An Angel Amongst Demons - You're Boba's everything. The one kind, sweet, and tender vice he allows in his life. He'll do anything to shield you from the darkness. (chapter 1) (chapter 2)
Din Djarin:
The Vow (dark!Din) - An unlucky girl crosses paths with a deranged Mandalorian who sees something he likes in her. (pt. I)(pt. II) (pt. III)
Paz Vizsla:
Relief - "I know that we're strangers but something really awful has happened to me and I need you."
Clone Troopers:
Allow me to Walk you Home, Commander (cody x fem!reader) - You stumble upon a drunken Commander passed out outside your bar.
Wolffe Pup (wolffe x fem!reader) - You introduce a very timid Wolffe to your adopted daughter and it's love at first sight.
Red like the Coruscant skyline at sunset, bleeding across durasteel towers.
Red like clone armor shattered underfoot.
Red like the flashes of a blaster on stun—and then not.
Fox stood in the Senate hallway again, helmet under one arm, boots polished, expression carved from stone. He could still feel the weight of the orders echoing in his ears.
"You will carry this out without delay, Commander."
Chancellor's lips moved, but Fox couldn’t hear the words anymore. Just the memory of the trigger pulling under his finger. Just the sound Fives made when he hit the ground.
He hadn’t hesitated.
Not even for a breath.
He opened fire because that’s what he was. A weapon. A line of code in armor.
A good soldier.
The kind that kills without asking why.
Then the dream twisted again—
The Jedi Temple, fire clawing at the sky. He stood outside the blast doors while blue lights danced inside. A shadow passed across the flames—helmetless, long hair, gold eyes. And then—
Blaster fire.
Screaming.
All of it wrapped around his throat like a rope...
Fox jolted awake, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a snarl. His hand shot to his hip, reaching for a blaster that wasn’t there. His muscles screamed. His vision blurred.
White ceiling. Dim light.
He was not in the Guard’s barracks.
Not in a holding cell.
He blinked hard, and the room came into focus: duracrete walls softened with thermal insulation panels, a cot with too many blankets, a shelf with mismatched supplies. The faint smell of antiseptic and something... warm. Food?
His body throbbed like it had been wrung out and stitched back together.
He turned his head—and flinched.
You sat in a chair by the wall, fast asleep, arms folded over your chest. There was a blaster at your hip, but it was holstered. Your head leaned slightly to the side, hair falling loose over your shoulder. You looked... tired. Faint grease under your fingernails. A cut on your hand, healing.
Civilian.
But alert.
You didn’t belong to the Empire. That much he knew.
Fox laid back slowly, staring at the ceiling, each breath measured. The ache in his chest was sharp—stitched. Someone had patched him up. Someone had saved him.
He stared at his hands.
They looked the same as ever—scarred knuckles, calloused fingers, nails chewed to nothing. But they weren’t the hands of a soldier anymore. There was no war left to fight. No supervisor left to serve.
Just a name no one spoke.
And blood no one would wash away.
He closed his eyes again, but sleep didn’t come.
Only red.
Voices in his head again.
Not screams this time—just echoes. Metal boots on tile. Radio static. The sharp hiss of a helmet. Ghosts.
Then warmth.
A hand on his side. Gentle, precise. Not searching for a weapon. Not trying to restrain him.
Fox’s eyes snapped open.
He moved before thinking—muscle memory overriding pain. His hand shot out, fingers closing tight around a wrist.
Yours.
You froze, eyes wide. But you didn’t pull back. Didn’t scream.
Your other hand stayed raised, empty. Peaceful.
He blinked hard. Vision swimming.
The room was familiar now. The ache in his side reminded him of stitched flesh, not open fire. His lungs burned, but not from smoke.
You stared down at him, lips parted, expression caught between caution and calm. His grip tightened reflexively.
“Where am I?” His voice was a gravel scrape. “Who sent you?”
“No one sent me,” you said, soft but steady. “You collapsed outside my shop. I patched you up. You’ve been unconscious for almost two days.”
Two days?
His head spun.
You shifted slightly, and he realized you were holding a fresh bandage, stained already with antiseptic. Your wrist was still in his grip, pulse steady beneath his calloused fingers. He could feel the tremble in your tendons, subtle but real.
You were afraid.
And staying.
“I’m just going to change the bandage,” you said gently. “Okay?”
Your voice cut through the fog.
Not an order. Not a command.
Just... an offer.
Fox’s hand loosened. Fell away like a dead leaf from a tree.
He let out a breath. Closed his eyes again, just for a moment. Everything hurt. His head, his ribs, something deeper he couldn’t name.
“Okay,” he rasped.
You waited a beat, then moved carefully, your fingers brushing his side again as you peeled away the gauze. The pain was sharp, hot, but he didn’t flinch.
He didn’t speak either.
Neither did you.
There was nothing but silence between you now—and the quiet, careful sound of a wound being cleaned.
The silence was worse when he was awake.
At least when he was unconscious, he looked like he might be dreaming of something softer. But awake? He was steel. Stillness shaped into flesh.
He hadn’t spoken again—not since that one word: okay. And even that had felt like a concession.
Now, he sat propped against the cot’s backrest, bandaged ribs rising and falling in slow, careful rhythm. One hand rested on his thigh, the other curled loosely on the cot’s edge like he was still deciding whether to bolt.
You dabbed antiseptic against the stitches at his side and felt him tense—not from pain, but from awareness. He was tracking you, every move, every breath.
“Good news,” you said, your voice soft, trying for lightness. “No signs of infection. I must not be terrible at field dressing.”
Nothing.
“HK wanted to help. He’s great with oil leaks and really bad with organics. Once tried to weld a cauterized wound shut.”
Still nothing.
You glanced up. His eyes—brown, heavy, unreadable—were fixed straight ahead, like you weren’t even there.
But you were. Inches from him. Close enough to see the faint line of an old scar running under his jaw. Close enough to feel the tension radiating off him like heat.
You dipped the cloth again and reached for the dressing. “You’ve got a few cracked ribs. You’re lucky—somehow your lung’s still intact.”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t nod. Didn’t move.
You swallowed. Sat back on your heels, cloth still in hand.
“I don’t know your name,” you said gently. “Or where you came from. Or why you nearly bled out on my front step.”
A pause.
“I’m not going to force you to talk. You don’t owe me anything.”
Still nothing.
“But if you want to say something,” you added, quieter now, “I’ll listen.”
His jaw clenched, just barely.
The only answer was the low hum of the generator outside and the soft hiss of wind against the walls.
You waited a moment longer. Then nodded to yourself and finished wrapping the fresh bandage around his torso, hands careful, deliberate, gentle.
No words. No questions.
Just quiet.
When you finally stood, you turned away to give him space—but not before you caught a flicker of something in his eyes.
description: commander wolffe likes to berate you when you go against his orders, but this time, you can't supress the visceral reaction it brings.
warnings: not necessarily enemies to lovers but... a decent amount of arguing, mentions of negative clone treatment, i think that's it? idk man I'm tired
a/n: this is for all the girlies that cry when someone raises their voice at them! (me) anyway... i get nervous when discussing the treatment of clones and other kinda touchy stuff bc i just have this nagging feeling that i'm always interpreting stuff wrong, so I hope the stuff wolffe says at the end makes sense lmao
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You heard your name called after you before you managed to make your escape to your quarters, desperately trying to avoid confrontation. Ignoring the Commander’s calls, you hurried down the hall, your strides much wider than your usual gait. You managed to get the door open, but a large hand wrapped around your wrist before you could evade the uncomfortable conversation.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The Commander snarled, tugging you back into the corridor and slamming his fist into the control panel to shut the door.
You lifted your eyes to his for a moment, your head still angled to the floor as if it would shield you from his foul temper. You had never seen him so angry.
“I asked you a question, soldier” He said, his voice dangerously low as his face drew near to yours, “Did you really think I’d let you off after what you just pulled?”
“Sir, I didn’t mean to—”
Wolffe interrupted you with a sarcastic laugh, “Didn’t mean to? You’ll have to do better than that”
You couldn’t look at him. You knew he’d react like this when he found out, but you still hated when he was angry with you. He was more hard on you than his brothers, he always had been. So much so that you felt there was something unsaid between the two of you, that there was some itch that he wouldn’t stop scratching even though he wouldn’t acknowledge what it was.
“I’m sorry sir” You peeped out. It was the only thing you could say.
You had no explanation for your actions. You had gone directly against his orders, knowingly, deliberately. You knew he would find out, you knew he’d berate you for it, and you did it anyway. You’d do it again if you got the chance.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it” He began, and you let him scold you without interruption, “I have told you, countless times, you do not get involved in the conflict. No matter what. Do you know how it makes me look?”
He paused, but you knew the question was rhetorical. In that silence it was hard not to think about the feel of his hand wrapped around your wrist, still keeping you in your place.
“I makes me look like I can’t control those under my command. If a medic can go against my orders then what’s to stop the rest of the men? Or the other nat-borns? I mean, do you even think? Clearly you don’t. You don’t have combat training, you could’ve been hurt, or you could have died”
He continued on, but you tuned him out. You had heard this barrage of demeaning comments more than once, and it was starting to feel like maybe it had become one time too many. If you had any more backbone you would’ve told him how much you despised when he did this. Although, Wolffe — along with almost everybody aboard the ship — was above you in rank. You couldn’t possibly give back to him this belittling commentary, so once again you stayed silent.
The worst part was that most of the time, Wolffe wasn’t even unbearable to be around, far from it. At any other time he was kind, in his own way. It wasn’t a way in which you’d seen anyone else express kindness, but you’d come to understand the way he operated a little by now. For example, something you had retroactively realised was a display of compassion, was that when you first joined the 104th, he had checked up on you everyday, albeit not in a particularly cheerful way. He had made sure you were comfortable in your new quarters, the ones you were now stood outside of being reprimanded.
There was something gnawing at the back of your mind, the feeling that you shouldn’t have to put up with this. You could hear your father in the back of your head, telling you that you had to learn to stand up for yourself. You hadn’t looked up at Wolffe once through his ranting, and you didn’t plan on it either, especially now as you felt your eyes becoming heavy with tears.
It was a natural response. You never liked being told off, and right now you felt as if you were a child again, your parents giving you a lecture about your shortcomings. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in a similar manner, silent and unacknowledged.
You didn’t know when Wolffe had finished laying into you, but when you stopped reflecting on the past and came back to the present moment, you realised that he wasn’t speaking anymore. You hazarded a look at him, once again keeping your chin pointed down. He was just staring down at you, his scowl replaced in favour of a more uneasy frown, finally removing his hand from your wrist.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, clearly unsure of how to even approach the situation.
“I’m fine” You replied, and your voice was surprisingly even.
He was still just peering down at you through his creased brow, frozen in his place and out of his depth.
“Why are you crying?” He addressed the situation head on.
“I’m not crying”
“You are”
“I’m n—”
“You are”
You looked to your feet, feeling absolutely infinitesimal under the full scrutiny of his commanding presence.
“Alright fine, maybe I am” You admitted in a whisper.
“Why?” He asked firmly.
“No reason”
“No reason?”
“Yep, no reas—”
“Stop it” He interrupted again, “What’s wrong?”
You let out a long breath, your chest heaving before it escaped your pursed lips. You could taste the saltiness of your tears, and you lifted a hand to wipe one of your cheeks.
“I just don’t like being told off okay? I can’t help it”
“I wasn't telling you off, I was—”
When he didn’t finish his sentence your eyes flicked back up to his. His frown had softened, and he was now chewing on his lip as if he was looking for something to say. You huffed quietly, your cheeks scorching with embarrassment at the whole situation.
“If it's alright with you sir, I'd like to retire to my quarters now” You spoke quietly, trying to escape this situation that was nothing if not awkward.
Wolffe stepped back from you, clearing his throat, “Yeah, go ahead”
You turned back to your door and opened it up. You had only taken one step inside when Wolffe spoke up again.
“Wait”
You turned around, your eyes finding his, flitting between the cybernetic and the natural. His usual scowl was nowhere to be seen, and he just looked at you with a plain expression, something unreadable.
“I don't want to have to tell you off” He said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
You mustered up a little courage after his change in demeanour, “Then why do you?”
His throat bobbed as he gulped, “I just want you to be safe”
The way that he was staring at you was entirely too much for you to cope with, so you lowered your gaze once again before you replied.
“Thank you sir, I appreciate that”
Wolffe reached up slowly, gently taking your chin and guiding your eyes to his. He gazed upon you with the utmost sincerity and apology as his thumb swept across your still-wet cheek.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you”
“That's oka—”
“It's not” He spoke resolutely, with no room for argument, then softened his voice a little, “You understand that I don't like to be angry with you, right?”
Something about your expression must have conveyed a sense of doubt, because Wolffe frowned when you didn’t reply.
“Do you really think-?”
“I don't think, remember?” You replied, in a oddly humorous way, despite the previous tone of the conversation. Wolffe gave you a disapproving look, and you backtracked, “Sorry Commander”
Wolffe was still holding you face, and the way his eyes were searching yours was making your stomach erupt into butterflies. His gaze was captivating, cementing you in place and rendering you speechless in a completely different way to when he had been scolding you earlier. You didn’t want to be the first one to break away, and thankfully Wolffe came to his senses soon enough.
“I should go”
He dropped his hand from your chin and stepped back. You nodded subtly in reply to his words, still unable to form your own, and he turned to leave with haste.
You watched him walk away as you leaned on your doorway, stalking down the hall with a pace to rival your hurried steps from earlier. His head turned back to you briefly, and you both instantly looked away, you stepping back into your room and closing the door as you felt your cheeks burn hot from being caught watching him.
It felt like something had shifted in your relationship, like something significant had happened. Perhaps it was your inadvertent show of vulnerability, perhaps it was the way his touch set your skin alight. Whatever it was, it was something that you couldn’t take back. Whatever was unsaid between you was coming to light, and you cursed your racing heart for getting ahead of itself.
You were crouched behind cover, your eyes locked on a trooper that had been knocked to the ground. He wasn’t moving, but going over to see if he was still alive was too risky, even if the focus of the enemy’s fire wasn’t in his direction any longer. You lingered, waiting to see even the slightest twitch of his fingers. He continued to lay motionless, his body sprawled in an uncomfortable position from the heavy blow he had received. You hoped, prayed, and they were answered in an instant, the man’s body curling in on itself as he groaned in pain.
You gulped, and slowly turned to look over your shoulder, only to see Wolffe watching you like a hawk.
“Don't you dare” He shook his head slowly, his voice low, almost a growl.
You hung your head a little, squeezing your eyes closed for a brief moment.
“I'm sorry Commander”
You rushed out from behind the cover, hearing your name being screamed after you in a desperate plea for you to do anything else. You didn’t pay attention, you were solely focused on making it to the trooper.
You pulled the man to his feet, throwing his arm around your shoulders and making your way back to cover, but you were not so lucky as to evade danger. Blasterfire ripped through the air surrounding you, causing you to duck out of its path, and take the injured man down with you.
“Get out of here!” The Commander shouted at you, stepping in front of you and shooting at the droids that had focused their fire in your direction.
You dragged to man the short distance back to cover, and as you were giving him a once over, assessing the issue, Wolffe ordered another medic to take over and tugged you further back from the front lines, around the corner of a crumbling building.
“What the kriff is the matter with you?”
He was angry. More angry than he had ever been, more angry than the previous rotation. And yet, there was a far clearer emotion swimming in his non-cybernetic eye, dripping from his pinched brows, washing over you with every heavy breath he exhaled. Worry, concern, utter distress.
“I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't want you anywhere near the action” He growled, evidently struggling to keep his emotions in check.
Despite his afflicted demeanour, you didn’t feel like having a repeat of the previous rotation, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins only sought to heighten you irritation.
“And I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't appreciate being told off” You grumbled back to him, not feeling brave enough to say it with your chest.
“Then stop doing stupid things!” He rebutted, his voice conveying every inch of exasperation he felt.
You shook your head as you dragged your gaze from him, starting to walk away. You weren’t going to be talked to like this again. For the second time in the last rotation, Wolffe’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back.
“I'm talking to you”
“Well I'm not talking to you” You snapped, snatching back your arm and finally letting your irritation take over.
At first, Wolffe appeared to be taken aback. You had never so much as argued back at him before, but something about the fire burning in his eye told you that it was welcomed. He wanted you to fight back. He liked that you were fighting back.
“I refuse to be reprimanded for doing the right thing” You continued, letting him hear your true feelings on the matter.
“You refuse?” Wolffe seemed almost amused.
“Yes” You replied, but your confidence was slipping, “I refuse”
Wolffe laughed, taking a step towards you, “And I suppose you think you have the authority to refuse my orders? Seeing as it's the only thing you can seem to do right”
You stepped away from him, but with every step you took, he followed after you. It wasn’t long until he had backed you into the wall, and was towering over you with a challenging look on his face.
“I have free will, is what I have” You puffed out your chest in defiance, causing it to come into contact with his chestplate, “And I will use it to do the right thing, consequences be damned”
“It must be nice to be you, huh?”
You just frowned, not entirely sure what made him say that.
Wolffe’s face became stern, “You just get to flit about, playing the hero when you could so easily become the martyr acting the way you do, claiming it's all about ‘free will’ and ‘doing the right thing’. Well guess what? I don't have those luxuries. If I disobey orders, I get court martialled. I don't have free will, and I don't get to do the right thing, I get to do as I'm told”
You swallowed thickly as your body recoiled from his in shame. From his perspective, your actions certainly seemed silly and plainly misguided. Perhaps they were.
“I'm sorry Commander, I didn’t think—”
“No, you don't think, do you?” He retorted quickly.
You frowned deeply, drawing an enervated sigh from Wolffe.
“I would love to be able to consider what is right and wrong, but I am simply not allowed. Having the ability to think, to form thoughts unique to myself, but not get to enact any sort of ‘free will’, it's—” He breathed deeply, his forearm coming to rest on the wall beside your head, “Oh, the things I would do if I had free will”
His eyes bored into you through heavy eyelids, his self control hanging by a thread. He was so close to you, his body pressing yours into the wall, and it was taking all of your strength to not melt against him.
“What would you do?” You spoke softly, guiding him in the right direction.
He didn’t waste any time in replying.
“I would tell you that the reason I don't want you around the action, the reason I can't stand your stupid moral compass which makes you do stupid things, is because the idea of you getting hurt is my own personal hell. I would grab you and hold you close and keep you safe, I would never let you go. I would—” He puffed out a quick breath, mingling it with your own as he drew impossibly closer, “I would kiss you, and do every other thing I've been dreaming of since the first moment I met you. I would throw all of this away, if I got that chance”
There was not a single one of his words that were processing in your brain. For a moment you just stared at him, shocked, before the surprise melted from your face and you offered every measure of tenderness within you in a single look.
“Wolffe” You whispered, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek.
His eyes closed at your touch, and his troubled expression eased slightly. He let out a shaky breath as he took in the warmth of your skin on his, but as soon as he had revelled in it for a moment too long, he put up his walls again.
“But it doesn’t matter, because I don't have free will” He stepped back from you but you were determined now, following after him.
“Well I do”
You practically leapt at him, your hands finding the back of his neck and pulling him against you, bringing him into a searing kiss. His hands instantly flung around your waist, tightening around you and drawing you into his body as if he was never going to let go, just as he promised. It was as if he only needed you to be the one that initiated it, and now, he had forgotten everything that was stopping him in the first place.
You let your fingers tangle in the curls at the base of his neck, and he pushed you backwards into the wall again, a soft groan sounding in the back of his throat. One hand came up to cup your cheek, and you were surprised at how softly he held you, a direct contrast to the way that he was devouring your lips, consuming your very soul with only his mouth and tongue.
You had to pull away, gasping for breath, and he did the same. He held you close as you both caught your breath, staring into each other’s eyes with a newfound fondness. It was intoxicating, to see him like this; his chest heaving from having kissed you with such an intensity. You felt like your psyche was being ripped from you with each heavy exhale, and you were watching from outside of your body.
“I'm never letting you go now” He continued to hold onto you like his life depended on it, burying his face in the exposed skin of your neck.
“I thought-”
“Don’t” He rumbled, “I don't care what I said before, there's no going back now”
You sighed blissfully and mirrored him, and coiling your arms around his neck and holding him tightly. The feel of his breath against your neck was heady, deeply exhilarating, but in the quiet of the moment, you couldn’t help but remember you were in the middle of a battle.
“Maybe we should-”
He lifted his head and cut you off with a deep kiss. You were powerless to stop him, but you didn’t care to anyway.
“Just a little longer” He pleaded, his eyes soft and slightly widened, “Please”
You let a small smile lift the edges of your lips, enamoured by the soft side that this kind of treatment brought out of him. It was almost amusing, how different he was acting as compared to his usual authoritative demeanour. He was putty in your hands, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.
You brushed your lips lightly against his and spoke with a teasing edge, “Yes sir”
Pairing: Marshal Commander Neyo x F!Jedi General Reader (Reader is written as tactical, clever, ex-Jedi espionage)
Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Pregnancy mention. Death. Hurt no comfort. I made myself cry writing this.
Summary: Saleucami was supposed to be another victory with Neyo at your side. You dreamt of the war’s end, of petitions for a safe garrison on this planet, of nights curled in his arms. But the Galaxy had other plans.
This is a songfic based on Sienna by The Marias. Taglist: @orangez3st
Saleucami was more heated than you remembered. The sound and smoke of blasterfire engulfed you, not that you cared about it, you were too busy swinging your lightsaber - slicing through battle droids. You ignored the wetness down your arm where a wound bled through your heavy black robe, ignored the smell of churned soil and burnt wildgrass.
“Fall back!” you shouted, swinging through another wave. Your trusted commander, Neyo, was on your flank, as always. Quiet, commanding, one of the deadliest men you knew. His blaster bolts fired in clean bursts that dropped clankers before they even reached your periphery.
Many moons ago, you had replaced Jedi Master Stass Allie as general of the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps. Transferred from Republic Intelligence, you had felt relief shedding years of secrecy and false names. Espionage was lonely work. Out here in the frontline, it was bloodier, yes, but you had something close to kinship - comrades who fought beside you, soldiers who watched your back. The clones called it brotherhood. You had never had that, not even with Quinlan Vos or Bode Akuna, who were more like distant, annoying brothers who preferred to vanish on their own missions.
You found it here. You found it in the 91st. You found it in him.
Neyo never smiled, not in public at least. He was infamous across the Grand Army as one of the coldest troopers alive. When you took command of the 91st, you knew their casualty numbers were high, and everyone always pinned it on Neyo’s lack of mercy - even for his own men. That rubbed you the wrong way. You had left the Republic Intelligence in search of kinship, and what greeted you was silence.
Nobody liked Neyo. That was a fact. You even asked around the Temple, cornering clone commanders who lingered around between deployments. Marshal Commander Cody had sighed so long and deep you thought he might suffocate before he answered. “Trained under Alpha-17,” Cody had finally muttered, scratching at the scar on his temple. “Cold bastard, even by our standards. With all due respect, sir, please talk to Bacara from the 21st Nova Corps if you want more. He’s the only one who gets him. They’re basically the same guy.”
So you learnt. Neyo had been one of the first hundred graduates of the ARC program. Promoted to Marshal Commander, feared for his efficiency, respected only for his kill counts. An oddball amongst his brothers, aloof, untouchable, ruthless, efficient.
But even beskar could be bent with the right materials. You remembered the first time you caught the faintest smile on his face, there and gone before you could blink. It had been after Saleucami’s first skirmish, the night you stitched your own arm whilst he stood watch in silence. You’d made some very sour, very dark jokes - too tired to care that they were bad ones - and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something close to a smile. You never told anyone. Some things weren’t meant to be shared.
And then, recognising his equally bad taste in humour, you went digging. That was how you found it, buried in the 91st’s archive, under training files and casualty logs: Neyo’s Almanac of Clankers, co-authored with Bly, Monnk, Wolffe, WAC-47 of all droids, and a Republic captain named Jikesh Valia. A manual for the Clone Youth Brigade, informative and packed with every weak point a battle droid ever had.
“So much for not giving a single fuck about those kids,” you’d laughed, scrolling through diagrams and notes until you nearly dropped the datapad. “Neyo’s Almanac of Clankers? Are you for real?” Your laughter had echoed off the walls of the command post, and you knew he would either go full ice cold or never share a shred of his personality with you ever again. For a heartbeat he froze with his visor trained on you before muttering a curse in Mando’a under his breath - completely forgetting that his voice modulator was on - probably meant for himself more than you, and then he stalked out.
You’d been grinning for hours after, teasing him in your head. He might be ruthless, but to you, thanks to that almanac, he was the commander who spent weeks compiling facts about battle droids with his brothers, and published it under his name. That was how you knew. Beneath all the ice, there was warmth. He just didn’t know what to do with it.
“I suggest we move to the foot of the mountain, General.” Neyo’s order brought you back from reverie. “We need more cover. The Separatists are coming in hot. If we want to retake Saleucami, we need to regroup and restrategise.”
“Huh.” You coughed, lungs raw from smoke.
The warmth of his hand seeped through the thick material of his glove over your robe as he guided you towards your BARC speeder.
“Go with the boys. I will come through,” he lifted his blaster and walked back towards the fire.
“But—“ you argued.
“Go! Go! Go!”
Catching the protectiveness in his voice, you quickly swung onto the speeder, heart hammering. You didn’t know that it was the last time you’d ride out believing he would always be at your side. Because he had always been at your side ever since he broke out of his shell.
It had started with a tent you were forced to share during one of the Outer Rim sieges, the early weeks of the Battle of Lokori, when the 91st paved the way for the rest of the companies. Oh, Lokori. You remembered how pleasant the air had been, how strange it felt to breathe sweet scented air instead of smoke. How beautiful the capital city of Fucallpa had been with its organic towers and riotous colours, architecture blooming like flowers.
“I can move out to camp with the men,” he had stiffly said as he turned towards the flap.
“I don’t care,” you’d muttered, too exhausted to argue. You dropped flat onto the cot, dragging your bloodstained robe over yourself like a blanket. “Just don’t make a noise before five in the morning.”
Neyo never wasted words. So, of course, you hadn’t expected him to say anything back. But a few minutes later, in the dark, you heard him lie down on his own cot and quietly reply, “I don’t snore.”
You’d laughed into the fabric of your robe, biting it down so he wouldn’t hear. But you were sure he had. Because in the silence that followed, you caught the faintest creak of the cot frame as if he’d rolled to face yours.
And then, little by little, he shed his shell. Every day, every planet, every battle. He’d sneak you an extra protein shake, slip an extra ration into your tray, because he couldn’t fathom your Jedi restraint. That ingrained vow to always stop before you were satisfied, to call it enough.
“I don’t get it,” he’d said during a much-needed lunch in the wilderness of Kashyyyk. Wookiees had laid out a feast, and the corps dug in with grateful abandon. You had eaten quietly, finished the small serving that you took, and didn’t ask for more. “An hour ago you were seething with hunger,” he muttered around a mouthful of roast beast. “But a plate like that is enough?” He pointed his fork at you, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Come on. The Wookiees are giving this for free, General.”
Shaking your head, you smiled. But to your amusement, he was dead serious, watching you as if you were the strangest puzzle he’d ever seen. “I always stop before I’m satisfied,” you explained. “Nothing too much is ever good for you.”
“I think fueling up during a campaign is crucial,” he countered.
“And you risk puking it out later?”
His brow arched, mouth full, chewing slowly as he considered your words. “We’re going to bed later.”
The tall blades of grass whipping against your speeder pulled you back from zoning out. The desert of Saleucami was unending, dry air biting as you pressed a hand to the commlink in your ear.
“Yes?”
“Are you safe?” Neyo’s modulated voice came through your ear.
“On our way south. Passing the swamp and into the forest,” you answered.
“Great. We’ve finished off here. Saw a new batch of droids dropping in - will be on your side in no time.”
“I will see you, then.”
“And I—um… general.”
“Neyo?”
There was static before the weirdly comforting monotone in his voice came again. “In case we’re losing the battle. I just want to remind you again that I—”
“I love you,” he had said that night. On the rooftop of his dormitory in the freezing Coruscant winter. A rare respite from battle, the two of you wrapped in stolen hours, watching the sun bleed out across the skyline. You had been wearing his blacks, far too big, sleeves gathered in your fists. “Quite surprising that I’m capable of love,” he’d chuckled.
From your place in his lap, you tilted your head to look up at him, his face bathed in the orange glow of the sun. “I thought you only ever loved Bacara.”
He grimaced. “I love all my brothers. Just because I don’t coddle them like Cody does, doesn’t mean I hate them.”
Pushing yourself upwards, you captured his lips in a kiss. “And I love you.”
“I know that,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours. “But you really have to go back to your quarters now.”
“Oh, come on,” you laughed as he showered your face with quick, stolen kisses. “Let me stay here!”
“I believe that’s against barracks regulations. You should know what Wolffe made his men do when he caught them sneaking their lovers into the building…”
Your brows shot up. “What?”
“Freshers duty,” he said, smiling against your lips. “And I just handed the same punishment to my men last month. What if they found out—”
“Anakin stays over at the barracks all the time.” You pouted.
“He throws ragers with his men,” Neyo countered, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Unless you—”
“I can throw one too,” you interjected, grinning. “I’m fun, you know. I spent years in the galactic underworld doing Force-knows-what as a spy.”
He gave you that look - half disbelief, half admiration - before pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re trouble.”
You smiled, the war momentarily far away. In that rare, fragile pocket universe, it was easy to believe you’d have more nights like this.
“Entering the forest in two klicks,” you chimed into your commlink. “How’s your position?”
“All safe. All good. I’ll see you in a few minutes, General.”
“Take care.”
“Oh, and General?”
“Yes?”
“Once you get to safety, tell Two-Three to keep close to you. I don’t care if you argue, he knows.” He commanded, more stern than usual, though you knew the reason behind it. He knew you couldn’t take a hit like before. He knew you were carrying more than yourself now.
Static buzzed between you. “And you should rest when you can. That’s an order.”
You smiled to yourself, hand pressed over the swell that only you and Neyo knew about. His way of caring was always hidden under orders. Still, you understood.
The forest at the foot of the mountain greeted you with flocks of yellow carrier butterflies, their wings flashing like sparks of gold between the trees. In your culture, they were a sign of fortune - luck was heading your way. Of course it was. Luck would come in the form of a girl.
Smiling faintly, you nudged your BARC into formation beside CT-3423, honouring Neyo’s order.
“There’s a cave nearby. We can rest there, sir,” Two-Three said, helmet cocked towards the shadows in the rocks ahead.
You nodded, easing the speeder into the treeline. The forest canopy closed over you, sunlight dripping through the leaves in broken beams. For a fleeting moment, you thought: maybe this would be enough. A place to rest. A place safe enough to finally breathe. And when the war was over, you could stay. Here, at the foot of this mountain, where the forest sang with birds and the dirt smelled perpetually like rain. You’d build a home amongst the trees, a quiet place where your child could grow. And you would convince the Republic, somehow, to let Neyo petition for an Outer Rim post here. A small garrison tucked into the wilderness, a safe assignment where his corps could recover and rebuild.
The walls of the cave were rough but comforting, cool stone wrapping you in quiet. You sat down, closing your eyes for the briefest moment. Then the commlink beeped.
“Come in,” you answered, thumb pressing the channel.
“Cyare, I’m here,” Neyo’s voice came through.
You were on your feet before you thought, rushing out of the cave, boots skidding in the dirt as you spotted him. You didn’t care who saw. You didn’t care what it meant. You ran towards him, throwing your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself into the armour you’d memorised by heart.
At that point, secrecy felt absurd. You were certain the corps knew. Maybe not about the child you carried, but about the way you gravitated towards him. How you lingered in the barracks too long. How you laughed louder when he was near. How he vanished from sight, only to be found later with a cup of hot caf in hand, sitting across from you as dawn painted the sky. Or the time on Felucia when you had insisted, against all counsel, that only he accompany you on recon. The men weren’t born yesterday. They had seen. They had always known.
And still, here in the forest, with his voice in your ear and his arms around you, you believed it was possible. That the war could end, and the two of you could walk away.
“A rescue team will come to pick us up,” he affirmed, fully slipping off his helmet. “I’ll hold a conference with the other commanders for a better strategy to retake Saleucami. I believe you’ll have more clever ideas to share, too?”
“Of course.” You straightened, shoulders drawing back, returning to your role. “For now, let’s regroup, do a headcount, and restrategise for the short term. I’ll consult the Council for further strategy. We may need a joint mission.”
For a moment, his eyes lingered on you. He let his thumb brush across your cheek, sweeping away a splatter of dust from your skin.
“You heard the General,” Neyo said at last, turning back to his men. The infamously cold Marshal Commander persona sliding back into place like a second skin. Around him, the troopers immediately moved to obey.
“Hey,” he gave you that rare smile of his before he caught himself at the sound of his commlink beeping in urgency. “I—uh, sorry. I have to take this.”
You smiled. At last, you could imagine the rescue team coming in, pulling you out of this nightmare. Soon, all of you would be aboard the Venator, heading back to Coruscant. You would spend the next few days curled in his arms, big and warm.
In your head, you made a list. Work first, always work. You would consult the Council, draft down strategy, reach out to Kenobi for his experience coordinating with locals in extended sieges. Besides, 7th Sky Corps could provide air superiority where your own reconnaissance corps couldn’t. You’d grit your teeth and call Ki-Adi-Mundi too, the 21st Nova Corps had the heavy artillery and orbital support Saleucami’s terrain demanded. With the three of you aligned, the Separatist hold would break.
After work was done, you’d go to the hospital. You would check on her. This time, you’d drag Neyo with you - no more excuses, no sudden assignments like Metalorn pulling him away. Last night in your tent, he had promised. He’d submit his leave request on time. He would be there. And after the hospital, you’d eat your favourite dumplings in your quarters, even if you had to sneak him in after midnight. He’d laugh quietly at your antics, and shower you with even more kisses until you fall asleep. Holding your vision close, you smiled to yourself. For some damned reasons, you could almost believe that the war was ending sooner than expected.
“Yes, Chancellor.” You saw him put his helmet back on.
“Is everything alright?” you asked. “Neyo?”
But he was not himself when he turned. You felt it in the Force. The warmth of sunlight peeking through the canopy was gone, replaced by an absolute coldness. A coldness you had never felt from him before. Dark, ugly, suffocating. The Force never lied. It could manipulate, obscure, mislead - but it never lied. And it told you the truth now, because the man you loved had his blaster pointed at your chest.
“Neyo…” You backed away, hands raised. But the love of your life still fired.
Years of training saved you, the lightsaber leapt to your hand, the bolt ricocheted off the blade. You ran into the trees, branches whipping past, the dark forest came alive with the sounds of blasterfire.
“Don’t let her go!” his cold commanding voice rang mercilessly.
“Please tell me not to go,” you’d murmured against his lips one quiet morning, exhaustion heavy in your bones.
“I will never let you go,” Neyo had groaned, arms locked around your waist in a deathgrip. “But if you don’t go to the Council meeting, Bacara’s boss will talk crap about you again.”
“Gosh, I hate him,” you’d yawn.
“Hmm.” He’d hummed into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Go shower and get dressed. I’ll be here.”
And he would always be there. Just like he was there when he and his men chased after you in the woods.
You threw everything into the run. Every ounce of Force, every shred of muscle, every staggering breath. The forest saved you for a while, its trees too dense for BARC speeders to follow. You whispered thanks under your breath as you dashed between trunks, to the trees, to the wind, to the sun, to the ground. You tripped more than once, palms tearing on roots and stone, your heavy robe falling away in the scramble, and you didn’t stop running.
But what was one body against a corps? Against the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance, bred for pursuit, for pressure, for endless battles? Against Marshal Commander Neyo. Aloof. Untouchable. Ruthless. Efficient. Yours.
It was too easy for them to corner you as you stumbled into a clearing. A wide canopy breaks above you, basking you under the scorching midday sun. Yellow butterflies from earlier came in a sudden swarm, flying towards the light, leaving you mesmerised. You leaned your head back, following them skyward. Maybe that was it. Maybe luck meant release. Maybe the war was finally ending - for you, at least. No more blood. No more shadow. No more nightmares.
And in front of you, the man you loved. Blaster trained steady at your head.
“Neyo…”
The Force, merciful yet cruel, flooded you with warmth. Suddenly you were far from Saleucami, far from the smoke and blasterfire, back in the comfort of your quarters at the Jedi Temple. The sheets still smelled of him, his heavy arm draped across your body, your head rising and falling with the movement of his chest.
“She will look just like you,” you giggled into the dark.
“With a temper like you,” you added, grinning as your fingers trace the curve of his jaw. “Oh! And she’ll run wild, just like you.”
He groaned, hand brushing through your hair, pulling loose strands away from your face. “I’m not that bad.”
That earned a full belly laugh from you. “Sure you are.”
He took a deep breath, followed by an equally long exhale before he said it as if it had been waiting inside him all along. “Sienna.” His chest rumbled as he chuckled. “She’ll talk to the trees and sing to animals - just like you.”
You pressed your chin against his chest, searching his face as his fingers played absently with your hair. “That’ll be cute.”
“How does it feel like for you?” he asked suddenly, almost uncertain. “Being in love?”
You inhaled, readying yourself to give him one of your strange explanations. “It feels like this: at least fifty blaster bolts straight into my heart, and my body is merely a vessel to contain everything before I finally wither and surrender into it. All of the explosions, and uneasiness, and then it sets me free.”
Neyo huffed, amused and exasperated all at once. “Only you would compare love to being shot.” His hand moved lower, caressing the swell of your belly. “For me…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “…for me, it will always feel like tonight. The comfort of your bed in this massive quarters,” He laughed at the silliness of it, “...the galaxy quiet for once. Your laughter stuck in my head. The way you look at me like I’m more than what I was made to be. That’s what it feels like.”
The memory brought a smile to your face, the sweetest smile - reserved only for him, even as simmering pain wrecked your body. You remembered it all - Neyo and you at the beaches of Spira in the winter when the waves were mad, the little stolen moments during campaigns in the Outer Rim, his face just minutes ago when you ran from the cave into his arms.
But that was being in love, wasn’t it? Getting shot by at least fifty troopers straight into your chest. Your body merely a vessel to contain everything, as your lover led the execution.
The Force continued to envelope you close in its benevolence, your lightsaber slipping from your hand as your body dropped to the ground. For a moment, you saw her in the forest. She looked just like him - with a curly dark hair, a pair of curious eyes, sunlight shining on her small hand as she reached for you.
You raised a trembling arm towards her, whispering her name as she slowly disappeared, taking you with her.
So funny request, feel free to ignore it if your busy. But I just can help but think about how the clones have no sense of misogyny due to how they were raised. There were so many female Jedi and many of the kaminoans that created and raised them were women. I was wondering how a platonic bad batch would react to casual misogyny towards a female reader maybe? Nothing too bad, just them being absolutely bewildered that someone would think something like that and then low-key upset when she's like "it is what it is🤷♀️".
If this request makes you uncomfortable no pressure to do it, I just thought it was an interesting idea. And I love your writing so...🤭
“It Is What It Is”
Bad batch x Reader
The market square on Raxus was buzzing with noise, chatter, and the metallic clank of droids carrying cargo. Clone Force 99 didn’t exactly blend in—broad-shouldered armored soldiers tended to stand out among merchants and civilians—but for once, no one was actively shooting at them.
You were walking a few paces ahead with Tech, trying to follow the datapad’s map to a contact’s stall. Hunter and Echo trailed behind, eyes scanning the crowd. Wrecker wandered with a bag of candied nuts, happily munching. Crosshair was…well, Crosshair, which meant scowling and looking like he wanted to shoot someone at random.
Everything was fine—until it wasn’t.
A vendor selling blaster parts leaned on his counter as you stopped to check the stock. You’d been trained enough to know what you were looking for, so you asked a perfectly reasonable question about the power capacity of one of his rifle scopes.
The man gave you a once-over, slow and dismissive. His smirk was greasy. “Sweetheart, this isn’t a fashion booth. Leave the tech talk to your boys over there, yeah?”
Your stomach sank. You’d heard it before—on Raxus, Coruscant, practically everywhere outside Kaminoan military channels. You blinked, pasted on a polite smile, and shrugged. “It is what it is,” you muttered under your breath, already turning away.
But Tech froze.
His brows knitted in confusion as though the vendor had just spoken an alien dialect. “I beg your pardon?” he asked sharply, adjusting his goggles. “Are you implying that her gender renders her incapable of discussing weapon components?”
The vendor blinked at him, startled. “I’m just saying she might not understand the specs—”
“Incorrect,” Tech interrupted, voice like a vibroblade. “She has demonstrated clear comprehension of the question she posed, which you have thus far failed to answer. Statistically, the biological sex of an individual has no correlation with their capacity for mechanical or tactical knowledge.”
Hunter’s voice cut low and warning. “Tech.” But his tone wasn’t meant for Tech—it was for the vendor.
Crosshair had stopped pretending to be bored. He leaned lazily against a crate, toothpick between his teeth, but his golden eyes gleamed sharp. “Go on. Say something else stupid.”
Echo stepped forward, expression tight. “She asked you about the power capacity. Answer it. Or we’ll take our business elsewhere.”
The vendor sputtered, suddenly sweating under the combined scrutiny of four armored soldiers and one visibly furious man in a bandana. He fumbled for the datapad to pull up the specs.
Wrecker lumbered closer, looming over the counter like a mountain. “You were real quick to run your mouth,” he said, voice deceptively cheerful. “Funny how you don’t sound so smart now.”
The poor man stammered out the details, stumbling over numbers until Tech snatched the datapad from his hands and checked the information himself.
Satisfied, Tech handed it to you instead of back to the vendor. “As I was saying, this model will serve your intended purpose. Though, if I may recommend, the alternate design from Kuat Systems is superior in stability.”
You nodded, grateful, and tucked it away. “Thanks, Tech.”
The Batch didn’t move until you’d stepped away from the booth, and even then, you could feel their agitation vibrating through the air like static.
⸻
Later, when you regrouped at the ship, it was impossible to ignore the stormy mood.
Hunter leaned against the ramp with arms crossed. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”
You shrugged, sitting on a crate. “Depends what you call ‘a lot.’ It’s not a big deal.”
All five sets of eyes landed on you at once, incredulous.
“Not a—” Echo cut himself off, staring at you like you’d grown another head. “He dismissed you for being a woman. That’s not nothing.”
Crosshair scoffed, pushing off the wall. “He’s lucky Tech spoke first. I’d have put a bolt through his datapad.”
Wrecker frowned, scratching his head. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone think you can’t know about gear just ’cause you’re not a man? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t,” Tech agreed firmly. “On Kamino, many of the Kaminoans responsible for our education and maintenance were female. Numerous Jedi Generals are female. Statistically, gender distribution among the skilled and the incompetent is equal.”
Hunter tilted his head, studying you. His voice was gentler now. “And you just…accept it? ‘It is what it is?’”
You sighed. “What do you want me to say? It happens everywhere. People think like that, they say dumb things, and I move on. If I let it bother me every time, I’d never get anything done.”
That didn’t make them feel better. If anything, it made it worse.
Echo’s jaw tightened. “So you’ve dealt with this your whole life.”
“Pretty much.”
Crosshair muttered a curse under his breath, pacing away. Wrecker still looked baffled, like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. Tech was visibly unsettled, recalibrating his entire worldview around a variable he’d never considered. And Hunter…Hunter looked downright pained.
“You shouldn’t have to just ‘deal with it,’” he said quietly.
You smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “Yeah, well. Galaxy’s full of idiots. Can’t shoot them all.”
Crosshair smirked darkly. “Try me.”
That actually earned a laugh from Wrecker, but it was short-lived.
Tech crouched in front of you, serious. “Please understand, your dismissal of this treatment does not reduce its illogical and offensive nature. If you encounter it again, we will intervene.”
“Tech—”
“No,” Echo cut in. “He’s right. You don’t have to just brush it off, not when we’re around.”
Hunter nodded firmly. “We look out for each other. Always.”
For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You’d long since accepted casual misogyny as background noise, but looking at them—all five soldiers utterly baffled and quietly furious on your behalf—you felt something twist in your chest.
Wrecker gently nudged your shoulder, voice soft for once. “You’re part of our squad, ya know. Anyone messes with you, they mess with us.”
Crosshair flicked his toothpick aside and smirked again, but his eyes were serious. “And trust me. They don’t want that.”
You laughed, but this time it wasn’t hollow. It was warm, real. “Thanks, boys. I’ll try to remember that.”
Hunter offered a small smile in return, the tension easing slightly. “Good. Because ‘it is what it is’ doesn’t fly with us.”
And just like that, you realized—maybe it didn’t have to fly with you, either.
✧ Summary: It's really really late but you're still awake working, and Hunter isn't too pleased about it.
✧ Tags & Warnings: established relationship, fluff, why are you still awake fic, eepyfic (somewhat?), omg zest is writing tbb, no warnings! just hunter’s girldad concerns™
✧ Word Count: 1.0k
✧ A/N: OKAY idk what came over me to do Hunter for this one 🤔🤞🏼 this is based on my experience (again lol, and here's a similar one with Cody). I think it's only fair that I'm finally trying to write something about CF99, since I don't have the balls enough to write about the Omegas yet (trust me this was almost my sweetie baby Darman 😆). Anyway, enjoy this one! ❤️
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Hunter divider by @snotbuggle
Hunter's startled awake to a cold side of the bed next to him.
Deep breath fills his lungs as he stretches, the pleasant buzz coursing from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes underneath the covers. Eyes still adjusting in the dark, he thrusts his hand forward again, to your side of the bed. He pats it just to make sure. Still cold. You're really not there.
Then almost on autopilot, he gathers his focus, or whatever 0300 consciousness can trust him with. He's not even trying, but he can feel your presence a little far from your shared bedroom. Your study. But you've padded the walls with soundproof mats so you wouldn't disturb his sleep when you work late into midnight while blasting your altpop playlist. Quite an effort, but still. Not that Hunter dislikes it, but it's 3 in the morning, for gods’ sake. You should've been asleep.
So he makes the effort, too; to pull on his sweatpants and make his way out of your bedroom, a little more than barely awake. The corridor's lights are off to minimize the electricity hum so Hunter could sleep. Barefooted and releasing a slow sigh that might come from slight disappointment, your boyfriend pads toward your study at the end of the corridor. And as expected, the door slides open.
What he doesn't expect, though, is how quiet it is. Well, not entirely. The steady machinery hum coming from your holocomputer is buzzing in his ears—he’s just awakened and his control isn't at 100% so pardon him, please—and yet among the softest of noises including your breath, there isn't any music blasting from your speakers.
“Sweetheart.”
You whip your head around so fast that Hunter develops a new fear of you accidentally breaking your neck right there on the spot. Okay, he won't do that again.
“Hunter.” For a split second it looks like you're about to smile, but realization washes over your face and turns your expression into worry. “Oh. Oh, gods. Did I wake you? It's so late, though—really late. Did one of these soundproof mats fall off or something?”
“It's really late,” Hunter presses on, almost interjecting you and his voice a little raspy from waking up so suddenly, his arms folded across his bare, half-inked chest. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yep!” you cheerfully quip from your chair, looking around the room for the chrono—which is to your left and up on the wall—but you end up finding the one in your holocomputer instead. “Um. It says 0328 here.”
“Exactly,” he sighs, opting for a gentler approach. And well, there he approaches you, his nose alerting him of a smell of caf that just grows stronger each step he takes. Ah. No wonder you're really jittery. But it really wouldn't come as a total shock. You always surprise him but, sure; that's what makes your relationship so colorful and never boring.
But for the love of the divine cosmos, you can be so stubborn at times.
Standing in front of your seated form now, Hunter caresses your face softly to show just how much he's worried about you and your health, but your caffeinated self merely smiles so tightly at him, so innocently, your lips stretching end to end.
He sighs. “You're going to hurt… yourself one day.”
“It's just one caf.”
“One,” Hunter deadpans, his eyebrow arching at you pointedly. “Then why do I smell that you've had four already? You intending to sleep or not? For the next 48 hours?”
“It's just—” you resist a groan, swivelling between your work on the screen and your boyfriend's puppy dog eyes. “Okay, I've got deadlines. And my brain's at its full creativity capacity when it's past 2200 and I just don't wanna miss it by getting sleepy in that hour so I took caf.”
“I understand your problems. I really do.” Hunter gently takes your hands, and kneels in front of you between your legs. “But still. You didn't need to take that much, and you need your sleep.”
“I can always take afternoon naps.”
He shakes his head. “Day naps aren't always good for your circadian rhythm, sweetheart. Okay?” His hands are squeezing yours, adding to his level of affection and concern for you. “You take that too often, it's affecting your health too. You sleep too late too often; obviously it does, too.”
Mentally, you're trying to hold onto your ever-charged streams of ideas and paragraph openings and real excellent bridges, but accidentally waking up Hunter only makes you extra guilty. Your boyfriend needs all the peace and quiet to rest, and the last thing he needs is you and your pigheaded tendencies sprouting out even more concern that add to his current running list of anxieties.
“Okay,” you relent, reaching to brush a strand of his brown locks behind his ear. “Really sorry that I woke you up, though.”
A small smile of relief on his lips is such a welcomed sight—for a moment there, you feel lucky. Fortunate. Not every person out there would give so much concern for their significant other's wellbeing, but you've earned yourself Hunter—a leader whose job is to make sure everyone's in tip top condition. You wonder if this is similar to one of his duties, but then again, he is a soldier. And you love him for his insistence.
“It's fine,” your beloved says, leaning forward to give you a peck on the cheek, and another to the corner of your mouth. He eyes your empty water glass, and makes that the next to-do in his mental list. “Five minutes. That's all I can give you. Then you're gonna lie down with me.”
The idea of lying down next to Hunter and encased in his strong arms is enticing that the caf in your body is banished away almost immediately, and fatigue begins to take over. Your body would buzz uncomfortably and once you wake up complaining about it Hunter would put in the I told you so smug face the whole day. It's like magic. It's familiar, it's welcomed, and ironically what makes your relationship feels alive, despite the complaints and all. It's a certain kind of beauty.
A soft chuckle escapes you, and already, you're fighting a yawn. “Copy that, Sarge.”
Bottom divider by @/enchanthings
Author rant: As I was finishing this up it was 0329 and I actually took a sachet coffee at 2300 to work on my internship report with the necessary Writing Big Brain™ and oh sweet God it’s a heckin bad idea I need more sleep 🛌🏽
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
✧ Summary: It's really really late but you're still awake working, and Hunter isn't too pleased about it.
✧ Tags & Warnings: established relationship, fluff, why are you still awake fic, eepyfic (somewhat?), omg zest is writing tbb, no warnings! just hunter’s girldad concerns™
✧ Word Count: 1.0k
✧ A/N: OKAY idk what came over me to do Hunter for this one 🤔🤞🏼 this is based on my experience (again lol, and here's a similar one with Cody). I think it's only fair that I'm finally trying to write something about CF99, since I don't have the balls enough to write about the Omegas yet (trust me this was almost my sweetie baby Darman 😆). Anyway, enjoy this one! ❤️
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Hunter divider by @snotbuggle
Hunter's startled awake to a cold side of the bed next to him.
Deep breath fills his lungs as he stretches, the pleasant buzz coursing from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes underneath the covers. Eyes still adjusting in the dark, he thrusts his hand forward again, to your side of the bed. He pats it just to make sure. Still cold. You're really not there.
Then almost on autopilot, he gathers his focus, or whatever 0300 consciousness can trust him with. He's not even trying, but he can feel your presence a little far from your shared bedroom. Your study. But you've padded the walls with soundproof mats so you wouldn't disturb his sleep when you work late into midnight while blasting your altpop playlist. Quite an effort, but still. Not that Hunter dislikes it, but it's 3 in the morning, for gods’ sake. You should've been asleep.
So he makes the effort, too; to pull on his sweatpants and make his way out of your bedroom, a little more than barely awake. The corridor's lights are off to minimize the electricity hum so Hunter could sleep. Barefooted and releasing a slow sigh that might come from slight disappointment, your boyfriend pads toward your study at the end of the corridor. And as expected, the door slides open.
What he doesn't expect, though, is how quiet it is. Well, not entirely. The steady machinery hum coming from your holocomputer is buzzing in his ears—he’s just awakened and his control isn't at 100% so pardon him, please—and yet among the softest of noises including your breath, there isn't any music blasting from your speakers.
“Sweetheart.”
You whip your head around so fast that Hunter develops a new fear of you accidentally breaking your neck right there on the spot. Okay, he won't do that again.
“Hunter.” For a split second it looks like you're about to smile, but realization washes over your face and turns your expression into worry. “Oh. Oh, gods. Did I wake you? It's so late, though—really late. Did one of these soundproof mats fall off or something?”
“It's really late,” Hunter presses on, almost interjecting you and his voice a little raspy from waking up so suddenly, his arms folded across his bare, half-inked chest. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yep!” you cheerfully quip from your chair, looking around the room for the chrono—which is to your left and up on the wall—but you end up finding the one in your holocomputer instead. “Um. It says 0328 here.”
“Exactly,” he sighs, opting for a gentler approach. And well, there he approaches you, his nose alerting him of a smell of caf that just grows stronger each step he takes. Ah. No wonder you're really jittery. But it really wouldn't come as a total shock. You always surprise him but, sure; that's what makes your relationship so colorful and never boring.
But for the love of the divine cosmos, you can be so stubborn at times.
Standing in front of your seated form now, Hunter caresses your face softly to show just how much he's worried about you and your health, but your caffeinated self merely smiles so tightly at him, so innocently, your lips stretching end to end.
He sighs. “You're going to hurt… yourself one day.”
“It's just one caf.”
“One,” Hunter deadpans, his eyebrow arching at you pointedly. “Then why do I smell that you've had four already? You intending to sleep or not? For the next 48 hours?”
“It's just—” you resist a groan, swivelling between your work on the screen and your boyfriend's puppy dog eyes. “Okay, I've got deadlines. And my brain's at its full creativity capacity when it's past 2200 and I just don't wanna miss it by getting sleepy in that hour so I took caf.”
“I understand your problems. I really do.” Hunter gently takes your hands, and kneels in front of you between your legs. “But still. You didn't need to take that much, and you need your sleep.”
“I can always take afternoon naps.”
He shakes his head. “Day naps aren't always good for your circadian rhythm, sweetheart. Okay?” His hands are squeezing yours, adding to his level of affection and concern for you. “You take that too often, it's affecting your health too. You sleep too late too often; obviously it does, too.”
Mentally, you're trying to hold onto your ever-charged streams of ideas and paragraph openings and real excellent bridges, but accidentally waking up Hunter only makes you extra guilty. Your boyfriend needs all the peace and quiet to rest, and the last thing he needs is you and your pigheaded tendencies sprouting out even more concern that add to his current running list of anxieties.
“Okay,” you relent, reaching to brush a strand of his brown locks behind his ear. “Really sorry that I woke you up, though.”
A small smile of relief on his lips is such a welcomed sight—for a moment there, you feel lucky. Fortunate. Not every person out there would give so much concern for their significant other's wellbeing, but you've earned yourself Hunter—a leader whose job is to make sure everyone's in tip top condition. You wonder if this is similar to one of his duties, but then again, he is a soldier. And you love him for his insistence.
“It's fine,” your beloved says, leaning forward to give you a peck on the cheek, and another to the corner of your mouth. He eyes your empty water glass, and makes that the next to-do in his mental list. “Five minutes. That's all I can give you. Then you're gonna lie down with me.”
The idea of lying down next to Hunter and encased in his strong arms is enticing that the caf in your body is banished away almost immediately, and fatigue begins to take over. Your body would buzz uncomfortably and once you wake up complaining about it Hunter would put in the I told you so smug face the whole day. It's like magic. It's familiar, it's welcomed, and ironically what makes your relationship feels alive, despite the complaints and all. It's a certain kind of beauty.
A soft chuckle escapes you, and already, you're fighting a yawn. “Copy that, Sarge.”
Bottom divider by @/enchanthings
Author rant: As I was finishing this up it was 0329 and I actually took a sachet coffee at 2300 to work on my internship report with the necessary Writing Big Brain™ and oh sweet God it’s a heckin bad idea I need more sleep 🛌🏽
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
Summary: Din saves you after your home is destroyed, giving you both a chance to finally come clean about your feelings.
Warnings: language, descriptions of death/violence, longing/pining, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, reader wants his baby real bad
WC: 5.9K
---
He knew something was wrong before he even landed.
Naxore was never what one considers a paradise, but the dusty planet never looked as ashen as it did from this distance.
It was small, but it managed to house about one thousand citizens. From his experience, they're good people. They mind their own business and require very little from the galaxy. Most of what they eat and use gets produced right on the planet itself. It's small, ugly, and hardly a blip on the radar. This never stopped the people who live there from loving it with their whole hearts.
When he first arrived all those years ago, ship in desperate need of repair and Din in desperate need of hiding, the citizens welcomed him. They fed him and cleansed his wounds without a second thought. They put their lives and their little planet in danger to keep him safe. And when he left, the doctor who tended to him and gave him a bed said, Keep Naxore a secret.
And he did. But whenever Din had the chance, he would stop by and pay them a visit. He brought goods and wares from other planets, trinkets and toys for the children, and anything else he could think of they might find useful.
He always stayed with the doctor, whose wife passed on before Din had ever arrived, but still had a daughter.
You.
He told himself he was being kind, that the reason for his visits were virtuous, but deep down he knew it was you that kept him coming back. After every visit, he became more and more infatuated. Less and less time would pass before his next trip, just so he could get a glimpse of you, and when he was away, his thoughts were consumed with your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when he unveiled to you whatever little gift he brought. He thought of you constantly. He longed for the conversations you would have, all alone, late at night around the fire. He grew hooked on your every word, eager to learn as much about you as possible. You would tell him stories of your mother, of the children at the school where you taught, how worried you were for your father as he aged.
You never once spoke of a partner, and he never asked. It would be considered too forward. Besides, what sort of life could he offer you if he tried to make you his? A bounty hunter, living a life of danger with no real home?
No, you were safer with your father.
Still, he enjoyed his visits. It temporarily satiated his thirst to be near you, to listen to you speak, to watch the way your nimble fingers worked to mend clothes or knead bread.
Din didn't have many pleasures in life, but that was certainly one of them.
So as he began his descent and saw your little planet was barren, his heart sunk. He discovered once he stepped off the Razor Crest that what little trees and foliage you had are burnt to a crisp. Everything is grey, death looms everywhere. Corpses, nearly skeletons now, litter the streets. Buildings collapsed, rubble crunch under his boots, and the entire town is silent, yet he still follows the familiar path to your father's house. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop himself.
Sure enough, when your house comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed. The entire building is leveled to the ground. He stumbles a moment, fighting the pain swelling in his chest. Not much is recognizable, but there is a chair that used to be in the sitting room. The same chair you used to sit in while he regaled you with his stories.
He falls to his knees then, and dips his head, fighting the urge to cry. He isn't even sure why he bothers. No one is alive and he still has his helmet on, yet he still blinks back tears.
You were so young and beautiful. You had your whole life ahead of you. You were kind and thoughtful and patient with the children in your class and with your father.
His gloved hand digs angrily into the dirt, fingers curling like he could find some answer for his pain. If he just visited more — if he took you with him, like he always wanted — maybe you would still be alive.
He feels sick. Enraged. His heart splits in his chest and his body folds over, slowly, as if the weight of his agony was trying to bury him.
Just then, there's a noise. It sounds as though someone's walking over the rubble, albeit much softer than he just did. His breath stalls and he scans the area, freezing with his hand on his blaster when he spots the source.
He can hardly believe his eyes. Yet, there you stand. Dirty, ashen, hair a mess and clothes torn. But still, you're there.
He blinks and a tear slips past his defenses. He's convinced at first he must be hallucinating, but then you move again, looking at him like you must be thinking the same. Like he's a mirage.
When you get closer, his hand falls from his waist and he slowly brings himself to his feet. He refuses to tear his eyes away, afraid if he does, you'll disappear.
Finally, you slowly raise your hands to cup your mouth. Your eyes crinkle and streaks of wet trail down your filthy cheeks and you call out his name with a broken sob.
"Din."
He closes the distance in a heartbeat. His arms wrap around you and he feels your body heave, bawling and shaking in his arms. He murmurs your name, tells you you're okay, and promises to take care of you.
You nod and continue to cry. Your fingers grab at him, searching for comfort. They slide over his steel armor, feeble fingers clawing at unwavering metal, and he never before felt so angry. Angry at whoever did this to your planet. Angry at himself, for not doing more. Angry at the promise he kept to remain hidden behind a helmet.
He doesn't ask. He leads you to his ship, slowly. Your shoes aren't as good as his and your body seems weak and malnourished. But when it starts to grow dark and you stumble next to him, he scoops you up in his arms. A squeal of surprise slips past your lips but your arms wrap round his neck, anyway.
"You need rest," he says by way of explaination. "I can carry you the rest of the way. I have food and a warm bed. You'll be strong once again, and you will be safe."
You simply nod and lean your head against his shoulder. He feels your warm breath on his neck through his cowl and he has to resist the urge to strip himself of his armor and press his body to yours the second he gets you safely on the Crest.
He feeds you and gives you fresh clothes. He shows you to the fresher, where you can wash up, and promises to wait just outside the door in case you fall or need help. You don't, but he never once leaves his post. When you emerge, your eyes look sunken and puffy. You're exhausted and he knows there was no use in asking you for details that night. He ushers you to his bunk and you crawl inside, collapsing into his cot with a deep sigh of relief.
"I'm going to get us out of here," he says. You just nod with your eyes closed. "Call out if you need me," he adds before flicking off the light. He gives you one more glance before he ascends to the cockpit. You look comfortable. You look at peace. And you look fucking incredible in his clothes.
He stifles a growl and heads up the ladder.
His priority is to get you to safety. Everything else can wait.
---
"If you never take it off, how can you eat?"
Din's eyes flickered up to you through his visor. It's been two days. You nearly slept for one of them. You look healthier and more like yourself now. The sight made him happy, more relaxed.
"I eat alone," he explains. You're sitting across from him at the small metal table that folds out from the wall. You are halfway through your meal, which is nothing fancy, just some freeze dried rations, but based on the noises you made since the first bite touched your lips, you'd think you're eating fresh tiingilar.
Your eyes drop to the plate in front of him, untouched.
"Oh," you say, recalling from his prior visits when he would retire to his room to eat. You always thought it was due to exhaustion or perhaps he didn't want to hear you prattle on about nonsense like you had a tendency of doing whenever he lingered in your father's sitting room. It was always so hard to read him when his face and body was covered in armor.
"What if I turned my back?" you offer. His head tilts and his fingers thrum against the tabletop.
"I can wait," he assures you, then asks, "Will you tell me what happened?"
Your face falls and you look down sadly at your plate. You push around the food and drag in a shaky breath.
"We were attacked," you say. "It happened at night. They ransacked the town while everyone slept. I remember—"
You choke on your words and he stiffens.
"I remember going to the window when I first heard the shouting. I... they were dragging people from their homes. They took the women and killed the men."
Din stops breathing. His jaw tenses behind his helmet. You sniffle, then continue.
"My father built a small bunker underneath our home when I was a child," you say, wiping a tear from your eye. "He hid me down there and I begged him to join me, but he wouldn't — I begged him, Din."
Tears trickle down your face now. He reaches out a gloved hand to stop you, rests it on top of yours.
He knows it's a long shot, but still he asks, "Do you know who these people were?"
You shake your head somberly, eyes drifting now to his hand. You think it over for a moment before lifting your other hand to place on top of his. Your thumb idly rubs the tough fabric.
"I never found another living soul," you whisper. Din's gaze is still locked on your hands. "I searched for days. I suppose it's fortunate my father was a paranoid man."
"Your father was a careful man," he corrects. You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels horrible because it's clear your heart is torn in two and filled with guilt, yet he sits across from you, brimming with joy and relief that you managed to survive.
"What will happen now?" you ask, "what will I do?"
He swallows and you must hear it because you tilt your head slightly.
"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he eventually says.
You laugh, but it sounds flat. You keep his hand sandwiched between yours when you say, "I have nowhere to go. I've never even left my planet before. I have no one. Well... except for you."
Your cheeks burn. You give his hand a little squeeze before letting it go and even through his gloves, he instantly misses the heat from your touch.
"Navarro is nice," he says, "I have people there that I trust. People who can help you get back on your feet."
"Oh," you breathe. Then you blink and drop your gaze to your lap, food long forgotten. "Yes, okay. That... okay."
He studies you through his visor. He can tell the idea makes you nervous. You're shifting awkwardly in your seat and anxiously chewing your bottom lip.
Then, he says something foolish. Something reckless and selfish.
"Or, you could stay with me. On the Crest. It's not much of a life, but—"
"Really?" you ask, cutting him off. You peer at him hopefully through your lashes and warmth spreads in his chest at being the object you chose to grace with that look.
"Of course. You're welcome here for as long as you wish. I just ask you listen to me," he tells you sternly. He wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of what he's trying to say, but you're practically bouncing in your seat from excitement. "It can get dangerous, at times. If I tell you to stay on the ship, you need to stay on the ship, no matter how bored you might be, or—"
"I will, I promise," you say before jumping up and rounding the table. He barely has a chance to blink before you throw your arms around him for a hug. It's clunky and awkward with his armor, but you don't seem to mind. You're grinning from ear to ear, the happiest he's seen you look in days. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent through the filter in his helmet. It makes him dizzy. With his soap and clothes, you smell so good that it leaves him breathless.
"Thank you," you say softly. You pull back slightly to gaze up at him and for one second, he thinks you can actually see him. Your eyes lock on his and you hold it, and it all feels so real that it has his breath catching in his throat. Without thinking, one of his hands lifts to cradle your face. You immediately lean into his touch but your gaze never falters. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you did. It cuts him to the core in a way he never imagined.
The air between you grows too heavy and he can't resist quickly scanning your body. Through his visor, he picks up your heat signature is slightly elevated in your face and chest. And he tries to fight the urge, he really does, but he can't help scanning lower. He clocks the temperature between your legs and his cock stirs when his suspicions are confirmed.
"You said you've never left your planet."
His voice breaks the tension. You blink and nod with a smile before stepping back, creating some breathing room between you.
"You shouldn't hide down here, then. You're missing the entire galaxy. Let me show you the cockpit."
Your eyes flicker nervously to the ladder before slowly nodding.
"O-okay," you reply shakily.
Din frowns and reaches for your hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I think you'll like it."
Your shoulders square up. Your chin lifts confidently and he smiles when you say, "I trust you."
He climbs the ladder first, then reaches down to help you up. When you clamber to your feet and look around, your eyes grow wide and your lips part with wonder.
"Oh, my..." you breathe, gaze raking over all the lights and controls before settling on the huge windows. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and he can't tear himself away. As he suspected, all traces of your earlier apprehension vanished. You're hypnotized by the way the bright stars stretch and swirl through hyperspace, completely enraptured.
"This view. It's... beautiful," you whisper, unblinking.
With his attention still fixed on you, he replies, "Yes, it is."
Your eyes dart to him and you try to bite back a shy smile when you realize he wasn't looking at the stars.
"I've never flown before," you tell him, "it's so incredible. I can't believe you can do this all on your own."
"Really? Never?" he asks, and you shake your head. "Then we should celebrate," he adds. Your eyes light up when he spins around to a small cabinet bolted to the wall and pulls out a half filled bottle of liquor. As he pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"What is this?" you ask when you take the cup he offers you. You sniff it and your nose scrunches up.
"It's Mandalorian wine," he says, "try it, it's good."
You take a tentative sip then look up at him with surprise. "It's sweet."
"I don't have it often, it's hard to come by," he admits. Then his free hand unlatches his helmet and your eyes snap to the place his fingers hook under the edge. He swears he notices excitement flicker across your face for a brief moment before you turn around.
"I won't look," you promise.
He opens his mouth to tell you it was fine, that he was only lifting it a few short inches to take a drink, but he doesn't. He sips from his glass and allows himself to take you in fully without your heated gaze pinning him to the wall. He can just make out your reflection in the windows and you faithfully have your eyes squeezed shut, just in case you catch an accidental glimpse. He sips again and his eyes darken. He can feel his body responding to how obedient you are and it's growing uncomfortable.
He slips his helmet back down and when you hear the telltale hiss of the latch, your eyes open.
"Can I turn around now?"
A muscle flickers in his jaw. Fuck, you're such a good girl.
"Yes," he says, voice rough.
You pick up on his tone. Your face warms as you slowly turn around to face him and its imperceptible, but your thighs squeeze together in his fucking pants. It's a good thing you can't see him because underneath the helmet, he is fighting every urge to pull you into his arms. He's sure it's written all over his face. Maker, he wonders what it would be like to be touched by you, to be held by you, to be kissed by you. It's been so long.
You're nervous again, he notes, but not due to fear this time. Your gaze shifts around the cabin and you swallow thickly before pointing towards the controls.
"W-what do all these do?"
He follows your finger. You're pointing to the control wheel and dials right in front of his chair.
He sets down his mostly empty glass and sits. He begins to half heartedly tell you what certain switches and knobs do, and you nod along, sipping from your glass and leaning into the side of his chair.
You lean forward, across his lap, and squint at one particularly important looking lever.
"What about this?"
His eyes slide closed and he breathes deep. You're so close to him he can feel the warmth from your skin through the slivers of exposed fabric that lies underneath his armor.
"It— it's one of the controls that sends us into hyperspace," he mumbles. You hum curiously and take another sip, draining your glass. Your body still stretches over his lap as you study the control panel and he hopes you don't notice the twitching in his pants.
"One of?" you echo. Then your beautiful eyes find his visor. He swallows harshly, leather creaking over his knuckles.
"Yes," he rasps, "there's — well, there's levels I need to check first and a course needs to —"
He stops speaking when you straighten up and sidestep so that you're wedged between him and the control panel. He watches in a haze when your small hands wrap around the control column, right where his hands normally go to steer the ship.
His gloved fingers dig into the arms of his chair.
His legs straddle yours where you stand. If you sat, you'd be right in his lap. His hands twitch and his heart stutters in his chest. You're so fucking close, he could simply wrap one arm around you—
The ship hits an unexpected rough pocket and it jolts. It's small, nothing he would even wake up for, but you're not used to flying. Your knees give out and you fall back, right into his chest.
His arms circle your waist and you let out a squeak of surprise. Then your hands cover his. Instead of pulling them off your body, you tug them tighter and squirm a little in his lap, as if you're trying to get your bearings and stand, but it's taking just a little too long.
Din murmurs your name and you still.
"Cyar'ika, I'm a patient man. But you're testing me, and I think you enjoy it."
He can't see your face, only your back and shoulders, which tense at his words. There's a long pause as if you're trying to decide your next move and he holds his breath, hoping he didn't read things wrong.
Then, your shoulders drop.
Your fingers loosen around his hands but still remain in place, holding them to your stomach. When you tilt your face to the side and look at him over your shoulder, you give him a sly grin.
"Am I that transparent?"
He doesn't respond right away, but his cock does. It swells underneath you and a soft noise that has him forgetting how to breathe slips past your lips.
"Din—"
He shakes your hands off his so he can pull frantically at his gloves, one at a time. They drop to the floor, then his hands are back on you again. Your eyes flutter shut and you tip your chin up when you feel him — really feel him — for the first time as he explores the skin under your borrowed tunic. It has been so long since he's felt the warmth of another that it makes him weak. Under his helmet, his jaw drops open in wonder. You're breathing heavy, he can feel it, and it's making his vision blur.
He cups your left breast and you whimper before leaning into his hold. Stars, you're so soft and warm and perfect that he never wants to stop touching you.
Your body sags against his chest when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back presses against his beskar and your head falls backward onto his shoulder with a loud thud. You wince and try to hide it, but he sees it.
"Sit up," he orders. He releases your breast and you whine but you do as you're told and lean forward so he can remove the metal that covers his upper body.
He eases you down so your back rests on his chest once again. Now, the only metal you have to contend with is his helmet and the plates on his thighs. When the back of your head comes to rest on his shoulder, you instantly twist so you can bury your face into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply, like you're committing his scent to memory, before fumbling for his hand and guiding it down, past your waistline. His fingers dip underneath your pants and he bites back a groan. The fabric is oversized and loose, making it easy for him to find exactly what he's looking for.
"D-Din," you stammer when the pads of his fingers slide through your slit. Your head rolls and your lips part when you lift your hips off his lap, chasing his gentle touch.
You must hear how fast he's breathing. Even though the modulator muffles it, it's so loud it's impossible you don't notice.
"Maker, you're soft. So soft and wet," he murmurs. You preen a little in his lap, hips rolling so his two thick fingers slip through your cunt, spreading your folds and slick with each pass.
When he sinks both fingers past your entrance, your hand flies back, slapping loudly against the side of his helmet.
"Oh!" you cry out, fingers clutching uselessly at the metal. Your back arches off his chest with a wet gasp when he pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then he's shushing you. His distorted voice is trying to quiet you down but, as it turns out, you both want each other so badly that it's an impossible task, even for a Mandalorian.
"Do you know how long I've thought about this?" he asks, watching the way your eyes pinch shut and your jaw trembles each time his fingers drag in and out of you. Your backside writhes in his lap and he has to use his other hand to keep you still, wrapping it around your waist from behind and pressing his palm flat against your stomach.
"No," you shudder. You're coming apart so easily for him, heat blooming in your chest and cheeks the faster his hand moves down your pants — his pants. He's so hard, his stomach hurts.
"Years," he grits. "Each time I left, I dreamt of taking you with me. Dreamt of your perfect mouth, your beautiful eyes, your smile, your laugh—" He curses under his breath when you clench tightly around his fingers. He can't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock, squeezing him so tight and milking him for every last drop of his release.
"You came b-back for m-me," you stammer breathlessly. "Y-you — oh, f-fuck, Din—"
A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead. You're grinding down on his hand, back bowed and nails digging ruthlessly into his covered arm. You look so sweet, coming apart on his hand, moaning his name, that he wants nothing more than to kiss you, to taste you.
But, he can't.
So, he settles for driving you wild, for curling his fingers deep inside you, grunting in your ear, rubbing his palm against your clit until your lungs are empty and your entire body is pulled tight.
"Pl-please," you beg, "oh, please. Pleaseplea— I'm g-gonna come," you whine. You gasp hotly against his helmet, holding him so close with a hand still clutching at the back of his head that his visor fogs up.
"Come for me," he tells you shakily, even through the modulator. "Come for me and then I'll fuck this sweet little pussy, just the way I've always wanted."
That tips you over the edge. You moan his name so loudly that it echoes in the small room. You thrash your head around on his shoulder, body convulsing in his lap as he pulls every ounce of pleasure he can, and then your teeth find a small patch of exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt, below his ear. He swears when your teeth pinch him and his grip on you tightens, holding you steady until your orgasm slows and you relax in his arms.
He doesn't give you much time to recover. He can't. He's so pent up, it's making him dizzy. Sliding you off his lap, Din reaches down and pulls on his pants, lifting his hips and tugging the fabric down just enough to free his cock. You're still in a daze, slumped against his shoulder, chest heaving. When he tugs you back in place, leaning against his chest and sitting in his lap, he loosens your slacks, letting them pool to the floor.
In his crazed, lust-filled stupor, he manages to realize something through the fog. The position you're in — with your back pressed against his front — maybe...
His hand fumbles around until he finds the button he's looking for and he smacks it, probably louder than is necessary. You jump in his arms when the cabin goes black, the only lights filling the space are from some switches on the console, too dim to create a reflection. But, if you turn your head—
"Keep your eyes closed."
You open your mouth to ask the question, then clamp it shut and quickly obey. He regards you for a moment, just a moment. He trusts you. You wouldn't look.
A hand comes up to unclasp his helmet and it falls to the floor with a loud thud. You jump again but keep your eyes closed.
He says your name, voice clear to your ears for the very first time. You shudder in his arms and your brows pull together, like a blanket of warmth just passed over you. He smiles to himself, then his hand drops to grip his leaking cock. He presses the thick tip between your thighs and you twitch before spreading your legs as far as you can manage.
He can't wait any longer — his hips flex and you moan in unison as he slides inside your warm, perfect cunt. The way you clench around him, the noises you murmur in his ear — it all adds to the heat building at the base of his spine since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"M-Maker—" he groans, "you feel so good."
Then you start to roll your hips, tight pussy gripping and fluttering around his length as you try to fuck yourself in his lap. Your legs drape over his thighs, feet dangling near his ankles, unable to graze the hard metal floor for support, yet you still try to work faster, just so desperate for him.
His hands grip your hips, helping you move. Your eyes are still squeezed shut but your mouth is open, gasping for air every time he pushes back inside to grind against a spot that makes you whine through your teeth.
"I've wanted you so badly, it hurts," you confess shamelessly. Something about not being able to see him makes you feel bold. "I would follow you anywhere, Din Djarin."
He groans and nips at your earlobe. You feel his chest rumble against your back and you smile. Your hand falls to where you're connected and your fingers spread, gasping when you touch him. He's thick and hard and soaked with your arousal.
"I always knew you must have had a nice cock," you whisper, still feeling emboldened with your eyes closed. "No one carries themselves the way you do without having the goods to back it up."
You cry out when his hips snap roughly against your ass, and your entire body is practically bouncing in his lap. If it weren't for his ironclad grip around your middle, you're sure you'd have fallen out of the chair.
"Keep — talking," he grunts. His wet tongue slides slowly up your neck before his lips pucker and he begins to suck a mark that will take days to disappear.
"I— I —" you stammer. He's fucking you so fast now, it's hard to think, let alone form a sentence. "I used to — to think about you — oh, f-fuck, right there—"
"Think about me?" he repeats, ignoring everything else.
"Yes," you hiss, then your hand reaches back to slide through his hair — it's thick and a little curly and you commit the feeling to memory before it's taken from you.
"I would think about you — wh-when I... when I would touch myself."
Your stomach muscles begin to bear down and your thighs go rigid. You're so fucking close, you can taste it.
"Yeah? You thought about me when you made yourself come? Thought about my cock in this tight pussy, just like this?"
His deep voice in your ear makes you shudder.
You nod with your mouth hanging wide open.
"Oh fuck," you whimper when the tip of his cock finds a sensitive spot deep inside. You writhe and roll your hips, eager to find the angle again, but Din knows. He knows what you need and he wants to be the one to give it to you, so his hands still your movements and he rocks upward. You're both breathless and sweaty, but it doesn't matter because he's there — he's right fucking there, right at the spot where you need him the most.
Your mouth creates a combination of noises and melted words. There's no sense to be made when he's fucking you like this. You push back, deepening the angle. You both moan so loudly, it echos, but you barely register it.
His fingers fall to your clit and he starts to swirl messy circles over the throbbing bud. Three, maybe four passes. That's all it takes.
You throw your head back violently, his name ripping from your throat as you cunt clenches around him, pulsing and squeezing. Your stomach flutters, the released tension rippling across your muscles.
He doesn't stop. His fingers move frantically and he fucks you through it until your body sags and you whimper when swatting weakly at his hand.
"That's it, that's my g-girl," he groans, abandoning your clit. He wraps his arm around you instead, keeping you upright so he can thrust into you as hard as he can. You moan and bite at his neck, his ear, his cheek... any part of him that's normally hidden by his helmet. You feel the stubble under your lips and you lick his skin, reveling in the sharp prickle across your tongue.
"Come inside me," you whisper. He makes a choked sound and shakes his head.
"Can't."
"Please?"
His movements grow erratic. He's losing rhythm.
"No, it's — too risky."
"Would that be so bad? Don't y— don't you wonder what it would — be like?"
You're babbling. You sound insane. You don't care.
"Please stop," he begs, then his teeth sink into your shoulder and he pulls out of you roughly, just in time to shoot hot cum all over your inner thighs. He's groaning your name into your skin and he's panting so heavily, you fear he may pass out.
"I'm not —"
Din swallows and then he drags in a deep breath. With your eyes still closed, you start blindly peppering kisses across his cheek.
"I know," you mumble, "I'm sorry."
Suddenly, his fingers pinch your chin and he tilts your head so his lips press firmly against your own. Your heart stops when you first feel what it's like to kiss him — never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would know what his lips felt like. The trust he must have for you makes you weak and you melt, getting lost in the taste of him when his tongue slides into your mouth.
"I wasn't going to give you my child without kissing you first," he murmurs when he pulls back, but he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours and he sighs when your hand lifts to get lost in his messy hair.
"Really?" you whisper in disbelief, but you're smiling like a fool.
"Is that something you really want? With me?" he asks. You don't need to see his face, you can hear the doubt — the shock — that you would pick him out of anyone in the galaxy.
You nod and peck a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired of waiting," you tell him. "We almost lost our chance... I don't want to waste another second with you."
He laughs and you grin when his soft exhale fans across your face.
"I will gladly devote my life to you, if you'll have me," he says.
And yes, it feels fast. But what's the point in waiting when everything you want is right in front of you? You very easily could have died, but you were given a second chance.
Summary: After recovering from a nasty infection, reader is in need of a bit of comfort and reassurance from Jesse and his brothers after realising that she said some things to Kix.
Characters: Jesse, Kix, Fives, Dogma, Tup
Pairing: Jesse x F!Reader and platonic Kix & F!Reader
Word Count: 1,740
Warnings: reader is still a bit delirious from very strong painkillers and antibiotics
Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from, but I hope you enjoy it :)
"Why is your cyare on the floor?" Fives asked, as he, Tup and Dogma walked into the cubicle that you were currently in. They found you sprawled on the floor, face buried into your arms as you let out muffled curses.
Jesse sighed, shaking his head from where he was sitting next to you on the floor, tapping your back and muttering soothing nonsense to you. "She's in crisis mode at the moment. She's not listening to me" Jesse explained, returning to rub your back. The ARC trooper plucked the pillow from the bed and gently lifted your head so he could slide it under you. Another sob escaped you at his careful and considerate touch.
"Why? What happened?" Tup frowned, brow furrowed at your behaviour and why you were on the floor. Surely you should be in the bed. You were still recovering from a nasty infection that you had picked up last time you were on planet.
"Is it the infection? Has it returned?" Dogma wondered, taking a slight step back into Fives as you let out a dry sob, burying your face into Jesse's stomach and wrapping your arms around his waist.
"Its okay, babe, you're okay. Everything is going to be alright" he soothed, brushing his hands through your hair and kissing your head. Looking up at his brothers, he gave a wry shrug. "She woke up and realised what happened with Kix. She was-" Jesse started to explain to his confused brothers but you interrupted.
"So rude to him. I called him a kriffing idiot and that doctors know nothing and attacked him" you sobbed, upset that you had done that to Kix. He was Jesse's best friend and he had only been trying to help you, instead you had attacked him and had shouted at him. He was one of the kindest and most compassionate men you knew and you had been horrible to him.
The troopers eyes raised, shocked at your admission. Normally you were very sweet, barely raised your voice unless provoked and certainly not someone who would attack anyone. This behaviour didn't seem like you at all.
"Babe, it's fine. Kix wasn't even angry. It was the infection making you react like that, remember?" Jesse reassured, holding you tight to him and letting you sob into his blacks. He pressed small kisses to the crown of your head, trying to calm you down.
"Yeah that's nothing!" Fives agreed, taking a seat on your bed.
"He's heard worse from us!" Tup nodded, kneeling beside you and resting a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"Heard worse from you lot. I for one, don't want to ever upset the medics. They're all terrifying" Dogma corrected, crossing his arms across his chest and shooting a pointed look at Jesse and Fives. The both of them were known to avoid Kix whenever there was mandatory check-ups, resulting in many a scene of Kix dragging one or both of them towards the med bay.
"I DIDN’T MEAN TO!" you sobbed loudly, imagining how scary Kix would be now that you had upset him. He would hate you forever and he would never treat you again.
"Whoa! They must have her on some strong meds!" Fives whistled lowly, eyes wide at your outburst.
Jesse gave a hum of confirmation, wiping away your tears. This emotional outburst would pass, but you had been on very strong painkillers and antibiotics, and they were taking a toll on your exhausted body. He shushed your cries, cupping your face and rubbing away your furrowed brow and pout.
"What is going on here? Why is my patient lying on the floor?” Kix demanded, pushing back the curtain as he had heard the disturbance from across the medbay. “Fives get off the bed!" Kix reprimanded, scowling at the ARC trooper for dirtying the bed. Fives quickly jumped off the bed as the rest of his brothers quickly began to move out of Kix's way.
You scrambled to hold onto Jesse tighter, burying your face into his neck and wrapping yourself around him. His grip shifted so he could hold you against him firmly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
"We didn't do anything!" Dogma insisted, backing up to let Kix into the small cubicle and towards you.
"Yeah, we found her like this!" Tup added, accepting the helping hand off Fives to pull himself up off the hard floor.
"When I left she was in bed, asleep" the head medic retorted, laying a hand on your trembling form. "Hey vod'ika, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" He asked, voice dropping into his soothing and gentle voice.
"'M sorry" you mumbled into Jesse's neck, hoping he heard you.
"Seems like it was you who has upset her, vod. Here I thought your oath was to help, not to do more harm" Fives grinned, leaning against a trolley full of supplies. It rolled across the floor and Fives just managed to keep himself upright with all the grace of a sedated nexu.
"If you don't get out of my medbay, Fives, you'll see how much harm I can do!" Kix growled, turning to glare at the irritating ARC trooper.
With that threat and the knowledge that Kix would 100% carry through with it, Fives threw him a half-hearted salute. Grabbing onto Tup and Dogma, they beat a hasty retreat with mumbled “goodbyes” and “get better soon”s before they were gone.
"Now those idiots are gone, what are you sorry for, vod'ika?" Kix frowned, looking between you and his vod.
Lips trembling, you shook your head, not wanting to repeat what happened to him. The guilt was bad enough! Surely he already knew why you felt like this.
"She thinks you're upset with her because she thinks she was very rude to you" Jesse smiled affectionately, stroking his cyare's hair away from her face and landing a peck to the crown of her head.
Kix grinned back, shaking his head before he rested a hand on your shoulder once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that! I've had more harsh words than that thrown at me by my brothers! You should have heard what we were called in training" Kix chuckled, sharing a wry look with Jesse.
"But I attacked you! I called you a kriffing idiot and said you knew nothing! I was horrible to you and you were just trying to help" you reminded, voice wobbling as tears continues to fall down your face.
"Okay, let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable and then we can chat. Okay, vod'ika?" Kix instructed, glancing at Jesse who nodded, ready to get you back onto the bed.
Muffling a quiet consent, Jesse lifted you up into his arms, keeping one arm wrapped underneath your ass and the other gripping onto Kix's to help him up. Once you were vertical, Jesse carried you over to the bed, settling you down onto it before sitting next to you. He wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders, allowing you to bury into his chest to hide away from everything.
"Good, that's a lot better" Kix approved, beginning to get a scanner out so he could check your vitals. "I take it you woke up a bit confused and upset" Kix stated, giving you a soft smile as you nodded.
He hummed, recording your temperature and elevated heart rate. It was already starting to drop now that you had calmed a little.
"I can't believe I did that to you Kix. You're one of my best friends and Jesse loves you so much and I'm sorry. I never should have said those awful things to you" you apologised, your rambling thoughts spilling out of you.
"If you want to be forgiven then that's fine, you're forgiven. But you did nothing wrong" Kix insisted, taking your hands in his and stopping the tirade of words falling from your lips.
You looked up at him with red, watering eyes and puffy skin. He looked sincere and not even a little bit angry or upset.
"You were fighting a really bad infection, verd'ika. Your body was in defence mode and you were doing stuff you normally would never do. I know it wasn't you, you were really ill. It wasn't your fault at all, I had forgotten about it as soon as it happened" Kix assured, squeezing your hand. His voice was gentle but firm, not allowing you to argue with him.
Nodding, you felt your chest ease up, breathing becoming a little easier now that you knew that Kix wasn’t angry at you. Leaning tiredly against Jesse, you sighed heavily, finally feeling the medication that you were on catching up to you.
"And as for attacking me" Kix grinned playfully, "it was like a 2 year old flinging themselves around. I've had worse play fights with my brothers."
You gasped, surprised at how apparently he had thought you attacking him was about as strong as a toddler jumping on him. Screw him! You could fight if you had to!
Jesse laughed, giving you a squeeze as he hit at Kix's shoulder. "Told you cyare! Kix could never be upset with his favourite vod'ika" Jesse assured, pulling away to see your surprised face.
"I am upset that you let her lie on the floor after a serious infection, vod! She needed her rest, she could have had a breakdown on the bed, not the floor!" Kix rebuked Jesse, turning to the ARC and sending him a scathing look.
"Its comfortable on the floor" you murmured, heat rising to your cheeks at that. Poor Jesse had been beside himself when he found you on the floor, crying and half out of your mind. He had tried to guide you onto the bed, but you had been more comfortable on the floor. So you had to try and defend him against the CMO.
"Oh, I might as well treat all my patients on the floor then. But I understand it can be good to help resettle your natural rhythms. You, however," he retorted, pointing a warning finger at his vod. "Should have known better!"
Jesse huffed, crossing his arms as Kix returned to give you some more painkillers and antibiotics. "Oh great, now I'm in trouble with Kix" he grumbled, pouting at you.
It was all you could do to muffle your laugh as Kix flicked his brother's nose.
Summary : Your boyfriend of two years gets a secret admirer and even though you have no reason to worry, you do anyway...
Pairings : Arc trooper Jesse x Fem!reader
Warnings : angst, self doubt, negative self talk, unwanted advances, unconscented kissing, fluff, happy ending
Words : 1.8k
masterlist here
Beside you Kix was typing away on his data pad trying not to laugh at your angry mumbling, “You good?”
“Just great.” you sigh.
He gets up with a grin and walks over to you leaning against your desk, “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing because you’ve been angry mumbling all morning. Not to mention Jesse’s been walking around like a baby Tooka with no mother. Is this about the secret admirer?”
“N-No... yes...” you sigh looking down defeated.
The secret admirer had started out with a simple love letter, there was no signature so Jesse didn’t know who it was from, but he knew it wasn’t from you, so he threw it out. Then more letters started showing up, on his bunk, in his helmet, at his usual spot during his lunch break and he just continued to throw them out. He told you about them and promised that he would figure out who was sending them and put a stop to it. You weren’t worried or threatened, you trusted Jesse completely, and you thought it was kind of cute that someone else was seeing what you’ve seen since day one.
You and Jesse have been together for two years, almost since the start of the war. You've seen him go from trooper to arc trooper to Lieutenant and you’ve never been prouder to have him as your partner. He is the sweetest, most attentive, kind and caring man you’ve ever met, and you couldn’t picture your life with anyone else. The thing is, you’ve always felt deep in your soul that he could do better, that you weren’t what he truly wanted, and even though he has shown you time and time again that you are the love of his life, that doubt has always been there. When those letters first started showing up you were okay, because Jesse assured you that he had no idea who it was and no intention of showing interest, but then the gifts started coming and it became harder to ignore.
A basket of baked goods sitting neatly on his bunk, he gave them to Fives. Then there was a bouquet of flowers that he gave to Commander Tano and said it was from all the boys in the 501, and then the new Kama. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes lit up a little seeing the gift, but he gave it away just like the rest, and you should have felt fine but that little flicker of light in his eyes made you doubt yourself... and him.
You started to spiral in your self doubt thinking maybe that whoever this was, deserved him more then you did? Maybe you’ve been holding him back all this time? Maybe he’s only with you because he’s never been with anyone else?... and in your spiraling, you pulled back from him. You ignored him comms, left the room when he entered, wouldn’t speak to him- no. You couldn’t speak to him because how do you tell him you don’t want to hold him back? How do you tell him to let you go?
Kix watched you internally debate with yourself to the point where the tears started to flow and he panicked, “Woah! Hey! It's alright. Here...”
He crouches down beside you and hands you a tissue, putting a hand on your shoulder, “Y/n you know he would never do anything with anyone else.”
“I know...” you sob as you rub your eyes, your lips pouting, “but maybe he should!”
“What are you talking about?” he asks you confused.
“I... have always thought that... I wasn’t good enough for him. Then the admirer came, and I realized that he’s never been with anyone else but me and I... Am I holding him back Kix?”
He sighs and hands you another tissue, “Never. You could never hold him back and you are damn near perfect, and he is one lucky di’kut. Don't talk down about yourself, you're making the both of you suffer and for what?”
You just sigh and look down not being able to face Kix’s gaze. “Alright I’m sending you home for the rest of the day.”
“What? We have a bunch of reports to finish today and I-”
“Correction. I have a bunch of reports to do today, and you are going home to rest and figure yourself out. Talk. To. Jesse. Or I'll keep you home on sick leave till you do.” he interrupts grabbing your bag and putting it in your lap.
“O-Okay...”
...
You slowly make your way through the GAR towards the 501 barracks hoping to catch Jesse on your way home and get the inevitable talk out of the way, but you weren’t expecting what you walked into. Jesse stood back against the wall outside of the barracks with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in front of him. She was tall and thin, her long red hair draped around her shoulders, and she wore a communications officer uniform. She was looking up at him smiling brightly, her eyes sparkling, like he was her whole world. You got close enough to them to hear without being noticed.
“I appreciate all the trouble that you’ve gone through but as I said I am happily with someone, and all of your gifts and letters need to stop.”
She looks down, “I’m sorry I just... had to tell you how I felt and give myself a shot.”
He sighs, “like I said I appreciate the sentiment, but I am taken. In love with someone else and all your doing is straining my relationship.”
She looks up then with a dark smirk that made your shiver, “so you’re saying that my advances are threatening her?” she steps closer to him trapping him against the wall and leans so close that she’s hovering over his lips, “maybe she has a reason to feel threatened...”
And with that she leans the rest of the way and kisses him. He freezes for a moment and then immediately pushes her off, “Are you crazy? Leave me alone and don’t send or do anything else. Kriffin hell!”
You stand there frozen, like your world broke in two. You see him push her away and fight for you so why do you feel like this? Is it because she’s beautiful? Because she didn’t say anything untrue? Are you really holding him back? A wave of nausea hits the back of your throat, and you drop your bag and run away.
“Cyare?!”
You run down the hallway, past the med bay, and out the building.
“Cyare come back! It wasn’t what it looked like!”
You run and run and run.
...
You ran all the way back to your apartment only to realize that you dropped your bag in the hallway back at the GAR. Your keycard, your comm device, everything was in your bag, and you were not going back to get it. So, you sat on a bench outside of your building, people giving you weird looks as they walked by to you sobbing on the bench.
Jesse stops a few feet away from you with your bag over his shoulder and looks at you with an ache in his chest. Your shoes were kicked off in front of you, your uniform was all wet with tears, you had your hair pulled up into a ponytail with a cute blue ribbon and the necklace that Jesse made you for your first anniversary still hung around your neck. You were the most beautiful, kind, wonderful, selfless woman he’s ever met, and he can’t even begin to fathom the pain in his chest from knowing he made you cry like this.
“Cyare?”
You jump and turn the other way trying to cover your tears, but Jesse walks over and crouches down in front of you, “I’m so sorry my love, but I promise it’s not what it looked like.”
You rub your nose on your sleeve, your lips pouting, “I know. I heard everything.”
“Then what’s the matter love?” he asks putting his hands on your thighs gently.
You close your eyes, “I think we should break-”
“No,” he cuts you off, “No we shouldn’t! What’s going on? You've been ignoring me for the last week and now you're trying to break up with me?”
You take a deep breath as more tears flow from your eyes, “I... am not good enough for you.”
He goes to speak but you cut him off, “I have felt this way for so long and... when the secret admirer happened, I realized that now others were seeing what I’ve always seen and there trying to get your attention. Beautiful people, people so much better, stronger, smarter, more than I ever could be. I know you love me Jesse and I will always love you, but I don’t want to hold you back from something better...”
“Cyare. There is no one better, no one stronger or smarter and definitely not more beautiful than you. You could never hold me back because you gave me a dream that I fight for every day. You are my dream. You and me together, living the life we always talked about. It could never be anyone else but you.” He leans forward and cups your cheeks wiping away the tears and sighs, “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, if I was a better boyfriend then you would never have doubted yourself in the first place.”
You shake your head and stroke his cheek, “I’m the one who's sorry. It's not your fault...”
“No, it is my fault... Maybe I shouldn’t be your boyfriend,” he says slowly pulling a small box out of his pouch, “Maybe I should be your husband instead?"
You are completely frozen as you stare at Jesse on one knee in front of you holding the small box open with the most perfect ring you’ve ever seen. It was a simple band and instead of a diamond there was a small blue flower incased in a hard coating, it was beautiful.
“W-What?” you stammer not completely understanding what is happening at this moment in time, “Where did you...”
He smiles at you, his cheeks red, “Well uh... I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now, but it took some time to make the ring... Commander Tano and General Skywalker showed me how to take a flower and coat it in this stuff that hardens it... and I used a grenade pin to make the band. Kix, Fives and I heated it up to shrink it down to your size and-”
“Ask me again.” you whisper.
“What?”
Fresh tears fall down your face as you smile at him, “Ask me again.”
He smiles back and with shaky hands holds the box up, “Will you marry me cyare?”
“Yes!” you say as you throw your arms around him knocking both him and you to the ground. He's laughing as you smother his face in kisses and he sits up gently putting the ring on your finger.
“Were getting married?”
He laughs and pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss, “Were getting married.”
