tension was immediately released.
LAhsoka smiled gently. It was a start. “About what?” she asked.
“Us…” he said quietly. “Me…”
“Love,” Ahsoka sighed. “Why? What’s on your mind?”
“I just…I…” Rex gave a bitter laughed. “Suddenly felt very…unqualified. For…us…this…for you…”
Ahsoka sighed and as tempted as she was to look him in the eye, she continued the massage. The discomfort of having someone look you in the eye when you felt down was a feeling she was familiar with.
“I’m sorry,” Ahsoka said gently. “Do you know why?”
“I know it’s connected to the dreams,” Rex sighed. “The rest of it is just my own my mind.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t see you as unqualified. I never have.” Ahsoka could feel the confidence in her voice. She could only hope Rex did too. “You mean so much to me. I love you how you are.”
“But am I enough?” Rex lifted his head and looked it at the ceiling. Ahsoka heard the slight break in his voice and she desperately wanted to keep him from crying because of these doubts.
“More than enough some days,” Ahsoka said. “I promise. But, you don’t need to be anything great for me to love you. And, I’m not asking for that. I just want…you.
“I just want somebody who will listen to me when I need it, a crying shoulder when I’m down. Somebody to hold me at night, to kiss me and cuddle with.”
Ahsoka heard a scoff, but she continued on.
“I don’t need anything special. You are what’s special. What we have is special. Right now, I don’t want anything more. Your enhanced abilities were for war, not romance. But, I don’t need you to have enhanced romantic skills. What you have is enough for me. Do you want anything more?”
Rex shook his head. “Uh…no…not really…just…I don’t know.”
He reached up and grabbed her hands. With a deep breath, he turned around to face her.
“Thank you,” he whispered looking into her eyes. “Thank you…”
Ahsoka smiled. “You’re welcome. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Rex smiled back. “And, I don’t want anything more. This…this is enough. I do just want this; this is good.”
Ahsoka leaned against him and relaxed in his embrace. “I’m glad.”
.
Hope you enjoyed and thank you again for the ask!! 🧡💙
Also thank you! Excited to be sharing more writing and glad you excited to see more art!!💜
If you want to make a request read here and send it in!!
Liri and Wolffe have a plan for what the future holds, but when Liri gets some news while Wolffe is still on rotation, she needs to figure out a way to tell him. With Father's Day just around the corner, she has a plan...
