~ @djarrex - Tumblr Blog

Dec 12, 2025

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 9.9k. ao3

festivals and photobooths and kisses and fishmongers and goodbyes

It is dead silent between the two. Anakin, sans bravado, can barely make eye contact with the two things that demand his attention: Rex, and his report. Rex holds his helmet to his side, watching the data pad. The two stand in an office, one that the generals use to discuss battleplans with their commanders. Most have commanders. Anakin wouldn’t trade his captain for anything else.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Anakin says.

“You didn’t know.”

Anakin’s grip, metal and nearly creaking from anger, tightens on the pad. For a moment, the screen glitches.

“I should have.”

Rex swallows. He clears his throat.

“It’s in the past now.”

Anakin shakes his head.

“You couldn’t have turned down a request from the Chancellor, sir. And, me and the boys did alright.” Though, Rex’s normal confidence that mirrors his general’s bravado is missing. Does he regret his decisions? Not all of them. He stands firm, mostly. His horror lies with himself— lies with his intuition and his beliefs, lies wherever those two pillars breed his actions.

“If I had known, and I should have known, this could all have been avoided.” Anakin rubs a hand over his face. He’d heard a bit from Obi Wan, about the heart of darkness both of their men descended into on Umbara, but the report in his hand feels worse. He knows the men. And the men he doesn’t know, Rex knows. Knows well.

Reports are supposed to be clinical. And by all means this report is, but there’s rhetoric laced between the clinicality that conveys the destruction. The betrayal. The sadness and attachment that are supposed to be bred out.

“You’re a Jedi, sir, not a fortune teller.”

Anakin’s jaw clenches, twitching from the pressure. Hasn’t he been before? Isn’t that supposed to be a benefit— the occasional scry? He takes a deep breath, then relaxes slightly. He supposes he appreciates his men more than he loves them.

“You and the boys need a night off. Take some ships to Coruscant,” Anakin pauses. Remembers where he, selfishly, always wants to go. Warmth. Curls. Sandalwood. “You don’t want to go to Coruscant, I bet.”

Rex isn’t sure what he wants. He’s done so much thinking for himself the past few days that he dreads making his next decision. He’s able to pick up what his general is insinuating, but he’s not sure he needs you seeing him in this state: shaken up. Battered, mentally. Physically.

“I need to take Ahsoka to do some more training, so why don’t you go to Naboo?” Anakin suggests.

“Don’t we need to go to Mapuzo?” Rex asks. Just throw him back to the fire, he’s done as much processing as he can bear.

“Yeah…” Anakin trails off. “Yeah, we do. You could meet us there.”

“I should be with my men.” Just as General Skywalker should have been with them. But he’s not the same, is he? No…

“Sometimes… Sometimes there are more important things than war,” Anakin says.

Both men hold each other's eyes for moments too long. They’re both prideful, though it’s worn down in the privacy of this little, impersonal office.

If Rex stays any longer, they’ll both crack.

“Understood, sir,” he says, taking his datapad back. “I’ll be back in a rotation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Anakin’s not looking at him.

The doors slide shut behind Rex. He stands in the cold grey of the ship, looking down at his helmet and his boots.

Boots on the ground, always.

Rex lands in Naboo around midday. Clouds scatter in the sky, disrupting the normally endless sprawl of blue with milky white, not unlike the threads of hot candy. He collects himself from the cockpit, and heads out onto the town.

It feels odd to be walking the streets in his armor, helmet by his side. The sun feels good against his face, the salt from the sea tapping against his skin. Normally, he’s stripped down to his blacks, yearning for some semblance of commoner. The streets are lined with decoration and vendor stalls are being set up. Said vendors glance his way, gazes lingering, before they return to his work. Rex stretches his mind to try and remember what event is occurring today, but comes up blank.

The gate to the courtyard is open. It’s empty, but the fountain in the center is full and water slowly cascades down the sides. Birds flock about, interested in the running water. They dip their bodies towards the stone, drinking water or lightly wetting their heads in the coolness.

They’re so beautiful, Rex stops and watches them. As their wings spread out, as their chirping sounds like gleeful laughter.

Rex climbs the stairs. There’s a package on your doorstep. He gives a polite three raps to the wood.

There’s a few moments before you open the door. Where he stands there, just him, the sunlight, the birds chirping, and his armor. Despite being fully covered, he feels naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Human.

As the door opens, your eyes widen in surprise at seeing Rex on the other side of the frame, on the other side of the frame in full armor— fresh from the pits of hell he never speaks of.

“Rex? What are you doing here?” You ask. You’re not sure if you feel the blood pounding through your body, not sure if you register your heart rate, not as shock courses through your nervous system.

“I, uh, I was given leave,” Rex says. “Just for a little bit.”

“And you came to see me?” You ask, almost in disbelief. It was like that? You were worth visiting? Precious time off and—

Rex nods, as if he knows you so well he can read the disbelief as it dusts across your face. “If you’ll have me.”

Smiling, you get over yourself, and give into the excitement bubbling within you. Your hand leaves the door handle to instead wrap around his neck, pulling him into a hug. His arms don’t have enough time to wrap around your waist before you’re pulling away.

“I’ll always have you,” you say with a smile, patting his cheek. “Come in.”

You lean down to pick up the package and let Rex walk in after you.

It’s just as he remembers, only it's far tidier. It smells good too, like a home cooked meal that makes Rex’s stomach rumble. Makes saliva fill his mouth.

Glancing over your shoulder, you smile at him. You look beautiful– hair in rollers, still in your pyjamas. A soft, cotton matching set. Slippers on your feet.

“Do you need some help with your armor?” You ask him.

“This? Oh, nah. Nah, I’m good.” Rex declines your offer because he’s sure it’ll take longer if you’re helping. And right now the last thing he wants to do is be in your presence in his armor.

“You sure?” You ask, leading him back to your bedroom. It’s spick and span– there are no lingering dishes, no clothes on the floor. It makes him wonder, for a second, that you were expecting company more than just your friends.

Taking a seat on your bed, you gesture to the chair in the corner of your room, the one normally filled with clothes. Listen to him. Normally. He can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. Unless one was to factor in the daydreams, then it was more than reasonable to call his return normal.

“You can put it there.”

Rex glances over at said chair, then situates himself closer. The chair looks quite plush and soft, round and wicker. Rex thinks he could get used to sitting in said chair, maybe while you got ready. The sound of his gauntlet clicking apart snaps him from that thought. His thoughts are so dangerous, nowadays.

As he removes the armor, your eyes remain on him– a little lidded. There’s a natural eyeshadow to your lids that Rex has never truly noticed before.

“Are you here for the festival?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“The festival?” Rex drops his rembrance onto the chair.

You hum. “Of Light. It’s tonight.”

Rex wonders if Anakin knew of this. He, however, did not. So he shakes his head. “Is it?”

This must be one of the pleasures of humanity, since it’s escaped Rex’s scope of knowledge.

“I had no idea. Am I intruding?” Rex glances over at you, to check that your words don’t disagree with any of your body language.

“Absolutely not.” The festival is for lovers. In a sense. And you and Rex are lovers. In a sense.

As Rex removes the rest of his armor, you open your dresser, pulling a stack of clothes from the depths. It’s a blue button up and linen trousers. You present the articles to Rex with a sense of nervousness.

“These… I got for you in case you returned,” you say softly.

Standing in his blacks, Rex crosses the room to accept the gift. He's slow at first, as if you might take the items back upon further thought.

Once they’re in his hands, he looks up from them to meet your gaze.

“I guessed on your measurements,” you say, quick with nerves. “So if they don’t fit…”

“Tired of my blacks?” Rex asks, already pulling off his shirt.

“Is that what they’re called?”

Rex nods as he changes. His dog tags swing as he does up the pants. “Yeah.”

You smile softly. “Will you be mad if I say maybe a little bit?”

Chuckling, Rex shakes his head. “No.”

“I just thought you might like something a little more… Fitting to the area,” you explain, heading into your closet. You come back with a belt, handing it over.

Rex takes the leather in his hands. The material is already worn, and it feels more significant than just a belt you’ve picked up at a second hand store. He carefully does it up, under your watchful gaze.

“Do you like it?” You ask.

Rex nods. He moves towards your mirror, an old, floor length, vintage beast. He never gravitates towards such devices, but now… he looks himself over. Barefoot on a rug. In loose-fitting linens.

“I think they might be too big,” Rex admits.

You shake your head, coming up behind him to fix his collar, to undo one of the buttons so there are three undone. Scarring, just the tip of it, is visible on his chest. “It’s the style. You look good. Do you feel good?”

Rex swallows, uncomfortably thick. “Yeah. Feel good.” Feel human. It’s strange, how this could be his normal life. For a moment he can see it, but it’s quickly shattered by the fact that the only him in the room is his armor, stacked neatly in the corner of your room with nowhere to actually go. No box to put it in and store it away, out of sight.

“I’m hosting my friends this evening for dinner,” you say. “And then we’re going to go out and celebrate. Do you want something to eat right now?”

Yes. Rex ends up with a plate of cheese, bread, fruit and cured meats which he eats perched upon your bed as you finish getting ready. You’re perched at a little vanity he’s never given much thought to, applying product to your face.

“What do you do to celebrate?” Rex asks, stacking cheese on bread.

You glance over. He looks so at home, leaned up against your pillows, legs extended but crossed at the shin, plate on his lap. Just like how you sit when you’re watching documentaries on your ‘pad.

“My friends’ll come over and we’ll have a drink and enjoy a little snack,” you say, “But we won’t eat too much, since there will be tons of vendors and we’ll just kind of… snack our way through. People will be selling things, which will be fun. So we’ll just eat and shop and enjoy each other’s company. But if it feels like it’s too much, we can leave.”

Rex shakes his head, and speaks with a berry to his lips. “I can handle a little crowd on the street.”

“Right,” you say with a smile, turning back towards your work. “I don’t know, my friends can be a lot. Especially since you don’t get a chance to be around pretty women often.”

“Only one pretty woman I’m worrying about.”

Your grin wider, biting your bottom like to try and contain a giggle, though a girlish flutter erupts throughout your chest.

“Yeah?”

Rex nods, but you aren’t looking at him, running brown pencil along the watering bits of your lashes. It’s with rapt attention as he watches you apply shimmers to your lids, along with browns. Watches as you put on a beaded dress of white and blue. As the rollers come out of your hair.

“You look real pretty,” Rex comments, out of reflex. He couldn’t have stopped the comment if he tried.

Giggling, you look over from your vanity mirror. “Yeah?”

Rex nods, humming his assent. He sets the now-empty plate on your nightstand, swinging his legs over to sit up. “Yeah. Really pretty. Beautiful.”

The giggles die down, but your smile doesn’t dim. “Okay, handsome. Whatever you say.”

And this compliment feels directed just to him. Rex smiles. “Whatever I say?”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” You flip your hair over, dousing the bouncing curls in hairspray. You flip your head back, scrunching the curls in your mirror, bent over at the hip to fully see yourself. “You’ve got pretty brown eyes. I’m a sucker.”

“Just pretty brown eyes?” Rex asks.

Smiling, you make your way over to stand between his legs. “No.”

“Do I get to know the other reasons?”

Smiling, you shake your head. It’s too cheesy to admit out loud, how he makes you feel like it’s just the two of you no matter where you are. So, you instead settle for a kiss on the lips. There’s no product laid there yet. Rex’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close as your head dips down to press your lips together.

“I’m being for real,” you say, pulling away to cup Rex’s face in your hands. “If it gets to be too much, just let me know. I want you comfortable.”

“I’m just happy to be here,” Rex assures you. His hands come to rest on your hips, rubbing little circles over the bone there. “You don’t know how happy I am to be here.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” you murmur, repeating the old cliche.

“Does it?” If that was true, Rex doesn’t think he could live without being in your presence.

“That’s what they say.” You give a little shrug. “But you know, what do I know?”

“I think you know an awful lot,” Rex hums. “Much more than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that… I think we know a lot about many different things.” You slide a hand down his pec, gently futzing with the collar of his shirt. “You’ve been so many places. All I can do is tell you about art.”

“That’s not true.” Rex's voice rumbles through the quiet of the afternoon. “You could tell me anything and I’d listen.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “You just like learning things.”

“From you.”

“In general.”

“Especially from you.”

With a little roll of your eyes, you take your hands off Rex to gently hike the skirt of your dress up. Before the man can remove his hands from your hips, you settle into his lap, knees pressed into the soft of your duvet and mattress.

“It was nice seeing you on Coruscant,” you say, placing your hands back on him, this time closer to the back of his neck, so you can lightly run your fingers over his shorn hair. “I didn’t expect you while I was working.”

“My general is fond of surprises,” Rex replies.

“Keeps you on your toes?”

With a chuckle, Rex nods. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Are you two close?”

Rex thinks it over. “I guess so. I… We keep a lot of secrets.”

Immediately, your eyebrows raise. “Really?”

“I can’t tell you any,” Rex says quickly.

“None?”

“I’d lose my job.” It sounds like a joke. Rex is pretty sure it’s a joke. He doesn’t think he can lose his job. Can he?

“Maybe when the war is over you can tell me some of them. I’ll tell you some of my secrets.”

He's not quite sure this is a fair trade. But he’ll go along with it.

“I’m more excited to hear your secrets than anything else,” Rex says.

“You like me,” you tease, playful light all over your face.

Rex’s smile is slowly replaced with a serious look that makes you squirm a bit atop of him. When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs noticeably.

“Yeah, I do.”

Oh, that serious look was sincerity. Your smile fades a bit, a little fear flashing in your eyes. It shatters Rex’s heart a bit– he knows that look well. Before he can backtrack to desperately save the little slice of (what he can assume is) normality–

“You do?” Your voice is barely a breath.

Rex nods, though his eyes don’t leave your face as he scours for any semblance of a return of feelings.

Surging forwards, you press your lips to Rex’s with such force that he has to tense his core to keep himself upright. And it’s hard to do, since he’s so distracted by the feeling of your lips against his. There’s kiwi on your lips, in your lip product, and you’re so warm, so–

Pulling back, you join Rex’s search as you look through his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Rex furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I–” Oh, how embarrassing. You swallow thickly. “I just… you really like me?”

Confused, Rex nods. “Sweetheart, I just flew here from the Outer Rim because I had a rough go of it all. Of course I like you. I look forward to spending time with you. I look forward to just enjoying your company.”

With a big shuddering breath, you nod.

“What, do you not like me or something?” Rex asks. There’s a little smile on his face, a little teasing one, but he wants to make sure.

“No, no, I like you, I just…”

“Just what?” Rex murmurs. His hand raises to rub up and down your back.

“Nothing,” you decide on. “Nothing…”

He might like you, but he doesn’t need to know all about your past right now. Not tonight.

“I hope you like my friends,” you say softly. “I hope they like you.”

Rex smiles just as soft as your voice. “If they’re anything like you…”

“Don’t like them that much,” you giggle. Rex’s fingers play with some of the beads on your dress. They jingle as they tap against each other.

“Of course not,” Rex assures you. He’s only got eyes for you, anyways.

Part of you wants to cancel on your friends– Rex is in town and you want to treasure every moment you have together. But the Festival only comes once every few years, when the moons all align at their fullest showing.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Come help me get the snacks ready.”

And it feels so natural, to assemble a charcuterie board with him by your side. He nibbles as you go, helping himself in small quantities. His favorite, where he lingers, is next to the slow cooker where you’ve made little bite-sized meatballs.

“What do they feed you, anyways?” You ask, curious. In your hand, you messily fold prosciutto into little flowers, trying to beat the heat from your hands that threatens to melt the soft meat.

“Nothing good,” Rex says, mouth full. He chews and swallows before he continues, “And I’ve been living off rations. Had one meal on the ship before I came here.”

“And what’s the typical meal?” You ask.

“Slop. Gruel. I think there are supposed to be potatoes. Mystery meat. Some kind of engineered something.”

The face you make is rewarded with a chuckle from Rex.

“But then I get to come and be blown away when I eat with you.”

You huff a bit. “You should have stuck around for breakfast, then.”

“I preferred eating you out,” he says with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, face heating up. “More than a meal?”

Rex nods, continuing to help himself to the meatballs. Admittedly, you aren’t quite sure how many will be left for your friends, but you don’t have the heart to stop him. You pass him a small, bite-sized round of brie, which he takes.

“And anyways, you can always tell when someone’s eating a lot of normal food. Those are the boys that need armor adjustments.”

Raising your eyebrows, you look over from your work. “It’s that noticeable?”

“Something about our metabolism,” he says.

“Well,” you say, adding the finishing fruit touches to the platter, “when the war is over, you can come here and then you won’t have to worry about needing any armor adjustments.”

Rex doesn’t want to make any promises. But it does sound nice. Sounds so nice. This, always. Your fishmonger… Early mornings don’t disturb the trooper. He imagines it must be peaceful on the waters.

“Unless you have something better to do,” you tack on, given his lack of response.

“Nothing better to do,” he apologizes. “Was just thinking about it. I’d like that.”

“I’m sure I can find some space in my closet for you,” you say with a smile. You've been meaning to practice one thing in, one thing out anyways. Gesturing towards the platter, you continue: “Will you carry this into the living room for me?”

“Of course,” Rex says, lifting the tray and following you into the room.

You’re quick to clear a space for it on the coffee table, moving the coffee table books, the cookbook, notebook, and birdwatching guide (this one for Gorman). The pens and highlighters atop the stack roll onto the floor, which Rex scoops up for you after the platter is safely atop wood.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the writing instruments from him and adding them back to the stack, which rests safely on a catch-all table that’s meant to serve as a dining table.

With a brief moment, you assess the set up. There’s enough space for everyone to sit, the charcuterie board looks nice, you have everything you need for the spritzes in the fridge… You take a deep breath and look up at Rex, who was following your gaze.

Slowly, he looks over to you. Blinks once.

“Something on my face?” He asks.

You shake your head with a smile. “No… was just looking.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “I like this look on you.”

A cocky half smile forms across his face. “Yeah? What about it?”

Your face warms again, and you look away from Rex. “All of it.”

You’re miraculously saved from elaborating by the doorbell ringing. Rex reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“Rex, my friends ring out of cour—” Your protest is cut off by his lips against yours.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he says with a somewhat dazed grin on his face.

The door opens, along with a cheerful hello and the shortest version of your name. You gaze up at Rex, a little dazed from the unsuspecting kiss.

Your name is called once more, breaking you away from the eye contact. Clearing your throat, you head towards the foyer, smiling upon seeing the first of your friends. Misha has her large purse with her, which no doubt hides the more spiritual aspects of the evening planned.

“Hi, honey,” you say with a wide smile, wrapping your arms around her. “I don’t want to catch you off guard, but Rex is here.”

“Rex?” Her eyes widen in disbelief. “What’s he doing here?”

There’s no animosity in her voice. Just the breathless support of a good friend. You just grin and shrug. “I don’t know. He just appeared. At my doorstep. In his armor.”

“And I bet you liked that,” Misha says with fondness.

With a giggle, you lead her into the living area. It’d been new, for sure. You’re not quiet sure how you feel about it, about the stark reminder of who he is.

There, in the warm sanctity of your living room, Rex is where you left him, by the dining table and flipping through your birdwatching book. He looks up when the two of you enter again, and for a brief moment, an expression crosses his face that you can’t read. Maybe it’s nerves. It’s probably nerves.

Introductions are passed with ease. Any nervousness that your beau may be feeling are not externally voiced.

“Sit down,” you instruct the two of them, gesturing to your sitting area. “I’ll grab you both some spritzes.”

“I can help,” Rex says immediately, remaining on his feet as Misha takes her spot. She sits upon a pillow on the ground, always eager for floor time. Something about being as close to the soil as possible. Even if you live on the second floor.

“No need,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder while gently guiding him over to your leather couch. “Misha doesn't bite.”

“I’m quite friendly,” Misha agrees. She helps herself to some of the fruit off the charcuterie board. Popping a fleshy, white fruit into mouth, she speaks with her mouth full to you, “I’m going to go ahead and set up.”

Internally, you cringe as you realize you never told Rex about this pre-departure routine for the Festival. “You know where the incense is. I did forget to tell Rex… you can do a much better job at explaining than I can.”

Misha smiles softly at that. Rex watches you as you leave him alone with your friend.

“Tonight, all three of the moons will rise in their fullest power. We’re also rather lucky tonight, since the Haillux will be conjunct with them, and we’ve skipped a low tide.” She pauses, pulling incense and a bundle of dried herbs out of her bag. Looking over at Rex, she cuts her long winded explanation down to a quick summary: “Fortune telling is accurate tonight. I’ll read the girls’ tarot cards. Do you want me to read yours? I won’t charge you.”

“I don’t like to think about my future,” Rex comments.

“Fair enough,” Misha says, lighting the incense just as you return with three drinks in your hands.

“Sounds like fun, right, baby?” You ask Rex, handing out the drinks.

“I can just watch, right?” He asks, accepting the drink with a little thank you.

“Of course.” Both you and Misha speak at the same time.

The doorbell rings again, followed by the door itself opening, so you excuse yourself to go greet your friend at the door. It’s both Jolie and Celeste, who each bear a bottle of wine in their hands. You greet them happily, relaying the exciting news: Rex is here.

“And he didn’t bring any friends, I assume,” Jolie says with an eyeroll.

“Think with your brain instead of your pussy for once,” Celeste says, elbowing her slightly.

“If I was a man—”

She’s cut off as you pointedly make introductions. With them made, you head back to the kitchen to get them drinks.

Jolie sighs in relief upon seeing the charcuterie board. “Thank god, she got cheese.”

“You know, you’re more than welcome to bring your own,” you say, handing off the drinks. You take the seat next to Rex, which has gloriously been left empty for you.

“But you have such good taste,” Jolie coos. “Anyways, Celeste and I were scoping out the vendors, and it looks like some of the perfumers are coming out.”

“And it looks like there will be fire dancers,” Celeste tacks on.

“How exciting,” you hum. The festival has so much to offer, you don’t know how you’re going to fit everything into one night. You should have asked Rex earlier on what he wanted to do, given him a brief overview. The women in the room have amassed themselves in conversation about Celeste’s current beau. Looking over at Rex, you reach over and squeeze his arm to get his attention. Quietly, you ask, “When do you have to leave?”

Rex sighs, softly. Slightly irritated, but not with you. “I don’t think I can spend the night.”

You pout. “You always spend the night.”

“I don’t have as long. There’s unrest—” he cuts himself off. “I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly. When the war ends… but the war ending seems so far off in the distance. It’s fought far off, but the strain is felt, with all the updates on the holonet.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in return. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” he says, reaching for your hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

With the warm scent of incense and herbs in the air, and a few candles lit on the coffee table, Misha sits happily in front of it with her knees tucked under herself. The sunset filters into the room, bathing it in orange light.

“So,” Misha says with excitement, holding her tarot cards in her hand. “Who wants to go first?”

You go last. Everyone but Misha is two drinks in, third in their hands. You slip to sit on the floor while Misha shuffles the tarot cards for the third and final time of the evening. Unless Rex decides that he wants his read. Unlikely.

“I only want you to show me if it’s something good,” you say. “I don’t want any bad news.”

“I can’t control the cards like that,” Misha chides. She turns her attention towards them. “They’re chatty, though.”

One of Rex’s fingers finds its way to a lock of your hair, playing with the softness. As if he could feel your nervousness without saying anything. After all, Misha is never wrong when it comes to the unexplained arts.

When two cards fall out, Misha is quick to scoop them up and reads them to herself. Her eyes light up as soon as she recognizes the cards.

“Oh, [Name],” Misha breathes.

“Is it good?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink.

She nods, then flips the cards to reveal them to you. Both brightly colored, one with a couple standing under a rainbow decorated with ten golden goblets. The other of an angel, pouring water between two of the same golden goblets.

Recognition flashes across your face. Suddenly, it’s a few festivals ago, you’re fresh out of a nasty breakup, and the same cards had been drawn. Then, they’d felt like a slap to the face. Now, they feel like pure, unfiltered hope.

“Are you serious?” You breathe.

She nods, just as excited. Giggling, you glance up at Rex, then back to Misha.

“You think…” you trail off, not wanting to get too excited over nothing.

Misha shrugs. “I’d know better if I could read his cards,” she says.

You look up at Rex. “You can say no.”

“I don’t know what the cards mean,” he admits. “Sounds like good things, though.”

“Very good things,” Misha assures him. She glances over at you: “Want me to tell him?”

“Um…” You turn to look up at Rex again. Nervous, intimate.

“You don’t have to,” Rex assures you.

“No, tell him,” you say, a sudden rush of surety surging within you.

Misha smiles. “In the simplest of terms, they mean that good things are coming to those patient enough to wait for them. [First] got this same reading a while ago… Perhaps those good things are coming now.”

“Maybe good things are in the room with us right now,” Jolie says, mostly into her glass.

“Maybe,” you say with a big grin, looking up at Rex. You rest your arm over his knee. “You should see if you get something similar.”

Rex chuckles, nervous. He’s been all over the galaxy, and every culture has their own share of fortune telling. He’s never been interested in him, never really thought about the future. Until you, at least. Before, it had been short sighted— what’s the next mission, how he’ll get his boys to safety this time, if he’ll run into you.

The future has never been appealing. What is he going to do when the war is over? Continue to serve the Republic… working with the fishmonger sounds appealing, but there’s a nagging feeling deep within his gut that… something won’t let him do that.

“I’d rather not know,” Rex says, voice an apology. “[First]’s good news is enough for me.”

It makes your friends coo in delight. Smile back on your face, you rise and kiss his cheek.

“Sweet on me or something?” You ask.

“Something like that,” Rex agrees.

“Well, let’s get out of here,” Jolie says. “Mahlon’s been hinting that he’s got tonight off, I want to see if I can bump into him.”

Celeste groans, rolling her eyes as she stands. “This is what we’re talking about, thinking just with your downstairs brain.”

“You’re the only one who says that,” you chime in, hands coming off of Rex’s face to lay upon his shoulder.

“Well, then I speak for all of us,” Celeste says, finishing her drink.

“I’m excited for you and Mahlon,” Misha says, collecting her things. “It’s nice that you’re trying out a real relationship for once.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me,” Jolie says with an eyeroll.

The conversation continues as your group makes their way down to the streets. Rex’s hand is warm and calloused in yours, thumb gently rubbing against the back of yours. The streets are a sight to behold: packed with the Naboo, even a few Gungans. The vendor stalls are filled with goods, jewelry and trinkets and food. Each one is lit by an amalgamation of lights, which work with the streetlights to make the area just visible enough but not drown out the moons.

In fact, the moons do most of the work illuminating the area.

In their soft-hued luminance, everyone is basked in shadow. In the back of Rex’s mind, he’s aware of the difficulties that such shadow can cause, what can lurk there, how he can lurk there—

But he’s cut off by you heading to investigate a vendor. She’s middle aged, dripping in jewelry. Laid out upon the tables surrounding her are tons of items to peruse, all of different sizes with varying stones. You pick over the rings, but Rex’s attention falls to a few necklaces that dangle off a wooden holder.

They’re simple things, just a pendant that’s either in an oval or a heart, all on simple chain. There’s a good helping of both silver and gold. The woman approaches him, noting his attention.

“See something you like?” She asks.

“Oh, I’m just with her,” he says, gesturing over to you.

You look up, putting back a ring, to come beside Rex. “What’re you looking at?”

“Just the necklaces,” he admits.

Looking over, you reach up to touch one of them, letting it rest against your fingers. “Are these lockets?” You ask.

The vendor beams. “They are! Any catching your eye?”

Lockets. Those things that lovers have in the romcoms he watches from time to time with Cody.

“Yeah,” you say to the vendor, moving your attention to one of the oval ones. Glancing over at Rex with a bashful expression, you bounce the locket lightly against your fingertips. “Should we get matching ones?”

“Don’t we need pictures to put in them?”

“There’s a photobooth down the way,” the vendor chimes in. “If you’re interested.”

Immediately, your eyes light up. “Is it Gustav’s?”

“It is!” The vendor smiles. “Do you know him?”

“I’ve done business with him. But who hasn’t?”

It gets a laugh from the vendor. Glancing over at Rex, your eyes flit to the tags on his chest before back up to his eyes. Dark brown in the night, rich like the mudbanks.

“You could get an oval and I can get a heart. Would you get in trouble?”

Rex comes closer to you, to the point where your back is pressed against his chest. He looks closer at it, the simple, understated piece of metal. It was almost like his dogtags. These used to be so common, during the wars of the suffering era. Fitting now, as the galaxy suffers. As Rex suffers.

“I think they’ll blend in,” he says.

Without any more debate, you buy two of the lockets– one for each of you. Excitement bubbles within you– this feels meant to be. Romantic, even, and you’re not too sure that you and Rex get many romantic moments.

The photobooth is in sight (along with the line for it), when your name is called by one of the vendors. You turn, looking for the source, when your eyes land on someone who you’ve become very close to over the years– Ferrin, Theed’s premier fishmonger. The same one who’s son has left him for an Alderaanean girl he met on the holonet.

Ferrin is old with skin nearing a leather-like state from hours spent in the sun. You gently guide Rex over to the man, who is selling grilled fish on skewers.

“Ferrin, it’s good to see you,” you say with a smile. “How is the festival treating you?”

“Never better. Fishing is always good when we have high tides,” Ferrin says with a big grin to match yours. So much smiling this evening. “Who’s this lucky one you’ve got with you?”

“Oh, this is Rex!” You say, “Rex, this is Ferrin. The fishmonger I was telling you about?”

“Talking about me?” Ferrin asks goodnaturedly, offering a hand for Rex to shake. Gladly, Rex takes it and returns the hold. Ferrin chuckles, releasing his hand. “Now you look like you can handle some fishing line.”

“I’ve never been finishing,” Rex admits, but the comment feels like a compliment of the highest degree.

“Well, we’ll have to have a go of it,” Ferrin says, “Any friend of [First]’s is a friend of mine.”

The offer equally warms Rex’s heart as it breaks it. You squeeze his hand.

“Rex travels a lot for work, but that’s kind of you to offer,” you say.

Ferrin’s eyes immediately flit down to where you’re conjoined. There’s a sparkle in his eye as he winks at you. “Don’t want to waste any time together.”

“Definitely not,” you say. “What kind of fish do you have tonight?”

The monger lists off what he’s got, including the Tee fish currently sizzling away on the grill. You get one, and immediately hand it to Rex. Before you can reach for your purse, Ferrin stops you with a shake of his head and a protest.

“Just bring him back for a trip on the ocean,” Ferrin says.

“You sure?” You look up, hand already on your wallet. “I get very selfish with him.”

Chuckling, Ferrin nods. “I’m sure you’re breaking many hearts, toting him around like that. You know that, son?”

Rex looks away from you to the aging fishmonger. “Long as she’s not breaking my heart.”

Giggling, you rest your head on his shoulder. You’d never break his heart. If anything, he’ll break yours first. Battle and war and age. But tonight, the moons shine bright. The streetlights are like warm stars in the night air.

You bid your goodbyes to Ferrin, who you’ll see sooner rather than later when it's time to cook fish for dinner again.

Rex slides a piece of fish off the skewer, feeding it to you. Lips brushing against his fingers.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” You ask as you walk along the busy streets, coming to a stop in the line for the photobooth.

Rex nods, appreciatively. “Real good.”

It feels good to provide for him when he’s with you– to give him access to simple, civilian pleasures. You gaze up at him, lost in thought. He brings you back to the present moment by placid another piece of fish to your lips.

“That’s the one I was telling you about,” you say. “With the son.”

“I don’t know how you meet people on the holonet. If the boys found out… well, I don’t think we’d have much of an army,” Rex says. You laugh. Rex finishes the skewer.

In the photobooth, you go first. Sit pretty in the small chair and smile pretty for the camera. Just as you want Rex to remember you. Rex goes next, giving a little half smile, startled by the flash of blinding light. You climb it after the familiar click, settling with one thigh on Rex’s, arms around his neck.

“Let’s just kiss,” you suggest, quickly moving to press your lips against his. Two flashes happen as you lose yourselves in warm passes.

When you pull away, the lovestruck look coating Rex’s face is one that you wish you could photograph. Soft, wanting, open. Generous.

Starved to catch that look again, you place another round of credits into the machine. You take Rex’s face in your hand again, his own coming up to cup the side of your neck, fingers touching the roots of your hair. The feel of his lips against yours is addicting, one of those kisses where you can feel the warmth of your future against them.

Heart thrumming in your chest from fear and love, you pull away slowly, just as the camera flashes one last time.

“I could kiss you for hours,” you murmur, thumbs rubbing against the growing stubble on his jaw.

“Me too,” Rex returns, just as soft.

You share one more kiss before tumbling out of the cramped booth. Rex’s fingers find the lifted hem of your dress and gently tugs it down to its original position.

With the developed pictures in your hand, you smile wide while looking them over. They’re simple, black and white. Rex wraps his arms around your waist and looks over your shoulder at them.

“They came out really nice,” you note. “When we get home, I’ll put them in the lockets.”

When we get home. Rex places a kiss to the side of your head, right to your temple.

“Sounds good,” he says, the words ricocheting like a chorus in his head. When we get home.

The process of arriving home is delayed by you needing to stop for a few more treats. There’s fruit covered in hard, candied sugar. Cold tea with chunks of fruit in it. An artisan stall you want to poke around in, one that sells stained glass— here you purchase a little wind chime with a humming peeper. You buy some jam for the morning. Watch a few minutes of a few performances.

Walking into your apartment, exhaustion hits Rex in a heavy wave. When was the last time he slept? Your hand holds onto his forearm as you take off your shoes. When does he have to be back on the ship? Your bed would be so comfortable right now… A hot shower with you and then going straight to sleep…

“...for you.”

Rex snaps his attention back to you, but you’re already walking away. He quickly toes out of his shoes and follows behind you, towards your bedroom.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He asks.

“I was just saying I don’t have pyjamas for you. But I might have some big sweatpants…” You stop yourself, followed by a harsh reminder. “You aren’t spending the night.”

Rex shifts under your disappointed gaze. He’s just as disappointed as you are.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He really is. He really is.

You shake your head, coming over to stand in front of him. When you speak, your voice is barely a whisper. “Not your fault. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be here too,” he says.

Searching his eyes, you’re met with that exhaustion that he feels. “Do you want a cup of coffee before you go?”

Rex wants to take a nap in your bed. But he nods. Who knows if he’s going to be able to wake back up once he’s asleep.

Still in your dress, you dress up an iced coffee for Rex, handing it to him with a straw in it. He delicately takes the glass, fingers passing against yours, examining the dark brown liquid.

“And there’s plant milk if you want some,” you say, sitting down next to him at the little breakfast table with scissors in hand.

“Never had it iced before,” Rex admits, taking a careful sip. It’s not bad. The bitterness is less potent this way.

“You like it?”

“I think I mostly like that you got it for me,” Rex admits.

You grin widely. “Well, you know…”

“When the war ends,” Rex finishes for you.

Nodding, you hum as you pull out the photostrips and the lockets. You hand the photos over to Rex. “Which kiss do you like more?”

Rex picks up the photos and carefully examines them. He finds his favorite, one where his hand cups the back of your jaw, eyes shut and lost in the passion of it.

You smile as you take the photo back, looking over the picture Rex has selected. You do look good, in the black and white. Carefully, you cut the photos out so they’re separated, then work on cutting the images down to size. On one side of the locket is your headshot, on the other is the two of you kissing.

Rex picks up the image of you both gazing at each other. Holding it between his fingers, he asks, “Can I take this one too?”

You agree before even looking up. With the locket complete, you pass it over to Rex, biting your bottom lip. He clicks it open, features softening instantaneously.

“You like?” You ask.

Rex nods. He swallows, thick, overcome with some sort of emotion he can’t quite place. An emotion that crashes over him, threatening to swallow him whole.

“I really like it,” he whispers, swiping his thumb over the photos.

“Think of me often.”

“I think of you always.”

“You’re so sentimental this time.”

Rex pauses. He wets his bottom lip. “I…” He swallows. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you search Rex’s eyes. Warm, brown, normally so sure of themselves. A look into the confidence that echoes off of Rex. There’s a weight behind them now, one that you haven’t quite noticed this evening. For a moment, you try and play his visit back– have you truly been this unattentive? You suppose he looked a bit weary when he arrived on your doorstep, his armor dirty and scuffed. Much unlike when he was on Coruscant, plastoid shining.

“I’m alright,” Rex admits. In the warm lighting of your kitchen, locket in one hand, he reaches to take your hand in his own. “I’m fine right here.”

The kitchen table seems to span meters and meters between the two of you. With a little sigh, you squeeze Rex’s hand.

“Tired?” You supply for him.

He chuckles a bit and nods. “But I had a good time with you, tonight.”

You smile. “Good. You’re such a treat.”

You’re the treat. Rex rubs his thumb over your knuckles, eyes forced on them. Your hands are delicate in his, sunkissed and moisturized.

“What’ll you do tomorrow?” Rex asks. What’ll you do from now until he sees you next?

You hum, shrugging. “Might paint a bit.”

“No work?”

You shake your head. “No work.” For a moment, you can imagine tomorrow if Rex could stay– cappuccinos and a walk in the park and then you paint and he does… something. He’ll find something to do when he’s here. “You setting off somewhere?”

“Of course,” Rex says. He hesitates for a moment, then: “Maybe when the war is over we can do some traveling of our own.”

Your face lights up almost instantaneously. “Really?”

“As long as you’re okay with hyperdrive,” Rex says with a smile.

“I conquered that fear,” you say, proudly.

“We’ll go anywhere you want,” Rex says.

Truthfully, there’s not many places off-planet you want to go to. But you do want to take Rex to your bed, to your favorite restaurants, to the art museum. To your family’s farm, to your favorite hikes.

But anywhere with Rex would be nice.

You’re about to vocalize this, but his commlink begins to beep from the other room. With a sigh, Rex hangs his head for just a moment, then straightens up.

“Go grab it,” you say softly. “I bet they miss you.”

It’s not him his men miss. But Rex nods, standing. He gently dips down to press a kiss to your forehead. How sorry he is, that his work has to come between the two of you like this.

A little smile tugs at your lips. Someday he’ll be able to stay for longer, forever, and—

Rex leaves you alone in the kitchen. You listen as his voice travels, just a low murmur, through the apartment. You can’t make out any words in particular, just the low reverberation of his voice. Once he’s done talking, you stand from your seat and head towards him, towards your bedroom.

His blacks rest on your bed, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt. Lingering in the doorway, you watch. His tags swing out as he takes his pants off, catching your eye.

“What do they say, anyways?” You ask, coming closer.

“What say?” Rex begins to pull on the bottom half of his blacks.

“Your tags.” You edge closer.

“Nothing important,” Rex says. “Just my number and batch.”

“Can I see?” Closer.

Rex hesitates for a moment, but relents. It’s nothing interesting.

“Sure,” he says. Before he can even think twice, he’s removing them from his person to hand them over.

You accept them delicately, reading them over. The lettering is lifted on them, and you can easily drag your thumb over it, feeling the ridges.

His number is only four long, a simple CT-7567. Your eyebrows raise in surprise upon seeing it. That’s your bank pin, after all.

“Does everyone have just four numbers?” You ask, handing them back.

Rex slips them on over his head before he slips on his shirt.

“Nah. Not the new ones. I’m just special.” Rex offers you a smile.

You return it. “You’re old.”

“I’m an original.”

Smile still on your face, you fiddle with the zipper on your dress. Rex notices, and comes over to unzip you. One hand on the zipper, the other on your hip.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Rex murmurs. He comes behind you and takes your zipper in between his fingers, covered by the glove of his gauntlet. He gently eases it down, exposing your bra, your back. He does dip down and press a kiss to your shoulder, eyes shutting as his lips meet the faint remains of your perfume. Some fruit he hasn’t had the pleasure of indulging in mixed with vanilla.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Looking over your shoulder, you’re met with the pauldron of Rex’s armor.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to stay for longer.”

Remorseful, Rex shakes his head as he rises back to his full height. “No, I’ve really got to go.”

Sighing, you nod. “Okay. Well.”

Neither of you can apologize any more than you already have. There’s that itinerary going through your head– the one where you and Rex take a shower, then you brush your teeth, he’s got a toothbrush next to yours, maybe his is blue or maybe it’s some other color. His armor is blue, is he going to want to see blue after the war? He’ll climb into bed with you after the fact, probably just in his boxers, and sleep on the side closest to the door. Then, you’ll explore each other’s bodies, enjoying all the movement and the tensions and the exhales. Fall asleep in each other’s arms. Wake up surrounded–

Rex’s lips are against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, in surprise, But your eyes flutter shut, quickly, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, raising yourself up on your toes.

The kiss was probably supposed to be quick. Just a peck. But you can’t bear it– tilting your head and slotting against him, the beads of your dress clinking against the hard of his plastoid. Rex’s hand slides around your waist, choosing instead to slide against your skin and hold onto the soft of your skin.

When Rex pulls away, it’s because he doesn’t trust himself to not nudge you back into bed. To begin the arduous process of removing all of his gear.

Erections hurt in armor.

And you are far too beautiful to be around any sort of pain. Only pleasure.

“You’ve gotta go,” you murmur, resting your hands on his chest. The plastoid is cool beneath your palms. Your dress wants to slip off of you.

Rex raises his hands to rest atop of yours. “Yeah,” he admits.

“Okay,” you say, though you’re not really okay with it. “Let me get out of this and I’ll, um, I’ll walk you to the door.”

As you step away from him, Rex grabs his helmet from your bedside table. He watches, intently, as you slide out of your dress and exchange it for a lightweight robe. When you reemerge, you toss the beaded dress into the once-empty chair.

“Do you want something to eat while you head back?” You ask, blocking him from leaving your room. Not that he needs any force to stay.

Instinctively, Rex wants to say no. Instead, he wets his lips and nods. “Can you part with some of those meatballs?”

Smiling, you nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

In the kitchen, Rex scoops up the photos you’d taken that night. His locket feels cool and light against his chest, tucked under his blacks, hidden by the bulk of his armor. And in the photos, he looks normal.

“You gonna wear yours when I’m gone?” Rex finds himself asks.

You glance over from where you’re pulling meatballs from the fridge to put in a disposable plastic container you’d gotten from ordering takeout a while ago.

“Of course I am,” you say, “I’ll make it tomorrow, though.”

“Want me to do it for you?”

“You have time?”

Rex nods, sitting down. He sprawls his legs out, due to his armor. And carefully, in the hulking plastoid, he cuts his own photo out, sliding it as carefully as possible into the locket. You take it upon yourself to not just include meatballs in his little container, but also some vegetables. And in another, some fruit. Cut up figs, the same scent as your perfume.

“Which one of us did you like the best?” Rex asks.

“Whichever you like,” you say, closing the containers and coming to stand behind him. Your fingers trace over his life support, which juts out from his back.

Rex selects, one of you both kissing, and carefully cuts it out. His fingers are too large for the job, as he places it within the locket with a sense of pride.

“What do you think?” He asks, showing it to you.

You beam. “I love it.”

Rex smiles. You press a kiss against his head, leaving the faintest of a pink mark behind on his blonde.

“I packed you a few things,” you say, handing him the containers. “For you to enjoy on your way home.”

“I appreciate it,” Rex says. He does. More than you know.

He rises to his full height, which feels diabolical in your quaint little kitchen. His armor is too white against the warm hues that you surround yourself in. Even his blue isn’t nautical enough for the likes of the Naboo.

But you look up at him with such adoration in your eyes that his heart skips a beat. So soft, nothing but softness behind your irises. What a plush, lucky place for his reflection to rest.

In the doorway, your fingers lightly trail over his pauldron. The color of your nails stark against the blue, swallowed by night. The door’s open, but both of you stand in the threshold.

“Be safe out there, okay?” You say, slowly withdrawing your hand.

Rex is quick to take your hand in his own. Desperate, in a sense, as he pulls it towards him. Presses his lips against the knuckles closest to your nails.

“I’ll be safe,” Rex promises against the skin. “As long as you do the same.”

You laugh a little at that. “Rex…”

“Look both ways before crossing the street,” he says, deathly sincere. “Be careful with scissors.”

“You’ll have to come use them for me,” you murmur.

Rex meets your eyes. “Okay. I will.”

The someday is understood.

“I’ve got to go now,” Rex admits, forlorn.

“I know,” you say, voice quiet in the night. “I’ll hear from you soon?”

“I’ll try and call you,” Rex says. He always tries, but there’s never a moment.

You nod at that. Your fingers tuck under his cuirass, gently pulling him closer. Pulling him down. So he stoops and presses his lips against yours.

This kiss feels like a long goodbye. He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again, and doesn’t want to get his hopes up. But you can feel the way he savors your lips against his from the way his arm wraps around your waist, from the way he ever so slightly deepens the kiss.

“I’ll see you later,” you breathe as you pull away. Slowly, your hand falls from his cuirass.

“Soon,” Rex hopes.

He takes a step out the door. One foot on the stairs. Before he can get any farther, he looks back up at you.

“You look really pretty tonight, [First]. Like one of those paintings you study.”

Heat floods your entire face. “Rex…”

“I mean it.” He smiles at you. “Have a good night. Get some good rest for me.”

“I will,” you promise him. “Goodnight, Rex.”

“Goodnight, [First].”

The way he says your name has such a familiarity to it, such a finality. He’ll see you again, but he’ll be changed. You’ll have changed too. But the two of you, together, will be the same.

Rex casts one more look up and down your body. Takes it all in– the robe, the hair. Backlit by your hall light like some sort of halo. Some of the boys have claimed to see angels outside the windows, but he thinks they’re all lying. There’s no way that they’ve seen you.

When he turns, you rest your head against your doorframe. A little sigh leaves your lips. You’re sure moths are fluttering into your house, but you can’t seem to care. Not as you watch Rex walk through your courtyard, not as you watch him stop, just before he exits to turn around the corner of the wall.

Both his hands are full, one with his helmet, the other with a little brown bag holding the food. He raises the bag-holding hand as a little wave, and you can almost make out his smile in the lighting of the street. Or maybe it’s mostly your imagination.

So you wave back, warm smile on your own face.

And Rex, pleased, turns the corner.

#captain rex x reader #fic recs #fav series

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