Wolffe who gives you fake sympathy as he fucks you.
Doesn't care what the position is as long as he can get his mouth right up against your ear. Drawls "Aww. Poor thing," when you cry out as he bullies his cock into you. Once he's buried to the the hilt inside you he just grinds in little circles, not thrusting yet, just forcing you to stretch around him until you're whining and squirming, pushing against his hips to try to get him to move properly.
"None of that," he growls against your ear, gripping your wrist and pulling it away from his hip. "You can take whatever I give you, can't you? Shh, I know it's a lot. But if you can't handle this, how are you gonna handle it when I actually fuck you, huh?"
He suddenly pulls his cock almost all the way out and then immediately shoves it back in with a grunt, and you whimper. "That's it. Poor thing." His teeth catch against your earlobe, pulling as he starts to thrust properly. He doesn't ease you into it. He grips your wrists and pins you down with his weight, ruthlessly driving himself into you again and again.
"Look at you," he pants, his voice gravelly. "Such a desperate fucking mess." You whine and try to arch away from the friction, but he leans even heavier against you, forcing you to take every single deep thrust.
When your breath hitches and a sob slips out, he presses an almost mocking kiss right below your ear, tracking the tear that rolls down your cheek. "Aww, did that hurt? Let me make it better," he mutters, but his rhythm just gets meaner. He shifts his grip, slipping his arm beneath you to yank your hips up for a deeper angle.
"Tell me to stop," he taunts, his breath hot against your neck. "Come on, sweetheart. If it's too much, just tell me. I'll stop."
As he speaks, he gives a you a vicious, bottoming-out thrust that makes you yelp and arch into him despite yourself. He gives an approving hum against your neck. "That's what I thought. So good for me. Just take it."
aah I’m so happy you like republic commando because SAME omg!!!
if it’s alright, could I request any repcomm characters of your choice (HCs) with a shy, anxious partner? thank you so much!! 💖
Delta Squad x gn shy/anxious!reader headcanons
Warnings: none
Notes: YAYYYY DELTA SQUAD MY BABIESSS I started replaying the game again yesterday and I'm obsessed again
Boss:
Boss is really good at noticing when you're getting overwhelmed and if he sees you're in the middle of a conversation and starting to get anxious he'll casually interrupt with a "Need you for a second" and walk you away like he actually has something important to discuss. He doesn't, he'll just ask if you're alright and give you a quick kiss
Whenever you have to do something that's stressing you out, he cups your face, makes you look at him, and gives you a little pep talk. Doesn't matter how small the situation is, he'll give you like clear instructions, outlines how it's gonna go so you feel more confident going in, and makes sure that you have some semblance of confidence about it before he finally lets you go
Also uses really specific intentional contact cues to help calm you when he notices you getting anxious/overwhelmed in social situations, like maybe comes up with a little touch like a tap to your wrist that reminds you to take a breath, and always places a hand at the small of your back when steering you out of a situation
If you ever get like cornered socially he steps in and redirects the interaction onto himself, reaching out and giving your hand a little reassuring squeeze. Like he's just really good at just very smoothly stepping in and making sure you don't get stuck in situations that overwhelm you
Loves when you get all flustered from affection and intentionally catches you off guard with quick kisses because he knows it'll make you blush. Drops his voice low and mutters "There it is" kinda smugly
Fixer:
Fixer's not a big fan of socializing either and would frankly kinda prefer to be a bit of a homebody with you, though it's not for anxiety reasons, he just. doesn't wanna.
Does kinda push you to do little things outside of your comfort zone sometimes. Like ordering something yourself or making a call instead of avoiding it. Afterwards he acts like you've just completed a successful mission and is all dry like "See? No casualties."
If you're somewhere loud, you both can just like glance at each other and know without saying anything that it's time to head out. One look means yeah I've had enough and you're both already heading for the exit
If you're caught in an anxiety spiral he speaks to you really calmly and straightforwardly, listing facts about the situation that seem obvious but are meant to be steadying/grounding. like. nobody's looking at you. nobody's judging you. we're gonna be able to leave soon. nothing bad is happening. nothing bad is gonna happen. I'm right here, I'm sticking close to you.
Also good at speaking for both of you without making it feel like he's talking over you, like if someone asks a question he knows you hate answering he'll reply before you have to think about it
Scorch:
Scorch is the best social buffer cause he is NOT shy. If someone catches you off guard trying to talk to you or they ask you a question and you freeze for a second he's already cutting in and everyone's attention is on him now
Keeps up a running commentary whenever you're somewhere new/crowded so you're focusing more on him than anything else. Just like pointing things out and making jokes
Generally tries to stay touching you in some way in social situations just to try to reassure you. He's good at taking over in social situations but also doesn't want you to feel intentionally sidelined, will just like drape an arm over your shoulders and pull you against his side as he talks, not pressuring you to talk but making comments to you and giving you lots of reassuring squeezes
Also really good at making you laugh in situations he knows make you anxious/overwhelmed. Like if he notices you getting tense he just leans in and whispers something ridiculous to get you to laugh. Doesn't solve the anxiety but he hopes getting you laughing will knock it down enough that you can breathe again
Tbh your shyness gives him so much cuteness aggression. He'll see you getting bashful over something small and can't help but cup your face in both hands like "You're so cute. C'mere." Then presses kisses all over your face. If you laugh and get flustered he just wraps his arms around you and kisses you more.
Sev:
Sev is more on the reserved side himself and he likes that you're not the type who feels the need to fill every silence. You two could spend hours together without talking much and he'll walk away thinking wow that was really nice actually
If he realizes you're trying to think of an excuse to leave somewhere, he'll beat you to it every single time. Suddenly he's "remembering" something the two of you need to do, grabbing your hand, and steering you right out the door before anyone can argue
Takes care of stuff he knows you hate without mentioning it, like making calls or dealing with irritating people or asking someone for information. He just handles it for you without a second thought
Doesn't think about your shyness as something wrong or that needs to be fixed and will get mean to people who comment on it. Like if someone starts the whole "you're so quiet" routine he cuts in with a sharp "And?" and gets argumentative
Not super affectionate generally but if you're having one of those days where your anxiety's just wearing you down, he'll pull you over until you're leaning against him. Doesn't really say anything comforting, just sits there with you until you start relaxing
Full Plates, Fuller Hearts ~ Sev x F!Civilian Reader
Summary: Your boyfriend, Sev, is back on Coruscant after a long mission, so you decide to treat him to a special home-cooked dinner.
Delta Squad Week Day 1 - Dinner
Word Count: 2.4k (These are going to be shorter than my recent fics because I last minute wanted to participate but quality over quantity, right?)
Warnings: Established relationship, Kissing, Cuddling (it's mostly fluff), hints to spice at the end although not explicitly stated, lmk if I missed anything!
A/N: I JUST found out about Delta Squad Week and wanted to participate, so I literally spent all day today writing little bits for each of the day's themes! No better way to kick off the week with my favorite Delta Squad boy - Sev!
Tagging @deltasquadweek for hosting!
join my taglist / masterlist
You winced as the cold night air brushed against your face while you rode your speeder to the clone barracks. It wasn't typically this chilly outside, so you opted against wearing a helmet, but the farther you rode, the more you wish you grabbed it on your way out. After what felt like too long, you killed the engine and glanced toward the entrance. The barracks loomed in stark contrast to the city’s chaos. The block of utilitarian lines and muted colors felt as rigid and impersonal as the Kaminoians hoped soldiers housed within would be.
But you weren’t here for the barracks. You were here for Sev.
You stepped out of the speeder, pulling your coat tighter as a faint breeze tugged at your hair. A platform lamp above buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the duracrete. There was something you loved about waiting for Sev. Perhaps it was the feeling that pressed against your chest as you eagerly awaited for the first glimpse of his silhouette.
Finally, the door slid open with a soft hiss and you felt a subtle smile tug at your lips.
Sev stepped into view, and for a moment, everything else around you faded. He wasn’t wearing his armor tonight, but instead wore the civvies you gifted him as a "just because" gift. The Republic issued clothing felt too much like another uniform, so you figured something unique would make him feel as such.
As he approached you, his posture, usually so alert and ready, softened slightly when his eyes found yours. Without a word, you closed the space between you, stepping close until you caught the faint scent of him and the warmth of his arms surrounded you. You tilted your chin up just enough for your lips to brush his. His snaked his hand to your waist, hesitating before pulling you just a bit closer. When you pulled back, your eyes met his, catching a rare flicker of something gentle in his expression.
“You ready?” you asked, giving him another quick peck.
He nodded, "For you, always. Yeah.” His voice was low and rough-edged but maintained a soft undertone he kept reserved just for you.
You grabbed his hand and turned toward the speeder, ready to climb in. But before you could hop on, a familiar voice called out from behind.
“Hey, Sev!” Scorch’s voice radiated across the platform, as usual. You both shifted slightly to see him leaning against the barracks doorway with his arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth, “Don’t stay out too late. You know Fixer’s got that training schedule.”
Sev half-turned, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t wait up for me,” he called back with a rare wink, making you laugh softly.
Scorch let out a low whistle, “Don't have too much fun!” he teased you.
Sev waved lightly before sliding into the driver’s seat. You followed, settling into the seat behind him. The whole galaxy seemed to vanish as you wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his back.
“Where to?” he asked, twisting his neck to kiss the top of your head.
You hummed in content, "My place."
Sev started the speeder, the engine spitting to life as he eased into traffic. The city unfolded around you, towers rising like jagged teeth against the night sky, streaks of light blurring past. For a while, you let the quiet stretch, comfortable and familiar. His hand brushed against yours wrapped around his waist, providing a silent gesture of connection.
Once at your apartment, Sev stepped in and exhaled, allowing the familiar comfort of your living room soothe him. He slumped into your couch, wishing the Kaminoians could see this - see him in a place he can call home, living his live as a human, not a clone. He let himself shoulders relax, taking in the warmth and small, homey touches of your space. The stack of books on the coffee table, the worn blanket draped over the couch, the way the city’s glow was softened by your curtains, everything - it was all so grounding for him.
You gingerly walked over towards the couch, but instead of sitting next to him, you stood behind him, squeezing your hands into the knots in his tense shoulders. He let out a soft groan as you began to massage gently, “I’ve got dinner planned,” you smiled, pressing a few more hard presses into his shoulders before pulling away, "I left it in the oven to keep warm while I scooped you."
His gaze flicked to you, and though he said nothing, you caught the faintest glimmer of awe in his expression, “Thank you cyare.”
You gave Sev’s shoulders one last gentle squeeze before straightening and stepping away. He remained slouched on the couch for a moment longer, his eyes fluttering shut as he soaked in the rare peace that wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
“I’ll grab dinner out,” you said against the top of his head, not wanting to disrupt the quiet spell that had fallen between you.
In the kitchen, you pulled open the oven, the wave of warmth and the savory aroma filling the apartment instantly. You plated the meal with care. It was nothing fancy, just a simple casserole you’d thrown together earlier in the day. You poured two glasses of red wine and placed them on a tray with the casserole before carrying the tray back into the living room.
Sev straightened as you approached, his hands moving instinctively to help, though you waved him off, “Relax,” you chimed softly, “I want to take care of you tonight, okay?”
He huffed a soft laugh, a rare sound that made your heart twist, “You're too kind to me." You set the tray down on the low table in front of the couch and settled beside him, tucking your legs up under yourself.
For a moment, you both sat there in silence, side by side, his shoulder pressing lightly into yours. Then Sev reached for a plate, his movements careful, almost hesitant. He ate slowly, savoring each bite as though trying to decipher each flavor of this once in a blue moon home-cooked meal.
“This is phenomenal,” he let out slow, letting his head rest on your shoulder after he finished his bite.
You smiled, titling your head slightly to rest on his, “I’m glad. I figured you deserved something warm and homemade after all that caf and ration bars you’ve been stuck with.”
He made a faint sound of agreement, his eyes briefly flickering up to meet yours. There was a softness there, a warmth you’d come to recognize only in these rare, private moments.
“You always make it feel special, you know,” he whispered, “Like I’m- I don’t know. More than just—”
“More than a soldier,” you finished softly, your heart squeezing at his unspoken words.
His throat worked as he swallowed, “Yeah, that.”
You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead, “That’s because you are, Sev. You always have been. Even before we met at that bar all those months ago.”
"79's dear," he corrected you, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.
For a moment, he rested his lips on your shoulder. Then he set his plate aside, shifting so he could pull you gently into his lap. You went willingly, straddling his thighs, your hands resting lightly on his chest.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his hands settling at your waist, fingers splaying against the crook of your back.
“You don’t have to thank me,” you murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I’m just glad you’re here.”
His lips found yours, slow and lingering, the kiss deepening as his hands tightened on your waist. It wasn’t hurried or frantic, but instead just a steady, quiet need to be close and to feel connected. When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, he let out a low breath.
“I’ve missed this,” he admitted, “Being with you and having to think about everything else. That last deployment was too long.”
“I know,” you whispered, your thumb brushing over his cheek, “I’ve missed you too.”
You stayed like that for a few moments longer, the half-eaten plates forgotten on the tray. Eventually, Sev shifted, nudging you gently to the side.
“Let me help with the dishes,” he offered, standing and stretching, the movement drawing your eyes over the lean, powerful lines of his body.
You laughed softly, rising to your feet as well, “You can help by keeping me company while I take care of them.”
He followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you rinsed the plates and stacked them neatly. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he smirked, twisting the stem of his wine glass in his fingers.
You glanced over your shoulder, your lips curving into a smile, “Took you this long to figure it out, huh?”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he pushed off the counter, stepping closer. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.
“Seriously,” he rasped against your skin, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
You set the last plate aside and turned in his arms, your hands coming up to rest against his chest, “It’s not about deserving, Sev. It’s about us. That’s all that matters.”
His lips brushed yours again, slow and deliberate, as though he was memorizing the taste of you. When he pulled back, his eyes held that same quiet awe you’d glimpsed earlier.
“Let’s sit down,” you suggested softly, tugging him gently back toward the couch, “The night’s still young, and I’ve got a blanket with our names on it.” He didn’t resist, letting you guide him back into the living room, where you curled up together on the couch.
Sev's arm draped lazily around your shoulders as you nestled close. You tugged a worn, plush blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over both of you, its soft fabric cocooning you in comforting warmth.
You scrolled through the holoscreen for a moment, debating which holofilm to pick. Sev didn’t say a word, content to watch you make the decision, his hand tracing slow, absent circles over your upper arm.
“You’re lucky I didn’t go with the trashy rom-com option,” you teased lightly, glancing up at him.
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest, “Wouldn’t have minded,” he smirked, brushing his lips against your temple, “If it makes you happy, I’ll watch anything.”
You smiled, settling on a simple, feel-good holofilm. Something perfect for an evening like this. As it started playing, Sev shifted slightly, pulling you closer so you were practically draped across his chest.
His body was solid beneath you, radiating a sense of comfort and safety. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you rested your head over it, and with every rise and fall of his chest, you felt yourself relax just a bit more.
The holofilm played on, but neither of you paid it much mind. Sev’s hand found its way into your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Occasionally, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, the bridge of your nose or the curve of your jaw.
“You’re gonna make me melt if you keep that up,” you mumbled against his chest, returning his gesture with a kiss on his clothed chest.
“Good,” he huffed, “then you’ll stay right here forever.”
You let out a quiet laugh. As the holofilm continued on in the background, Sev shifted again, tugging the blanket higher around you both and tilting his head so his cheek rested against the crown of your head. You felt his breath ruffle your hair, his lips brushing feather-light kisses along your temple.
“Comfy?” he asked softly.
You hummed and nodded, “You're right. I wish we could stay like this forever.”
His arms tightened around you, “Me too, cyare. Me too.”
The way your body fit perfectly over his felt so right. You bent your neck just enough to look up at him, meeting his gaze.
His eyes were soft, relaxed, and filled with an affection that stole your breath. You leaned up, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, slow and sweet.
When you pulled back, Sev’s thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, “I love you more than you'll know,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your chest ached with emotion, “I love you too, Sev. So, so much.”
You curled in closer, the holofilm forgotten as the two of you simply held each other, wrapped in a quiet, private world of love and tenderness. His fingers continued their gentle tracing over your back, lulling you into a peaceful, contented haze.
But then you felt a subtle change in the way his hands moved against your skin. The slow drag of his fingertips left goosebumps in their wake. His breath, warm against your ear, hitched ever so slightly, and a quiet, almost imperceptible hum of a chuckle vibrated through his chest.
“Cyare,” he hoarsely groaned, sending a shiver down your spine.
His eyes caught yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat or two. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, and the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Holo’s almost over,” he said softly, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear before nodding to your bedroom door, “How about we move somewhere with a little more space?”
Your pulse fluttered beneath his touch, and you let out a breathless laugh, “I don't know, you seem a little tired,” you teased, though your voice lacked any real protest.
Sev’s answering grin was slow and wicked, his fingers tightening gently around your waist as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “Not that tired,” he winked, before closing the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that promised far more than quiet cuddles.
The holofilm credits began in the background, but it faded into nothing as the soft slide of lips and the press of warm, callused hands became the only things that mattered.
When Sev scooped you up, carrying you bridal style to your room, you knew the night was far from over.
For any Snips veterans who were on my old Tumblr and were awaiting an update for The 'Man' in Commando:
I decided to do a second chapter two years later 🥳 And I’m going to drop the whole work off here because why not! I also have ever so slightly revised the old chapter.
Words: 3.1K
Tags: Phone sex, jerk off instructions, mutual masturbation, light dom/sub, alcohol consumption, voice kink, glove kink, mentions of blood
Read on AO3
Your job wasn’t overly glamorous, but it sufficed. The countless shinies trying to get you in bed and the wrangling of intoxicated troopers got old very quickly, as did the neon lighting and the smell of unshowered soldiers. Tonight, 79s was packed to the rafters. Hundreds of clones danced, drank and unwound under the blanket of cheap, flickering neon lighting. The GAR was celebrating from a successful campaign in the Expansion Region, as you had heard from every second trooper chewing your ear off.
The bar was a mess. One of your service droids was out of operation, falling victim to flying glass of spotchka that was hurled over the bar. Pouring yet another round of shots, you placed the last one on the tray, picked it up and turned to carry it over to the larrikin of a trooper that probably shouldn’t have been allowed to order more drinks. Before you could even take one step, a stray service droid was underneath you, tripping you and spilling a whole round of shots all over your front, the droid, and the floor.
“Kriff, AZI!” you shouted. More items to the list of things that had gone wrong tonight.
An even stickier floor and another broken droid. “Get that trooper another round,” you muttered to the nearest functioning droid. Collecting yourself, you stood up and brushed some stray hairs behind your ear. Before you could turn to make your way to the backroom to get changed, something, someone, caught your eye.
A T-shaped blue visor glowed through the crowd, pushing shinies aside, as he followed three other familiar troopers. The famed Delta Squad. Except this time, the fourth member of the quartet was with them. He was the most striking, and the most intimidating. A blood-coloured handprint stained the face of his helmet, down his arms and splattered over his chest. He followed his brothers, yet kept his distance. Shinies cleared their way for them, for him, as if he had the blue shadow virus. He was the only one out of his brothers that still donned his helmet. The buzz of troopers and thumping of the music faded into the background as you watched him curiously. Who was this Commando?
In your trance you hardly noticed that he had separated from his brothers and was approaching the bar. Approaching you.
Snapping out of it, you greeted him, offering him a smile. “What can I get for you, Commando?”
“Whiskey. Neat, please." His charming, gravelly voice startled you. He didn’t sound like any of the other clones. His voice was deep, harsh, and sounded like could take out a battle droid in and of itself.
“No worries," you said, clearing your throat that was suddenly dry. “Coming right up."
You turned your back to the trooper, reaching to the top shelf for some of your finest whiskey. Not that this bar carried anything overly remarkable. You felt your ill-fitting tight shirt ride up as you reached above your head, embarrassment blazing across your cheeks as you felt the trooper’s eyes burning into your exposed skin, even through the helmet he still wore. Why does this Commando intimidate you so much? You deal with troopers every day. But he was different.
You grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned to him. Even through the helmet, you could feel his eyes meet yours, where they lingered for but a moment. You poured his drink and sparked up conversation to try and relieve your nerves.
“I hope that isn't real blood, Commando, because I may just have to have you removed from the premises." You raised an inquisitorial eyebrow, still pouring the whiskey. He didn’t respond.
“I know that you’re a soldier and all, but having blood smeared across your bucket isn’t exactly appropriate, let alone appetising.” You teased. Still no answer. You finished preparing his drink and sat it on the bar in front of where he had since taken a seat.
“Not talkative tonight?” you asked, desperately trying to relieve the awkwardness that had overcome you.
“Sev. Call me Sev. And I’m quite happy just sitting here listening to you, mesh’la.” His baritone voice made your stomach flutter, as did his compliment. It was different coming from him than any other trooper that had tried their luck. He raised his hands to grip either side of his helmet and slowly removed it, revealing himself.
Thick, glossy curls of jet black hair curtained his tanned face, his deep amber eyes maintaining eye contact with you. A pink scar sliced from his mid forehead, over his eye and cheekbone, down to his chin. His thick jaw clenched as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He had obviously caught you ogling at him.
He wrapped his large, gloved hand around the glass in front of him and raised it to his lips, before lowering it back down to sit on the sticky surface of the bar.
“Not bad. You have good taste…….” he trailed off, looking at you with questioning eyes.
“I don’t give my name away to just any charming trooper at my bar," you snickered, your lips curling into a cheeky smile.
“So be it, I’ll take that as a challenge.” He teasingly rolled his eyes, rocking in his chair.
Your eyes lowered to his chestplate, where a set of four numbers carved into the red-stained plastoid stood out.
4982.
Must be his designation number, you thought.
“About the blood," his thick voice cut in once again, “Don’t worry mesh’la, it may or may not be paint, but why don’t you give it the old sniff test and find out?"
An incriminating shade of crimson flushed to your cheeks and you felt yourself grow hot, and it wasn’t just the steam from the glass cleaner below you. Wound up, you gathered yourself.
“I don’t sniff clones in my spare time, Commando.” You smiled politely as you could manage, “Not only is it unprofessional, but the smell of the battlefield isn’t exactly the most pleasant."
“79s smells like that every night," he stated. His gaze felt as if he could read your very thoughts and feelings.
"I better get back to work." You shrunk down underneath his gaze and cowered away from the banter.
You turned away from Sev, nerves or excitement-you couldn’t really tell-still fluttering in your stomach. Before you could distract yourself too much, a very familiar pair of ARC troopers in blue were waiting at the bar for you.
“Look who's here!" Fives said, “My favourite bartender! Somebody has to keep those droids in line!” He gestured at the broken droids still on the bar floor, elbowing his twin and bursting out into laughter.
“I’ve been too busy to bin them, obviously." You defended. Busy with Sev.
With his laughter fading, Fives’ gaze slid to look over your shoulder.
“Mesh’la, ‘t looks like somebody has their eye on you tonight," Fives acknowledged, nodding in the direction that Sev had been sitting. “We’ll leave you to it." Fives and Echo turned to go back to the booth where the rest of the 501st regulars sat.
Once again, that feeling of embarrassment and intimidation flooded over you in spite of your false sense of confidence minutes earlier. You could do this! You spoke to troopers every night without any nerves. He is just like all of his brothers. Right?
You slowly turned, (perhaps to your demise) only to be met with the sight of Sev undressing you with his eyes. You suddenly felt stupid in your tight black blouse and slacks. It wasn't as if his imagination was picturing you in your work uniform, anyway. Swallowing, you walked back over to what was now his side of the bar, avoiding the broken droids on the floor. You only had your dignity and one patron to lose, after all.
“Can I help you, Commando?” You asked, trying to snap him out of his lascivious gaze.
“You know those guys?” He snorted, his eyes slowly lingered down your neck and to your decolletage.
You ignored his wandering eyes, despite the warmth it sparked between your legs.
“They’re here all the time, unlike you. You’re a new face," you teased, raising an eyebrow.
He choked on his drink, stifling a laugh, trying not to break his stoic, mysterious facade.
“I don’t exactly get a lot of time to celebrate, you know, with the war and all,” he smirked, the eye contact practically melting you into a puddle.
“Pardon me, sir.” You cooed, fluttering your lashes, laying it on heavily, “How could I forget, it’s not like I work at a clone bar or anything."
You’re not sure what set it off for him, but an animalistic look devoured his amber eyes.
He leant towards you, a low growl building in his chest. Not sure if you should be scared or aroused, you stayed put, indulging yourself in the sudden proximity. Surely he just wanted you close so you could hear him over the noise of the bar, right?
His rough, gloved hands caressed your chin oh-so softly as he brought his face closer to yours. His warm breath fanned over your face, a hot blanket of desire beginning to suffocate you. You felt yourself grow wet, his eyes so close to yours. Maker, he put the man in Commando.
He broke your gaze, bringing his lips to your ear, “Listen here,” he whispered, his abrasive voice making love to your skin, “you’re going to give me your commlink number. You’re going to go home early tonight, you’re going to shower and get into your prettiest number. And you’re going to get comfortable in your bed."
You swallowed the thick, dry lump in your throat.
"I’m going to comm you, you will pick up, and you will give me your name.” The last words slowly trickled out of his lips, fading into the background noise of the bar.
Maker, you had practically soaked through your panties. They were just as wet as the front of your top from earlier. You needed him.
“...and I’m going to give you 10 credits for another one of those fancy Chandrillan whiskeys." The pads of his still-gloved fingers maintained the hold they had on your chin, and he brought his lips away from your ear painfully slowly. You swallowed, not knowing what to do with yourself. Your pussy burned with arousal, thick, syrupy heat now pooling in your gut. His face was still close enough to yours that you were practically sharing the same air. His scar was so intimidating, yet so charming this close.
“Look at you, mesh’la, in knots for me," he whispered, eyes not leaving yours, “No shiny in this bar has ever had you like this before, has he?”
You shook your head, biting your lip. Any sense of confidence you had now melted away with your utter submission to him. He released his grip from your chin, allowing you to fulfil his demand for another drink.
You hurriedly poured it for him, all of your professionalism gone with your pride. You scribbled your commlink number on a napkin, and sat both it and the drink down in front of him.
He downed it in one sip, got up from his seat, grabbed his helmet and turned to leave.
“I’ll talk to you later, mesh’la." He smirked over his shoulder.
Speechless, you mustered up a nod, trying not to embarrass yourself in front of the numerous other troopers at the bar.
“By the way, I saw you looking at my chest. Four-nine-eight-two. Four-thousand, nine hundred and eighty two Geonosians. One for every fallen Commando.” His charming voice lingered as he turned and made his way back through the crowd of troopers to find the rest of his squad.
Maker. You practically fainted. He was no shiny at all.
CHAPTER 2 ♡
The door to your apartment hissed closed behind you with a soft thunk, and you leaned back against it, your fingers trembling. The echo of his voice still rattled in your head. “You will give me your name.”
You’d given your commlink number. Given him a look that said take me apart. But your name?
That, you’d withheld. Not intentionally. Maybe you just didn’t want it to be over yet.
Steam swirled around you as you stepped out of the refresher, your skin tingling from the heat. You’d scrubbed, exfoliated, shaved—twice. Absolutely everything.
You’d tossed half your closet onto your bed before settling on a sheer, dark-red babydoll that hinted more than it revealed. Matching set underneath. Thigh high stockings. Anything to give you the confidence to do what you were about to do.
You sat on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, heart pounding like a war drum. You stared at the blinking commlink on your nightstand.
Your chest tightened when it lit up.
Unknown ID.
You snatched it before the second ring.
“Hello?” You tried to hide the breathlessness in your voice.
Just the sound of him breathing nearly buckled your knees. A low growl filtered through the receiver.
“I’m not a patient man,” The voice rasped. “Tell me your name.”
Time to put on a brave face. You licked your lips, wetting them. “You want it that badly?” you teased, curling a finger into the garter of your thigh-high.
“Not as badly as I want to hear you say mine.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your whimper. This could not be happening. “I—” you started, but his voice cut you off.
“Strip for me.”
You froze, chest rising and falling in light pants. It felt like he was somehow watching you through the comm. “I already am,” you whispered.
A pause. Then, “Good girl.” That dangerous, dark satisfaction dripped from every word. It made your toes curl into the carpet. “You’re smarter than you look, mesh’la,” he drawled, voice soaked in wicked approval. “Now, lay down.”
You obeyed. No hesitation.
Your sheets were cool against your back, but your skin was burning, flushed and prickled with goosebumps.
“Legs open.”
You bit your lip, the rush of arousal almost dizzying as you slowly parted your thighs. You imagined him on the other end of the line, picturing you. How wet you were, how ready, how exposed. All for him.
“Imagine my fingers on your throat,” Sev whispered. “My teeth against your shoulder. You think I didn’t notice the way you stared at my gloves? You want to feel them all over that pretty body of yours?”
“I want you to drag your fingers through that mess you made,” he ordered, low and commanding. “Let me hear what a good little thing you are for me. Don’t hold back.”
You swallowed hard and obeyed.
You were so worked up just from hearing him, you had already soaked through the delicate lace of your panties. God, you needed him here. Your fingertips slowly dragged through your soaked folds, and you mewled, raw and desperate.
“Maker—” you whimpered, already arching.
“Say my name,” he growled. “Not ‘Commando.’ Not ‘sir.’ Say it.”
“Sev,” you breathed, fingers starting to trace tiny circles around your clit. “Sev, please—”
“Words, mesh’la.”
“I want you..I need you!” Your back arched into your hand, seeking more. “I need you to—”
“You need me to what?” he demanded.
“To ruin me.”
A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “You’re damn right you do.”
You whined openly into the comm resting on the sheets next to you. You pictured his breath on your neck. His hands gripping your hips. How he’d flip you onto your tummy and screw you into the mattress. You were suddenly achingly aware of how empty you were.
Then you heard it.
A sharp inhale on the other end, followed by the faintest shuffle of armour plates. A click. Fastenings undone.
Your breath caught.
“ You’re…” you whispered, voice barely audible.
He cut you off again, this time softer, rasping, starved.
“Damn right I am.”
Maker.
“I’ve been hard since you poured me that drink. Thought about bending you over that bar and taking you right there in front of all those shinies.” You could hear the roughness of his breath now— rhythmic, frantic. “I’m thinking about how wet and tight your mouth would be if I shoved my dick between your lips and made you choke on it.”
You moaned, loud and broken, your fingers circling your bundle of nerves with reckless abandon.
“I’d grab your throat,” he continued, his voice now strained, gravelly. “Not to stop you, no. To feel you. To feel the way you fight not to gag. But you wouldn’t fight, would you? Not for me.”
“No,” you breathed. You could hear the tell-tale sound of skin on skin on the other end of the line. “I’d take all of you.”
“Good girl.” The way he snarled it sent you spiralling, your body twitching under your own touch. “You’d look up at me while I play with your mouth, pretty eyes all messy, panties wrecked.”
“They already are,” you gasped, rubbing harder now, your heels digging into the bed. “I’m so close, Sev…”
“Don’t cum yet,” he snapped, voice cracking with restraint. “I want you to hold it.”
You cried out, hips bucking helplessly, your body rebelling at the command. On the comm, his breathing grew rougher, faster.
“I'm going to finish all over my gloves thinking about how you’d squeeze me,” he growled. “Dripping wet, spread out like how you are now. You want it, mesh’la? Want my mess on your stomach? In your mouth? On your sheets?”
“Yes, Sev, yes, please!”
“Say it again,” he panted, breath ragged. “Say my name.”
“Sev,” you whimpered. “Please, Sev, I need it! I need you.”
The sound that came through the comm was half-snarl, half-moan. Raw. Ruined.
“Now,” he purred. “Cum. Now. Let me hear you break.”
Your fingers stuttered and you shattered. You moaned his name like a prayer, your back arching off the bed, thighs trembling violently. Shudders surged through your body–from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Your eyes were clamped shut. It was messy, loud, shameless. You didn’t care. Couldn’t care.
Because Sev was moaning too.
You heard the strangled sound of his orgasm. Deep, feral, dragged from his chest like it was ripped from his very bones. The rhythmic wet sounds from his end faded, followed by a harsh gasp, then silence, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.
Then, you heard his voice again, smug and spent.
“Now you know what happens when you give me your number.”
Your chest heaved. “…And if I give you my name?”
There was a pause. You could practically hear his smirk through the line.
“Then tomorrow night, I show up at your door. And I finish what we started. With my hands. With my mouth. Whatever you like.”
You moaned softly, thighs still twitching.
“So?” he asked. “What’s your name, mesh’la?”
You licked your lips, still breathless, and whispered.
my clone headcanons: seeing you naked for the first time
a/n: where ur clothes at 🤨
gn reader
warnings: suggestive content
hunter clenches his jaw and runs a slow hand over his jaw, letting out the quietest, raspiest, “fuck…” under his breath. your face heats up a bit, expecting his gaze to roam down your body first, but he looks into your eyes, deep and dark in the way he stares at you. his hands find your hips, pulling you close enough for his lips to brush against yours. “perfect,” he mutters before kissing you, devouring you with a hungry stroke of his tongue as he groans into your mouth. “you’re perfect…”
tech exhales out the last of his shallow breathing, his lips parted in slight surprise even though he expected you to knock the wind out of him like this. you take his hand gently and place it near your torso. “you can touch me,” you tell him, guiding his hand down your stomach, lower and lower. “i want you to touch me…” you whisper. he swallows hard and grabs your hips, pressing his forehead against yours with a ragged breath. “i doubt i’ll be able to stop once i start,” he says quietly.
wrecker blushes at the sight of your naked body. he’s technically braved scarier situations, but this is what gets him. he sits on the edge of the bed with his legs spread and tugs you forward by the back of your thighs, hiding his reddening face in the soft kiss he presses to your stomach. “fuck, you’re pretty,” he mutters, trailing his lips lower in warm, open-mouthed sucking motions that raise goosebumps all over your bare skin. “already knew that, but it still makes me nervous…”
crosshair takes you in slowly, like he’s observing every inch of you through his cold, piercing gaze. your eyes flick away from his from the weight of his perception, but he tilts your face up with a hand along your jaw, pressing his thumb into your chin. he swipes it back and forth as he murmurs, “don’t hide,” and drags his touch down your neck, running a nimble finger down your chest. his touch teases a sharp inhale from you, which he subtly smirks at. “oh, the things i plan on doing to you…”
echo blows out a breath and shakes his head slightly, his soft gaze pausing on you. “you’re beautiful,” he tells you. you see him hesitate to reach for you, so you take his hand and bring it closer. he moves forward despite his initial caution and presses his palm right over your heartbeat, where he can feel it racing fast. “nothin’ to worry about,” he says softly, studying you. you swallow hard as he places your hand over his heartbeat, which is pounding even faster, letting the moment speak for itself.
wolffe is unreadably silent as he just stares for a second. with someone like him, it’s hard to tell if he’s judging you or something else, which makes this even more vulnerable for you. you’re caught off guard at the moment his muscular frame bears over you when he leans in close and kisses you hungrily, roaming his hands around your waist before they dip down to squeeze your ass. you gasp into his mouth, but he just kisses you harder and heavier upon hearing the sound. “mine,” he murmurs under his breath, nipping at your bottom lip. his fingers dig into your skin possessively, feeling you everywhere he pleases. “this is all mine.”
fox leans back in his seat and adjusts his hips, not even trying to hide his desire for you. he cocks his head to the side with a dark and heavy-lidded gaze that traces over you, committing your figure to his memory. he pats a firm hand down on his thigh and orders, “come here,” in that low, demanding voice that tells you he’s not going to say it twice. he pulls you down when you straddle him, sliding his hands up your arched back. “aw, don’t be scared, i won’t bite,” he whispers in your ear.
cody chuckles drily, “you’re trying to kill me, now, aren’t you?” and hums low under his breath as he kisses you, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. he touches the small of your back before slowly moving lower to cup your ass. you gasp a bit, but you’re not surprised. “shh, you’re alright,” he soothes and rubs his hand over your skin reassuringly. “god, you’re so fuckin’ soft…” he mutters to himself, feeling the difference between the rough pads of his fingertips and your body.
mayday holds you in his arms, a tight embrace that warms your body. he kisses your cheek and lets his lips linger just at the corner of your mouth, whispering, “you’re so lovely,” against your skin. you make a soft “hmm” sound under your breath and tilt your face closer so that your mouth is now right under his, barely any distance between the breaths you share. “i don’t know…” you whisper. he squeezes your hips and slants his lips over yours, parting them hungrily. “don’t ever doubt it.”
rex groans a low “fuck” and sinks to his knees. his hands come around your hips, and his breath warm against your skin as he kisses your stomach. “god, help me…” he whispers hoarsely, pulling you close to kiss a path down lower, teasing you with slow flicks of his tongue that make you squirm and gasp in his hold. “i know, baby…” he mutters in response to your soft noises and the way you grab his shoulders, holding onto him desperately. “just let me have a little fun with you first, yeah?”
fives crushes his mouth to yours before the nerves can even properly settle in your stomach. he cups your face and kisses you hungrily, sucking on your bottom lip in a slow drag that pulls it out before he tilts his head for a deeper angle. “you’re too pretty for me,” he murmurs into your lips, his hands trailing down your body like he’s outlining your shape with his touch. he pulls you closer by the ass, hiking your legs around his waist. “so fuckin’ sexy—” he whispers, kissing your neck.
kix smiles at you softly and cups the side of your face, pulling you into a slow kiss. his body slowly comes down on yours, which presses you into the bed as you lie back, parting your lips under his for a deeper kiss. he slides his hand over your thigh, touching you like you’re made of glass. you whimper when he kisses down your neck, moving down your body. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, settling between your legs with his kind eyes on you. “i want you to feel how true that is…”
jesse pauses at first, staring at you with a wide, lovestruck gaze. he opens his mouth to speak but ends up exhaling softly. “i—wow…” he says and grips your waist, his eyes just wandering over you before he looks up at you. he leans in close, and you think he’s going to kiss you on the mouth, but he kisses your jaw, slowly trailing lower as his body sinks down with his lips. you breathe shakily when his kisses tickle your chest, while he murmurs, “even prettier than i dreamed…”
hardcase looks at you like he’s planning to pounce with the intention of eating you alive. mischief sparks in his gaze as he kisses you hard, grabbing the bare skin just above your hips with a hungry groan. “fuck, look at you…” he moans into the kiss, lifting you up against him. “been waiting to get my hands on you like this, mhmmm,” he presses his forehead to yours, panting slightly to catch his breath. your breath catches when he lowers his voice and whispers, “been waiting a long time.”
gregor swipes his tongue over his bottom lip in a subtle licking motion, staring at you as if the rest of the world around him has disappeared. he takes you in his arms gently and rubs his hands down your back, slow to fit his mouth against yours in a deep, shuddering kiss. “what should i do with you first?” he teases lightly, dipping his head to kiss your neck. you squeeze his shoulders and suck in a breath. “whatever you want,” you tell him quietly. “oh, i know what i want,” he mutters.
howzer swallows the lump in his throat. “you just love torturing me, huh?” he rasps, moving forward so that you’re forced to lean back until you’re sprawled out under his body. you push your fingers through his hair right when he leans down to kiss you. he pulls back to take a sharp breath, gently stroking the side of your face. “you’re beautiful,” he tells you honestly, slowly inching his touch down your body. “i’m gonna take care of you now, okay? you tell me if it’s too much…”
emerie subconsciously lets her gaze wanders down your body, but she seems to blink hard when she catches herself, blushing slightly. “my eyes are up here,” you tease, your smile slowly fading when her hands find your waist, rubbing circles over your skin. your lips part to release a quiet breath, feeling her touch all over even though it’s concentrated in one part of your body. “so, i can’t look at you?” she replies back, her tone matter-of-fact despite the subtle smile ghosting her lips.
✧ Summary: Boss loves to take care of you, especially when you're sick—even if you put up a fight.
✧ Tags & Warnings: sickfic, eepyfic, established relationship, domestic fluff (these four are deadly fluff combination I daresay)
✧ Word Count: 1.9k
✧ A/N: Woe Boss sickfic be upon ye. If you're feeling under the weather as you're reading this, I hope you get to feel better soon! Stay hydrated and don't forget some calories in. Man I miss writing short fics like this, it took less than 24 hours. Anyway, enjoy my second Boss fluff, exclusively for prompt day 6 "where's my caf?" of @deltasquadweek! 🧡🧡
Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Boss (in-header image)
Once upon a time he'd promised he would never complain about the mattress in his squad's barracks. The two-inch bare-minimum necessity to catch 8 hours of sleep at most on a good day. He even has to fluff his pillow every damn day, or every hour when they're just hanging out in the barracks waiting for what's next.
He's top bunk, just so Fixer who's sleeping under him gets to shove his mechanic tools and knickknacks under the bed. Also because Sev literally sleeps with one eye open and that creeps the kriff out of his second-in-command. Scorch hates Fixer's snores, but everybody's gotta lose something.
But at your house, though…
Everything is perfect. The couch they don't have. The bean bags that aren't busted and terribly patched up. The amount of natural light pouring in from the rustic-style windows. It's lived in, the same as his barracks, but just not the same way. It's warm, it's cozy. It's everything he could've wanted for a livable living area.
Now he's complaining.
Put that aside. Boss is lucky to have you. He's lucky that he'd won you over all those months ago even though the first date was far from perfect, but you were so willing to accept what he lacks and believe in what he's capable of and in his aspirations, and still are. You are perfect.
When he's planetside, he excuses himself from the barracks and stays over at your house. Often comes unannounced to surprise you, and it works every time. Your joyous smiles and your tight hugs are such treasures—he would literally shoot someone to see them again. And anyway, that's what his mission, his duties, are for. Coming home to you and enjoying everything you both have to share, the domestic bits and pieces of it, after every of those mandatory debriefs, on-call duties.
In the kitchen, Boss stirs your herbal tea, the spoon clinking against the porcelain mug as he's incorporated a tiny bit of sugar in there. His caf's brewing. The packet herby nuna cream soup he's discovered in the pantry is simmering in a pot behind him, while the toaster next to it automatically turns off as the bread slices pop up loudly.
Apparently and eventually the noise in the kitchen wakes you up, not long after your boyfriend. Still in your sock-clad feet and Boss’ worn bodysuit top, you're rubbing your eyes as you pad into the kitchen. Boss smiles at the sight of you.
“Hey.” Chuckling, the commando wraps his bare, strong arms around you as you crash into his chest. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’,” you mumble airily, but you sound very much awake. You peel yourself off of him, peering into the simmering pot and smiling at the sight of toast. “A really nice view to wake up to.”
Standing bare chested with only just black sweatpants in the middle of your kitchen, Boss looks at you teasingly.
“Dork,” you rasp, trying to laugh but your sore, painful throat prevents you to. “I'm talking about the food.”
“Trust me, I know,” Boss says, nodding to himself in confirmation. He then quickly rinses the teaspoon he used to stir the tea. “Am I not food?”
“Sometimes,” you answer, distracted by stirring the pot with the ladle.
Boss glances down as he leans back against the counter. He watches you for a moment. You usually hum. This morning you don’t, and he knows why. Last night you complained about the dinner you had with your friends that you might or might have not overconsumed the food your friends warned you about. His last night's concern skyrockets this morning. “Cyar'ika,” he begins carefully, “If I ask you not to talk too much, will you listen?”
You turn the stove off. “Hm?”
“Your throat's hurting.”
“Yeah,” you rasp, not even bothering to hide your wheeze.
“Okay, stop talking.” Your boyfriend holds a hand up almost sternly. “That's an order, cyar'ika.”
“But how am I supposed to wor—” you're cut off in surprise when Boss pushes the mug of tea he's been stirring for five minutes to make sure the small amount of sugar dissolves into your hands. You melt at the warmth in your palm, but you complain just as fast. “Um. Why is this tea?”
Boss shrugs. “It's for you.”
“I want caf. Where's my caf? I need one.”
He sighs. “You don't need it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You complained about your throat last night. And you were shivering. I lowered the temp in the bedroom and I consulted. This morning you must be feeling terrible, worse than last night.”
Every bit of his words ring true. You look at him suspiciously, but you lift the mug to your lips anyway. “Who are you consulting with?”
“A trained medic,” Boss says as you sip on your tea, “He dropped some of our top-shelf med supply this morning. That tea is one of them, to soothe your throat first thing. And this.” He shows you a tube of tablets that he draws out of nowhere—you’re feeling it's getting difficult to keep up, it's not good. “For your flu symptoms.”
Relief washes over you. Boss has always been very kind, and he loves taking care of you. And your house. And your needs. Basically he cares about everything about you.
“Okay,” you smile gratefully, gulping the last of your tea. “Um, tell my thanks to your medic. And thank you.” You hug and kiss his cheek before turning around for the stairs. “I'll go shower and head out.”
Boss sighs. It's one of those sighs that goes out of him when Fixer breaks into another argument with either Sev or Scorch. "Cyar'ika, you can be very adorable sometimes."
You grin widely as your cheeks flush in his praise. You turn slightly to glance over your shoulder. "Sometimes?"
"You're not feeling well," he says, ignoring your teasing. "You're staying home."
"What?! No—aherm.” You wheeze again, your voice now barely coming out. “Oh bugger…”
He raises an eyebrow challengingly. "No?"
You roll your eyes, switching to whispering. "Boss, honey, I've got deadlines and I have to be in office."
"No, I've checked your work progress and everything can be done remotely from home.” He approaches you, swiftly crowding you with his ridiculously built, strong body and his equally strong arms. Despite your protests, you can't help but melt as he cages you in them again, wrapped around your waist very snugly. "You're going to have breakfast, take your meds, wrap yourself in blanket, and sleep in.”
You look horrified. "Sleep in?"
"Sleep in," Boss nods, undeterred. "Or I'll take you upstairs myself and make a ronto roll out of you, sweetheart. Your choice."
You shuffle your feet in hesitance. It does sound tempting, and Boss knows your resolve is falling apart.
In the end, he ends up smiling so smugly. You don't say it, but he knows what you're thinking—you’re persuaded; you can't resist his charms and his unshakable duty to take care of you. Especially his charms. You know Boss as a soft-spoken person but also in a way stern about duty and orders. Plus, his thick unique accent is your sole weakness.
And then you're truly persuaded to eat the hot packet soup that you can't taste at all, with the dry toast—no butter in order not to make your strep throat worse. Boss pointedly sips on his fresh caf in front of you while having the same meal as you, yet innocently evading your ‘envious verbal attacks’ by saying that he has to be on-call at 1500, so he's got to be at HQ before that time.
And then to email your team leader and human resources to tell them you're really, really sick with the official doctor's orders in writing coming in hot soon on another email.
Boss literally nags at you when you even try to load the dishes into the washer, says he'll do it later after you're asleep—he’ll take care of the house and make sure to have lunch ready for you before he departs.
Now you're sitting with a glass of water and the tablets on the table, Boss snapping the tube close as he half-sits on the table. He looks at you, zoning out, and drags you back in by loosely brushing your hair with his fingers and pushing them away from your face so you don't look really terrible.
Grateful for everything he's done, you look up to meet his gaze. “I love you, you know that?”
Boss smiles, his dimples showing and making the hummingbirds in your stomach flutter. “Love you too.” He leans in and kisses your head. “You'll always have me,” he mumbles to your hair, rubbing your arm. “Whatever you need. I'll do it for you.”
You grab his hand and squeeze, wishing you could kiss it but you don't want to risk infection—it’s the last thing he needs. Him being close is hazardous enough for him, but he insists on clone metabolism and stuff. So you just squish your cheek into his palm, your eyelashes flutter against his skin and make his chest flooded with warmth.
“Come on,” Boss urges you again, right after you take your meds. “Let's get you to bed.”
You squeal and giggle hoarsely as he hoists you up by the back of your knees, your chest meeting his while having your arms wrapped around his neck, and shuffle upstairs to your shared bedroom. A commando like him is strong, no doubt—admiring his strength, you always love it when he carries you.
Boss gently drops you on your side of the bed with a slight groan. He smiles at you, brushing your hair away from your face once again before tucking you in and slipping behind you above the covers.
“Best day ever,” you mumble into your pillow.
“Don't say that. You're ill,” Boss playfully chides, pulling you close to his chest and throwing his leg over yours. “Best day would be to see you up and about again. Tirelessly chirping. Active, adorable. Like a little porg.”
You coo, not knowing what to say. “Thank you.”
Boss hums, gently rubbing your arms above the covers.
It's the comfortable silence and lazy atmosphere that make this almost like a Benduday morning. Soon enough, not within five minutes or so you think, your eyes droop heavily.
"Oh, you drugged that tea, didn't you."
Boss bites down on his lip to resist his amused smile at your tone. "You'll be fine. Just sleepy. Fi prescribed it for you."
You hum in question. "Fixer?"
"Fi," Boss insists, "From Omega. He's the squad medic. I consulted him."
"Oh." You have no idea who that is. "Prescribed? For all I know you dumped the whole bottle in there."
"Now why would I do that?"
"Because you don't want me to work.”
“No,” Boss corrects you, "Because I know you are so exhausted that your immune system drops, so I want you to catch a lot of rest.”
You yawn, turning around, and curl your body above his chest. Boss releases a deep sigh as he feels your feverish body, and tugs you closer. His warm body makes you purr beneath the covers, wishing that it could swallow you alive. "Well, it's working,” you murmur, your consciousness slipping out of you and for once it feels blissful.
"Good," Boss smiles into your hair, his arms snug around your cocooned body. "I'll stay, cyar'ika. Get some rest.”
Delta Squad Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart @alor-ika
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 ⬆️)
How Delta Squad boys confess their feelings for you
Delta Squad x GN!Reader
This one's in a different format than usual—it's in bullet points! Respect to the people who are more talented in writing bullets points/headcanons style bcs it's more difficult than I thought 🤝🏼 (as you can tell this is a little messy)
Enjoy this one, vode! 💛
Also this is for the talented @i-willstealyourtoes 🫶🏼
For @deltasquadweek | Alt. Prompt Day 7: "I Love You."
Masterlist | Delta Squad (in-header image)
Boss
You and Boss are running on a really casual relationship.
Everything's just been really nice in your own pace, and you don't want to pressure him into anything he's not ready for yet.
It's like you're the literal embodiment of patience and he loves you for it, he can't ever have enough thanking you.
You know what this relationship eventually entails—because honestly, he's just a soldier of the Republic, and both of you know well what that means.
And you never seem to mind that, every time you two meet to catch up you always have that smile and your eyes are sparkling at all times.
It'd be cruel, but Boss is a leader; he worries about every kind of scenario and he has to be ready for it, including the ones that scream every kind of ‘what if?’ in the back of his mind.
“You know that I could die out there, right?” he then asks you.
“I know,” you say with a smile, “But I don't want you to go out there with that kind of mindset, Boss.”
It's like his own nature of being an expendable soldier gnaws at his conscience, enough to make him realize that maybe he's not ready to die at all.
“Careful,” Fixer warns him, not hostile, but reminding him of what's drilled into them; that attachment could be weakness. In the corner, Sev is just shrugging and Scorch is examining his fingernails.
Boss keeps that in mind.
But he can't keep it anymore (his brothers aren't stopping him anyway).
He decides he's not going to die any time soon, and for the sake of fairness, he vows to be a better soldier, covering his squad more often on the field so no one's dying in the future.
And so he could come back home to you.
This is all happening inside his mind, so when he comes up to your door before the shuttle that’d take him to deployment leaves, you're surprised that he's there as he pulls you into his chest.
Your forehead bonks against the plastoid armor but you don't mind, laughing it off and your arms snaking around his huge frame upon instinct.
“Listen, cyare.” He can't be long, but he's using all his time by looking into your eyes, and you swear you can see the stars in the dark honey desert color of his own. “Can I make a promise to you?’
“I… Of course. What is it?”
“I’ll try. I promise I'll try,” Boss says, gently taking your hands in his gloved ones. “I’ll try not to die out there. I'll always make it home to you. Come back for you. I'd understand if that's some lesser thing for you to worry about because I'm the best kind of cannon fodder, but… I just want you to know. Think about it, perhaps. It should be something that you can’t possibly ignore when you're dating someone like me. I promise. You'll always have me back with you mission after mission. Okay?”
There's sincerity in his words. You've formed your own opinion about this matter some time ago, but Boss' promise to you scrambles what you've got, what once was standing firm in your grasp as a belief now bends to his promise—his declaration—to you.
“Okay,” you nod, eyes stinging with tears that obviously aren't out of misery. Your smile is shaky. “I heard you.”
Boss sighs softly. “Good.” The moment he hugs you tight, his armored arms wrapping around your form just as your limbs around his neck… everything becomes so clear to you like some divine revelation. You really don't want to lose him.
“Can't promise that I won't come back without scars, though,” he mutters close to your ear.
“That's fine,” you huff a laugh, pressing a kiss to his hair above his ear. “Just as long as you're alive. I'll be waiting until you're back home safe.”
Home. Safe.
Yes, that sounds about right. That sounds like he deserves that. Comfort. Quiet moments. Hugs, just like this. Everything that you've got to offer to each other in these trying times; your love.
Fixer
Everyone knows Fixer worships regulations.
I mean, he calls his brothers by their numbers over the comms during active ops because a) as it should be and b) it's their real name.
But hey, he's melted a long time ago and resorted to call them by their nicknames when there's no officers around that he needs to worry about.
So yeah, everyone knows that, and so are you.
And you? You're the worst match ever for Fixer.
You break rules for fun, but enough not to cause permanent harm, and really, it's not big stuff like vandalism or something else that would end your day in Republic penitentiary, but still.
They're all harmless. Hiding one's jacket. Changing their ringtones. Talking to someone long enough while they're dipping their cookies so it would fall off. Turning off the light while someone's in the bathroom.
Fixer pretends not to acknowledge whatever the hell you've been doing because he's been trying to ignore that troublemaker trait of you so much (how did he end up with you?).
(Honestly, good question. No one knows.)
“Cyare, would you please stop?”
“That should violate about 28 rules, cyare.”
“No one's ever done that because they have brains and you don't.”
Oh he loves to bully you alright, but 100% out of affection. He really would hide a body for you if you've ever accidentally killed someone.
Also no, you don't know what cyare means. It sounds like a language he'd picked up, or taught
Fixer calls you that only because he doesn't know what to call you besides your name.
It just… came out.
You've tried to ask Scorch what it means but all he did was giggling and the next thing you know he was practically gossipping with Sev.
It has to mean something… mean.
Whatever it is, it's consuming your thoughts in the worst ways. They're making fun out of you. So one day when you're being particularly sulky and salty to everyone you know, Fixer's concerns take the best of him and steps in to inquire about your behavior.
“Cyare, wanna tell me what's wrong?”
“Don't call me that!” you snap.
Fixer’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean,” you mock, “What I meant is everybody and I mean everybody in your kriffing squad seems to make fun of me.” You roughly jab a finger into his chest. “Including you.”
“Make fun of you?”
“Are you deaf or something?”
“No,” he answers firmly, his teeth gritting. You don't even notice that his fists are clenching. “Tell me who made fun of you. What did they do?”
“It’s Scorch.” You don't waste time. Your eyes sting from unshed tears and when you wipe them with the back of your hand it's like popping water balloons—they stream down your face. “I just asked about that word you say often and he just laughed in my face like he's won candies or something.”
It's quiet for a while and you both stand there, Fixer's thoughts are growing louder. “What word?”
“One that you use to call me.”
He tilts his head. “‘Cyare’?”
You nod weakly, your tears still spilling out.
There's quiet, and Fixer bites his tongue to prevent a snort. Then he exhales instead, pulling himself together not to laugh and make worse of your overthinking.
“That chakaar,” you hear him mutter, stepping closer into your space and tenderly pulling you into his chest, as if you're a fragile piece of vase. “He could've answered it and you wouldn't have to shed dumb tears like this.”
And just like that you're broken. You're confused as kark that you're caught between snapping yet again, your mouth parted, and your hands firm on his chest to angrily push him away.
“What?” is all you can manage.
“It means…” Fixer’s gaze drift away from you, but you can see his neck and cheeks darkening with color. “It means darling. Beloved.”
“....Oh…”
“Yeah,” Fixer dismisses, looking rather shy with his eyes constantly glancing away from you as the colors in his cheeks make him look even more flushed. “So please don't fuss over it?”
“Say it,” you challenge.
“Say what?”
“The word.”
“I adore you.”
“No, I mean not—hhhggggghh…” You're cut off as Fixer squeezes you so tightly that your lungs probably shrink. You kick his foot.
Yeah. You know what he means. He'll come around with the balls to actually say it.
Scorch
You're not the first to discover that Scorch loves to talk.
And I mean, that man loves to talk.
He's always the first to engage in a conversation as if a dictionary of conversation starters was programmed into him when he'd been in the tube.
He's probably the most expressive person you've ever met and you adore him dearly for it.
Especially when he just leans on the kitchen counter, chin in palm, looking at you with the biggest heart eyes ever.
You know he's just teasing.
He always makes time to come by your home and stay over.
And you as a host are always ready to cook some hearty meal for him—when you learned the fact that they don't eat anything but protein sludge and plain carbohydrate blocks you couldn't take it.
Scorch doesn't want to make you fuss all over just for him, but you insist.
One day he's thinking about it. Does that mean something?
He knows he's been hiding his feelings for a bit too long—even Boss sternly reprimanded him once when Scorch was unable to focus during an op.
He's been thinking about you.
And now as he eats dinner with you, he's lost in his own thoughts and good food.
And by the time dessert comes in, he melts entirely at your great efforts to make him comfortable.
As he enjoys dessert he doesn't even realize that he says, “You know I love you, right?”
It hits you like a damn speeder that you lock gaze with him, Scorch is seemingly as surprised as you are.
“Y-you do?”
“I—I mean,” Scorch deflects, a wave of heat sliding into his cheeks. “I was… talking to the cheesecake.”
That was TERRIBLE.
To be fair it's a really great strawberry cheesecake.
“Oh,” you sulk, forcing a smile to your lips as you pick up your fork again, “Thought I misheard.”
If only you could hear Scorch's heart breaking in that exact moment.
“No, you didn't mishear,” Scorch hurriedly says. He takes your hand without thinking, and the heat in his stomach is bubbling over as he looks into your eyes. “It's um… You know that I've liked you for a really long time, right?”
You nod. “Yeah, and it shows.” Smiling a bit, you lace your fingers with his. “Consistently.”
“Yeah,” he huffs a chuckle. “And now I just really really really like you and everything you've done for me. I know it's just dinner but all this… it means a lot to me.”
Before you can say anything, he scoots his chair closer to you. It scrapes across the floor noisily in the midst of the silence of your home. He plops back down, his thigh touching yours.
“One question though,” Scorch cheekily says, “Did you put love potion in this thing?”
Your giggles are everything to him. “What for?”
“Uh-huh, that's right,” he grins widely, gently cupping your face. “You don't need to put love potion inside your finely-cooked dinner. I'm already in love with you.”
Scorch’s eyes map all over your face, his warm brown eyes glimmering in the romantic candlelight. “You have a strawberry jam in the corner of your mouth, though.”
“No I don't,” you chuckle.
“Mm, wanna prove it? If I kiss you right here,” he boops the spot, “And I taste strawberry jam, you owe me an actual kiss.”
“And if you're wrong?”
“I still get that kiss. I'm trying to woo you here, baby. Wanna appreciate my efforts?”
Eventually he throws the strawberry jam motive out of the airlock and places a cheeky yet long-awaited kiss on your lips. You can feel his smile, even.
Sev
Your relationship with Sev started quite strangely.
The two of you met in some rundown speakeasy in the lower levels of Coruscant, and both claim the ale that everybody says taste like gundark piss your favorite.
And then the talk spans to your favorite Huttese heavy metal band—his favorite too.
Your favorite limmie team—which is also his favorite (he also mentioned that he often played limmie when he was a cadet and he was a mean forward).
There's too many similarities between you already.
Okay well yes, besides breathing gore thriller holofilms, you have nothing else to compare against his dark sadistic humor.
But there's this new thriller movie you really wanna see already in theaters and instinctively, you ask Sev if he's down.
Naturally, with the duties of a soldier and the oftentimes-unexpected demands that entails, he turned down your offer.
You withdraw. Yeah, it was silly anyway.
But at least he insisted walking you home afterward.
Sev could see your disappointment. Days later it's gnawing at him, and Scorch that cheeky bastard notices.
“So you wanna tell me what's going on or would you like me to shove Fixer to have a go at you?”
“Don't drag me into this,” Fixer sighs from the other side of the room.
Scorch grins. “No, you said you wanted to know, so I'm extracting the intel straight from the source.”
“I didn't say that.”
Scorch turns back to Sev. “Now tell us or I'm betting your entire tenday stipend if Fixer pins you down next spar. We'll split, Fix. Don't worry.”
“Fine. I'm in.”
Sev grunts, already losing it. “Should I feel guilty for rejecting a date?”
“You fekking what?” Boss pipes in, this time.
Scorch claps loudly. “Alright vode, it's time for flash training for our psycho brother here, welcome to Dating 101. Guest lecturer Null-7 isn't available at the moment so you should feel lucky, Oh-Seven.”
He gave it all out.
Your shared favorites, things you have in common, stories traded over ales and a few things stronger—both of you were at that bar for five hours just talking.
Sev isn't sure if Scorch's been drilling the term ‘love at first sight’ too often and too much that it's eating him alive, but he's sure that's how he feels about you.
So he comms you, asking if you’ve watched that movie yet.
“Actually, yeah,” you answer, hope surging inside your chest. “But um, I've got loads of thriller holos, if you wanna come by. We could have a movie night, if you're up for it.”
By the time you've finished talking, Scorch smacks him in the back a couple of times, Boss pushes him towards the door, and Fixer is already tossing Sev his go bag.
That night, two days before his leave ends, Sev is settled with you on your couch, the glow from the holoscreen reflecting on your faces.
You notice Sev is sitting so stiff, so you nudge his elbow asking if he's okay.
He looks at you longer than he should—he’d be lying if he's not feeling everything so intensely all at once, especially when you're nearly pressed up against his side.
He’s attentive. He knows it's not casual. It's intentional from you. You want to be close to him, but without a little booze encouragement, he isn't sure how to proceed.
Then he remembers what Scorch said and decides to execute (with a little alteration).
Sev moves his arm up, but he's not looking at you (he tries to cover his blushing cheeks, okay, give him time).
You take his invitation and lean heavily against him to absorb his warmth.
Sev smells like fresh aftershave and something else (it's blaster cleaning solution) tried to be covered by modest convenience store perfume.
You commit that scent to memory and snuggle even closer to him. The tip of your finger is tracing the fabric lining on his shirt, and soon your focus is no longer on the movie.
“Do you let anyone you just met be this close?” you ask, curious about his change of mind.
“No,” Sev replies firmly.
“Then what changes?”
Sev takes a deep breath. “Couldn't stop thinking about you,” he mumbles lowly into your hair, movie be damned. “Felt bad for turning down when you asked. Truth to be told, it felt like I'm leaving someone behind in a crossfire.”
“But…” You raise your head to meet his intense gaze. “We've only just met.”
“Yeah,” Sev says carefully, “But we have a lot in common, it feels like I've known you a long time, too.”
You don't hesitate—you raise further to cup the side of his face and pull him down so you can press your lips against his. Sev's reflex kicks in rapidly, kissing you as well while grabbing you closer to his body.
It isn't said, but whatever it is, whatever you're feeling; it's blossoming, too.
Delta Squad Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart @alor-ika @hellfiresky @leiopython-rat
Rating: Explicit/nsfw smut | 18+ only! Minors do not interact
Length: ~6.9k
pairing(s): Fox/reader, Cody/reader, Wolffe/reader, Rex/reader, Bly/reader | no clonecest
Warnings: fem!reader, reader is described as having hair on their head, reader is a sex worker but there are no descriptions of sex work happening, reader and Fox match each others freak, Fox looks like an asshole for a second but its a misunderstanding, reader is referred to as a "gift" for Fox's brothers (she is into it), vaginal sex, explicit permission (for the most part), hair pulling, oral (m and f receiving, but not at the same time), deep throating, groping, threesome/group sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, brief handjobs, double vaginal penetration, not quite choking but close, brief nipple play, praise, finger sucking, brief vaginal fingering, cum spitting (don't look at me), biting, begging, brief cockwarming, multiple female orgasms, overstimulation, post-sex cuddle pile, aftercare, Fox records the whole tryst on his helmet without the reader knowing until after its done but reader IS into it when its revealed, vaguely poly ending
GAR Romance Month prompts: Rex, begging, Cody, begging giving gifts (I'm counting it), and alt prompt Bly.
Description: You're one of Coruscant's most sought after, and most expensive, girls -- you're used to being showered in gifts by senators, bureaucrats, and businessmen. But falling in love with the Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard has made you the gift this time, and you're all eager to give your all to his four younger brothers.
A/n: This fic was, in part, brought to you by me watching Moulin Rouge 3 times in 3 consecutive days ✨ I was desperately trying to finish this for Valentines day, but I had some personal things come up that prevented me from finishing on time, but its done now! I have at least two more fics to finish by the end of the month so let's hope I finish those on time 🫡 | crossposted on AO3
When you were a kid, you thought that living in the Core Worlds would be nothing but glamour, luxury, and frivolity. You had wanted nothing more in life than to escape your backwater, Outer Rim homeworld, and go live it up somewhere beautiful like Chandrilla or Alderaan. The first step was making it to Coruscant, and then, the whole galaxy would be yours to choose from.
You worked hard, saved all your credits, and finally, finally, made it out.
Nothing prepared you for the reality of life on Coruscant; your meager credits didn't cover anything close to luxury, and you were so tired of scrounging and scraping by.
It started with dancing at the Cabaret; you walked out that first night with more credits than you'd earned in a year back home. You quickly made a name for yourself, and the credits started pouring in. In almost no time at all, you had an apartment in the upper district, paid for by businessmen and politicians who wanted your company for the night. And when the war started, when you had expected business to dry up, the credits men were willing to throw at you seemed to skyrocket.
You never loved your job, but it gave you freedom you'd never been afforded before. And you weren't stupid, you knew there was an expiration date on the lifestyle you'd gotten used to. But more importantly, you weren't naive — you knew the men who paid for your time would never care about you, not in any way that was real; most had wives and children back on their homeworlds. However, at least for the time being, you had their attention and their credits, which you convinced yourself was enough.
Why did you need love when you had more than you could ever dream of?
But Marshal Commander Fox in all his intimidating glory had accidentally swept you off your feet, literally, one night while you were trying to sneak out of the senate offices. The toe of your shoe had caught on the plush carpet, and for one terrifying second, you were airborne. You hadn't seen him step out of the shadows, but before your fragile dignity shattered across the floor, his strong arms had caught you around the waist and had pulled you flush against his chest.
It felt like something out of a holodrama with your heaving chest pressed against his unyielding plastoid, his impassive helmet tilted to look at your face, and your body buzzing with heat.
And then he said your name, deep and rumbling in his chest, and your knees went weak.
He walked you home that night, the silence comfortable and warm between you, and you let him when he got to your door and showed him just how grateful you were for heroics. Your very own knight in shining plastoid.
It was the first night of your new favourite routine; most nights that you had private meetings in the Senate, Fox would appear from the shadows and steal a few hours with you. After, while you shared a cigarra in bed and traced the scars on his handsome face, the two of you would bitch about your days and the rich assholes who consumed them. He always stayed until you fell asleep, but when you woke, the only trace of him would be a slip of flimsi on your side table next to a glass of water.
You were positively smitten, although you would never admit it. You laughed at yourself the first time you questioned your feelings. He was just incredibly talented in bed, far better than the selfish senators and bureaucrats you were used to. You refused to think about how butterflies had erupted in your gut even before he'd gotten into your bed. Refused to acknowledge that no one had ever cared about you like Fox did. You told yourself it wasn't serious, that you weren't developing feelings for him.
But you couldn't deny the rush of excitement, pure giddiness, that shot through you when you caught a flash of his distinctive armor out of the corner of your eye. Nor the way your heart pounded in your chest when his massive hands hovered over your back, not daring to touch you until you were hidden away from the prying eyes of Coruscant.
And you tried as hard as you could to ignore the disappointment that swelled in your gut when he sent one of the other Guards to walk you home when he was busy. But the sting of rejection always faded when the trooper slipped a hastily scribbled note from Fox into your palm when they dropped off outside your building.
It wasn't until told you that he wouldn't be able to see you for two whole weeks, and your mood had instantly soured, that you knew you had lost your heart to him. You felt sick to your stomach at the revelation, and he was none the wiser as he laughed and pulled you to lay on top of him, nipping the underside of your jaw while he explained that a number of battalions, all commanded by his closest brothers, were coming back to Coruscant from the front lines.
Apparently, the entire Coruscant Guard were doing double shifts to try and manage their unruly brothers who spent most of their shore leave obliteratingly drunk, and that he had been guilted and harassed into taking a day off to spend time with his four younger brothers to celebrate the anniversary of completing their ARC training. You didn't know what exactly that meant, but it seemed important to them, to Fox.
It made something soft take root in your chest as you carded your hands through his silver streaked curls while he cycled between whining about his little brothers and their meddling, and pressing open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck. The affection in his voice while he complained, the way his head would fall back to the pillow and his chest rumbled with laughter as he told you stories about each of them, made you crumble completely. You loved getting to see this part of him.
And despite knowing just how unfortunately this might end for you, you loved him.
Halfway through a diatribe about how one of his brothers had pulled a 'blond little defect' out of the trashchute with a stupid little grin on his face, you had blurted out that you wanted to meet them. Why wouldn't you? They were who he loved, and you loved him.
But Fox had gone silent for a second, and you worried you had made a mistake and showed your tenderness too soon. In your anxiety, you hadn't realized the stupid little grin had gone sharp and bright until you were on your back with him hovering over you. "Yeah, cyare? Wanna meet my di'kut little brothers? Wanna help me make them jealous? Show them how their ori'vod gets taken care of while they're off on the front lines?"
You had folded immediately, nodding eagerly as he sunk into you with a groan that reverberated in your chest. He had fucked you like a man possessed, and despite usually being somewhat quiet in bed, he spent the whole time babbling about how you were going to be the perfect gift for his brothers, and that predatory smirk never slipped off his face. It was the last thing you saw with bleary eyes as he slipped out of your bed that night.
It had been all too easy, and exhilarating, to clear your schedule for Fox and his brothers. And after a week of waiting, your hands shook as you paced the length of your apartment waiting for them to arrive. The dinner you had prepared was ready and waiting, and you had groomed yourself to perfection; you wanted to make Fox look good, and you wanted to impress them — impress him.
But deep down, if you were being honest with yourself, you wanted them to like you. They were important to Fox, and Fox mattered to you.
Right on time, as if you could expect anything else, you heard them from the hall before the doorbell rang. Nearly identical voices all overlapping, laughing, teasing, before one sharp whistle brought an abrupt halt to the cacophony immediately before the doorbell rang.
You rushed to open it, heels clicking on the wood as you ran to the door and opened it to find four troopers, all adorned with different colours on their armor, standing at your door in what appeared to be begrudgingly obedient silence. And Fox, helmet tucked under his arm, was standing between them and the door with a dark look on his face.
"Do you di'kuts remember the rules?" he growled out.
"Yes, vod," they all sighed in unison.
"Good. Don't make me regret this," he warned before turning to you, the soft smile you were used to growing on his face.
"Rules?" you asked, raising a brow at him.
"Simple: don't say anything stupid to offend you and this isn't a mess hall so don't act like it. Are you sure you want this, mesh'la?"
"Of course I am, Fox," you grinned back, stepping aside. "Please, come in!"
As if the spell of Fox's discipline had been broken by your words, the overlapped conversations resumed as they nearly tumbled into your apartment. You heard Fox sigh and close the door behind them with a gentle click.
"I'm sorry about them, cyare. They forget their manners on shore leave," he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "If they offend you at all, just tell me, and I'll kill them in their sleep."
"Oh kriff off, ori'vod," the one in the grey armor sighed, taking off his helmet. "We are very well behaved."
"Tell that to my three, full, drunk tanks, Wolffe," Fox hissed back. "And one of your men bit me. I had to get a karking tetanus shot."
Wolffe shot you and Fox a smug smile over his shoulder that reminded you of the hungry grin that Fox liked to give you. But the scar and the silver, cybernetic eye caused you to nearly freeze in your tracks, but you forced yourself to keep moving and keep the smile plastered on your face.
Fox had warned you about the minute differences between them; Wolffe's cybernetic eye, the scar on Cody's temple and his messy, unruly curls, how Bly liked to keep his hair cropped short and often had two yellow lines painted on his cheekbones, and Rex's blond peach fuzz. Still, it had shocked you, but more than anything it filled you with sympathy. These men were fighting for a Republic that treated them as replaceable, that treated them no better than droids.
It made you want to ruin every senator who dared to deny them rights, who dared to pretend like they were better than these brave, incredible men. But that would come later, for now, all you could do was give them dinner and let them know that some people in the Republic appreciated them.
"It smells incredible, ma'am," Bly smiled softly at you.
"I wasn't sure what you all liked, and Fox said 'anything is better than ration slop', which was entirely unhelpful, but I didn't think about allergies at all, so I hope you all can—" you rambled.
"Ma'am," Cody, in his bright orange armor, cut you off. "We were engineered not to have allergies, and I promise, if your food tastes half as good as it smells, we will be bragging about this to our battalions for the foreseeable future." You felt your cheeks heating and nodded, ushering them toward the dining room.
Dinner was… loud, but full of warmth. Fox's brothers took turns asking you questions about yourself, and in turn you had questions for all of them. You tried to keep things light, keep their minds off the war, but the longer you talked, and the more comfortable his brothers seemed to get with you, the more Fox seemed to go silent. He had barely spoken, barely looked at you since dinner had started. He just sat back, staring between his brothers as if he was trying to put some unseen puzzle together.
But other than the Fox-shaped void pretending like you didn't exist, dinner seemed… perfect. Fox's brothers were so fun, so distinct, and so full of life that you couldn't help the way your heart opened to them. Not with how earnestly they praised your cooking, and how they made your cheeks heat when they boasted about how their men would be jealous, and the extraordinary stories they had from the front lines of the war. It didn't take long for you to push them all back into the living room to relax while you prepared dessert and tried to get your racing heart under control.
You were just about to cut into the cake when Rex asked you over his shoulder, almost off-handedly, "It's a nice place you've got. How much did it set you back, if you don't mind me asking?"
Your hands froze, and your eyes flickered over to Fox, who had frozen with his cup of caf halfway to his mouth, staring at your coffee table as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Your mind whispered he's ashamed of you, and a thorn of white-hot mortification settled under your ribs.
But you swallowed the lump in your throat, stuffed down the heat of your embarrassment, and smiled at Rex prettily, batting your eyelashes. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. The Senator from Corsin gets billed directly, at his insistence of course."
You felt the heat of Fox's stare on your face as he whipped around to look at you, but you refused to grant him the satisfaction of a response; it was more fun to watch the realization dawn in his brothers' faces.
Wolffe was the first to catch on, a slow, sharp smirk growing across his face before Cody gave a small cough and set his drink on the table, and Bly's eyes darted away. The only one who didn't seem to respond was Rex, who simply stared at you, but you saw the hint of approval in his eyes.
"Oh? Was Fox unclear about what I invited you all over for?" you asked, giving them a fake pout. "I'm just so grateful for your service, it's only fair that you get to—"
"Cyare," Fox ground out, his voice tight and angry, but you didn't know why — you didn't lie. And Fox had been the one who rambled about making you a gift for them, you were simply doing what he had wanted.
You abandoned the kitchen and slunk into the living room, hips swaying exaggeratedly in complete silence aside from the slow, echoing clicks of your heels on the floor. "What?" You asked, stopping behind Rex. You ran a slow, delicate finger down the line of his face, watching how his posture relaxed and his shoulders dropped. "You don't want your brothers to get one of the most expensive girls on Coruscant for free, just like you do?"
Rex released a ragged breath as you draped yourself over his back, hands sliding down the front of his chest plate slowly, undoing the small latches you had learned about in your haste to undress Fox many times. You let it fall to the floor with a clatter, humming at the feeling of his warm, muscular body under your hands.
"That's a little rude, don't you think?" you asked, pressing your lips to the side of Rex's neck, feeling the man go rigid under you. His hands were balled into tight fists next to him,
"It's very rude, ori'vod," Wolffe agreed, voice teasing.
"It's just a bit of fun," you pouted innocently before pulling away from Rex and sauntering over to Bly. "Besides, you're all so handsome, how can a girl resist?"
"You're not obligated to do anything, ma'am—" Bly said, his brows furrowed as you came to a stop in front of him.
"Oh, sweetheart, I know," you beamed at him as you sank to your knees, your hands skirting up the edges of his plastoid covered thighs before settling on his codpiece with a grin. "But I want to. Because I want you. I want all of you. If… that's what you want, of course."
Bly choked on his own spit and nodded as you expertly unfastened his armor and snaked a hand under the band of the tight black garment and took hold of his hardening cock with a smile.
"Not all identical, I guess," you winked, pulling the band down before licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. It earned you a shout of surprise before your lips closed around the head with a gentle suck. You could see his hands flexing next to his thighs, his whole body twitching with desire to do something.
"Bly'ika needs permission, pretty girl," one of them said teasingly.
You pulled back to look at his face with a genuine, soft smile and kneaded the tight muscle of his thighs. "You can touch me if you want to, just be nice."
The effect was instant; his hands were gentle as he pushed your hair out of your face and gathered it at the back of your head, pulling you back toward him with the slightest pressure. You let him guide you forward, tuning out the chatter from around the room to focus on Bly.
Somewhere, you heard what sounded like a door closing, and you turned to look, but Bly gently turned you back to him, one finger gently stroking your cheek. "Is everything okay?" You asked, concern swelling in your chest.
"Everything is perfect, beautiful. Just focus on me right now," he smiled, bright and blinding. And the thoughts disappeared from your mind as you nodded.
His hands were gentle and exploratory, not demanding and harsh, and his moans were more like whimpers than grunts. And they were music to your ears as your tongue swirled around the tip of his cock.
"Kark, you're good at that," he praised, his voice breathy and strained.
You flashed him a quick, wicked smile before you relaxed your throat and sunk down on him nearly to the base, ignoring the way your eyes watered and your jaw strained, focusing on how his fist tightened in your hair and the satisfied groan he let out when your hand wrapped around what you couldn't swallow down.
You worked your tongue and hand in tandem, and it didn't take long for him to go tense under you, his chest heaving and muscles jumping sporadically. You sat back on your heels and let his cock slip out of your throat, letting your hand do most of the work as you sucked on the tip. Bly came with a broken shout of your name, and various curses that you didn't understand.
You pulled off him with a soft pop, his grip on your hair going slack as he sank into your couch nearly boneless. You waited for him to relax, sitting back on your heels as he opened his eyes to look at you. And you smiled at him and opened your mouth, showing him his release on your tongue.
"Fuck, I can't believe you're real," he groaned, sounding almost pained as you preened.
But a new hand, not Bly's, threaded into your hair and caressed the back of your head softly, almost petting you, before tightening into a fist, holding onto the root of your hair. It wasn't aggressive, like Fox usually was, but it was firm. Commanding. A bare forearm and hand appeared in front of your face, cupped slightly. "Spit," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You tipped your head back to look at him, which he allowed without loosening his grip, and found a shirtless Cody staring you down, eyes hard and unwaveringly serious.
You gave him the most pleading look you could muster, letting the tears pool in your lash line. A soft smile broke across his face, and the grip on your hair loosened slightly to scratch at your scalp. "This isn't up for debate, sweet thing. You don't deserve something so nasty in your pretty mouth."
"Kriff, vod, you callin' me gross or somethin'?" Bly slurred out.
"No," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm saying she's too precious for something so filthy. So spit, mesh'la. I won't ask again."
You huffed and gave him a small nod, spitting Bly's cum into Cody's waiting hand, grimacing at the mess you made. You gave a little cough, and looked back up at Cody who beamed at you in response and extracted his other hand from your hair.
"I could have swallowed," you argued half-heartedly, wincing at how wrecked your voice sounded and how much you missed the feeling of his blunt nails against your scalp. "I do it all the time."
"Not here, not with us," Cody cooed, brushing a stray tear you didn't know had fallen off your cheek with his clean hand.
"But Fox—" you began, eyes darting over to where you remembered him sitting.
But Cody caught your chin between his fingers and turned your face back toward him. "No. Not when you made us dinner and are treating us so well. I don't care what anyone else wants, or what you've always done; I want to make sure you're taken care of. That's why you're gonna sit on Rex'ika's face next for us, isn't that right?"
The curl of desire in your gut forced a quiet keen out of you as you scanned the room for the blond man. And you found him, eyes hooded and dark with desire, divested of his armor completely with the sleeves of his blacks pushed up to his elbows and his hard cock tenting the tight black fabric between his obscenely spread legs.
"You want that, cyare?" Rex groaned. "Because, kriff, I think I'd die to taste you."
You nodded and shuffled toward him unsteadily, not trusting your legs to work properly after sitting on your knees for so long. But Rex wasn't having it; he was off the couch almost instantly, scooping you up off the floor into his arms.
An involuntary gasp escaped you as Rex smirked, "Let me enjoy this, enjoy you. Does anyone else like to put their tongue inside your pretty cunt? Or are they all di'kuts?"
You gave him a bashful shrug and Rex cursed under his breath as he carried you to the couch he had abandoned and laid you down, staring down at you like a starving man at a feast.
"May I?" He asked, voice gentle despite the need in his eyes. You nodded, the words lodging themselves in your throat as his hands slid up your thighs and disappeared under the hem of your dress. You could feel how the thin, expensive material of your underwear had been ruined by your desire, your sticky essence making them cling to your skin.
Rex hummed in delight as he flipped your skirt up completely, exposing you to him, and shuffled down until your thighs were bracketing his shoulders. Even the feeling of his breath against your balmy made you squirm and keen, your hips bucking helplessly and searching for friction.
You were only vaguely aware of another body joining you until a second set of hands had hooked under your knees and pulled your legs open even wider and kept them there, steady and strong. "Just relax," he whispered. "Rex'ika has you."
You forced your body to loosen and let your eyes flutter shut as Rex teased his way from the shell of your knee to the apex of your thighs with his tongue, teeth, and lips. You tried to keep your breathing even but every nip, every suck, every lick made you gasp, moan, and writhe.
You were nearly about to whine and complain when you felt him lick a stripe up your cunt, the ruined marital barely providing any resistance. But the angle that the seam caught against your clit had your eyes snapping open with a desperate keen and you found that intimidating, unwavering stare of the mismatched silver and brown eyes, and realized it was Wolffe's hands that had kept you folded nearly in half and spread open.
"Please," you whined pathetically, reaching up and pawing at Wolffe's chest while yours heaved and your hips jerked in desperation. "More, kriff, please."
That animalistic grin that reminded you so much of Fox — where was he anyway? — was painted on Wolffe's face as he carefully released his grip on your thighs to brush your hair out of your face. "Just let us take care of you, honey," he crooned as you gasped, feeling Rex drag your underwear down your legs. "We've got you."
Before the last syllable had left his mouth, you felt Rex's tongue on your bare slit and you nearly screamed in relief and agony. Reality ceased to exist; all that mattered was Rex's tongue, never staying in one place long enough. Just when the pressure would build with his tongue on your clit, he would stray and lap against your entrance, and when you started to sink into the rhythm of it, he would move back up to your clit.
High pitched, breathless moans spilled out of you as you thrashed against the weight of Rex and Wolffe's grip. You were so close, but not close enough at all. "Fuck, Rex! Please, I'm so close!" you sobbed, grinding down for more friction.
"Make her cum, vod'ika," you heard someone say from across the room.
Whatever skill you had thought Rex possessed before paled in comparison to his single-minded determination to drag an orgasm out of you as quickly as possible. All it took was the gentle suck against your clit for your vision to white out and a scream to tear out of your throat.
It seemed like your orgasm only spurned him on, because he pressed himself further into you, making you grind against the ridge of his nose as his tongue fucked your clenching hole. The sting of overstimulation forced the tears to break your lashline as you sobbed in both pain and unbridled pleasure while he coaxed you into cumming again.
But the continued pressure on your sensitive clit had you whimpering in more pain than pleasure as you tried to scramble backwards away from his ministrations. Instantly, the pressure was gone and gentle hands skirted across your skin, soothing you as you shook.
"Sorry, cyare," Rex mumbled into your thigh, voice wrecked but happy. "You taste so good, so sweet. Could spend hours between these thighs."
You felt your cheeks heat as you buried your face in your arms and giggled, feeling almost drunk with ecstacy. "Stop it," you mumbled, "You're just saying that."
"Now, mesh'la," someone tutted, "You can be shy all you want, but Rex doesn't lie."
You sighed and uncovered your face, pouting at Rex who was still smirking at you from between your thighs, lips shiny and wet from your release. Seeing him like that made you whine and toss your head back as another wave of desire flared in your gut.
It wasn't helped by Wolffe's fingertips skimming up your arms and across your chest, his touch featherlight and leaving you breathless.
"Can we get you out of this dress, pretty girl?" he asked, his fingers dipping into the hem of your neckline to trace the edge of your breasts. You nodded, trapping your lip between your teeth to stop the pathetic moan from escaping.
But Cody appeared in your line of sight, and gently coaxed your jaw open, only letting the furrow of his brows drop when your lip against your teeth had been replaced with his long, thick finger pressing down on your tongue. "None of that now, we need words, gorgeous," he said, voice tender but firm.
"Please," you mumbled, the word barely recognizable with Cody's digit in your mouth but you didn't care. The time for shame had long come and gone, and you trusted them, because Fox trusted them.
"Anything you want, cyare," Cody said, smile like sunrise on the horizon. "Tonight is about you."
Suddenly, Bly had replaced Wolffe's strong, sturdy frames and he and Rex worked in tandem to peel your clothes off. They didn't push, didn't pull, didn't rip, didn't demand; they held you with reverence, unbuttoned and unzipped as if you were something precious to them. And the whole time, Cody and Wolffe stood over you and watched, eyes darkening as you were revealed to them, piece by piece, garment by garment. The four of them seemed consumed by you.
And the praise, whispered hot and breathless against you as they worked: the skin of your neck, the shell of your ear, the swell of your breasts, the fat of your ass, the junction of your thighs, the slope of your calf, the inside of your ankle.
It wasn't long before you were barefoot, naked, and breathlessly sandwiched between them, not an inch of you from your neck to your toes had been left untouched or unkissed — you wouldn't be surprised if every inch of you had been left bruised by their mouths.
But you were missing something; that small, empty feeling that only Fox managed to drive away had returned, sitting in your chest like a stone. It made your eyes blur with tears you refused to let fall, and the tips of your fingers go numb.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Bly asked, kneading into your hips with a frown.
"I just…" you choked out, but you shook your head and forced a smile on your face, willing the tears away. "It's nothing, I'm just being silly. Don't—" you tried to lie, but you were cut off by a voice you hadn't heard almost all night.
"You want them to kiss you, don't you, cyare?" Fox asked, his helmeted head appearing between Cody and Wolffe's. Just knowing he was there made the pressure lift off your chest, but seeing him, even though you couldn't see his face, had you sinking into Bly and Rex with a blissful nod. "You want this to be more, you want to know this is real, isn't that right?"
"Mesh'la," Rex sighed, pressing his lips to your forehead, "You should've said somethin' earlier."
It was all the confirmation your blissed out brain needed; you surged up and slotted your mouth against his with a hum of satisfaction. You felt yourself melt even more into him as you tried to memorize the difference between him and Fox, but he disappeared too quickly for you to grasp anything other than the feeling in your gut.
You tried to complain, but before the words could escape you, your head was tilted backwards and Bly's mouth descended yours. He was sweeter, more tender than Rex, but the feeling of his lips pressed against yours made the butterflies on your stomach flare all the same.
"I think our vod'ika are being selfish," you heard someone laugh, your eyes fluttering open to see Wolffe and Cody still looming over you, Fox now gone back to wherever he had been hiding, with matching grins that made your stomach flip, and free of their blacks with matching, leaking, erections that made your heart start to race.
You felt Rex chuckle against your chest as Bly sighed, both of them pressing lingering kisses across your skin as they extracted themselves from where they had been cocooned around you, and were seamlessly replaced by their brothers' imposing frames.
The energy in the room shifted immediately; where Rex and Bly were familiar in the way they teased, they were softer and sweeter than Fox. But Wolffe was menacing in the same way Fox was, all sharp and predatory, and Cody was reserved, but gave you the same impression that disobedience wouldn't be tolerated. You wanted all of it, wanted to learn all of the minute ways they were similar and different, wanted to know what each of them liked and how to get them worked up.
But any attempt to think of the future disappeared when Wolffe's teeth sunk into your neck with a groan in tandem with Cody's tongue slipping into your mouth with the press of his lips against yours. You let their hands wander, both more insistent than the other two had been, and you took the opportunity to let your hands wander too — down Cody's chest with one hand, and up Wolffe's massive thighs with the other.
They were both so warm, so solid, and you couldn't resist the temptation to wrap your hands around their cocks, earning twin moans. It made you feel powerful to have these strong, gorgeous men, panting and desperate for you.
"I told you she was good," you heard Bly chuckle breathlessly.
Wolffe's hands got more bold, pinching your nipple with one hand while the other found home around your throat — not squeezing just there. Like both a threat and a promise wrapped in one.
"It's my turn, ori'vod," he grumbled and Cody pulled back with a smirk. "You let the youngest go first, and then you make me wait? Is this payback for Felucia, because you need to get over that."
"Are you gonna kiss her, or are you going to complain some more?" Cody asked, kissing your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, while subtly turning you to face Wolffe.
You saw the flash of a smile and striking silver eye before he dove in, nipping your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. His was the most demanding kiss, the most insistent, but you refused to back down and nipped his plump bottom lip right back.
"Who do you want first, beautiful?" Wolffe grunted, pulling back as his hips chased your fist subtly. "Want me to wreck you first, or do you want Cody's boring vanilla shebs first?"
"I'm not boring," Cody groaned, dropping his head forward to mouth at your chest, all teeth and tongue.
"Yes, you are, and you know it," Wolffe argued, grabbing your hips and canting them backwards, trapping your hand and his cock between his hard body and your ass with a grunt before he spoke again. "Being a Marshal Commander has made both you and Fox so karking boring—"
"Can I have you both?" you asked innocently, stopping the words in their tracks as a symphony of moans reverberated from around the room.
"Are you sure, cyare? We don't have to if you don't want this," Cody asked breathlessly.
"I'm sure, Cody. I want it. Want you. Both of you," you replied honestly.
Without a second of hesitation, both had batted your hands away from their cocks and Cody's fingers had found their way into your cunt, scissoring you open while Wolffe rubbed tight, quick circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled back as you went totally boneless and pliant, letting them have their way with you.
It was only when you felt the press of two blunt cockheads against your entrance did you realize what you had signed up for. The stretch of them was borderline painful but wiped every coherent thought out of your head and completely destroyed the ability to form words. All you knew was them; the heat radiating off of them, the salt of Cody's sweat mingling with your juices on your tongue from where he had pushed his fingers in your mouth, the sharp zing of pain from Wolffe's teeth against the back of your neck, and the all-consuming fullness that made you want to squirm away and also press yourself further into the feeling.
It felt like their cocks never ended — you didn't think you could take any more but you kept sinking down, inch by impossible inch, until it finally stopped and all three of you went painfully still. But the sudden hitch of one of their hips forced a breathless gasp out of you as you shattered completely. The orgasm was a total surprise and simultaneously not at all as you shook and sobbed, completely at their mercy while they moaned in unison and started thrusting gently in perfect, precision strokes.
"You're gonna have to cum again for them, mesh'la," Fox said, his tight voice cutting through the cocaphony of moans, and the buzz in your ears from somewhere out of sight. "If you don't, they're going to argue about who made it happen."
"Shut up, vod," they both groaned, picking up their pace.
Black spots started to dance in your vision as the pleads for release started pouring out of your mouth nonsensically, nearly unintelligible with Cody's fingers in your mouth. But they seemed to understand; your pathetic whines urged them to go faster, to snap their hips into yours harder.
You came with a broken half scream-half moan as you dug your nails into Cody's thick, gorgeous neck as his tongue invaded your mouth again. You felt his hips stutter to a stop with a groan and a flood of warmth that made you yank Wolffe's neatly trimmed hair back in surprise, which made his jaw clamp shut on your shoulder with an almost pained whine as he followed suit, chasing after his orgasm with short, sloppy thrusts that made you whine and wriggle.
"Stop fucking moving, Wolffe," Cody growled, dropping his forehead onto your free shoulder.
"She feels too good," Wolffe grunted in response, but stopped moving regardless.
"She's perfect, show some respect," you heard Rex sigh.
"Kark, yeah she is," Bly groaned in response.
You cautioned a look to the rest of the room, and found Rex and Bly sprawled out on the floor in front of you, both with cum drying on their stomachs and heaving chests. It made you smile to see them so relaxed and obviously happy, despite the fact you weren't even touching them.
But then your eye caught the movement of red and white in the shadows of the room, and you smiled fondly, watching him shake out his hair after removing his helmet. You reached your hand out toward him with a sleepy whine.
"You did so good for us, cyare," Fox grinned, pushing himself out of the chair in the corner.
"I thought you left. You seemed mad that I—" you started, voice going wobbly with tears but Fox shook his head.
"Never, cyare," Fox promised.
"You probably heard Rex kick his bucket halfway across the room," Bly added.
"Or Wolffe drop his chest plate when you took Bly in your throat," Rex defended himself.
"I was here the whole time, I got it all recorded—" Fox patted his helmet, ignoring his brothers' teasing "—for when you're missing them while they're away. And for them too, when they're missing you."
The thought of it made your walls flutter — pulling pained moans from Cody and Wolffe — and sleepy, mumbled satisfaction from Rex and Bly. You watched him shuffle around the room, eyes growing heavy as he collected discarded armor and assorted them by colour, before removing and stacking his own and stripping down to nothing.
His hands were gentle when they threaded into your hair, and moving entirely on instinct, you let your jaw fall open and go lax. You saw the brief smile before he pushed himself into your waiting mouth slowly and settled heavy in your throat as your eyes fluttered closed. Fox hummed in appreciation as both Wolffe and Cody stroked your sides and pressed soft, open mouthed kisses to your shoulders and cheeks.
You were halfway asleep when a featherlight fingertip circled your sensitive clit in tandem with Fox's gentle head scratches and you came with a shiver, swallowing the moan around Fox's length as he came down your throat with a low moan of his own.
"Perfect, mesh'la, you're too good for us," he sighed, easing himself out of your throat before cupping your face to press a tender, chaste kiss against your mouth.
"Karking perfect," Rex agreed.
"Best gift ever," Wolffe sighed.
You opened one eye to look at Fox, who was smiling at you like you'd hung the stars in the sky. "I told you that you were the perfect gift."
"A week ago!" you argued with a yawn.
But Fox shook his head and sighed, "This is a tomorrow conversation. Right now, bed."
The subtle order in his voice had his brothers moving as if on instinct; Cody and Wolffe detangled themselves from you, scattering a constellation of apologetic kisses across your skin as they pulled out of your cunt while you whined and cried at the discomfort before they deposited you into Bly's waiting arms. He bundled you in a blanket and carried you to your room, where Rex was waiting with a washcloth and a clean shirt.
By the time they had cleaned you up, Fox was waiting in the center of your bed with open arms, bracketed by a half asleep Cody and an almost totally asleep Wolffe who had made themselves comfortable in your usually cavernous bed. Your eyes fluttered shut as Fox tucked you into their embrace and you felt the bed shift as Rex and Bly joined the pile.
You sunk into the pile of limbs, the murmurs of the five brothers bickering lovingly lulling you into unconsciousness.
a few centered around his family—he always sits or stands to the left of dick, always makes cass her plate, always brings dessert to gatherings because nobody can do it as well as he can.
a few about his work—he always starts on the south end of gotham and works toward the north, always cleans his guns an hour before patrol, always puts his right boot on before his left one.
then, he has several for you.
he always flicks your sky projector on fifteen minutes before you’re done getting ready for bed, he always lets you take a bite of food first before picking his fork up, he always lets you read the prologue of a book he’s considering purchasing.
but your personal favorite?
jason always lets you kiss him first.
he’ll lower his face to yours, keeping the space between the two of you until you lift your lips to slot against his. whenever he wants affection, he’ll draw closer, look at you with those utterly compelling eyes of his, and wait.
he waits until you respond—whether it be reciprocating his energy or not.
he doesn’t take from you. he loves whatever you give him, even if it’s merely eye contact.
even then, he’ll graciously accept it because it’s from you.
jason has a habit of waiting for you to kiss him first, not because he’s nervous or shy.
he waits because he knows what it’s like to have things taken, and he always wants you to have a choice.
gummygunk
areudirty
kianamaiart
origamiaround
2087
germansingergirl
janainaart
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
