CONTENT: Having them as your lover had its advantages, but you couldn't ignore how much it hurt sometimes. Warnings! Angst, suggestive content, complicated situationships, kinda toxic behavior, canon typical themes (don't read if easily triggered).
Rex was a generous lover. Kind, attentive, thoughtful, and above all, earnest. He knew you were always worried for him whenever duty called him back to war, so he makes sure to ease every concern whenever he has the time for you. A rarity, but you didn't blame him for it. You never took offense when he had to slip away in the middle of the night right where you were about to fall asleep, but the disappointment was always there—brewing in your chest—when you hear him apologize under his breath as he kissed your temple before leaving your house.
You knew he was made for war, not for whatever this was. But somehow, you wanted to be selfish. You wanted to keep him here, in your home, far away from harm and death. You wanted to pull him back and beg for him to stay. You wanted to love him for who he truly was, a man deserving of such things. A home, a name, and stability. But no, it could never be that way. Not in this life, not when you'd feel him slip away again into the night. Away from your bed, away from your arms, away from the life he was never meant to have—and you can't do anything but wait for him to return until he doesn't anymore.
CAPTAIN GREGOR
Gregor used to smile and laugh a lot. At the start of your relationship, he'd always made an effort to spend some time together. Even if it was just for a brief moment. He won't leave your side until he knows you were happy because of him, and he'd even serenade you in his arms while you danced in your living room. He'd have that cheeky grin on his face whenever you sang a song in an off key tune, laugh that giggle that makes his voice crack whenever you bantered with him in the morning, and look at you with so much love and awe in his eyes as he watches you fall asleep in his arms.
But when the empire began to build, you watched the joy and adoration from his face start to vanish. He'd look at you like you were a ghost, his gaze slips into the distance, his replies became so empty and dismissive. Even when you try to pull him for another dance in your living room, it's always the same excuse. Tired. Just wanna rest with you. I'm okay with watching. Not right now. When you wake up the next day, he's already gone without a trace. And you'd feel your heart break even more. So, you adjusted for him. You waited for your lover to come back—the one who made you feel alive and human, not an empty ghost.
CAPTAIN HOWZER
Loving Howzer was an accident. You never expected to fall for him, and he certainly didn't expect to have you in his life. But here the two of you were, tangled in your sheets and sharing quiet stories of both of your lives in solemn silence. Sometimes it was peaceful like that. You'd share memories from the past, traumas that built who you were, and happier moments where the war didn't take anything from you yet. You grew to love the sight of his smile, the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes whenever he looked at you, or the way he'd laugh breathlessly as he placed kisses along your jaw.
But as time went on, he began to show less. Talk less. Love less. When he does show up, you're already laying in bed while he'd lift the covers and slid behind you. You rarely speak each other anymore. Not when his comms would beep within an hour, and you'd hear him sigh in disappointment. You'd feel his lips pressing on your shoulder, hear his apology against your ear, and wish he'd ignore the call just for once to be with you. Just like before. Just like how he used to. But no, you can't ask him that. He was a soldier, and soldiers belonged in battlefields. Never in someone else's home, or in someone else's heart.
COMMANDER CODY
You knew Cody always put his duty first before anything. He was a commander, of course he'd put his brothers before you. But it wasn't like this before. Nothing like this. He used to comm you before his every arrival, and you'd light up like a star when you see his message he was coming back to Coruscant. After every campaign, you'd always welcome him in your arms, happy to see him alive and well. And he'd never leave your side until then. He'd spend the entire week making up for lost time, loving you fully, spoiling you in bed, making sure you'd feel him in your ache for days once he's gone.
But now, you rarely have him home anymore. Not since the empire rose after the Republic fell. When you walk around Coruscant, hear a distinct clone trooper voice somewhere, you'd snap your head in the direction in case it was him. But it never was, and you feared it never will be anymore. Even when you constantly send him messages, ask when he'll return, you'd get nothing. No comms, no visits, no early heads up he'll land within an hour. Until one night, you hear your comm ping. And the last thing you saw before tears blurred your vision was his message—"I'm sorry, mesh'la. For your safety, please forget about me and us."
COMMANDER CROSSHAIR
Crosshair was always cold, even at the start of your. . . relationship. But it wasn't really a relationship to begin with. It was only a mutually beneficial encounter since you met him in that bar on the lower levels of Coruscant. The night where he lets you take him back to your apartment, to your bed, and shed every piece of his armor to indulge a night between your sheets. But then he started coming back for more, and you'd let him in every single time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you'd anticipate him again once he leaves. But just when you started to melt through his icy defenses, he became even colder, harsher and more selfish.
Until you made the mistake of falling for him. A soldier and commander of the empire, the handsome sniper you saw from across the bar, someone who would never open up to you. Each time you welcomed him again inside your home, a piece of yourself broke at the thought that he'd never see you the same way. This will never be love. In his eyes, you were just a casual encounter he could always come back to. A warm body and a warmer bed to relieve his stress. In time, you stopped caring. You let him in again, and again, and again. With no hopes of whatever this becoming something real, just as long as you have him.
COMMANDER WOLFFE
Wolffe was a fierce lover. Like his name, he was aggressive and overwhelmingly domineering when it came to battle and in bed. But when it came to you, he was soft and gentle. The scowl on his face fades instantly the moment you open your door and throw your arms around him. He'd smile lightly at your jokes, roll his eyes when you tease him, never removes his hands off of you—always hugging you from behind as you cooked, always holding you close when you're taking him in bed, always loving you in his own possessive and powerful way.
But now, it's like you were looking at a different man. Every time you open the door, you're not welcoming your lover anymore. You're welcoming a beast. A hungry loth-wolf who hunted instead of loved. He snapped more often, never hitting you, but his harsh words were more than enough to feel like a slap. He only came back when he was looking for someone to satiate his needs, and you were the only one who could. Now, you were just a past time of his. A prey, a fool, and a hopeless soul who thinks there was still the man you loved lurking beneath the wolf you feared.
COMMANDER MAYDAY
You loved Mayday even though you might never see him again. Back when he could still visit you, years ago before the empire, you were so loved by him. He was the only man who had your heart, no other soul came after him. No one as gentle, understanding, and wonderful as he was. He cared for you, and in turn, you loved him despite the dangers he faced everyday as a soldier. He was perfect, and in your mind, you dreamed of a future where the two of you could build a family of your own. You gave him everything—your home, your heart, your bed, and your love.
But you should've known some dreams could only stay as such. Before he left you, he took you to bed. Loved you endlessly until you were breathless, spent, and promised that he would return. You relied on his comms, his frequent updates about his mission, and clung to his recorded voice every night so the loneliness would feel a little easier. But then he stopped sending them. Weeks passed, then months, and years. But even when it hurts, you still clung to the hope—to the dream that you know would never come true or home.
COMMANDER FOX
Loving him was truly exhausting, but you never stopped because you loved him. You tried to tell yourself he was busy, tired, or married to his work whenever he ignored your comms or came home late again. You tried to make everything else easier for him—cooked for him in case he was hungry, cleaned around your house to save him the trouble of a headache. You already knew how hard it was for him to be the Commander of the Coruscant Guards, and it was the least you could do to repay his hardwork.
But sometimes you wished it was like back then. You wished he could kiss you again before he left for work. You wished he could wrap his arms around you when you fell asleep together in bed. You wished he'd glance your way, just once, when you greet him in the doorway. But the exhaustion was eating him alive, your heart broke at the sight each time, especially when he turns you away again. But you never stopped loving him, you never stopped making a home for both of yourselves. As long as he was alive, you'd still love him just the same.
COMMANDER BLY
You always knew his heart belonged to another. You should've let him go once you realized his heart would never belonged to you You met each other in 79's, back when he was drinking with his squadron and he approached you moments later. When you took him back to your place, he made love to you earnestly. He was unlike any kind of lover you've had before. Whenever you meet again, he stopped being a stranger and started becoming your lover. And for a while, you were under the illusion that this could turn into something else. But behind his eyes, you saw through him.
Not right away, but the more nights he spent in your bed, the more you started noticing it. The distant look in his gaze whenever he told you about his general, a Jedi Master, and how much softness his words carried through every praise and story. You saw how his smile stretched when he recalls her saving him and his brothers, how his laugh resounded in your room, how he falls silent once the realization sinks in he'd never have her heart. You never interrupted him, not once, you just listened and waited—in case he'd give his heart to you instead.
Pairing: Howzer x fem!Reader / Howzer x mechanic!Reader
Words: 10,292
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends/coworkers to lovers, fluff, smut, first date, awkward flirting, Howzer is both an incredibly smooth ladies man and a nervous wreck, this is basically pwp, more dirty than my usual smut, body worship, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), edging, pinv, dirty talk, this man is a pleaser fr
Summary: You're tired of pretending there's nothing going on between you and Howzer. Armed with a pretty dress and some liquid courage, you decide to finally do something about it. You just weren't expecting him to match your enthusiasm.
A/N: Posting this for @gar-romance-month ♥️ This is the last of my planned reader fics for this event, so I'm going out with a bang. Literally. Like there's barely any plot here.
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“So.”
“So…” You shift in your seat, unsticking the vinyl booth from the backs of your thighs. The curse of wearing a dress, it seems, for the first time in what’s felt like centuries. Or just a few very long years. “Come here often?”
Howzer snorts into his beer. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
“What?” You try for wounded dignity. It probably looks more like a tooka that’s just been caught with its head stuck in a box. “I’m trying to make conversation. In a… a place of social gathering. This is what people do, right? They talk?”
“Yeah, but they don’t usually ask the guy they’ve been working with for two years if he comes to the one decent cantina in town often,” he points out, but there’s no real heat in it. Just that familiar, lazy amusement you’ve come to rely on. He gestures with his bottle toward the room at large. “Besides, you know the answer to that. You’ve been here with us before.”
“Right.” You smooth a non-existent wrinkle in your skirt. Your fingers feel clumsy. “Just trying to get back in the swing of things.”
“The swing of things,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the words. He sets the bottle down with a solid thud on the sticky tabletop. The condensation leaves a perfect, dark ring. “Is that what this is? Getting back in the swing of things?”
“It’s a drink, Howzer,” you say, finally meeting his gaze. “In a cantina. I’m… re-entering polite society.”
That makes him chuckle, deep and rumbling. “Polite society’s a few parsecs west of here, I think. This is more like… slightly-less-impolite society.”
“Baby steps,” you mutter, and take a sip of your own drink. It’s some local fruit wine, deceptively sweet and potent. It curls through your veins like a friendly warning. You’re already halfway to tipsy, a few sips in, and you wonder how long it’s been since you’ve done anything like this.
You glance up at Howzer again and wonder why you invited him. Or why he accepted. Or if he’ll make you go back home before you’re done with this wine.
The answer to all of the above, of course, is that you’re a moron. You’re a moron who’s been staring at the back of Howzer’s shoulders during PT, listening to his laugh over comms when you’re all out in the field, thinking about how he looks when he’s asleep in the back of the transport, the way he’d looked at you that night by the bonfire…
Howzer leans forward, forearms resting on the sticky tabletop, and you swallow hard. The way he’s looking at you now. It’s a lot.
The cantina is noisy, a dull roar of conversation and clanking glassware and the tinny, distant thrum of a jukebox that’s probably older than both of you combined. But it feels quiet, all the same. Just you and Howzer in a dimly lit corner, knees knocking under the tiny table.
You’ve been stationed on Ryloth for the better part of the year now, and the planet has a way of getting under your skin, into your bones. It’s all dust and heat and vast, empty skies that go purple at dusk. But there’s a hardness here, a resilience you respect. And the people… well. They’re survivors. Howzer fits right in. Always has. He seems to take to every planet, every culture, like he was born to it. Like he’s been at home everywhere, all his life. He doesn’t seem like a man who can be cowed.
It’s part of what makes you want him so much.
You slowly mimic his posture, bracing your elbows on the table and feeling a little spark of triumph when the movement doesn’t feel too awkward. His eyes flick down, just for a second, to the bit of skin showing at your neckline. A quick, almost unconscious glance. You feel the triumph bloom into something warmer, brighter.
“Alright then, smartass,” you say, keeping your voice low to match the sudden thrum that’s started up under your own skin. “Your turn. Make conversation. Impress me.”
He grins, and it’s a real grin this time, not just a quirk of his lips. It crinkles the corners of his dark eyes, makes him look younger. More approachable. Less like the stoic, by-the-book Clone Captain you first met two years ago and more like the man who’s come to be a good friend.
“Challenge accepted,” he says. He leans in a little closer. You match him. If anyone were to pass by your booth, they’d probably think you were discussing something serious. Top secret intel. Coordinating a battle plan. But the cantina is nearly deserted this late in the evening, and the few other patrons are either well on their way to drunken oblivion or too busy trying to keep their nuna skewers from falling to the dusty floor to pay much attention to the two Republic soldiers huddled in the corner.
The jukebox clicks, skips, starts playing a slow, lilting melody. The voice that emerges is sweet, a little smoky. A Twi’lek woman, crooning an old ballad in her native tongue. The words are unfamiliar, but the meaning is clear. Your heart beats a little faster.
Howzer is silent for a moment, eyes searching yours. It’s hard to read his expression. There’s a guardedness there, a tension. He’s a soldier, after all. He’s used to keeping his cards close to his chest. But he’s been different with you, lately. Softer. More open. And you find yourself wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to press your lips to that little furrow of tension that’s formed between his brows.
Finally, he clears his throat. “So… What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a shithole like this?”
You can’t help it. You burst out laughing before you can catch yourself, nearly spilling your wine in your lap in the process. It’s such a ridiculous line. You can’t believe he actually said it.
Howzer is looking at you like he’s just won some kind of prize. Like he knows he’s got you now. And, oh, he does. He really does. Because you’ve been on the receiving end of his stupid jokes before, but never like this. Never with that look in his eyes.
He’s got you, and he knows it.
“Oh, come on,” you say through stifled laughter. “I said impress me, not make me laugh. That was terrible.”
“It was not!” he protests with a grin. “I thought it was quite smooth, actually.”
“Sure you did.” You roll your eyes and take a sip of your drink. “I bet all the girls fall for that one.”
He snorts at that and leans back in the booth, settling his broad shoulders comfortably against the vinyl. “Please. I don’t need cheesy pickup lines to woo the ladies.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” you quip.
His answering smirk is positively feral.
You’re not sure how you got here. One minute you were sharing a quiet drink in the mess hall, toasting another successful mission. The next you were following him to this little hole-in-the-wall cantina, the kind of place where no one looks twice at a couple of Republic soldiers. The kind of place where no one asks questions. Where no one cares.
You’re not sure when it happened, exactly. When you went from being just another soldier, just another member of his team, to… whatever you are to him now. But it happened. Somewhere between the endless training drills, the late-night planning sessions, the shared cups of caffa, the stolen moments of quiet.
And now here you are, sitting in a dimly lit cantina, with the music of a thousand forgotten lovesongs hanging in the air between you.
“Come on,” you tease. “I bet you can do better than that.”
“Alright, alright. Let me try again,” he says. He takes a long swig of his beer and sets it down with a decisive thunk. His gaze dips again, lingering this time, and when it comes back to yours, the amusement has been banked into something else. Something that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “You look beautiful tonight, you know that?”
Your breath hitches. It’s such a simple, stupid thing to say. And it’s not something you’d normally go for. But coming from him… it’s different. The way he says it—like he’s noting a fundamental truth of the universe, like he’s just now fully realizing it and the realization is staggering—makes it something more.
You have to swallow before you can answer. “Oh. Thanks.” Your brain short-circuits. “You also… you clean up good.”
It’s not a lie. He’s just wearing the standard issue black t-shirt and cargos, but they might as well be tailored for the way they fit him across the shoulders, the lean strength of him. The sides of his head are freshly shaven, the dark curls on top neat for once. He looks less like a soldier and more like a man. Just a man, sitting across from you in a dingy cantina, with broad shoulders and kind eyes and a stare that feels like it’s stripping you down to the bone.
“Yeah?” He sounds pleased. Pleased and a little smug. You can practically see him preening under the praise.
“Yeah,” you confirm, your voice a little steadier now. You take a sip of your cocktail, the condensation slick against your palm. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the bucket on your head.”
Howzer laughs, and it crinkles around the corners of his eyes. “Funny. Almost didn’t recognize you with… all of that.”
He gestures vaguely with one hand, encompassing your dress, your hair, the whole ridiculous effort. It had been a sudden, desperate idea. A way to force the issue. A way to see if he would ever look at you and see you.
He is looking at you now. He really, truly is.
“I can go change,” you offer, the tease coming out a little breathier than you intended. “Throw on some combat boots and a grease-stained jumpsuit. Make you feel more at home.”
“Don’t you dare.”
The words are immediate, firm. A command. The humor vanishes from his face, replaced by that intense, focused look again. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. Your own lips tingle in sympathy.
“You stay right where you are,” he says, softer this time. “Just like that.”
And in the noisy, crowded, sticky-floored cantina, with the bad music and the worse lighting, everything goes quiet. The world narrows down to the two of you, to the force of his gaze and the frantic, hopeful beat of your own heart. He sees you. He’s finally seeing you. And the look on his face tells you that he likes, very much, what he sees.
Howzer reaches across the table, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. You couldn’t move if a thermal detonator went off in the corner. His fingers, calloused and warm, brush against your wrist. Your hand lifts, and you allow him to turn it over, to trace the lines of your palm with the calloused pad of his thumb. The touch is light, tentative, but it sends a jolt through you that’s more potent than any jolt of electricity from a malfunctioning droid.
“So,” he starts again, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear. “Not a drill.”
The corner of your mouth kicks up. “Definitely not a drill.”
“Good.” His thumb strokes your palm once more, a slow, deliberate circle that feels like a brand. “Because I was starting to run out of excuses to talk to you.”
A bright, startled laugh escapes you. You cover your face with your free hand, overwhelmed, suddenly, by it all. By you, and him, and the endless dance of the last few months, finally, finally culminating in this. This warm, calloused thumb stroking your skin in the sticky vinyl booth of a Ryloth cantina.
“Stars above, Howzer,” you breathe, your voice muffled. “You too?”
His grin through your fingers is a thing of beauty. “Me too. For ages.”
You drop your hand. He’s still holding the other one, his thumb still resting in the center of your palm. He lifts it to his lips, presses a soft, warm kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. It’s a chaste, almost old-fashioned gesture, but it’s the most intimate thing anyone has ever done to you.
Your entire body goes hot. You feel it from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. He watches you, his eyes dark, as he lowers your hand back to the table, but doesn’t let go.
“If I knew all it took was a dress,” you murmur, a bit dazed. “I would’ve worn one months ago.”
Howzer’s answering chuckle is low and warm, and it vibrates through you, settling somewhere deep in your gut. “Well, if it helps, you look damn good in a mechanic’s jumpsuit, too.”
“Flatterer,” you reply with a huff, but you’re smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to stop. You feel bright, and bubbly, and dangerous. Like you could take on the whole CIS with nothing but this feeling humming under your skin. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”
“Mmm.” He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back. The small, simple contact feels more real, more solid, than anything else in this war. “So… what now?”
The noise of the cantina slowly bleeds back in. The jukebox clicks, whirring to life with a new, equally terrible song. A group of locals at the bar starts arguing loudly about the outcome of some podracing bet. Someone drops a glass, and it shatters with a sound like a strike of lightning. Life goes on, loud and messy and exactly as it was five minutes ago. But for you, sitting in a sticky vinyl booth with a warm, calloused hand tangled in yours, the world has tilted on its axis.
This is it. This is the precipice. All the little glances, the near-touches, the easy banter that always hovered on the edge of something more—it’s all been leading to this. You could thank him for the drink, pull your hand back, and go back to the comfortable, aching familiarity of your roles.
Or, you could…
“Walk me home, Captain?” The words are out before you can think better of them, but you don’t regret them. Not for a second. The title is a deliberate choice, a little bit of a challenge. A reminder that you’re still both soldiers, that this isn't just some fleeting cantina flirtation.
His grip tightens on your hand. “It’s Howzer.”
“Alright,” you concede, a little breathlessly. “Walk me home, Howzer?”
You watch him process it. Watch the muscles in his jaw work as he weighs the implications, the risks. He’s a soldier, and he’s always thinking three steps ahead. But the way he looks at you, like he’s starving and you’re the only meal he’s seen in a decade… it’s a fight he’s already lost.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. “Yeah, I can do that.”
He doesn’t let go of your hand as he slides out of the booth, and you follow, your movements feeling both clumsy and impossibly fluid. You’re pulled onto your feet and into his orbit, and you don’t fight it. You don’t want to. He throws a few credits down on the table—more than enough for the two drinks—without looking, a careless, imprecise gesture that’s so unlike the Howzer you know on the field. It makes something in your chest loosen, just a little. He’s as off-balance as you are. He’s feeling it too.
The walk back to the small, prefab barracks they’d assigned you is short. Too short. You find yourself slowing your steps, trying to stretch out the moments. The night air on Ryloth is cool and smells of dust and blooming ghost flowers, a gentle breeze ruffling the hem of your skirt. The sun has long since set, but the sky isn’t black; it’s a deep, bruised purple, streaked with the silver light of the moons. The few street lights that work cast long, distorted shadows that dance and writhe like living things.
You’re walking shoulder-to-shoulder, your hands swinging in a tentative rhythm, pulling and pushing with every step. It’s a ridiculous, juvenile game, and you love it. You’ve never felt more… like yourself. Not the soldier, not the mechanic, not the Republic asset. Just… you.
The silence between you is comfortable. Filled with all the things you don’t need to say. He lets go of your hand only to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You respond without thinking, tucking yourself into his side, your head resting against the solid warmth of him.
And then you’re there. Your building looms out of the darkness ahead, a two-story rectangle of permacrete and reinforced plasteel, all sharp edges and hard angles. A functional box for functional soldiers. You’re one of a handful of natborn officers housed there, a small island of individuality in a sea of identical barracks, and the privacy is a luxury you’ve come to cherish. Even though now, it feels like a very loaded question.
You stop at the base of the steps that lead up to your second-floor unit, and the gravel crunches under your impractical heels as you turn to face him. You have to tilt your head back to look up at him.
The streetlight is a weak, buzzing thing that casts long, distorted shadows. It illuminates one side of his face, carving the hard lines of his jaw, the proud bridge of his nose, the jagged scar that spans across his cheek. The other side is lost in shadow, a mystery. His eyes, though, are bright. Alert. Fixed on you.
“So,” you start, your voice sounding a little too loud in the sudden stillness. “This is me.”
His gaze flicks from your face to the building and back again. He doesn’t let go of your hand. “Looks… sturdy.”
A small laugh escapes you. “It’s not much. But it’s got a roof. And a working shower. And…no roommates. Which is a definite plus.”
You say the last part without meaning to, a slip of the tongue fueled by wine and hope. But the words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. His eyes darken, and he takes a half-step closer, crowding you, eliminating any pretense of personal space. The gravel shifts under his boots.
“No roommates,” he repeats, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. A confirmation. He shifts his grip on your hand, intertwining your fingers together. His thumb finds the pulse point in your wrist, stroking it in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Good to know.”
You look up at him, and the last of your careful control, your practiced composure, just… dissolves. This is Howzer. Your Howzer. The man who’s had your back in a dozen firefights, who’s patched you up when you’ve been stupid, who’s listened to you rant about supply requisitions and faulty droids at 0300 in the mess. He’s here. He’s right here. And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the entire galaxy. You can't just say goodnight and walk away. You can’t.
“Do you want…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper. “Would you like to… come in?”
The invitation is clumsy. Awkward. The most straightforward thing you’ve ever said to him. The words feel enormous, irrevocable. You hold your breath, waiting.
For a moment, he just looks at you. The silence stretches, taut and thin, pulled to its breaking point. You can hear the distant hum of a speeder bike, the chirp of some nocturnal creature in the nearby desert. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, transforming it from something hard and stoic into something unbearably warm and real.
“I’d like that,” he says, his voice a low, intimate rumble that seems to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones.
The relief that washes through you is so potent it almost brings you to your knees. You turn and lead the way up the metal stairs, making the final steps between the public world of the barracks and your private haven. You can feel him right behind you, a solid, warm presence. The hem of your skirt brushes against the fabric of his cargos with every step.
When you reach your door, Howzer's hand lands on your waist, and he turns you, crowding you gently against it. His other braces on the wall beside your head. You're trapped. You've never felt safer in your life.
“What changed?” he asks, his voice a low murmur against your temple. “Tonight?”
His breath smells of cheap beer. Your hands, which had been dangling uselessly at your sides, come up to rest on the hard plane of his chest, right over his heart. You can feel the steady, solid beat of it through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“I got tired of waiting,” you admit, your gaze fixed on the worn collar of his shirt. Your fingers trace the frayed edge of the fabric. “I got tired of pretending I didn’t notice the way you look at me. Or the way I look at you. I figured… someone had to do something.”
He cups your cheek, tilting your head up until you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His thumb strokes the curve of your jaw, teasing the edge of your lower lip, and you instinctively part your lips for him.
“I’ve been looking at you for a long time, cyar’ika,” he says, the Mando’a endearment falling from his lips with an easy familiarity that makes your toes curl. “I just wasn’t sure if you were looking back.”
“Oh,” you breathe, the word barely a puff of air. “I was looking. I promise you, I was looking.”
Howzer huffs a shaky laugh and presses his forehead to yours. It’s a simple, grounding gesture, but it feels more intimate than anything you’ve ever done before. You close your eyes, savoring the contact, the warmth of him, the smell of him.
“I know,” he says, a world of relief in those two simple words. “I know now.”
He closes the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle. A soft, tentative press of lips that is as much about seeking permission as it is about expressing desire. He’s still holding back, still giving you an out. You answer by tightening your hold on his shirt and pulling him down, deepening the kiss. You feel him smile against your mouth, and then he’s kissing you for real.
One of his hands slides into your hair, angling your head just so, while the other presses against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You kiss him back with everything you have, winding your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the back of his head. You part your lips, and he follows suit, his tongue slipping into your mouth to tease and explore. The kiss is both chaste and filthy, a clash of tongues and teeth that leaves you breathless, dizzy, aching for more.
He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like he’s been dying to taste you for as long as you’ve been dying to taste him. There’s no hesitation, no awkward fumbling. Just the firm, sure pressure of his mouth against yours, the confident slide of his tongue, the way his hands grip your hips like he has every right to be there. Like you belong in his arms.
And you do. You do.
When your fingers tighten in his hair, he makes a low, desperate noise in the back of his throat that sends a fresh wave of heat through you. You bite back a groan of your own, your body arching into his, seeking the solid warmth of him. He responds by tightening his hold, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, his mouth moving against yours in a fierce, possessive rhythm. It’s the most perfect, exhilarating, terrifying thing you’ve ever experienced.
When he finally pulls away, you’re both panting, and his pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-bitten and slick. His hands are still on your hips, and you can feel the way his fingers twitch, like he can’t decide if he wants to pull you closer or put some distance between you. But when he looks at you, it’s not with regret. It’s with a fierce, hungry kind of determination.
“Inside,” he says, his voice ragged. “Can we go inside? I need to—” His hips shift, and you feel the firm press of him against the soft flesh of your stomach for the first time. Your breath hitches. “I need to do that again. Properly.”
You don’t hesitate. Your fingers shake, but you manage to key in the code before you’re stumbling into the dim, cramped space beyond. You don’t bother turning on the lights, or doing anything else for that matter. You’re too busy kissing him again, your mouths slotting together like puzzle pieces, his tongue slick and hot and insistent against yours. He kicks the door closed behind him and presses you up against it, his hands finding your hips again, holding you in place as he rocks against you.
You wrap a leg around his waist, opening yourself to him, and his groan is raw and guttural and so, so satisfying. He rolls his hips again, slower this time, grinding against the place where you’re already hot and aching for him. You gasp into the kiss, and he swallows the sound greedily, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. When you try to pull away, to catch your breath, he follows, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, the sensitive skin of your collarbone. His mouth is relentless, demanding, and you arch into his touch, your fingers tangling in his curls, holding him close. He kisses you like he’s claiming you, branding you as his own, and you can’t get enough. You never want it to stop.
“Kriff,” he growls, his lips trailing down to the neckline of your dress, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
You don’t feel perfect. You feel dizzy. Overheated. Desperate to touch and be touched. Your skin feels too tight, and you can’t stop the small, needy noises that escape your lips as he hikes you higher against the door and rocks against you again, his cock a hard, insistent pressure against the place that needs him most. It’s too much and not nearly enough, but it’s the closest thing you’ve felt to relief all night.
“Howzer…”
You try to say more, to demand more, but it’s hard to form words when he’s kissing you like this. With the same single-minded determination that you’ve seen him apply to his work, to the battlefield. He’s kissing you like he’s been thinking about it for a long time, like he has plans for you, and you can’t wait to find out what they are.
But not here. Not up against your front door, still in your heels.
You break the kiss, and this time, he lets you pull away. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving against yours, his pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown of his eyes.
"Bed?” you manage, the word coming out in a high, thready whine. You’ve never heard that tone in your voice before, but it seems to work on him. His cock jumps against you in response.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Where? Please tell me it’s close.”
You nod, too dazed to laugh at the sheer, unadulterated want in his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s—” You gesture vaguely behind him. “That way. It’s—”
He doesn’t give you time to finish. He just shifts his grip, cupping your ass and squeezing hard, and then he’s lifting you, pulling you away from the door and into his arms. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding on tight as he carries you through the darkness. He bumps into a chair, curses, fumbles for the lightswitch, curses again when he knocks something off a table, and it crashes to the ground.
You don’t bother to check the damage. You can’t. You’re too busy kissing him, your mouths still locked together in a desperate, messy tangle. You nip at his lower lip, and the noise he makes is a low, primal thing that sends a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core.
“Careful,” he huffs against your lips, but he’s laughing. “I’d rather not crack my skull open before we get to the good part.”
“Can’t have that,” you murmur between kisses. “What would I do with the body?”
That earns you a real, full-throated laugh, and then you’re falling, the mattress rising to meet you as he drops you onto the bed. You bounce once, twice, before he’s on you, caging you in with his arms, his knees bracketing your thighs. The cheap, prefab mattress groans under his weight, but you barely register it. All you can think about is the solid, heavy press of him against you, the sheer, overwhelming reality of him.
He’s still laughing as he looks down at you. His hair is a mess, the dark curls sticking up at odd angles. His pupils are still blown wide, and there’s a faint flush to his cheeks. He looks disheveled. Wild. Unhinged in the best way. And the way he’s looking at you…
It’s a lot.
You reach up to brush a stray curl out of his eyes, and he turns his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the center of your palm. His lips linger there, his eyes closing for a long moment as he inhales, taking in the scent of your skin. When he looks down at you again, his eyes are dark with hunger.
“Hey,” you whisper.
“Hi.” He grins, his teeth a flash of white in the dimness. “We made it.”
“We did.” You trail your hand down to the nape of his neck. “Took us long enough.”
“Yeah.” He ducks down to nuzzle at your throat. “Took us long enough.”
He doesn’t kiss you again, not right away. He just explores, his nose nudging at your skin, his lips ghosting over the line of your jaw, the sensitive skin of your throat, the hollow of your collarbone. He’s taking his time, memorizing the landscape of you. It’s both incredibly sweet and incredibly frustrating.
“Howzer…”
He hums against your skin in response. “Patience, cyar’ika.” He shifts, his hands finding your hips again. “I’m getting to it.”
He slides one hand up your side, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breast. He’s not rushing. He’s savoring. You, on the other hand, are about to combust. You squirm under his touch, arching into him, silently demanding more.
When he finally cups your breast, the cheap fabric of your dress does little to dull the heat of his touch. His thumb finds your nipple, and he circles it once, twice, before pinching, just hard enough to make you gasp. He does it again, and this time, you can’t stop the low, breathy moan that escapes you.
“There it is,” he murmurs, the words warm against your skin. “Like that, don’t you?”
You nod, a frantic, jerky motion. You can’t form words. You can’t think. All you can do is feel.
“Good.”
He shifts again, this time moving to sit up. You follow, rising up on your elbows as you watch him, your breath catching in your throat. He kneels there on your bed, looking down at you, his hands resting on his own thighs. He’s so solid. So real. Like something out of a dream you didn't know you were having.
He reaches down, takes one of your feet in his lap, and starts to work on the strap of your heel. His fingers are long and deft, and they make short work of the flimsy buckle. The shoe falls away, and he repeats the process on the other side, setting both shoes on the floor beside the bed with a reverence that feels disproportionate, and yet, entirely right. You feel a sudden pang of affection for this man, this soldier, who is taking the time to remove your shoes with the same care he would take disassembling a blaster rifle.
When he’s done, he runs his hands up your calves, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin behind your knees. You shiver, and you see a flash of a smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. And he’s enjoying it. The bastard.
“Now, then,” he says, his hands continuing their journey up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress with them. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
He pushes the fabric up, over your hips, baring your legs to the dim light of the room. You’d worn your good underwear, the lacy black set you usually saved for special occasions that never seemed to happen. You’re glad, now, that you’d made the effort. From the way he’s looking at you, he’s glad, too.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands sliding higher, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. “Just...fuck.”
You open your mouth to say something, but the words die in your throat as he leans down, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. He nips at the skin there, just hard enough to sting, before soothing the spot with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. He does it again, a little higher this time, and then again, until he’s leaving a trail of bites and kisses up your thigh, his mouth getting closer and closer to the place that’s already hot and aching for him. You’re practically vibrating under him, your hands fisting in the sheets.
When he finally, finally reaches your cunt, you think you might actually sob. His tongue drags a broad, hot stripe over the lace of your underwear, and the noise you make is low and guttural and utterly inhuman.
“Kriffing stars above,” you manage. “Howzer—”
He hums against you, his hands sliding under your thighs to wrap around your hips, holding you in place as he teases you through the fabric. You’re already so wet that it’s a useless barrier, and you know he can tell. He’s not being subtle about the way he’s inhaling, breathing you in, tasting you through the soaked fabric. He lingers over your clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves in a slow, lazy circle that has your hips bucking up against his face.
“Easy, cyar’ika,” he says, his breath hot against your skin. He glances up at you, his gaze dark and hungry. “Let me savor this.”
He presses a kiss to the front of your panties before finally, finally hooking a finger under the fabric and pulling it aside. Your cunt is wet and glistening, and he makes a low, appreciative noise as he runs a finger through the slick, spreading it over your lips, your clit, your entrance.
“Beautiful.”
The first drag of his tongue against your bare flesh is enough to have your back arching off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your cunt, his tongue dipping inside before dragging up to your clit, where he swirls slow, tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your head falls back, your eyes closing, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. You’ve been eaten out before, sure. But never like this. Never with the kind of single-minded focus and determination that Howzer is bringing to the task. It’s like he’s studying you, cataloguing every sigh and moan, every twitch of your hips, every clench of your fists in the sheets. He’s learning you.
He’s still fully dressed, and the fabric of his shirt is rough against the backs of your thighs as he pulls you closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders and wrapping his arms around your waist to get a better angle. You’re completely at his mercy, and you’ve never felt so safe.
One of his hands moves down to press against your lower belly, pinning you in place as he starts to really work your clit. The other slides lower, his fingers tracing your entrance in slow, deliberate circles. When he finally presses one inside, you nearly come off the bed.
“Kriff, you’re tight.”
There’s a note of awe in his voice, and it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You can feel yourself clenching around him, the way your body is already aching to keep him inside.
“Been a while,” you gasp as he starts to move his finger in and out, curling it up to hit that spot that makes your toes curl. “Not since— oh, fuck— not since before Ryloth.”
“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised. His lips brush against your clit as he speaks, sending little jolts of pleasure through you.
“Mm-hmm.”
It’s all you can manage. You’re too busy focusing on the way he’s working your clit, the steady slide of his finger inside you, the way your entire body is already starting to tense up, to coil tight like a spring.
He adds a second finger, and your hand flies to his head, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. You can feel his smile against your skin as he starts to fuck you in earnest, his fingers pumping in and out of your slick heat as he works your clit, alternating between slow, lazy circles and fast, hard flicks that have you gasping. Your hips buck up against his face, and he follows your rhythm, letting you grind against his mouth, letting you use him.
That’s what it is, you realize with a jolt. You’re using him. You’re taking your pleasure from him. And he’s letting you. He’s encouraging it.
You lose all sense of time. All sense of space. The world shrinks down to the feeling of his mouth, his fingers, the solid weight of him pinning you to the bed, the desperate, needy sounds you’re making. You can hear the soft grunts he makes when you pull his hair, the little hums of pleasure he lets out when you grind against his face. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying you. And that knowledge is almost as powerful as the pleasure he’s giving you.
“I’m—” you gasp, your heels digging into his back, your thighs starting to shake. “Kriff, Howzer, I’m—”
He doesn’t let you finish. He just doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it in a hard, fast rhythm that sends you over the edge. A high-pitched keen tears from your throat, and you come, your cunt clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, so intense it’s almost painful.
He doesn’t stop. He works you through it, drawing out your orgasm until you’re a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, until you’re begging him to stop, your hands pushing weakly at his head.
“Howzer, please,” you breathe, throwing your head back against the pillow as his tongue slides from your dripping entrance back to your overly sensitive clit. “Please, I can’t—”
He lifts his head, and his face is slick with you, a look of pure, unadulterated triumph in his eyes. He’s grinning, a wide, feral grin that makes your cunt ache all over again. Your soaked underwear is still pushed to the side, and he runs his fingers over your puffy outer lips, spreading your slick over the flushed, tender skin.
“One more,” he says, his voice a low, commanding growl that sends a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core.
“What?” you gasp.
“One more.” The hand on your belly presses down, a clear, unmistakable order. “Stay still for me. Let me make you come again.”
You’re helpless to do anything but obey. Your body is a live wire, every nerve ending firing at once. You’re so sensitive that even the gentle brush of his breath against your cunt is enough to make you twitch.
He’s methodical now, a conqueror mapping out the territory he’s just claimed. He licks you clean, his tongue dragging through your folds, gathering your slick before delving inside, fucking you with it in slow, shallow thrusts. The two fingers he had inside you return, but he doesn’t fuck you with them this time. He just holds them there, a solid, grounding presence, as he mouths at your clit, his tongue soft and wet and impossibly gentle.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s a slow, deliberate kind of torture that has your toes curling, your hands fisting in the sheets again, your head thrashing back and forth against the pillow. You’re caught in a state of suspended animation, hovering on the knife’s edge of another orgasm, so close you can taste it, but unable to fall. Not until he lets you.
He’s watching you, you realize. Through it all, through the relentless press of his mouth, the insistent curl of his fingers inside you, he’s watching. Those dark, intense eyes are locked on your face, studying you, learning you. Cataloguing every twitch, every moan, every plea.
You try to beg again, to plead with him to let you come, but the words won’t come. All you can do is lie there and take it, your body coiled tight, your breath coming in short, ragged pants. You can feel the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, the ache in your thighs from where they’ve been pressed against his ears for so long. You can feel everything. Every single nerve ending in your body is alive and singing.
When he finally, finally lets you come, it’s like a bomb going off. Your vision goes white, your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to his head, holding him in place as you ride his face through it, grinding your cunt against his mouth, your hips moving in a frantic, desperate rhythm. You think you scream, but you can’t be sure. All you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, the thundering of your heart.
He lets you come back down this time with a gentleness that belies his earlier intensity. His fingers slide out of you, and he kisses your clit once, twice, before laving his tongue through your folds one last time, cleaning you up. He kisses the insides of your thighs, your hips, your belly. The warm press of his lips continues up and up along with the hem of your dress, and you’re pliant in his hands as he sits back and pulls it over your head, tossing it aside.
There’s a pause as he looks at you, laid bare and still panting. You can see him, too. You can see his chest heaving, his lips swollen and slick, his eyes dark and hungry. You can see the clear evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his fatigues. You can see him.
You reach for him, and he comes to you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, sweet kiss that’s a far cry from the desperation of before. His mouth still tastes of you, but you don’t care. You kiss him back with everything you have, your hands sliding into his hair, holding him close. He’s solid and warm against you, a comforting weight.
“Kriff, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his nose bumping against yours, his breath hot on your skin. “That was… you were… fuck, I don’t have the words.”
“You’re telling me,” you say with a breathless laugh that has him grinning. “That was… that was…” You shake your head. “Yeah, I don’t have the words either.”
He huffs a soft laugh against your mouth as his hand slides up your spine, and you take the hint, arching your back so he can undo the clasp of your bra and toss it away. Your soaked underwear is quick to follow, leaving you entirely naked under his appreciative gaze.
“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice a low rumble that you feel in your bones. “Just… perfect.”
Your hands slide to his shoulders, tracing the muscles of his back over his shirt. It feels unfair, suddenly, that he’s still dressed. That he’s seen you entirely and you’ve only gotten glimpses. You want to know him, too.
You tug at his shirt. “Off.”
He smirks, but he doesn’t object. He sits back on his heels and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the hard planes of his stomach. There’s a dusting of dark hair across his pecs, a trail of it leading down to the waistband of his fatigues. He’s not the most chiseled man you’ve ever seen, but he’s solid, muscular in a way that speaks to functionality rather than aesthetics.
You reach out and run your hand over the hard-packed muscle of his stomach, and the skin jumps under your touch. You trace the lines of his abs, the ridges of his hips, the little valley where his thigh meets his groin. You can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding himself back, letting you explore.
When your fingers brush against the button of his pants, he inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering shut. You work the button open and slide the zipper down before slipping your hand inside. You can feel him through his underwear, hard and hot and straining against the fabric. When you cup him, his hips jerk, and he lets out a low, choked-off groan.
“Howzer,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.
“Mm?”
“Are you clean?”
His eyes snap open, and he looks at you for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah. Medics run regular tests on all the troops.”
“Implant,” you say, a non-sequitur, but he gets the point.
He exhales slowly, his hands coming up to cover yours. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” You nod, looking down to where his cock is tenting the front of his underwear. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to feel you.”
He doesn’t need any further encouragement. He kicks off his pants and briefs, his cock springing free and slapping against his belly, leaving a trail of wetness. It’s big, bigger than you expected. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the shaft thick and veiny, the tip already dripping with precum.
He gives himself a slow stroke, biting his lip as he does it, his eyes never leaving your face. You watch as he gathers a bead of moisture from the head and spreads it over the shaft, the skin glistening in the dim light.
“Like what you see?” he asks, a note of teasing in his voice.
You nod, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
He moves back up to kneel between your spread legs, his cock bobbing heavy and thick between his thighs. He runs his hands up the insides of your thighs, spreading them even wider, and a cool draft of air whispers across your cunt. You’re so wet that you’re dripping, the sheets under you damp and sticky with it. He notices, too. He trails a finger through the mess and raises it to your mouth. You don’t hesitate. You suck his finger into your mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. His breath hitches, and you can see his cock jump, a fresh bead of moisture welling at the tip.
He slides his hand down your stomach to settle on your belly again, a silent request. Stay still. Let me do the work.
You nod.
He lines himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You can feel him there, hot and heavy and so, so ready. But he doesn’t rush. He doesn’t force himself inside. Instead, he rubs the head of his cock up and down your slit, gathering your wetness on the tip before dipping inside just a fraction.
He does this again and again, teasing you with the head of his cock, getting it nice and slick. It’s maddening. You’re so wet that every motion makes a filthy, lewd sound, and the air is heavy with the scent of sex. You’re aching for him, your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. You want to beg, to plead, but the words won’t come. All you can do is lie there and let him have you, let him take his time, let him work you up again. You feel like you’re going to burst.
When he finally, finally pushes inside, you’re so ready for him that you take it all in one long, smooth slide. The stretch of him, the weight of him, the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him inside you is almost too much. You can feel him in your throat, in your teeth, in the tips of your fingers. You can feel him everywhere.
You cry out, your eyes screwing shut, your hands fisting in the sheets. He grunts, his hips jerking forward in a quick, reflexive thrust that has his balls pressing against your ass.
“Kriffing stars above,” he breathes, and you can hear the strain in his voice, the effort it’s taking him to hold himself back. “You feel— you’re so— fuck.”
You open your eyes to look at him, and the sight is almost enough to make you come right then and there. His eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth hanging open. He looks lost in it, lost in you. You reach up to cup his face in your hands, and his eyes flutter open. He looks at you, and there’s so much in his gaze that you can’t even begin to unpack it.
“Hey,” you say, your voice shaky. “You good?”
He huffs a breathless laugh, his hands flexing where they grip your hips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good.” You tilt your hips up, just a little, and he groans. “Because I really, really need you to move.”
He doesn’t need any further encouragement. He pulls out until just the head of his cock is inside you, and then he slides back in, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm that has you seeing stars. He’s so deep inside you that you can feel him in your throat, and every time he bottoms out, the impact sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You’re so full, so impossibly full, that you can barely breathe. You can’t think. You can only feel.
It doesn’t take him long to find a rhythm that works for both of you. It’s a slow, deep grind, his hips circling as he pulls out before snapping forward to bury himself inside you again. Every thrust hits a spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back in your head, and every time he bottoms out, the impact of his hips against yours is a bright, sharp burst of pleasure that makes you gasp.
You’re so wet that every thrust is a slick, messy glide that makes the most obscene sounds. You’re dripping, the sheets beneath you soaked with it. And still, he doesn’t stop. Still, he doesn’t rush.
He’s fucking you like he’s got all the time in the world, like he’s content to spend the rest of his days right here, buried inside you, making you feel good. And you, for your part, are more than happy to let him. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into the small of his back. Your hands slide up and down the slick, sweat-sheened muscles of his back as your body rocks with the force of his thrusts. You cling to him, an anchor in a storm of sensation.
This is what you wanted. This is what you’ve been craving. Not just the pleasure, though that’s a part of it. It’s the connection. The feeling of being known, of being seen. The feeling of being wanted, of being desired. The feeling of being cherished. That’s what you see in his eyes, in the way he touches you, in the way he’s holding himself back, even now.
It’s overwhelming. It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
You arch your back, pressing your chest against his, and Howzer’s hips stutter, a soft groan escaping his lips. He ducks his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his mouth hot and wet on your skin. His hands slide down to grip your ass, lifting you off the bed and changing the angle of his thrusts, and you nearly sob when the head of his cock hits a spot inside you that has sparks dancing at the edge of your vision.
“Kriff, there,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back. “There. Right there. Please. Harder.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He snaps his hips forward, pounding into you with enough force to shake the bed, to knock the wind out of you. His hands grip your ass tight enough to bruise, and you know you’ll have his fingerprints on you tomorrow, a tangible reminder of this night. The thought is enough to make you clench around him, and he groans, his teeth scraping against your skin.
“You close?” he asks, his voice rough, strained.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—” You swallow hard, struggling to find the words. “I’m close.”
“Good.” He nuzzles against your neck, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses on your skin. “Want to feel you come. Want to feel you come on my cock.”
“Keep talking like that, and you will.”
He huffs a breathless laugh, his hips losing their rhythm, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “You like that? You like it when I talk to you like that?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, your nails raking down his back. “Yeah, I do.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, a secret shared between the two of you. “Can’t believe I’m here, with you like this. Can’t believe you— fuck, you feel so good. You’re so beautiful.”
You can’t respond. You can’t do anything but hold on as he pounds into you, the headboard slamming into the wall. He’s babbling now, a litany of praises and filthy promises falling from his lips, but you can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears. Your entire world narrows down to the heat building in your core, the weight of him inside you, the slide of his cock.
When you finally, finally fall over the edge, it’s with a high-pitched keen that you can’t contain. Your body arches up off the bed, pressing against him, clenching around his cock in a desperate attempt to keep him inside. You feel your legs kick out uselessly, your toes curling so hard it almost hurts. Howzer grabs for them and pushes your legs back, bending you almost in half, and your eyes roll back in your head as he fucks you through your orgasm with short, hard thrusts that have you sobbing.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just like that. Just like that.”
When it passes, you slump back against the bed, boneless, your vision blurry, your body still twitching and spasming around his cock. His pace slows, but he doesn’t stop, not until the overstimulation becomes too much and you push at his shoulders.
He pulls out, and the sudden emptiness has you gasping, your hands flying to your stomach. You feel hollow, aching, your cunt still fluttering weakly around nothing. You can hear the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the wet slap of his hand, and you look up to see him kneeling between your thighs once again, his fist flying over his cock.
“I’m close,” he says, his voice tight, his face twisted in a pained grimace. “Where do you want it? Where—”
You don’t even think about it. You pull your knees up to your chest, exposing your dripping cunt. “Here. On me. Please.”
He grunts, and his hand moves even faster. You can see the muscles of his abdomen tense, the veins in his neck stand out. He’s right on the edge, and you can’t look away. You can’t stop watching.
When he finally, finally tips over the edge, he does it with a guttural moan that has heat pooling low in your belly. His cock jerks in his hand, a thick spurt of cum painting a line across your cunt. He strokes himself through it, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he wrings every last drop from his cock. It lands on you, hot and thick, coating your cunt, your stomach, your chest.
You’ve never felt so claimed.
It takes a minute for him to come down from his high. His chest is heaving, his skin shiny with sweat, his eyes glazed. When he finally opens them again, he looks down at you, at the mess he’s made of you, and his breath hitches.
“Kriff,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” you agree, your own voice sounding faraway and dreamy.
He leans down and presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. Then to your forehead, your cheek, your nose. It’s a gentle, unhurried exploration, a quiet apology and a promise all in one. You respond in kind, your hands sliding up and down the slick, sweat-sheened muscles of his back as you kiss him back, your mouth soft and pliant under his.
When he finally pulls away, it’s with a sigh. He pushes himself up and off the bed, and gives you a long, slow look. His gaze is heavy, possessive, and it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core.
“Don’t move,” he says, his voice still rough.
You watch him walk into the ‘fresher, his muscular back and firm ass on display, and you can’t help the surge of affection that wells up inside you. You can’t believe that this is your life. You can’t believe that this is real.
He comes back with a towel, and you spread your legs to give him better access. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, his touch firm but careful, and you can’t help but be reminded of the way he handled your feet earlier. He’s thorough, too, making sure to wipe away every last trace of him from your body. When he’s finished, he tosses the towel in the general direction of the ‘fresher and climbs back into bed with you.
You shift onto your side, and he spoons up behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist. You can feel his chest hair tickling your back, the soft swell of his belly, the hard line of his cock nestled between your ass cheeks. It’s a solid, comforting weight, and you sigh happily as you relax into him.
He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and you hum, your eyes closing. “This okay?” he asks quietly.
“More than okay.”
“Good.” He yawns, his breath warm on your skin, and nuzzles into your neck. “I don’t know if you had plans for the rest of the evening, but I was kinda hoping I could spend the night.”
You snort. “You think you’re leaving after that? I’m keeping you. Forever.”
He chuckles, a low, sleepy sound, and tightens his hold on you. “Yeah? Forever’s a long time. You think you can handle me?”
“I handled you tonight, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he agrees. “You did. And it was… it was everything.”
You reach down and lace your fingers with his where they rest on your stomach. “Yeah. It was.”
“You should know,” he says, his voice already thick with sleep, “that I have no intentions of letting this be a one-time thing. I plan on taking you to dinner tomorrow night, too. Properly, this time. No cheap cantina wine for you.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Howzer?”
“Mm-hmm.” His lips press to the crook of your neck. “So? What do you say?”
“I say,” you say, grinning into the darkness, “I’d like that. A lot.”
“Good.” He yawns again, and this time, he’s out. His breathing evens out, deep and steady, and you can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back.
You lie there for a long time, just listening to him breathe. You can feel the drying stickiness of sweat and sex on your skin, the ache in your muscles, the tender throb between your legs. It’s a pleasant ache, a reminder of the pleasure you just experienced.
You think about the last few months, about the slow, gradual shift in your relationship with Howzer. The lingering glances, the casual touches, the easy banter that always hovered on the edge of something more. You think about all the wasted opportunities, all the moments you could have said something, did something, but didn’t.
You don’t regret it, though. You don’t think you could have handled this sooner. You had to be ready. You had to be sure. And you are. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. You close your eyes, and for the first time in a long, long while, you’re not afraid. You’re not worried about the future, about the war, about what comes next. You’re just… happy.
You fall asleep with a smile on your face, wrapped in his arms.
(content : smut obv, pussy eatin, fingering, keeps the armor on, he gets off too ! google doc link with bigger text at the bottom ♥︎)
firm believer that this man is a MUNCH and PROUD.
he begs for it. as a captain, his work is hard and stressful. even more now that the empire has risen to power. spending his time with is face buried between your thighs is exaaaaactly how he likes to unwind.
you don't even really get a chance to ask him how his day was (you wouldn't really like the answer anyways). once that door slides open to his quarters, to where you've been hiding out for the day, he drops his helmet on the ground, not even bothering to remove the rest of his armor while he crawls over to you.
"turn over f'me," he mumbles, forgetting his manners and not even saying hello to you.
he would gladly eat it from the back, and he has before, but for right now, he wanted to see your face. no, he needed to see your face.
"howzer-" you try to say, still rolling over onto your back. your words are quickly cut off once he yanks your sleep shorts down, causing you to drop the holopad that was in your hand onto the mattress.
"'t's ok," he mumbles.
shamelessly, he leaned forward to dig his nose into your panties and inhaled deeply. it was gross and filthy, and you really shouldn't be turned on by it. but with the way his brown eyes glance up at you like he was genuinely possessed by the smell of you, it felt like your stomach was doing backflips.
"give me just a few minutes," howzer says while lazily pulling your panties down with his pointer finger.
it was moments like these you started to question if this was for your pleasure or his. the moment his tongue dove in and your mouth hung open, you could hear the moans begin to escape him. he got off on this as much, if not more, than you did.
"oh my god," you gasp out once his lips wrap around your clit, sucking hard. your fingers fly down onto his sweaty hair, lacing through and tugging him closer gently. the action made him buck his armored hips into the mattress.
"taste so good," howzer groans, his voice muffled.
you feel one of the hands that was on your thighs leave, but quickly find a new home as his middle and ring finger slowly enter your dripping hole. every single movement he makes is planned and specific. he knows your body and he knows it well. he's perfected the art of making you fall apart under his touch.
you can hear him growing louder as you begin to grow closer. the noises he's making are obscene, like he's making a nasty porno. the wet sounds of his fingers ramming into your hole combined with his filthy moans are enough to bring you closer to the edge just on its own.
and he can see it in your eyes as you watch him.
"give it t'me, c'monnn, baby."
you're almost sure he whines the last word out, but he doesn't give you too much time to think about it before his lips wrap around your clit again, his tongue circling around the swollen bud. it was all too much, and he could feel the grip on his dark hair tightening.
"fuck- howzer, i-" you nearly try pushing him away from the overstimulation but quickly succumbed to the pleasure, your vision and mind turning fuzzy. the sound of him was like he was underwater as your body shook and trembled, howzer letting you ride out your high on his face.
once you started to calm down, he gave you a few seconds to breathe before removing himself from your lower half and sitting up. he looked a whole lot more relaxed than how he did when he first entered the room. it made you giggle a bit, watching him lick his lips of you, wiping the excess off with the back of his hand.
looking him over, you admire his bulky form with the added white and teal armor on. but once your eyes travel down to his crotch, you notice the big wet stain seeping through his blacks.
furrowing your brows, you look back up to meet his dazed expression.
"did you seriously cum just from that..?" you ask.
"course i did," he shrugs like it was obvious. "you know it soothes me."
Summary: When the heating breaks, Howzer steps up to help keep you warm.
Characters: Captain Howzer
Pairings: Captain Howzer x reader
“HOWZER!”
The Captain’s honey coloured eyes widened at the shout that filled the house. Tightening his grip on the blaster he was cleaning, he raced towards the living room where you were meant to be.
Entering the room, blaster raised, he was surprised to find you wrestling with the fireplace.
“What’s happened? Are you hurt?” he demanded, scanning the room and finding no threats or anything out of the ordinary.
You turned to him, pout already on your face as you shoved the wood into the hearth. No. You weren’t hurt but everything was not okay.
“The heating is broke! I can’t fix it and they’re not going to send anyone out until after Life Day!” you cried, bundling another jacket on to keep out the chill that was beginning to seep into the house.
Howzer let out a sigh of relief, lowering his blaster and turning the safety on. Crouching down beside you, he laid a gentle hand on your knee, the other coming to rub up and down your arm.
“Okay, we can deal with this cyare. I thought there was something wrong!” he assured, shaking his head with a small smile twisting his lips.
“There is! It’s snowing outside, we have no heating, we’re going to freeze” you insisted, brow furrowing at his words. Although you couldn’t help but lean into his hand as it was generating warmth in you.
Howzer chuckled, taking your hand and helping you to stand. Leading you to the sofa, he placed you on it gently, grabbing the blanket off the back and folding it around you. “We’re not going to freeze, mesh’la” he commented, amused at your dramatics. “I am going to look at the heating, see if I can sort it out. If I can’t, I’ll get one of my vods around to have a look. Then I’m going to build a fire for us and we’ll cuddle up in front of it, nice and warm. Sound good to you?” he informed, brushing a few flyaway strands of hair away from your face.
It did sound pretty good, and once again you were reminded at how much training your love actually had. Not just in fighting or battle logistics, but also in mechanics and engineering. If anyone was going to fix the heating, it would be your Howzer or one of his brothers.
“Aye, Captain. Sounds good” you teased, relaxing back into the sofa and sinking into the warm blanket he had wrapped you in.
Pinching your chin in his fingers, he lifted your head so he could press a quick peck to your lips. “Cheeky. Now stay here and keep warm” he smirked, rolling his eyes before heading off to check the boiler.
Within the hour, Howzer was heading back to you, scratching at the scar on his jaw and grimacing a little as he looked at your bundled up form. “Sorry, cyar’ika. Looks like it might need replacing” he announced, trailing his hands up and down your calves. “Managed to get one of my brothers to come round and fix it up for us. He’s going to be here tomorrow morning” Howzer explained, squeezing your ankle.
“What about tonight?” you wondered, feeling how cold the tip of your nose was. You buried your face into the blanket, voice coming out muffled. “What will we do?”
Giving your ankle one last squeeze, he pushed himself up and headed to the fireplace. “Now, cyare” he drawled, “I’m going to build us a fire so we can cuddle up together.”
Giving a small squeal of excitement, you managed to escape from the blanket and came to kneel before him. “Do I get a say in this?” you teased, leaning into his side.
“Not at all” he smiled, shaking his head.
“Alright then, can I help build the fire?” you asked, reaching for the pile of wood you kept in a basket next to the fireplace.
However, Howzer stopped you, grabbing your hands and brushing his lips against your knuckles. “I don’t think so” he chuckled, shaking his head. “How about you go make us some hot chocolate?” he suggested instead.
“Alright, alright, you take care of the fire, I’ll take care of the drinks” you smirked, nudging his side before getting up. “But you can’t complain when I make them extra sweet!” you reminded, running your hands through his dark curls and down along his jaw and over his cheek, tracing his scars.
“When do I ever complain about that?” he retorted, enjoying the way you snorted at his words before heading to the kitchen. He trailed his eyes down your beautiful body, landing on the curve of your bottom. Leaning forward, and with all the speed of a viper, he struck, hand coming down on your ass with a loud crack.
“Hey!” you yelped, jumping in the air and turning to glare at him.
“Sorry mesh’la, couldn’t resist” he remarked, shrugging his shoulders. A shit eating grin spread across his face.
“Watch it, Captain! I’ll get you back” you warned, pointing a warning finger at him as you turned back to the kitchen.
“Looking forward to it, mesh’la” he promised, turning back to the hearth and getting to work. He had a fire to build and a cyare to keep warm.
By the time you came in with two mugs of hot chocolate – heavy on the squirty cream and chocolate flakes – the fire had caught and was roaring in the fireplace. Warmth was gushing out and was filling the living room with a pleasant heat that helped chase the chill away. The glow from the fire was making your living room look all snug and cosy and you couldn’t wait to get under the blanket with Howzer.
“Good job, love!” you praised, spotting him poking at the fire to make sure it was burning nicely.
“Thanks, cyare” he smiled, taking the cups off you and placing them on the table. He let out a small gasp as you grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the sofa, curling your body around him, legs thrown over his lap. Howzer’s face softened, draping the blanket around you both, ensuring that you were comfortable before wrapping you up in his arms.
Burying his nose into your hair, he closed his eyes, letting out a content little hum. This was exactly what he needed. The peace and quiet of his home, the feel of you in his arms and the way you sighed just as happily against him.
Back on Ryloth, he had never thought this was possible. Never believed he would ever get a chance of a happy ending. He didn’t believe in them. Didn’t have that luxury. But being here with you, tucked up against his chest, snuggling closer for warmth… yeah he was glad he was wrong. As he ran his fingers along your hair, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
“Thank you, cyare” he breathed, voice quiet against the crackling of the fire and the hum of the conservator in the kitchen. It felt peaceful, like he didn’t want to talk too loudly in case that peace was shattered.
“You’re welcome, I made yours extra sweet, just how you like it” you murmured, dragging your fingers along his chest, following the curves and valleys of his muscles.
He let out a low, airy chuckle and shook his head. “Thanks, cyare, but I wasn’t talking about that” he grinned, voice laced with fondness. “I was talking about how grateful I am that you came into my life and changed everything I thought I knew. That you’re here, with me. It’s all I’ll ever need, us being together” Howzer revealed, throat thick with emotion as he leant his head against yours.
You let out a small wounded sound at his words. They hit you deeply as your heart clenched at the way he thought his life would have been like had you two not met. Where he could have ended up if you had not stopped him that day to report a crime that you had seen in the market of Ryloth.
It wasn’t worth thinking about. Howzer was here, safe in your arms, pressed against you, his light, welcoming scent wafting in your nose and his warm breath caressing along your crown. You couldn’t think of him being anywhere else either.
“You never have to thank me for that, Howzer. Being here with you… it’s as simple as breathing. There is no where else I’d rather be” you breathed, looking up and cupping his face, amber eyes meeting your own.
Leaning forward, you gently pressed your lips against his, sinking into the kiss as he did the same. The roar of the fire was forgotten, the heat from it around you incomparable to the warmth and love filling your chest just from being with Howzer in this moment. You pulled away, thumb trailing along his left cheekbone.
“Me neither, cyare, me neither” he sighed, pulling away from you and holding you closer to him. Resting his head against yours, he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you, cosied up in front of a fire or fixing whatever it was around the house. It didn’t matter, as long as you were there together, then everything would be just fine.
CONTENT: Stranger to lovers, mentions of injuries, set on Ryloth, oral sex, eventual romance, angst with a happy ending, original clone troopers, Porn with Plot, Porn with Poetry, softer than the previous parts.
AO3: Starry Teal
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Everything hurts.
Captain Howzer removed his helmet, breathing in the stale air of Ryloth in fitful gasps.
He tried to stand, leaning against the wall of his ship, but failed to remain upright. The smoke from the broken engines filled his lungs, causing him to sputter and cough.
Even then, the pain consumed him. His ribcage threatened to constrict around his lungs, he wouldn't be surprised if a few might've punctured through. His limbs weighed like loaded crates. His head felt like it was shot by a blaster and continued to burn through his skull. His hands cannot stop shaking, no matter how many times he tries to clench them.
Albeit the pain, the exhaustion countered the ache—leaving his bones and muscles too weak and numb.
He tried again, cursing through gritted teeth, feeling his own body protest against the movement. He should keep going. He should go back to his men. This ongoing battle in Ryloth has left their numbers and sources severely depleted, and he could only hope that his brothers had survived the carnage along with the refugees at camp.
He tapped on his comms, clearing his dry throat. “This CT-22-8794. Is anyone out there? I repeat, is anyone out there?”
Silence.
He tapped again, wheezing through the pain. “This is Captain Howzer. I repeat, can anyone hear me?”
A crackle. Static. Then, silence.
Kriff.
Howzer almost removed his vambrace and hurled it across the cliff.
If it weren't for the pain on his left shoulder, he would have. However, he might still get a response. Somewhere out there, he knew his brothers survived, and he needed to be there for them. After all, he was their captain. This war, this siege, will not stop until all Separatist forces have freed the captured Twi’leks and more Republic aid has been sent.
But for now, with help tasting like the blood in his mouth, Howzer could only cling to what little hope within his chest. For as long as he could stand, as long as his heart kept beating, he'd live to fight another day. That was the true image of a soldier, the reality of many clones—to be able to serve and die in service.
That was his purpose.
So, like the hope within him, Howzer clung to his purpose and marched on.
Even when his legs shook, he still trudged forward. Even when his vision blurred, his gaze was set straight. Even when his lungs tightened with every breath he took, he forced himself to stay alive. No matter how many times he tripped on his feet, how heavy his helmet became, or how long it would take him to reach any civilization for help.
Captain Howzer marched on.
Until the sun has started to set, painting the sky in teal hues and dark shadows. The planet seemed so vast when he's on foot, endless and tiring, unlike earlier when he was up in the air in his ship—a temporary glimpse of freedom.
The last light of Ryloth bled across the horizon like dying embers, and Captain Howzer trudged through it, a lone silhouette staggering over sloping sandy hills. Every step struck him like lightning. Curling up his spine, pulsing behind his ribs, biting into the muscles of his thighs where he was certain to be bleeding against his blacks. His armor, once polished and proud, was painted in dirt, ash, and blood.
Despite it all, he still walked.
Forward was the only direction that ever mattered to a clone. Forward meant progress. Survival. Forward meant finding his squad, hoping to see them in better shape, and Ryloth’s civilians. Forward meant not dying namelessly underneath a teal sky where the stars could watch him take his final breath.
The cold wind pushed against him, warm and heavy, with the scent of dry dirt and distant smoke. Somewhere beyond the dunes, the Separatists’ bombardment still echoed. He could still feel the tremors beneath his boots, the wreckage that ambushed their camp and the civilians they harbored in refuge.
He could only carry a family of three with him, while his brothers took the rest in their respective ships. But in the end, amidst their chance of escape, their wing got hit and Howzer could not stop the fall even when he tried to.
In the end, he woke up—bleary and dazed—to find the family dead.
And he was alive.
He would've given them a proper burial if he had the strength, but at least in their final moment they were together.
For a moment, Howzer closed his eyes and took in a shuddering air. He tried not to think about the crash, the sickening crunch, the screaming metal, the alarms from his console, and the cries of the child as she was hugged closely by her parents.
He exhaled slowly, a fitful wheeze pouring out of his dry mouth.
Keep walking.
Opening his eyes, Howzer regained his bearings and continued onwards.
His steps left uneven impressions in the dirt, and occasionally his injured leg would buckle. Dropping him to one knee. Each time, the ground rushed up fast, as though eager to greet him. But he'd press a gloved hand against the dirt, grit grinding into his palm, and hauled himself back up again. Again, he reminded himself—he was built for this. He can endure the pain longer, better, and stronger than any other.
This wasn't just survival.
This was will.
The bare, stubborn will of a soldier on the brink of death.
As night crept in, the heat dropped steadily, stealing warmth from his skin. Howzer’s breath became visible amidst the cold night air.
He stopped to take a break after what felt like an hour of waking, leaning heavily against a jagged outcrop as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. Blaster fire ricocheted inside his skull, the ringing returned to torment him. His vision blurred at the edges, shapes bending and doubling. His stomach ached for food, his throat yearned for cold water. His helmet still remained tucked under his arm, like a lifeline to guarantee his survival.
The sky above him glittered with constellations, the stars gleamed down at him as witnesses to his struggle.
He blinked, erasing the blurring shapes.
Focus.
Find shelter. Find life. Find my brothers.
As if the stars finally decided to spare him mercy, a faint glow flickered in the distance. Soft, warm, and definitely not a blaster or an explosion flash. Something promising. Something alive. And the hope within him reignited.
He pushed off the rock and limped forward again, one step after the next. His wounds screamed. His muscles fought. His lungs burned. But Howzer was nothing if not disciplined and endurance—trained for a lifetime to protect, to persist, and to rise no matter how many times he fell.
The darkness thickened around him, and still he moved towards the dim flicker up ahead. The possibility of a farmhouse or a homestead or any heartbeat he could cling to.
Suddenly, the galaxy was wide and merciless.
However, Captain Howzer refused to let it swallow him. If he was going to die, he'd rather be alongside his brothers. Not right now, not like this. Not when someone was out there, still fighting, still hoping, still in need of help.
So, he limped on.
One soldier against the vast night of Ryloth, leaving a trail of blood and determination across the coarse dirt. Only when the light began to move closer, his body finally reached its limit and the dark edges round his vision began to grow.
And the last thing he remembered seeing were black silhouettes and the stars above him shining in pity as if to say—
You've fought well.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
The flashbacks clawed up from the murk, but the darkness held him first—thick, weightless. This felt like drifting in the space between breaths, where sound and memory sank in the same quiet void.
Pain arrived next, distant at first, like a signal struggling through static. A pulse behind his ribs. A throb in his thigh. A hot, splintering ache across his shoulder. None of it felt urgent, it came to him as if from another body entirely, far away and nearly forgotten.
But something worse than the pain took over his body.
The flashes started playing behind his eyelids in a tortured loop, endless and haunting. The screams from the civilians were muffled, but loud enough to echo in the dream. Like battle cries or a war drum. Different scenes all converged, memories of him escorting the family into his shuttle, one designed for one person only at best. But they needed to survive, so he made do. Shoving them inside, seating himself in the pilot’s chair the next, before he was taking off into the skies despite not knowing how to fly a ship.
Somehow, on the brink of survival, you’d come to discover just how much you can do.
Then, a blast from the side, damaging his wing.
Alarms blared all around him, his wheel suddenly felt too heavy to stir.
He heard his voice, frantic and hushed, cursing at the blasted thing. His hands pressed any button on his console, to try and stabilize the ship before they crashed onto the ground. But none worked, none soothed the ringing cries of the child and the helpless pleas from her parents. The Twi’leks were speaking to him, all unintelligible, and Howzer remembered barking out an order that tasted like blood and defeat in his mouth.
“Brace yourselves!”
The fall from the skies. The shouts of terror. The hurling sickness in his stomach as the altitude suddenly dropped, swift and unforgiving.
His seat had an emergency inflatable cushion, pressed up against his sides the moment the ship gave up in the air. But the family behind him were vulnerable to the crash. They could die, and he knew it. He could only pray to the Maker that they’d be alive, safe, so he could transport them back to the rendezvous point with the rest of their people.
Yet the crash came too soon.
The world stopped, went silent, and Howzer flinched in the dark. At least, he thought he flinched. His limbs didn’t seem to move. The darkness around him rippled instead, flexing like a curtain stirred by a faint breeze.
Within the dark corners of his mind, a sound pried its way through the cracks.
Crackling, soft, and steady.
A hearth fire.
Warmth brushed the side of his face. Not the searing heat he remembered from the crash, but the gentle kind found in safe places. That warmth coaxed sensation back into his body, and with sensation came weight. Limbs. Breath. The awareness of lying on something soft and makeshift. The ache sharpened, no longer distant. His thigh throbbed in a slow, insistent rhythm. His ribs tightened each time air struggled into his lungs.
Something cool tingled against the torn skin of his chest and shoulder—bacta patches, dozens of them, releasing that familiar, chemical chill.
He chased another breath, and this time it caught. His eyelids twitched, and the world pressed close again.
Light seeped through the cracks of darkness.
And Captain Howzer’s eyes finally fluttered open.
He was right, he was lying on something soft.
Someone else’s cot. In someone else’s house.
No, it was too small to be a house. A cottage, most likely. The ceiling hovered above him held up by wooden beams darkened by age. Shadows danced across them, thrown by the modest fire burning in the hearth along the wall. The air smelled of herbs, smoke, and something faintly sweet—like a salve crushed by careful hands or a caf brewed in humble means.
Howzer blinked again, slower this time, letting the world settle around him.
The cot was narrow, layered with patched blankets and a thin mattress.
His armor was nowhere in sight, instead, his body was wrapped in clean bandages—white against the bruised, sun-battered skin beneath. Bacta patches covered him in mottle constellations, across his shoulder, stomach, thigh, and even his cheek. Someone had taken their time, been thorough and set on keeping him alive.
He swallowed, throat tight and dry.
Alive.
He was alive.
The thought felt fragile, disbelieving, and unreal.
He tried to move his shoulder, then abruptly stopped as soon as the pain stretched across his chest.
It still hasn't left, it seemed. Only lessened, only weakened. The fact he was physically unable to get up bothered him. It meant he couldn't get the answers he needed. How many days has passed since he was found? Where were his brothers now? Were they safe somewhere? Were they finally off-planet and left him here?
The more his head conjured questions, the more it hurt to think.
They're safe. They must be.
Howzer settled again, gulping down the dryness of his throat.
Water.
Glancing to his side, his eyes brightened at the sight of a cup sitting idly on a wooden table.
Again, he tried to move his arm. But he couldn't get past lifting it above the cot without feeling the muscles tearing through him. Still, he gritted his teeth and forced his arm up. His fingertips grazed against the cup, and he almost smiled in victory when—
“What are you doing?”
A sharp voice jerked his arm back to his side, immediately regretting the sudden movement because pain shot through his left side like a lightning strike.
He gritted his teeth, grunting quietly. “Sorry, I was just–”
“It’s fine,” A figure emerged from the edge of the cot, and Howzer blinked in surprise. “But you should’ve called. You’ll strain yourself, and mind you, these are my only bacta patches and bandages.”
The person who saved him was someone he didn’t expect.
A human.
The one who surely dragged him from the ground and back here. Who patched him up, using all of your stock like you said just to make sure he lived. He didn’t expect someone like you on a planet where Separatists roamed and most inhabitants were Twi’leks. What were you doing out here? Didn’t you know this planet was currently being a battleground of war? Or were you another refugee seeking shelter?
You must’ve seen the confusion plastered on his bandaged face, because the glare on your features hardened. “You have questions, I can tell. But hold them until you’re healed. For now, don’t move too much. I hate for my supplies to get wasted if you hurt yourself again.”
Howzer smiled sheepishly at that. “Thank you, ma’am. You didn’t have to help, but I owe you my life.”
That seemed to satisfy you, though it still didn’t erase the look of caution.
He perfectly understood why.
There was a stranger in your house, bloodied and severely wounded when you first saw him, and now you had him on your cot. Guilt churned in his stomach, you probably needed all these bacta and bandages for yourself in case you got harmed. But no, you chose to help him. A literal stranger, an unwanted soldier, and something else replaced the guilt.
Respect.
A normal civilian like yourself managed to carry him into your home without any help. As well as gratitude, for helping him when you didn’t have to.
“You don’t owe me anything,” You quipped, grabbing the cup of water. “The Republic doesn’t owe me anything. Can’t say the same for all the others out there.”
Howzer felt the rim press on his lip, and he lifted his head to drink. Not cold, room temperature at best, but it felt heavenly going down his throat. The dryness immediately vanished, but he didn’t stop until he finished every last drop.
He nodded at you, laying back down on the pillow. “Thank you, ma’am. For everything.”
You nodded back, not giving him a response. Instead, your eyes swept across his body in silent appraisal.
He shouldn’t feel embarrassed by it.
One, he had nothing to hide. Two, you already saw his body when you stripped him out of his armor and blacks in place of bandages, And three, you were just checking his condition. Simple and completely innocent. However, he still couldn’t fight off the heat invading his cheeks. The embarrassment didn’t stem from the lack of clothing on his body, but from the vulnerability it left.
A soldier of the Republic, wounded and lost, at the hands of a civilian who knew better than to get herself involved but still did.
In return, he took the chance to study you too.
A faded patched teal shawl draped over your frame, oddly reminding him of his own colors. Thick pants with too many pockets, skin too touched by the sun, and dirt stains across your boot. The bottom half of your face was covered by the shawl, for many reasons Howzer understood why, but he still can’t help but wonder what you looked like behind it.
“Hungry?” You regarded him again, and Howzer nodded to save his voice from accidentally cracking. “I have some food prepared. Think you can sit up on your own?”
Howzer knew he couldn’t, but he already knew you’ve done enough.
Biting his pride, the captain gave you a small smile which he hoped looked convincing enough. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I can manage.”
Your eyes narrowed, assessing him for a brief second. After a while, you sighed and turned to leave. “Alright. I’ll get you some food. Don’t move too quickly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He waited until you were out of the room, before he gathered a long breath. “Okay, I can do this. Just need to sit up.”
Howzer didn’t know which felt more humbling.
The painful strain of his muscles in protest of his movements, or his bruised pride. At least he managed to sit up just fine, now he just has to try and appear like everything didn’t hurt. It hurt like a kriffing rancor barreled over his body. Just breathing too much hurt the lines of muscle spanning across his ribs.
When you finally returned, carrying a plate of sliced fruits and polystarch bread, Howzer ignored every pain and smiled in thanks.
He set the food on his lap, glancing at you in question. “You’re not going to eat, ma’am?”
You shook your head, he didn’t know he felt upset by that. “I’ve already eaten earlier. Now, eat. Gather some energy and strength. The sooner you get better, the sooner you can return to your Republic.”
Curt, straightforward, and no nonsense.
Howzer was used to it, being a soldier and all, this sharpness made him immune. He could only express his gratitude by offering another thanks, before he picked up a slice and welcomed the sweetness tainting his tongue. His stomach growled, no doubt you heard that, but he couldn't care less. It's been several days since he last ate something, and you've already seen him at his worst.
What's another sight when he's gulfing down the fruits like a rabid lothwolf?
To his surprise, the food you served him was unexpected—sweet, ripe, and obviously well-picked. Judging by its taste, it was no doubt high quality. He swallowed the fruit alongside the guilt that returned. You even went your way to give him such luxury? Despite being a stranger?
“This is good,” He commented, trying to ease the tense atmosphere. “Where did you buy it? Might get some for myself and my brothers.”
Somehow, he wasn't sure why, but the comment broke a smirk out of your stoicism. Small, barely noticeable, and fast enough he almost believed he imagined it. It was gone the second it appeared, falling back to your impassive expression.
You crossed your arms, studying him intently. “Buy it? I planted them myself. You actually came at the perfect time. All my crops are ready for harvest. Means I have enough to feed you with.”
He blinked, glancing down at his food before looking up at you again. “These are yours, ma’am?”
“Sure are,” There was pride laced in your tone, evident and proud. “Though I have to sell some off. Need the credits, y’know? I’ll be out this afternoon to head to the market.”
Market? Isn’t this planet at war?
He decided not to question you, chewing on his fruits instead. “Will you be long, ma’am?”
Shaking your head, you waved your hand. “It’ll only take an hour. Just don’t do anything funny while I'm gone. Got that, trooper?”
Howzer snickered in amusement, pointing at his bandaged body as he smiled up at you “Not like I’m gonna be doing anything. But if there’s an attack coming, then I can’t make any promises.”
You huffed, much less guarded now. “My farm’s safe. Too far out from any Separatist camps. It’s a wonder how you managed to get here.”
He fought the grimace, memories flashing back to the crash and the horrified screams from the family. Their lifeless bodies when he came to afterwards, hugging each other closely, even in death they remained together. Unlike him and all his brothers.
“How long was I out?”
“Just a day,” You replied, voice growing grim. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna make it. I have nothing here to help you fully recover. The best I can do is restore your health, not your body. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”
The captain felt his appetite diminishing, staring at the remaining bread in his plate.
“Don’t worry, ma’am.” He spoke firmly, clenching his fists. “I’ll heal in no time. Us clones are bred for war. It’s only best that we return to it as soon as possible.”
A scoffed escaped you, and Howzer forced himself to eat again.
For a while, silence stretched and lingered.
When his plate was empty, Howzer exchanged it with you for another cup of water. “Thank you again, ma’am. If you want, once I feel a bit better, I can help around your farm? To repay you and your hospitality.”
Now that earned him a snicker, causing him to pause. Did the idea sound ridiculous? To him, it was the least he could do after being nursed back to health. He didn’t have any experience with farming, never even held a tool before. All his life, his hands carried weapons, gears, and armor. These were the hands created for war, but maybe he could try something new. Instead of destruction, he could create life.
“A soldier playing farmer,” You hummed, casting him an amused look. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I have it handled. Stick to your blasters, I stick to my crops–”
“I’m good with my hands.”
The words were out before he could stop himself, and he flushed in realization.
You blinked at him, half-amused and half-scandalized.
“That’s–” Howzer cleared his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was I can help. With the farm. If you’re fine with it. Ma’am.”
He felt your gaze sweeping down his body again. To assess his condition, and nothing else, but he couldn’t help but notice how your eyes lingered at his hands. Just like the rest of him, they were bandaged and wrapped with bacta patches. His fingers constantly twitched, shaking every so often, and he only realized that now.
You sighed, long and heavy. “Again, I appreciate the offer. But I’m not gonna let you. Like you said, you were bred for war. This farm isn’t a battlefield.”
Howzer accepted that, but the restless hope within him still stirred—that sense of purpose drilled into him since he was a cadet. If he wasn’t useful, then what good was he for? Maybe the thought of doing nothing just scared him. He’s not used to doing nothing. He always carried responsibility wherever he went. The fact that he was unable to do anything for now filled him with a kind of void he didn’t like.
“Hey,” You snapped him out of his thoughts. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want your help. I just don’t need it. I’ve been doing this for years. Alone.”
He decided to give up—for now—and gave you a small smile. “Well, the offer still stands. Whatever you need me to do, I'm at your service.”
You rolled your eyes, scoffing lightly. “You soldiers and your inability to relax.”
Howzer grinned at that. “It’s just who we are. Is that so bad?”
Humming, you did a slow sweep over him again. This time, Howzer knew it wasn’t to check out his condition.
You met his gaze, sharp and challenging. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
His throat suddenly felt dry again, but still he answered. “Yes, ma'am.”
Then, you turned and left the room with the empty plate—leaving him staring after you with wide eyes and the hope within him shining brighter.
The next day, the pain had diminished to a dull ache. At least in some areas. A faint throb in his thigh every time he moved, a mild numbness in his shoulder, and the muscles on his ribs didn't hurt as much as yesterday.
As usual, you woke him up to eat—carrying a plate of sliced fruits and bread again—with a new addition of caf. Homemade, you said. The beans were yours, spent several days dried out in the sun and crushed into fine powder. The moment he took a sip of the drink, his eyes fluttered shut as the warmth spread through him. Kriff, he missed this. It certainly tasted differently than the ones he was used to back in Kamino or Coruscant.
Light, bittersweet, and comforting.
There was a sweetened aftertaste lingering once the warmth slid down his throat.
You snickered at the sigh of pleasure and relief coming from him, and he snapped his eyes open remembering your presence at the side of the room.
“That good, huh?” You teased him lightly, and his cheeks flushed even more. “Never saw or heard anyone react like that to a caf.”
“Just never had caf this good before,” He told you, sincere and genuine. “The ones I had back in base were just. . . dirt mixed with water.”
“Yeah, no. You're not getting those in my farm.”
“Thank the Maker.”
“You're thanking the Maker?”
“I meant you, you're the maker.”
You scoffed, shaking your head at him. “Whatever you say, trooper.”
Howzer began eating while you sewed at the corner of the room, watching you work. Your face was still partially hidden by that shawl, which meant he can’t look much in that area. Instead, he focused on your nimble fingers—small yet deft—handle the dark fabric with such care. The realization dawned upon him when he recognized what you were holding.
You were stitching up his blacks.
He opened his mouth to say you don't have to do that when you interrupted him before he could.
“Shut it,” He obeyed instantly. “Unless you want to go back to your troopers wearing rags, be my guest.”
After he was done eating, you checked on his condition again and changed all of his bandages into clean ones. He almost stopped you after finding out you brought them from yesterday just for him, but you quickly silenced him with a sharp glare and continued your work.
“You want to spend your days here wrapped in dirty bandages? No? Didn't think so.”
Howzer tried not to flinch every time your fingertips grazed his wounds. Not out of pain, but from sensitivity. Your hands paused mid-air every time he flinched, glancing at him briefly, before touching him again—softer, more careful.
Albeit your cutthroat manner of speaking, he found himself admiring your bluntness. You weren't afraid to speak your mind, wielding words that cut through his skin like a vibroblade. You didn't hesitate, and he respected that. In this time of war, those who hesitated often fell the fastest. There was no time to make halfhearted decisions.
Maybe if you weren't a farmer, you'd be a promising soldier as well.
He watched you through a half-lidded stare, another thanks on the tip of his tongue. Again, you beat him to it.
“Don't mention it. Just looking after one of the Republic's prized investments.”
That managed to crack a smile out of him.
The patch on his cheek was replaced too, and he caught the slight wince on your features as you peeled it off.
“And that's gonna be there forever,” You threw away the old patch. “Hope you don't mind the new scar.”
It was absentminded, maybe you didn't realize what you were doing, but your fingertips were on his cheek. Stroking the shape of his new scar, humming under your breath. His eyelids fluttered, almost melting at the light pressure. But just as it happened, you removed your hand from him and assessed his new state underneath a careful observation.
You nodded, satisfied, before leaving him alone to start your day's work.
Well, that upset him a bit.
Not the scar part, but the mysterious void you left behind in your wake.
Howzer lifted his hand, tracing the scar on his cheek thoughtfully.
Albeit your hardened exterior, your actions were vastly different. Your touch was firm, yet incredibly gentle. Roughed from years of hard work, but light enough he hardly felt the callouses. He changed his mind, you'd fit better being a medic. With your stern personality and dextrous hands, you'd be the best unit the GAR has ever seen.
The following day came by slowly, the stream of sunlight spilling through the small window beside his cot stirred him awake. Howzer, despite his condition, defied your orders to lay rested. He carefully sat himself up, minding his bandaged arm sling, and peered through the dusty window.
Through that small window, Howzer was able to gaze at your farm in disbelief. Rows of stalks lined the front of your land. Critters loitered freely around the area—some small, some large—and no doubt they have a place of their own. Your crops were heavily guarded by wooden fences, to keep the animals from trampling or eating one of your fruits.
How could you build all this when Ryloth was one of the most desolated planets in this region?
Even some of the Twi'lek farmers he met had trouble making ends meet since the start of the war. The more you delayed your answers, the more questions he had in wait.
Howzer remained there, watching you work rigorously under the unforgiving glare of the sun.
You seemed used to it by now, though he thought the straw hat you wore was cute. But he did wonder why you always wore that shawl, never seeing you without it. Your face remained a mystery, a curiosity he desperately craved to itch, but respectfully kept his mouth shut instead.
When night fell, you returned inside covered in dirt and sweat.
The scent of the sun clung to your skin, flushed from the exertion. After washing up and cleaning after yourself, you walked towards your small kitchen to prepare food. You served him his dinner first, sitting back in the corner again to return to your stitching. Another fabric this time, much larger than your frame. Maybe it was another blanket, but Howzer knew you were stitching sleeves.
“You're staring again,” Your voice cut through the air, startling him. “If you're sick of the fruits, just say so.”
It's only been four days since he's been here, three for those when he was awake, and your blatant attitude still threw him off guard.
Howzer shifted his attention back to his plate, the hope in his chest resurfacing. “Thank you for the meal again, ma'am. Seriously, you've done so much already.”
You hummed, still focused on your stitching. “And you can't stop saying thanks. Like I said, trooper, I'm taking care of you until you can get out of here.”
His eyes slid to your direction again, watching you work beside the hearthfire. Every bottled question within him threatened to spill, making him more restless. He wanted nothing more than to ask, at least one, so he could finally ease the growing curiosity festering in his mind.
As if sensing it, you drew a long breath as your hands fell to your lap.
“Ask.”
“What?”
“Not that. What's been bothering you. Ask.”
The hope sparked, gleaming like a lone star amidst a dark sky. This was his chance, and he's not going to mess this up too.
He sat up straighter, food momentarily forgotten, angling his body towards you. “What's your name?”
You blinked at him, taken back. “Of all questions, you want to know my name?”
“Can't I know the name of my generous saviour?” Howzer retorted, shrugging. “You tell me yours, I tell you mine.”
You appraised him wordlessly, searching for something in his eyes. He didn't look away, he didn't even breathe in fear of ruining the moment. Whatever you were searching for, it seemed you found none or maybe you found something else.
In a softer tone, you told him your name.
Howzer repeated it, testing the syllables, committing the sound and shape to memory.
It fit you perfectly, he didn't know why, but it just suited your character. As someone who wasn't given a name, only a number, names were basically the primary identity of a person. A symbol of their character, a marker of their existence. Without a name, you were nothing. Without his, he'd be another face in a long line of numbers—he and his brothers all knew that.
The smile on his face brightened, giving you a salute using his undamaged arm.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm Howzer. Captain Howzer. CT-22-8794 of the Grand Army of the Republic.”
It could be a trick of the light, maybe the flames dancing beside you played with his vision.
Because he swore, just at the corner of your lips, was a stretch of a smile. Or maybe a ghost of one.
You nodded once, leaning back against your chair. “Nice to meet you, Captain Howzer. Now eat. That's an order.”
Then, you returned to your stitching while he wore a massive grin on his face.
Progress.
Day five came by, and he has officially spent a standard week on your farm.
When the sunlight urged him awake again, his body moved before his mind could catch up. Howzer rose himself from his pillow, stretching both arms up. When he dropped it back to his side, it took him a second to process before his eyes widened.
There wasn't any pain anymore.
He lifted his arm again, as high as he could, and smiled at the loss of pain stretching across his ribs.
Finally.
Flexing his legs, Howzer laughed to himself when he failed to feel any ache. His eyes flitted towards the door, contemplating whether to try walking or stay put on the cot until you appear. This was his chance to show you he felt better, he could finally help you. And this time, he won’t take no for an answer.
Okay, I can do this.
Howzer drew in air shakily, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. His bare feet met smooth wood, the sensation brought a smile to his lips. The only times he left it was when he needed to use your refresher, and in those times, you always assisted him to and from. Now, he can show you he doesn't need your help anymore. Not when he can finally give you his.
He rolled his left shoulder, laughing again when he didn't feel any strain.
Carefully, he unwrapped his sling as best as he could.
You’d probably get angry with him for removing it without your help or knowledge, but really, he was getting tired of being useless. Plus, there wasn’t any pain anymore, so it should be good now, right?
After his arm was freed, Howzer removed the blanket off of himself and stood up. Immediately, he stumbled to his side, but he quickly caught himself before he could make any noise to alert you. But despite the clumsy footing, the pain still didn’t come. And that thrilled him, sparking that hope within. He was about to head out the room, when the air brushed his skin and he shivered.
Oh, right.
Glancing down at himself, he realized his state. Save for his undershorts, his legs and torso were completely bare. If you could count his bandages and bacta patches as decent covers.
Howzer searched for any article of clothing lying around, perking up at the stitched fabrics laying on the chair you always sat on by the hearth fire. He made deliberate steps towards it, still getting used to the numbness as the feeling slowly returned to his muscles.
When he lifted the fabric up, he raised an eyebrow and whistled.
It was modest, nothing too flashy. A simple long-sleeve with brown and sandy fabrics stitched together to form asymmetrical patterns. It looked to be his size too, which was just perfect. Maybe you took the same measurements from his blacks, and made some adjustments to make it loose.
He grinned, seeing a pair of pants on the chair as well.
“Not so bad,” He muttered to himself, inspecting his appearance. “Yeah, this fits just right.”
“Does it?”
Your voice startled him, jumping back to see you standing at the doorway. Plate in one hand, a cup of warm caf in another, and the stern glare on your face. But he saw surprise there, flickering through the cracks. He also saw the way your eyes fell over his body, most likely taking in his new clothes and admiring your handiwork.
Wait, your face?
Howzer took a moment to breathe after failing to remember to do so, now face to face with you after days of trying to piece fragments of his imagination of what you'd look like. With the shawl mysteriously gone, he's able to finally calm the flaring curiosity within him.
Stars, you looked beautiful.
“How does it feel?”
“Sorry?”
“The clothes.”
“Oh,” Howzer peered down at himself, cheeks warming. “It feels perfect, ma'am. That's another thing I need to thank you with. Now I can help you with the farm–”
“Still out of the question,” You cut him off, stepping closer to assess his state. “You may be able to walk, but you can’t force your body to do strenuous tasks immediately. You even removed your sling, for Maker’s sake.”
He swallowed, eyeing the fallen bandages on the floor. “Well, I didn’t want to bother you with that. And trust me, ma’am, I’m more than capable. Nothing I haven’t done before.”
You gave him an unconvinced look, and he only smiled in return.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Howzer was tempted again to ask more questions, but decided against it. He didn’t want to ruin your morning by being a burden, or worse, a nuisance towards you. His intentions were not to cause you any trouble, only to provide assistance to express his gratitude.
But with your stubborn independence, Howzer felt his time here may have come to an end. As much as he wanted to stay to repay you, if you didn’t need his help, then he doesn’t have any right to force himself.
“Fine.”
The captain blinked, gazing at you in question. “Fine, what?’
There was conflict in your features, brows drawn and cheek bitten, before you let out a resigned sigh and nodded.
“You can help with the farm.”
The hope reignited.
Howzer can barely contain his large grin, which only made you scowl harder.
He was becoming used to it by now, this weird dynamic of rain and sunshine between the two of you. Now he’s able to see your face, he didn't feel as intimidated as before.
He stood straighter, arms at his side and gaze set in yours.
“How may I help, ma’am?”
You raised an eyebrow at him, but he caught the miniscule quirk tugging your lip.
“First of all,” You handed him his plate and cup. “Breakfast. After that, meet me on the front. Make sure to clean up after you’re done. There’s water in the kitchen. Don't leave any mess behind. Understood, Captain?”
Howzer only smiled down at you, voice turning soft. “Yes, ma’am.”
This time, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. No, it wasn't a trick of light anymore. That was definitely real. And maybe that's why you marched off without another word, because you knew he saw it—unforgettable, unexpected, and undeniable.
You blushed.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
The scent of Ryloth’s air, although dusted and dry, was a warm welcome after days of being cooped up inside wooden walls.
The first day Howzer helped you, he didn't really do anything besides watch. As per your command, you told him to stay close and watch. Of course, being a dutiful soldier, he obeyed. Though he didn't just watch, he observed. The way you taught him how to use your tools, what signs to see if a crop was ready for harvest, how to build traps for pests, and many more lessons he devotedly kept note of.
Learning how to farm was the easy part. The hardest part was applying what he learned, and given his condition, Howzer could only copy your movements to a minimum. Of course, you looked at him weirdly after seeing him use a scythe to dig up dirt. No, you did more than that, you cursed at him after realizing what was in his hands.
“It's fine,” You told him after he apologized for the seventh time, patting his arm lightly. “Can't really blame you. Soldiers don't have much experience tilling, do they?”
Then, you proceeded to show him how it's done with the correct tool.
Even with your strict guidance, your way of teaching was surprisingly easy to follow. As the days progressed, Howzer carefully adjusted and adapted this temporary lifestyle. He learned each of your animals’ names, from the smallest critter to the ones you used for transport. He learned which crop sold the best based on their quality and demand. He also found out how to use all of your tools just by observing you, and he learned quickly.
The first night he made you both dinner, you stared at your plate of neatly cut fruits and vegetable soup like it was the most complex puzzle in existence. Howzer had been so proud of it, beaming at his own handiwork as he told you to dig in. When the two of you ate, he earned a hum from you—clearly surprised by the soup's decent taste—until you made a comment that lit the determination within him.
“Could use more practice.”
Oh, he intended to.
After that, it became a routine.
Each day as dusk fell over the horizon, Howzer entered the cottage first—starting on both of your dinner before you returned. And you always expected to see him finishing up, setting down two plates on the table. Most of the time, the two of you ate in the kitchen. Until that changed when you brought your plate with you, giving him a glance over your shoulder.
“Let's eat outside.”
And that night, Howzer swore he would never forget something like that.
The two of you ate on the porch, sitting on the steps while the quiet breeze of Ryloth's air brushed past. Howzer never would've thought food tasted better underneath the stars, and with someone to share it with. He has never come to appreciate the stars before, having seen them fly past him during hyperspace jumps numerous times, but now something about the view filled him with peace.
He only realized how small he was compared to those glittering lights. How easily forgotten his name was. That he was just another number that can instantly be replaced. He hasn't heard from anyone since he woke up, his comm remained dead silent for the past week. For a brief second, Howzer felt something bridling in his chest—loneliness, fear, and doubt.
What if his brothers were already gone? What if he was too late? What if he's the only one who survived?
“You'll get back to them.”
He snapped out of his reverie, glancing to his side to see your gaze fixed on the heavens.
As if you felt his stare, you continued. “They're somewhere out there. Waiting for you. Don't lose hope, Captain.”
“How do you know that?” He asked, watching your eyes flutter shut.
“The stars,” You spoke, soft and reverent, whispering into the night like you owed it a secret. “For as long as you see them in the sky. As long as they continue to shine down on you. Never lose hope.”
Somehow, that eased his turmoil.
When your eyes opened, they still remained at the constellations gleaming above.
Meanwhile, his never left you.
Your words triggered something in him, a kind of reflection he brought to his sleep later that night. Maybe the stars were your hope too. After spending so many years here all alone, maybe they were the reason why you kept going. To keep surviving despite the ongoing war happening on this planet.
And maybe, Howzer could cling to them as well.
The next night, the two of you decided to have dinner on the porch again. The conversation had died down, only the lingering silence accompanied you. Howzer didn't honestly know what possessed him to ask that—where did you come from—but the question was out before he could stop himself.
“Sorry, that was– Forgive me, ma'am. It just slipped out–”
“It's fine,” You cast him an amused look, hugging your knees close to your chest. “I imagined you've been keeping that bottled since the start. What discipline you have, Captain.”
Howzer relaxed instantly, leaning back against the porch railing. “Discipline takes time, which I happen to have these past few days.”
A short huff escaped you, something close to a laugh, but never quite like it. “Why do you wanna know?”
He shrugged, feigning casual indifference. “Just curious. I came from Kamino, a water planet with neverending depths. Unlike Ryloth, it constantly rains there. The storms used to scare me, they were always loud and well. . . scary.”
That pulled another huff from you, and he grinned at the sound. He's yet to make you laugh, but he's getting there.
“I can picture that,” You retorted, sighing wistfully. “A small cadet afraid of storms. I bet you hide under your bed when you hear lightning.”
Howzer nodded, laughing at the distant memory. “Yeah, I used to lock myself in our barracks just to escape it. My brothers used to tease me all the time. Almost got the nickname Stormy because of it.”
Your nose crinkled, a habit he had found irresistibly endearing since he first saw you do it.
“I can't imagine you named Stormy.”
“What? Why? I mean, it sounds cute.”
“It sounds stupid.”
“And Howzer is better?”
You rolled your eyes, the barest of smiles playing on your lips. “No, I agree. That's much worse.”
Howzer released a gasp of offense, clutching a hand to his heart in mock betrayal. “And I thought you were on my side.”
Shaking your head, you gave him a small smirk. “Nah, I'll stick to humbling you. Maker knows you need it.”
The smile on his lips never left, neither did his gaze on you. The silence settled again, comfortable and assuring, while the stars awaited your next words. Maybe they were listening too, even though all of them knew the story already—or maybe they just wanted for you to share it with someone else. After all this time, you finally have someone by your side to listen.
Sighing, you shift your attention back to the stars.
“My parents came here,” Your voice grew soft, recalling a distant memory. “I was only five when they chose Ryloth as our temporary home. Our home planet was quickly turned into a battlefield, but not between Separatists and the Republic. A civil war amongst the people and the government. My parents wanted to escape before it got worse, so they fled along with me.”
You shrugged, glancing at him. “My father had friends here. He said they can help us in the meantime. This farm was given to us, and trust me, it didn't look like this at first.”
You gestured to the vast plantations and abundant crops, but he still didn't turn to look.
“Out of gratitude, my parents worked hard to repay them. So, they cultivated this barren land and turned it into this. Every single day, they worked. And what grew from their efforts, they shared it with others. My parents were humble and generous, they taught me everything I know.”
Howzer could picture you too, only younger and wilder. He could see you running around the farm, chasing critters and laughing carelessly. He imagined you and your stubborn attitude, maybe constantly getting into trouble. But what he saw behind it all was you, laying on the ground, gazing up at the stars to seek their company in sleepless nights—wishing to leave one day and find your own path.
Howzer drew in a breath, fidgeting his thumbs. “Did you ever feel like you wanted to leave?”
You didn't give him an answer, not yet, but the silence was enough for him to know.
So, you did consider it.
He should know.
The way you looked at the stars was the same way he looked at them when he was a cadet. Desiring to see what's more out there, exploring different worlds, and collecting memories instead of regrets.
“When my parents died, I considered leaving it all behind.”
Howzer blinked, not expecting that. “I'm. . . sorry to hear that. But you didn't. You're still here. Why?”
A rueful smile replaced your nostalgic look, scoffing lightly. “I asked myself the same question. Why didn't I leave? I had nothing else here. No one else. Then, I remember. I have the stars.”
“The stars?” The captain grew confused, flickering his eyes upwards.
“Yeah,” You nodded, smiling at the litters of constellations. “My mom used to say that the stars were the light from the ones who passed. All of them became the stars we see at night. They never really left us. They just became one with the heavens, and in times of loss and trouble, they lend us their light to guide us in the dark.”
That pulled a long breath out of him, he never really looked at it in that way.
Now with a changed perspective, Howzer admired the stars in awe.
So all those stars out there, all the ones he was seeing right now, could be his brothers? Every single one who fell in battle, those who sacrificed themselves for the peace they dreamed of. Maybe their deaths weren't in vain, after all. Maybe they were still there to help them, shining from afar, providing comfort in times when all hope seemed too lost.
His lips stretched into a grin, imagining all of them up there—gleaming with laughter.
If they could see him right now, they'd definitely tease the hell out of him.
“You can feel it too, right?” You asked, and he looked down to see you already staring at him. “You can feel them. Almost as if they're still here with us. We carry them through our memories. That's how they continue to live.”
Entranced, Howzer got lost in the reflection in your eyes.
The distance between you slowly crept away, his eyes dropping to your lips. He saw them part to exhale a shaky breath, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to merge his lips between the spaces. The desire curled deep within his chest, flickering stronger like a star had just been born.
Any closer, he would've kissed you right there.
Just a bit closer, he would've—
“I wanna show you something.”
Howzer paused, broken free from the trance. “Huh? Oh, what do you– What is it?”
You leaned away, and the flicker inside him dimmed.
“Tomorrow,” You muttered, a promise. “Tomorrow night. I’ll show you.”
He squashed down the disappointment surfacing, forcing himself to smile instead. “Why tomorrow?”
Gathering your plates, you hauled yourself up and entered the cottage. “You’ll see.”
Left alone on the steps, Howzer sighed to himself and ignored how the stars seemed to brighten suspiciously.
“Shut up.”
When morning came, he was still haunted by the image from last night. It plagued his mind to sleep, tossing and turning on the floor on his makeshift bed. After he had removed all of his bandages, he returned your cot for you to use and settled on the floor after a long debate. It took a while to convince you that he was more than fine sleeping on the floor, after all, he slept through worse terrains before—sleeping on a cottage floor wasn’t on the worst scenario list of his.
Now, he barely focused on today’s work without the memory flashing across his mind. He almost overwatered the crops, he almost stepped on one of your critters when he passed, he almost dropped a box of fruits while he was loading them up your cart.
Almost. Almost. Almost.
All because of that almost kiss.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one who was distracted.
You made his caf too bitter, and yours too sweet, which you cursed and apologized for. You began tripping on your feet more times he could count whenever he glanced towards your direction. He caught you staring at him multiple times from across the farm, and you’d always avert them quickly the moment he noticed. Your voice rose a pitch higher, then trailed off, then started again a bit faster whenever he talked to you.
The tension could be felt like the warm air of Ryloth—untangible, but real—and Howzer was sure you were affected by it too. Especially when he heard your breath hitch when his fingers lightly brushed yours after handing you a tool. He even heard you muttering to yourself as you plucked off overgrown weeds, something along the lines of stupid, handsome face with a stupid, handsome smile, which brought another stupid, handsome smile on his stupid, handsome face while he walked away.
When you went out again in the afternoon, refusing his plea to go with you, Howzer spent his solitude wandering the extent of your farm. Just a couple of klicks behind your farm was a cliff with an overlooking view of Ryloth’s landscape.
He sat himself down, cross-legged and back straight, just observing his surroundings.
Until his mind started to wander again, but not to the night before, but to the inevitable moment that he soon dreaded to come. By the end of the month, Howzer will set foot again to search for his squad. He already delayed it by staying another rotation in your farm, using the excuse that you needed more help and some company, but why did the thought of leaving you behind bothered him?
That was supposed to be your agreement, wasn’t it? After he repaid you, he’ll be on his way and you’ll go on your separate lives—surviving it through different paths.
He thought about the past two weeks with you, how his life drastically changed from the moment he woke up in your cottage.
These past two weeks have been nothing but memorable to him, something he’d cherish until the day he falls. He’d never forget you, his stubborn savior, and all the things you taught him. He’ll never forget how to make your caf, the perfect blend to earn that satisfied hum of yours. He’ll never forget how your nose crinkled when you disagreed with something, or the way you expressed your amusement through those small smirks and scoffs.
Whatever this was, Howzer was afraid it would soon end before it could be formed into something.
An almost.
He knew he couldn't ignore his duty to the Republic. He still swore an oath to protect the citizens of Ryloth, to his brothers who were all waiting for his return.
He was still a soldier, that was the harsh reality.
A soldier playing farmer.
This was just an illusion. A momentary escape. A temporary sanctuary amidst a battlefield.
He almost forgot how a blaster felt like in his hands, the weight and tremor to it once it fires. He almost forgot the raging cries, screams, and blasts from his last mission. He almost wished he never had come here so he could easily go back without leaving a piece of himself behind. He almost wished you had never found him in the first place.
Almost. Almost. Almost.
Howzer wasn’t sure how many hours he spent on that cliff, mulling over his choices and reflecting on what to do next. He only realized he must’ve been out for too long when the last golden ray from the sun disappeared into the horizon.
Standing up, he dusted himself off and made his way back to the cottage.
You weren't there yet when he arrived, and Howzer took the opportunity to start with dinner. It was as if his body was on autopilot, moving around the kitchen like second-nature. His skills were much more controlled and practiced than before. It didn't feel unnatural compared to the first time, it felt. . . he felt at home.
His hands paused mid-air at the realization.
Home?
Howzer placed the knife down, staring at the unfinished cut fruits in confusion.
Could he imagine himself having a life like this?
Outside the war, he could just be a simple farmer. He didn't need to wear his armor anymore, he didn't need to fight another battle. Just you, him, and the stars in your farm. Where no one knew his rank, no one knew his number. Because out there, he was nothing but a helmet and another expendable clone.
Here, he could just be Howzer.
Here, he could just be yours.
But what about the Republic? What about his brothers?
One way or another, he has to choose which path he'll take. Both guaranteed loyalty, but leading to different ends—to you, or to the Republic.
Be a deserter, or be a soldier.
He sighed, returning to cutting the fruits again when the door slammed open.
Howzer whirled around, knife raised and ready to attack whoever intruded, but dropped it immediately when you ran towards him. In the next second, your hand was in his. He wasn't surprised by the unexpected contact, but with the large grin plastered on your face.
He was distracted by the sight that he almost missed your words.
“Come on, we're gonna miss it!”
And so, he let you drag him outside the cottage and towards the direction of the cliff.
“Woah, what's the rush?” He asked you, failing to hide his own smile. “You saw a flying tooka or something?”
You didn't need to turn around for him to know you just rolled your eyes.
“Better. It's a surprise!”
“Surprise? Now, I'm scared.”
“Shut it and close your eyes, captain.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
With his eyes shut, he blindly followed you. Wherever you were taking him, it must've been something you had been planning for a while.
It could be his death, it could be a trap, but as long as your hand was in his—he’d never let go.
Finally stopping, Howzer still has his eyes closed even when he hears you take in light gasps of air. He suddenly registered your closeness, your back almost brushing his front, the scent of your hair—fruity and sunlight—underneath his nose, while your hand remained firm in his.
He awaited your order, listening to your breathless command.
“Open your eyes.”
Obeying, Howzer glanced down at you. Naturally, his eyes always sought you out first. But he saw you staring up, that previous grin on your face replaced by a look of stunned awe. He studied you for a moment, taking in your beauty and forgetting everything else.
You pointed a finger to the sky, whispering again.
“Look up.”
When he lifted his gaze, his whole world stopped.
The stars were falling.
Trails of light followed their descent, stretching across the vast heavens. As one fell and vanished, another came after. He rarely witnessed something like this. Coruscant had its light pollution to cover any sight, while Kamino’s heavy storms concealed it behind darkened clouds. But tonight, it was his first time seeing it all unfold. Each one of them chased the other, travelling from one planet to the next.
It reminded him how similar they looked to the view in a starship just before jumping into hyperspace. But this time, he wasn't behind a transparasteel. This time, it didn't end in a flash.
They continued falling, one after another, leaving streaks of light in their wake.
“We call them star showers,” He heard you speak beside him, still in that hushed tone. “I used to watch this with my parents. It only happens every three years on this exact night. It's mandatory to make a wish.”
“A wish?” He questioned, still transfixed by the stars. “Any kind?”
“Anything you want.”
“How?”
“Close your eyes. The stars will listen.”
“Okay.”
He did as you have told him, letting his eyes fall shut and drawing a long breath.
In his mind, the first thing he thought about was going back to his brothers, finding them all safe and secure. But in his heart, their faces weren't the ones that surfaced. It was you. A life here on your farm. Surrounded by your critters and crops. Working under the sun and falling asleep beneath the stars. A life without a purpose, but safety. A life he could call his own, by being tangled in yours.
“What happens if you have two wishes?” He found himself asking. “Which one will the stars listen to?”
“Whatever your heart desires.”
My heart?
Howzer peered down at you, surprised to see your face already so close to his.
“I've never seen anything like it before,” He admitted, the stars already forgotten in the background. “Thank you for showing me.”
You didn't lean away when he slowly closed the distance. You didn't flinch when his palm met your cheek, soft and warm against his skin, and you stood still when his other hand settled on your waist.
You exhaled shakily, hands coming up to his chest. “What do you think?”
He knew you were referring to the stars, but it was the last thing on his mind. All he could focus on was you, the one who fell from the heavens—an angel sent by the Maker to save him from death.
Howzer tilted his head, gaze never leaving yours.
“Beautiful.”
When his lips finally collided with yours, all the stars above stopped.
And stared.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
Howzer didn't know how much time passed.
All he could remember was kissing you underneath the star shower, the rest of the world fading into oblivion. He felt your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. Kissing has never felt like this before, thrilling yet aching—the kind that made him chase for more and miss it when it's gone.
He only remembered parting away when his lungs demanded air, but even so your lips still brushed together when he pressed his forehead on yours. He vaguely remembered your fingers slipping between his, tugging him back to the farm with that knowing glint in your eye. And he followed you, a little dazed and in disbelief, as you led him towards the cottage.
Howzer didn't even look behind to see if the star shower had stopped or if they were still falling, his eyes never left you the entire time.
He remembered slipping through your door, just seconds before you closed it behind him and your lips were back on his. The way you pressed him to the wall, hungry and insistent, while he kissed you back just as eagerly.
You took all the air in his lungs and replaced it with heat. Your hands felt like heaven on his skin, light and tender despite the callouses. It left him dizzy and breathless, like how he felt when he first saw the stars fell. He didn't notice he was being moved, tugged from the wall and led towards the kitchen.
He stumbled after you, never allowing any inch of distance to separate your lips.
If he's going back to war tomorrow, he should at least spend a night in this oasis.
And if there was a chance he may never return, at least the stars knew his fate was sealed here.
There on your small table, Howzer effortlessly lifted you onto it without breaking the kiss—gradually slowing and deepening. His hands were firm on your hips, his figure loomed over yours in a way that molded your bodies together perfectly. He never knew he could find his other half, but he found it here—with your legs around his and your hearts beating against your chests—and he was afraid to leave it behind knowing he will never find another.
Not like this. Not in the way Howzer will dream of coming back to. He'd rather travel miles again, wounded and shattered, just to come back here in your arms where he finally found solace.
A sound escaped you, a quiet little huff of his name, pleading and high, and Howzer groaned into the kiss.
“You want something, ma'am?” He kissed his way to your ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“I–” You gasped, tilting your head back as he kissed your neck. “Stars, I– Howzer, please.”
He hummed lowly, tugging you closer to the edge of the table. “I know what you want, sweet girl. But I want to hear you say it.”
Then, he rolled his hips directly at your center, rubbing himself into you.
The soft moan you let out triggered him to do it again. And again. And again. Until you were panting his name, spilling those pretty please and meeting him back in the middle.
Months, perhaps years for the both of you, without a relief like this. Weeks of all those tension curling in the air, tasting as sweet as the fruit from your labor. But he never would've expected it tasted this sweet, and now he wanted more.
“Tell me,” Howzer repeated, grunting slightly. “I'll give it to you. Whatever you want. I'm yours.”
“Mine?” You hummed, threading your fingers into his hair. “You're a soldier, right?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And you’d follow anything I say?”
“Yes.”
“On your knees.”
His breath hitched, dark eyes flitting up to yours. “Is that an order?”
Something flashed across your face, a flare of heat like a burning star. “I said on your knees, Captain.”
Howzer felt himself twitching, his breaths turning a little ragged, and he was already sinking to his knees until the inside of your thighs brushed the sides of his face. And stars, he understood another purpose now. Another way to repay you for all the generosity and hospitable treatment you've given him these past weeks.
All it took was one shared look between the two of you, an imperceptible nod, and he was pulling your boots off. Soon, your pants followed. He never looked away from you the whole time. He caught the small shiver from you once you were bare from below, so he placed his hands on top of your thighs, and kissed the insides to bring you warmth again.
When your fingers raked across his scalp, Howzer sighed into your skin and pressed more kisses. Closer and closer. Until his lips teased your inner thighs, dangerously close to where you needed him. And stars, he couldn't stop the obscene groan coming out of him when you tugged him closer by his hair. His eyes flitted up, half-lidded and dark, grabbing the backs of your knees and tossing your legs over his shoulder.
Calves on his back, Howzer returned his attention in front of him.
“Go on, Captain. Make use of yourself.”
He sighed, almost brokenly. “Yes, ma'am.”
Then, his tongue connected with your slick folds and released another ruined groan. He started off slow, testing which strokes made your breath hitch and wandering over those spots as soon as he discovered them. It's been so long since he did something like this, but you didn't seem to mind or notice his brief inexperience. And based on your reaction, maybe it's been so long for you too.
Howzer quickly learned, devouring you fervently. If you wanted him to be more useful like this, he wouldn't think twice about dropping to his knees. Ravishing you in every way you wanted. Just so he could get the reward. His name on your tongue and your release on his.
“Stars,” Your head fell back, tugging on his short strands again. “Oh, kriff. Like that.”
The words fueled his vigor, using one hand to open you up and explore you further.
Beside his head, your thighs began to tremble. On his hair, your grip tightened and loosened. Howzer grinned against you and directed his tongue on your clit—swirling around the swollen bundle and watching you crumble when he sucked.
You jolted, grinding into him harder to which he groaned in approval. “Kriff, I could– Ahhh, I could get used to this. I should've let you do this weeks ago.”
Howzer tensed, pausing to take in your words. “Weeks ago? You wanted this for that long?”
“Mhm, you said something that stuck with me.”
“What’s that?”
“You said you’re good with your hands.”
“I am.”
You flashed him an impish smirk. “Care to demonstrate?”
Howzer heard the challenge in your voice, and something in him snapped.
In the next second, he was surging up to capture your breath and pinning you down on the table. Leaning over your body, Howzer held your thigh open in one hand and teased a line through your center with the other. Immediately, he parted your folds with two fingers, and encircled a thumb around your clit. He was rusty, but it shouldn't be too hard to prove his words.
Not when you were already squirming underneath him, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.
“You should've it earlier,” He murmured against your lips. “We could've been doing this weeks ago.”
You chuckled into the kiss, running your fingers across his hair. “You needed to work for it. This is your reward.”
Howzer slipped one finger inside you, and smiled at the sound of your moan. “Not yet, I'm still working for it.”
As he plunged his finger deeper, he could already imagine how he'll fit inside. How you'd feel around him, warm and snug, and he almost stopped just to get on with it. But no, he needed to earn it. So he pushed another finger in, working you open slowly. He needed you well-adjusted for him, he needed to feel you squeezing his fingers before he could give you himself.
Mouth on your neck, fingers moving in and out of you, Howzer listened to your body's reactions. Your hips bucked every time he curled his fingers. Your volume raised when he removed your shawl and chestband to kiss your breasts. You tugged on his hair harder when he sucked on your nipples. And his favorite, you began chanting his name the moment his pace quickened.
It didn't take long before he felt you tightening around his fingers. Your gasps sharpened, your walls fluttered, and that was all Howzer needed to know you were close.
“Kriff, I'm close. I'm–”
“I got you, Cyare.”
“Ho– Howzer.”
“Let go, sweet girl.”
And finally, Howzer earned your release with a consuming kiss.
He almost tasted it on his tongue, from the way you sighed and moaned so sweetly. And as you came down from your high, Howzer realized. If this continued into the whole thing, his time here might cut shorter than he’d like. Was he ready to go back to the life of a soldier? Was he ready to leave this life behind? Or the most dreadful one of all—was he ready to leave you?
The answer to all of those was simple.
No.
Howzer pulled his fingers, watching you exhale another shaky breath, before he placed a kiss on your forehead. “You did so good, Cyare. How are you feeling?”
“Stars,” You blinked up at him, gaping in disbelief. “That was– Didn’t know you had it in you, Captain.”
He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Been a while for me too, sweet girl. But yeah, that was. . . something.”
He saw your lips stretch into a lazy smile, causing his heart to flutter and his own lips to tug apart. When you were about to make a move on removing his shirt, he quickly yet gently stopped your hands before you could lift his shirt. Immediately, the smile on your face fell. So did his heart, but he forced himself to bring your wrists up to press a kiss on each of them.
You stared at him in confusion, voice softening. “Don’t you want to?”
Howzer sighed, the smile on his lips never leaving. “Trust me, I want nothing more.”
“Then, why?”
“Not right now.”
“What?”
“Not right now,” Before he could see your crestfallen look and feel his heart break even more, Howzer gathered your shawl and covered your body once more. “Not tonight, sweet girl. I don’t want this to end just yet.”
You sat up quickly, clutching the fabric around you. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Are you– Are you going to leave now?”
Guilt crawled into his stomach, heavy and bitter, and it tasted even foul the moment he opened his mouth to speak. “No, I’m not. I want this. With you. More than anything. But I have one request.”
For a while, he was met with silence. Not even the sound of you breathing or a rustle of wind outside. In that moment of silence, doubts filled his mind. Was this the right decision? Was he being selfish for wanting this? Will you accept his request and hopefully mend his broken heart? He wished you would, he wished more than anything to stay here longer. To stay with you.
You fixed him a hard look, but there was curiosity there. “What’s your request?”
Howzer smiled, cradling your face into calloused palms, and whispered. “One more night. Let me stay for one more night.”
And then, he sealed his wish onto your lips—hopeful and desperate.
When you kissed him back, the wish tasted like a spark of hope.
The next day, he woke up in your cot with his arms around your waist and your back pressed against his front. It took him several seconds to register the situation, and last night’s events came back to him in flashes. Your sounds, your taste, your thighs beside his head, and your hands in his hair. Then, the request. One more night. The memory already soured his mood, but Howzer shook his head and focused on the moment.
He smiled, kissing your shoulder softly to not wake you, before he carefully rose from bed to start with breakfast.
For the whole day, Howzer has to endure your burning stare from behind. Even when he was tending to the animals or watering the crops, the weight never left him. And when he caught your eye, his smile was met with an even harsher glare, before your gaze swept down to his body, causing him to shiver even when the sun was beating down on him.
Hours passed, the sun had already set over the horizon. Howzer had just finished collecting more water from a nearby lake, dropping off the barrels from your speeder, when the door slammed open and he looked up to see you standing there—arms crossed and glare set. Did he do something wrong?
“I got the water,” Howzer gestured to the barrels. “Are those enough?”
“Dinner’s ready,” You ignored his question. “Come inside and eat.”
The captain gulped, the walk inside felt like he was marching into battle unarmed and armorless.
Dinner was. . . different.
Well, the food was the same as always, but the atmosphere was just off. Normally, the two of you would be engaged in a conversation. About today’s events, about life in general, about anything. However, Howzer felt like he was eating sand by how tense the air was. Your stare could almost rival the sun with its intensity, and Howzer found himself quickly finishing dinner to wash both of your plates.
Whatever he did, it must’ve made you this bothered.
Maybe he shouldn’t have left bed too early?
Did you want him to stay longer earlier?
Or did he use the wrong tool again?
Sighing, Howzer set the plates away and went off to clean up himself.
Maker, I’m tired.
As soon as he stepped out of the refresher, dressed in another pair of stitched pants and shirtless, hands came up to his neck.
He blinked, looking down to see you glaring up at him. “Wha–”
You pulled him down, crashing your lips on his, and he’s left gasping in surprise.
Before he could even process it, you were walking backwards towards your room and he had no choice but to follow you. Your mouth never left him, stealing his breath until he grew dizzy. He wrapped his arms around your waist, meeting your tongue, grunting at the taste of you. He didn't realize he was being maneuvered around, until you shoved him back—the cot catching his fall—and straddled his lap in the next second.
He blinked, gaping at the suddenness, but you were back to kissing him before he could utter a word.
Oh.
He understood now why you kept on glaring at him the whole day.
You just wanted him. You wanted him, but you waited.
The thought of you wanting him the whole day, but kept yourself in control sent his mind reeling. The fact that you wanted him too made him grasp your hips harder, and pull you closer against him. You took that as a sign to grind yourself on him, your arms around his neck and nails raking against his scalp. The kiss became more starved, as if the two of you didn’t just have dinner half an hour ago.
“Missed me, sweet girl?” He murmured into your lips, smiling softly. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”
You hummed in return, bringing your hands down to his chest. “You’ll live, captain.”
Then, you slid off of his lap and knelt between his legs, and he honestly thought he might not survive the night. Because the sight of you there, looking up at him with that gleaming gaze. When he felt you touch his thighs, the message rang clear in his head.
“You look tired, captain.” You placed a kiss on his knee, and he fought the urge to twitch. “You’ve done so much today. How about a reward for your help?”
Howzer gulped, eyes widening. “Re–Reward?”
You didn’t answer him.
Instead, your fingers hooked inside his waistband and tugged.
Hypnotized, Howzer only watched as you freed him from his pants and cursed when you wrapped your hand around his half-hard cock. Howzer wasn't a depraved man, but if this was your reward for his hard work, then he wouldn't mind working for eight hours straight to have it and especially if you offered.
You set a languid pace, working him over in long strokes.
Immediately, he felt himself throbbing to life.
Howzer grunted, one hand coming to rest on your head the moment you pressed your lips on the flushed tip. One kiss. Then, two. Until the third one involved your tongue, and you sucked him gently to test the water. His hips bucked forward, highly sensitive from months of celibacy—war has that effect on him and his brothers here on Ryloth.
“Kriff,” He caressed your head, watching you explore the taste of him under a heavy-lidded stare. “Feels so good, sweet girl. That's– Maker.”
You swirled your tongue around him, your hand never ceasing. “Is this alright?”
He almost didn't process the question, but he still managed to nod once you did another suck. “Yes– Kriff, yes. That's good. Keep going.”
Taking that as a sign, you parted your lips a little wider and flattened your tongue. Before you took him into your mouth by an inch. Then, two and three, until half of him was inside and your nose almost brushed his groin.
Howzer’s head fell back, releasing guttural groans at the heavenly feeling. It really has been a long time, and after weeks of constant pain and exhaustion, this was by far the best experience in his life. Just the sensation of your mouth, warm and wet, already had him imagining what you would feel like once he decided to take you. But for now, he focused on this—on you—and how well you're taking him.
It was messy, clearly out of experience, but he didn't care at all.
When you pulled back from him with a slow suck, Howzer almost saw stars as his eyes shut. You repeated it, taking him down slowly, before sucking him back up fast. Your pace gradually increased, fueled by his sounds. When his hips jolted forward, he accidentally reached the back of your throat, causing your gag reflex to trigger.
“Take it slow, sweet girl.” He gritted out, he patted your head. “Suck your cheeks in so there's no teeth. Breathe through your nose. Exhale going down, inhale going up. Understood?”
He didn't mean to use his captain's voice, but it seemed it evoked a reaction out of you.
You moaned around him, and he shivered at the deep vibrations.
Letting him go, you uttered those two words that almost made him come undone.
“Yes, captain.”
Stars.
Then, you were back on him.
Following his instructions, settling for a slower pace than before. You took your time pleasing him, growing more and more confident as more sounds escaped his throat. He gathered your hair in his fist, not to control you, but to get your hair out of the way. Plus, he wanted to see you much better.
He let you continue with the pace you liked, never pushing your head or shifting his hips. This was his reward, and whatever you gave him, he'll gladly take it.
One harsh suck on his tip had him cursing out loud, his gasps and groans tumbling freely.
“Kriff, so good. So kriffing good.”
“Don't stop, sweet girl.”
“Please.”
“That's it. Kriff, I'm almost–”
Stars danced behind his eyelids, the increasing pleasure racked through his body in a burning fervor. His grip on your hair tightened, hips flinching restlessly as you continued to please him—working him faster in your hand while sucking his tip. He throbbed in your touch, his peak rapidly nearing the edge.
Until finally—
“Oh, kriff.”
A broken groan tore out of his lungs, panting harshly at the intense release spilling out of him and into your mouth.
His eyes shot open, glancing down at you to see your nose scrunched again. You pulled off of him with a lewd pop, making him blush, you licked your lips to gather the remaining spend there before you looked up at him wearing a small glare.
“Could've warned me first, captain.”
He smiled sheepishly, tucking himself back into his pants. “Can’t speak when you're seeing stars, sweet girl.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling playfully. “Then, I must've done good for my first time.”
“First–” Howzer sputtered, eyes widening in shock. “That's your first? I'm your first?”
Definitely did not feel like it.
Nodding, you got up from the floor and settled on his lap again. “Alone for years, remember? All I have is myself and this farm.”
Again, Howzer wasn't a depraved man. But somehow hearing that admission brewed a dark fascination inside him. So no one has ever really been here before? With you? So last night, was he also your first? Judging by the events from the night before, how hard you came for him and how late you slept in the next day, maybe you're actually telling the truth.
Howzer snapped back to reality once he felt your lips on him again, and he closed his eyes to savor the feeling of you. Your touch, your scent, the distinct taste of him, and the sounds poured into each kiss. You fit perfectly well on his lap, like it could've been your home, and he'd always welcome you back here whenever you wanted.
When you pulled apart, just a breadth away, you whispered softly.
“One more night?”
He shivered, nodding mindlessly, gaze stuck on your lips.
“One more night.”
One more night became two.
Two nights became three.
The stars shifted and turned, the skies faded from teal hues to golden rays as nights turned to mornings.
Each morning he found himself in your cot, with you in his arms and your body on top of him. Each afternoon, he spent his time with you on the farm. Tending to each animal, planting new seeds to replace old ones, working alongside each other until the sun sets. And each night he stays longer, you'll take him back inside and he follows you without any complaints.
He didn't make love to you just yet. Instead, the two of you explored more ways to get lost in the throes of pleasure.
One more.
He said to himself, but he was still here the next day hugging you from behind as you made both of your breakfast.
One more night.
But he's here again, with you moving above him, legs besides his head and his mouth claiming another release from underneath you.
Just one more.
A week has passed, and Howzer was afraid he was slowly losing his loyalty to the Republic. But it never really vanished, it just became tied to another. To you. And he was afraid, this was more than enough to turn him into a deserter.
He stared into the disappearing sun, another day passing into the unknown. The weight of his decision still hung heavy in his heart and mind. While you were out to sell another batch of harvested crops, he waited for your return to discuss with you what's going to happen. He wanted to stay here with you, but his duty to the Republic will never be finished as long as he’s alive.
After putting the tools away, Howzer entered the cottage and heard a noise flickering through the space.
He turned towards your room, finding the source to be his armor. His gaze fell to his vambrace, and he gasped in realization.
Quickly, he snatched the piece and pressed on the comlink. It beeped once, static filling the air, before it crackled into an unintelligible jumble of words.
“This is – 762 – Captain? – Here on rendev – point – Are you there – waiting for you.”
Howzer clicked on the channel, hope reigniting in his chest. “Yes! Yes, this is Captain Howzer speaking. Is that you, Stitch? I'm here. I'm alive. Where are you?”
Another crackle. Then, the medic’s voice came through again.
“Captain! – Good to hear you – We've been looking – Are you alright?”
“Yes, I'm fine.” Howzer chuckled, sitting down on the cot. “A bit staticky from my end, but good. It's good to hear you alive too, brother. Are the others alright?”
“We’re fine – lost a few – found a new settlement – staying here until tomorrow – Come meet us here!”
His heart sank.
Tomorrow? They're going to leave tomorrow?
He tapped on the link again, voice growing hesitant. “Stitch, can you hold off for another day? Just the day after tomorrow should be good.”
Static. Something unintelligible spoken in the background. Then, Stitch’s voice bled through again.
“Negative, sir – We need to leave – been here for too long – transfer the survivors – meet you here tomorrow.”
“But I still need too–”
“General is calling – send the coordinates to – at night – 0700 sharp.”
Tomorrow at 0700 he's expected to return.
Tomorrow morning, he'll be Captain Howzer again.
Swallowing the dread in his throat, Howzer pressed on his link and responded. “Affirmative, soldier. I'll meet you there. Good to hear you again, Stitch.”
“Copy that – see you tomorrow.”
The commlink shuts off with a crackle, leaving Howzer stranded yet again.
By the time you returned, Howzer had just finished dinner. You dropped off your supplies, and joined him at the table. It didn't take long for you to notice his strange behavior from his clipped answers and how he avoided eye contact. But you didn't say anything yet, leaving him to do the dishes to get cleaned up. When he was left alone in his thoughts, Howzer contemplated how he should tell you or if he should even tell you.
Tell her.
She deserves to know.
Sighing, Howzer went off to clean up himself with a heart heavier than a star.
When he entered your room afterwards, he saw you sitting on your cot. Completely silent. That wasn't the part that scared him. It was the one where he followed your line of sight, and saw your gaze stuck on his vambrace.
And the fading crackle of static.
“You're leaving tomorrow?”
He felt his throat tightened, letting the silence answer for him instead.
You should be angry with him. You should be furious even. Maybe you were. Behind that small smile on your face, maybe you were hiding the same weight he carried.
Howzer watched you slowly rise, making your way towards him with your eyes set below.
“That’s good news,” But he heard otherwise from your voice. “You'll finally have your wish, captain.”
That struck him in his chest, the memory of that night. His wish underneath the star shower. But that wasn't the one he wanted. It wasn't the one in his heart. It was you. He wished for you. But his whole life, the one tied to the Republic, stopped him from being selfish. His brothers needed him, but he wanted you.
“That wasn’t my wish,” He lifted your chin between his fingers, his heart breaking at the sight of your glistening eyes. “It wasn't the one in my heart. It’s always been you. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”
Your eyes widened at his admission. “What does that mean?”
Howzer leaned down, his next words a reverent promise sealed between bated breaths.
“I will hold you in my heart forever.”
And when he finally closed the gap, the whole world faded into oblivion.
That night he let you guide him towards the cot. He let you slip his clothes off, while he slowly undid yours, as if he had all the time in the world. With every bit of skin revealed, his mouth would trace a path to seal his promise. There was no uncertainty with every move he made, with every gasp he pulled out of you. You kissed him like how the stars would kiss the skies—burning, bright, and completely breathtaking—and he did nothing but melt in awe.
When he finally took you, it was like a stellar collision. An embrace between two lost stars finding their way together, merging into one with nothing but fate and gravity to keep you closer. He didn’t rush anything, he simply let your bodies mold and burn.
Within you, he lost and found himself again.
Every time he buried himself deeper, it was to engrave himself into you. To make a home in your body, to carve the memory of his stay here. It wasn't long until you started begging him for more, legs around his waist and arms around his neck, staring up at him with those starry shine in your eyes.
And he submitted.
Closer and closer. Deeper and deeper.
Until lights flashed behind his eyelids, and he captured your lips as the explosion bursted in one final snap.
But it didn't end there.
Howzer took you again. And again. And again.
Allowing that collision to last longer, for that spark to burn brighter. He didn't stop until both of your bodies were spent, until you were laughing from exhaustion and he was smiling ear to ear. He hugged you close to him, chests pressed together, legs tangled beneath stitched covers. After that last collision, the two of you just spent your time talking—releasing all the things that hadn't been said before—and Howzer committed every word you said to his heart.
Eventually, the stars shifted into sunlight, spilling from the windows and bathing your bare bodies in pale gold. His comms crackled again, his brother's voice resounding through the channel, causing you to stir awake from your sleep.
“Is it morning already?”
“Yes, sweet girl.”
“Are you gonna go?”
Howzer stared at the vambrace, then back to you, and smiled.
His mind told him he still needed to go.
But his heart didn't want to.
“No,” He kissed your temple, shaking his head. “I'm not going anywhere. Not today.”
He felt you smile against his chest, and his heart raced a little faster. This was home. This was peace. And this was all he ever wanted. Should the war call for him again, he'd answer. But not right now. Let him have this moment first. Let him have you while he's still here. Let him be a man for once, and not a soldier. Let him hold crops instead of blasters. Let him love instead of fight.
And so, he pulled the covers higher and fell right back to sleep.
✧ Prompt: #1) “It's in the middle of the night, why are you up?”
✧ Summary: You're having a midnight melancholy. Howzer accompanies you, and the moment leads to a confession.
✧ Tags & Warnings: pining, comfort, soft, fluff, shy(ish) and broody reader, reader is called “sir” (bcs as far as i know it's gn), love confession, kissing
✧ Word Count: 2.7k
✧ A/N: Welcome to my very first entry for Sicktember 2025! Starting with Howzer just feels right 🩵 (you can just tell I wrote this in between doing chapters of my fic in the other fandom). Anyway, hope you enjoy! 💛🌌
Main Masterlist | Read on AO3 | dividers by me
Desert planets like Ryloth tend to sneer at its residents, honestly. Playing around with nearly insufferable heat during the day and only getting to have barely warm air at night? Or maybe that's a you problem. The Twi'leks seem to have no issue with it, and you hate how it makes you look. You're always squinting and scowling at the glaring sun, while you don't want to look like their climate offends your situation. They're your host, after all.
The Syndulla family has been kind. You have already been their ward before the war begins, and they really seem to make sure that you're not treated differently in society. But for you, it feels like a long time already. Alas, till now you remain struggling with the heat and the sand beneath your boots that gets everywhere, so you relish the night where everything is… much less chaotic.
Inside the Syndulla compound is an open courtyard. Cobblestones line the entirety of it, having no natural vegetation to grow since the maintenance would be quite challenging—but at least they have a small, decorative water fountain, right in the middle. Hera used to toss credits into it until Eleni scolded her off.
At night, while gazing up at the indigo skies above, you find one of the courtyard benches your preferred place to sit in solitude.
There are clones stationed around the compound. Even a full squad of nine guarding the courtyard, as it is an open, vulnerable place for someone finding Cham’s cause unfavorable to drop an ambush.
So that's when Howzer finds you, a figure brooding on the bench with shadow and the dark enveloping most of their appearance. Had he not aware of what you look like he'd mistaken you as an intruder. The muscle on his arm was already twitching to reach for his Deece and rounding his men up through internal comm.
At the apparent sight of you, unaware of him just coming in from that one doorway in the farthest corner, Howzer allows some ease into his shoulders. You're alone, it's dark, and you're supposed to be resting. It's in the middle of the night, so why are you still up? Yes, it should be safe with security all around, but one can't let down their guard, no matter where. Your safety matters, just as your wellbeing matters.
And Prime, he's got a little thing for you. Your safety is everything to him.
With barely silent, measured steps, Howzer approaches you. He takes off his bucket then, the teal markings of his armor blending with the dark and instead have a purplish hue. He runs a hand through his hair and ruffles them a little to relieve his scalp from sweat and grease from being under the damn thing for hours.
He watches you then as he walks, no longer looking at the path beneath him as sure as he is. Your brilliant eyes are dead set upon the fountain, its water trickling gently like the softest of songs. You seem troubled, that Howzer can see. The way your brows knit in the middle, just slightly and not too deeply that you probably don't even realize you're doing so, gives it away. You're perching your elbows on your knees, placing your jaws in your joined palms.
Howzer stops merely three feet away from you—a respectable distance; neither forcing himself into your space or needing to speak loudly to inquire your needs if you have one. You don't seem to notice his presence yet, so deep now in your thoughts, so he tries clearing his throat.
“Sir.”
And you're wrenched back into reality from whatever it is plaguing your mind, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you attempt to register your surroundings, as if your consciousness had been gone for a while until Howzer calls you. Your eyes meet his amber ones, inquiring and concerned.
“Captain,” you return with a nod of greeting. You shift slightly and check over yourself before offering a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry. What can I do for you?”
“Sir, it’s late.” Internally Howzer tries to stow down the strange flutters inside his stomach at your adorable polite tone. He did it successfully. So far. “You should return to your quarters and get some proper rest.”
“I wish I could do that.” Your voice turns somber quickly, and Howzer fears right away if he'd said something wrong. Swear that he's just trying to be as polite as possible.
You sigh wistfully, and your gaze shifts away from him. Back to the dark before your eyes. The comfortable, familiar darkness of the night that becomes the very fresh air of solitude as you breathe. Back to the night sky. It's not very clear today, unfortunately. You've only seen a couple of stars, weakly blinking at you. One of those rare nights.
Howzer takes in your state of melancholy—if it's what you're really experiencing at the moment. “Can't sleep, then?”
“I could, if I wanna,” you reply, humming in thought, trying to compromise. Your brilliant gaze swings back to him again, and you grant him a warm smile, patting on the empty spot next to you. “Maybe you can escort me back in five minutes?”
Howzer glances at your invitation. Your direct request presses a sweet, insufferable weight against his chest as if he's being teased by himself. A low, airy chuckle slips past his lips instead to cover his fluster. “Sounds like an order, sir.”
“It's an offer,” you banter, as he clips his helmet to his belt.
“Rhymes just the same,” Howzer muses again, his lips pulling a grin. “But yeah, I will certainly do that.”
You chuckle warmly at Howzer's unmistakable ease. He sits down next to you, his armor pieces softly clacking against each other as he does, and only then he looks much younger than he usually seems. Stress melting from his youthful, beautiful tan complexion and warm amber eyes, ever vigilant, piercing through the dark. Piercing through you as he dares to meet your gaze, his eyes gentle.
“You were thinking,” Howzer says plainly, leaning on his knees with his elbows. He observes the patch of skin in between your eyebrows where he finds the crinkling whenever you're deep in thought adorable. Now, you are clear of it.
You shrug, your lips form a determined smile. “It's a good place to think.”
“And what were you thinking about?”
He's expected you would go back and recount what has passed through your head moments ago, and then recite it back to him. Perhaps adding a few additional commentaries as you go. But no. You let out this sweet sound, an adorable awkward chuckle as you try to look at anywhere but his eyes.
“I, just—” you sigh, your shoulders slumping and you begin to weave your fingers together. Howzer takes it in, too. You're nervous. “You know,” you continue, evidently trying to get some words out, “I… thought about everything.”
“Did it…” Howzer tries to make something else on your face besides your nervousness. “Does it make you sad?”
You merely smile, and it's a wet kind of smile that plays with his thought that you're actually on the edge of crying, the sight nearly breaks his heart. “As a matter of fact, yeah, it does,” you answer him.
There's a million scenarios going through his head. Your head. You could be thinking about the war, the galaxy, the exploding and dying stars, even. You seem to place a great love to the sky at night. The dark becomes your friend and it brings out the melancholy from inside you. And to his eyes you look… beautiful, like a weeping celestial being over the cruelness of worlds, in such a state.
“I know it's not my place to impose, but…” Howzer swallows his hesitance. You hold his gaze, waiting, enough to make him tremble inside and juggle his calmness. “I could be your listening ear… if you want.”
Your lashes perk as your eyes turn hopeful, grateful even. Howzer feels his own heartbeat slowing and succumbing to cool calmness at the sight of you… relieved. “You're not imposing at all,” you reassure him, smiling softly, thankful for his promise of company. “And that's very kind, Howzer. Thanks.”
Howzer nods once, the movement contains the determination of a soldier yet gentle as he preserves it just for you. And there you remain beholding him with eyes that gleam with whatever hope you throw in the fountain for the peace of the galaxy, nebulae swirling inside your irises that he adores. Howzer then remembers the time, and reluctantly allows the soldier inside him to take over.
“Five minutes up,” he says, getting up with a slight grunt. Howzer holds out his gloved hand to you. “On your feet, sir. You need to rest.”
The moment you lay your hand in his, he sadly wishes he could feel your warm skin against his instead. You stand, and gaze skywards longingly then, not ready to be parted so early with the lone, peace-inducing darkness, and the Captain notices that.
“The sky won't leave even when you're gone. They would just… change colors,” Howzer says, referring to the break of dawn that would occur in several hours.
You find his words comforting. “Won't be the same.”
“No,” he agrees, relishing your small, wistful smile. “It won't.”
Howzer leads you inside the compound with the knowledge of every single room of the place and thus knows where your quarters are. It's peacefully quiet, safe for a couple of Twi'leks on patrol, who chatter among themselves in equally quiet voices. Howzer didn't clasp his helmet back on, his scarred face bare and plain for anyone to see, but not that he minds, only familiar and deems it safe to do so indoors.
You're walking next to him, exhaustion barely seeping into your body but you know that the moment you lie down on your mattress, you'd give in to drowsiness within minutes. Sleep would envelop you and your memory of the dark sky that night, and Howzer's willing company to reminisce fondly about.
“I was thinking,” you suddenly say, lowering your voice so that the echo in the corridor won't carry it far from you, “If this war would ever end in peace at all.”
Howzer switches his full attention to you again, warm amber eyes set upon you, intensely attentive as if he's a twitch of a muscle away to fulfill your needs. A risky, lower-his-guard behavior—but not a tough decision for him to make. He regards you with the gentlest compassion that he'd thought he'd never had—but with you beside him, it exists somehow.
Your fingers lace together. “Just afraid if…” you exhale, releasing your anxiety from your mouth. “If I don't get to do things I’ve been wanting to do.”
“I'm sure you'll get around to that,” Howzer says to you, carving his own confidence into you so you'd be hopeful and gleaming again, just as the state where he loves to see you in. “You aren't… a soldier of war. Like me. That's your advantage, and leave the war to me and my men. I imagine you'd have plenty to do in order to fulfill your dreams.”
“That’s what I'm afraid of exactly,” you agree with him delicately, your tone spiking a barely discernible protest. The door to your quarters is already in sight, just tucked in the farthest side of the dead-end corridor. “We're in a war. And I don't want to… lose someone that I've grown very fond of in it.”
Howzer positively feels his heart drop. He can even feel its weight in the pit of his stomach. Disappointment floods him, but also understanding. “Someone?” he dares to ask, barely managing to utter the word without a quivering tone.
“Yeah,” you blush, rubbing your arm to ease yourself. Both of you then arrive in front of the end of the road. You haven't keyed in your code to open the door—you haven't even turned away from him, as if waiting for something, or nothing. “Is it silly, in your opinion?”
Howzer frowns. “What's silly?”
“This feeling…” You blush even deeper, turning away from his scrutiny. Howzer sincerely wishes you're blushing about him but stars, it could only be a wish. “It's intense. I think I've gone too deep. I love his company, his understanding… I just don't know if he loves me back.”
You dare to meet his gaze, cheeks still flushed with color, and there it is. Your eyes, hopeful again, as clear and glittering as stars that he's seen on some fortunate nights. He feels his heartbeat picking up again, soaring through the sky with the highest hope along with you.
“So is it silly?” you ask again. “That I even used the ‘L’ word?”
Howzer approaches you by one step, facing you. You don't back away to keep your distance. And then his heart stops altogether as he reaches for you, gloved knuckles softly caressing your cheek and jaw. You can feel the fabric brushing softly along your skin, and your eyes flutter close to relish in the feeling, committing your closeness and the feel of his gloves to memory, the closest Howzer has ever touched you.
And then you feel it; his warm breath against your face, just briefly. His nose nuzzles against yours and already you're feeling fuzzy from his proximity that your fists curl onto his chest plate, clinging onto him. Howzer then closes the distance between you, stealing your breath away from your lungs as he delicately presses his lips against yours. You return the gesture immediately, not allowing your mind to go blank for even a second, brushing your lips, moist to his chapped ones, with a gentleness on par with every gesture he's shown and given you.
Howzer thinks about pulling away, but this is what both of you have been wanting. And your presence is so addicting he doesn't ever want to let go. His other hand now rests on your waist, pulling you much closer to his armored body as he continues to lay onto your lips endless soft kisses that convey every single moment of longing and pining for you. Gentle movement, each one reciprocated, none of them fueled by force as his last intention is to ever hurt you.
With this in mind Howzer reluctantly draws away from you, creating that distance again before he'd stepped into your space—but warmth and something else entirely, unexplainable and powerful, seeping into the space between you and him.
“It's not silly at all,” he then says with a small grin, admiring your flushed cheeks and eyes that shine impossibly brighter after the, perhaps, long-awaited kiss. “On the other hand, I had no idea… I'm sorry.”
You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” You reach for his hand and brush your thumb across his gloved knuckles, avoiding his gaze on purpose as your cheeks still burn like fire. “I am really happy it happened.”
Howzer releases a hushed, relieved laugh. He runs his hand through his hair, and more relief melts off of him. His other hand squeezes yours, and you blush again as he grants you another charming laugh, dimples and crow's feet showing and gracing his features, making him impossibly more handsome.
“I should…” You turn for the door, determined to release a long, silent scream into your pillow. “I should go. It's late.”
Howzer chuckles quietly at your abrupt shyness in action. “Yeah, go. Get some rest.” He's never bid a sweet good night before, and probably it's coming back to bite him in the shebs. He'd expected this, but not as soon as this. “Good night, and um… dream of all the good things that would make you happy.”
Your door sliding open after you unlocked it, it's your turn to let out a laugh of your own. You share a look with Howzer, who’s probably still daydreaming about the feel of your soft lips against his in the midst of this conversation, and you can't help but to beam widely as you say, butterflies fluttering inside your stomach; "One of them just came true tonight.”
Thanks for reading! Taglist is moved to event masterlist.
A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)
Summary: Two years after Howzer breaks up with you, you find yourself drawn back into his orbit.
Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN! Reader
Word Count: 981
Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending
A/N: So, I had an idea and this was born. But I'm not sure it makes much sense. I hope you all like it anyway.
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The safe house that you currently call home is filled with an awkward, and deeply uncomfortable silence.
It’s awkward enough that you wish Rex had sent someone else, anyone else, to be your temporary bodyguard.
Anyone other than Howzer.
Your gaze flickers to his reflection in the glass of the window you’ve been staring out for the last half hour. He looks much the same as the last time you saw him. The same hair. The same face.
His armor is a little more scuffed than it had been the last time you saw him. And you know that scorch mark on his left leg hadn’t been there two years ago.
But, then again, two years is a long time to go without seeing someone. You’re sure that a lot has changed for him. After all, you’re not the same person you were two years ago either.
You’re a little older now. A little more jaded. A lot more cynical.
Annoyingly, he seems unbothered to be trapped in the safe house with you.
Which just isn’t fair, seeing as you’re pretty sure you’re heart is breaking all over again. And here you thought you were over him.
“Are you hungry?” His voice is light and conversational, as if he hadn’t shattered your heart into pieces years ago and then walked away as if the three years you had been in a relationship meant nothing.
As if you hadn’t been dreaming of a wedding and babies.
You clench your jaw, and rest your forehead against the window, “I’m fine.”
“You need to eat.”
“Stop nagging me. You’re not my mother.”
The words come out a bit sharper than you intend, and you cringe internally. Howzer sighs, slow and deep, and you cringe again. You know that sound. That’s his I’m frustrated but I’m not going to verbalize it sigh.
You heard it a lot in the weeks leading up to your break up with him.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” Howzer says as he approaches you, “But you can’t starve yourself.”
“I think you’ll find that I can, actually.” You counter, without looking at him, “but I’m genuinely not hungry. So please just drop it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at you now.
Probably nothing positive.
Valid, you suppose. You have a hard time coming up with anything positive about yourself these days, after all.
“I think, maybe, we should talk.” Howzer says suddenly. Suddenly enough that you start in surprise.
“Talk? What is there to talk about?”
“Don’t be like that, cyare.”
You finally turn to look at him, a scowl on your face, “You don’t get to call me that, Howzer. You broke up with me, remember.” And then you fold your arms over your chest, a wholly defensive move since he has a unique ability to hurt you like no other. “You made yourself very clear the last time we spoke. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“That—“ He trails off.
“Annoying, you called me. Clingy. A waste of your time, I think were your exact words.”
He stares at you, and then he exhales slowly, “I didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“No! I...I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? No. I don’t believe that. If anything, I think you were trying to protect yourself.”
This time he scowls, “I didn’t expect you to run to the Empire.”
“Where else was I supposed to go? I joined the GAR right out of High School. Becoming an Imperial Solider was my only option.”
“You could have done anything else.” Howzer counters.
“What, like become homeless? Broke? Needing to beg for money for food and clothes?”
“I would have helped.”
“You told me you never wanted to see or hear from me again. Those were your words, Howzer!”
“I didn’t mean it, though.”
“Then you shouldn’t have said it!”
“You think I don’t know that?” Howzer pushes his hand through his hair, “I fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did. And a half-assed apology isn’t going to make me forgive you.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because I was planning on a wedding and kids, Howzer. I was planning a future. With you. And you shattered it like it—like we—meant nothing to you.”
He stares at you, his lips parted, “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”
“Did you think I dated you for three years for my health, Howzer?” You glare at him, and then turn away, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”
His hand lightly lands on your shoulder and he turns you so you’re facing him again, “Wait. Just...wait. Please.”
You sigh, “This is going to be hard enough without you being a jerk about it, Howzer—”
But there’s something soft on his face, and his hand comes up to lightly caress your cheek, “We were always better together than we were apart, sweetheart.”
“So what?”
“Give me another chance. Let me make it right.”
“You can’t.”
“Let me try.” He pleads as his other hand slides to rest against the back of your neck. “We were so happy together.”
“Until you destroyed it?”
“Yeah. That.” He pauses, “Give me a chance.”
“Why should I? So you can run again when things start to look too hard? So you get to break my heart again?”
“I won’t.”
“Words are easy, Howzer.” You shake your head and brush his hands off you, “I’m not going to apologize for looking out for myself.”
His hands fall to his side, and a stubborn look slides across his face, “Alright then. You want me to prove myself to you? Then I will. Relentlessly.” He grins at you, “I am going to win you back, cyare. You’ll see.”
And, against your better judgment, you believe him.
