Summary: After a near-death experience on the battlefield, Rex is determined to make it clear who you belong to.
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: emotionally charged/rough p in v sex (18+ this is filthy), canon-typical violence, angsty
A/N: i've been dying to write some rex smut lately so i hope you all enjoy ;) i also have a "morning after" scene that involves the 501st teasing tf out of you two if anyone is interested in me posting that!
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The gunship was crowded and suffocatingly quiet.
Heat scoring still smoked on your robe. You didn’t even sit down, but instead just stood there near the bay doors, bracing yourself against the hull and trying not to look like your hands were shaking. They were, though. You could still feel the charge of the cannon blast that missed you by inches.
It wasn’t the heat from the battlefield that had your heart racing though. It was Rex.
He sat across from you, helmet on, fingers curled tight around the edge of the bench like he was holding himself back from doing something he would regret. Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you could tell his eyes haven’t broken away from you since you climbed aboard. Not when Kix muttered something about the Force keeping you alive. Not when Jesse clapped you on the shoulder for ‘saving the day’. Not even when the wind of exiting the atmosphere roared against the ship and forced the others to look away.
His stare felt like his hand pressed to your throat. He was furious, but not barking-orders furious or battlefield angry. This was much deeper and you felt it too.
Every time the gunship shuddered, you swore your eyes met his through his visor, setting off sparks like a live wire. Except they weren’t the fun sparks - they were the unspoken and unresolved ones. This was about the mission and about what you’d done. Everyone around you could feel it.
You caught Hardcase smirking at Dogma, who tried to hide the way he was studying Rex’s posture. Jesse, who was seated just next to you, leaned his arms across his knees, faced Fives and muttered under his breath, “Well, we’re either getting a wedding or a court martial after this.”
It was just loud enough for you to hear. Fives snorted. You didn’t take your eyes off Rex and neither did he.
The tension in the gunship was suffocating. So suffocating that the second it docked in the hangar and the doors hissed open, you didn’t wait. You turned and stepped out quickly like there was something urgently awaiting your attention elsewhere. There wasn’t anything through, just your Captain behind you, watching your every move.
Tradition was going to have to slide today. You were in no mood for a ‘post successful mission meal’ with the rest of the 501st. Instead, you just sauntered your way to your quarters - and the men let you. Well, almost all of them did. You didn’t need to look over your shoulder to know he was behind you. His presence chased you like a storm.
You could feel him trailing you through the corridor. Rex was silent and never more than a few paces back. He was good at following orders and better at giving them, but when it came to you, his discipline had its limits. Right now, you were sure he was one command away from breaking all of them.
Farther behind you, the rest of the squad was peeling off toward the mess, their chatter just loud enough to reach your ears. “Yeah, no way we’re seeing Rex in the mess tonight,” Fives cooed, rounding the corner that separated the mess hall from the Jedi quarters.
“Oh, he’s headed somewhere messier,” Jesse chuckled back, almost too casually. You didn’t turn around, nor did you need to. You knew the smug grin that was probably spreading across Jesse’s face and you definitely didn’t miss the low whistle that followed.
Once at your door, your palm hovered over the panel for a beat too long before you keyed it open. The door slid back with a hiss and you stepped inside - the soft thunk of his armor behind you.
Rex clicked the lock shut behind you. His eyes were dark and fixed on you like he was barely holding back the tide. That’s when you realized that this wasn’t going to be a conversation. It was going to be a reckoning.
You barely had time to breathe before he was on you.
Rex moved like he’d been holding back every last bit of patience he had in him and the lock clicking shut was the last thread snapping. He ripped off his helmet, gloves, and pauldron, tossing them to the floor with a hollow clang, before putting his hands on your shoulders. The motion was rough, unyielding, and hungry.
“You think I don’t see what you do out there?” he growled,“You think I don’t feel it every time you throw yourself into danger like your life doesn’t mean anything?”
You let out a startled gasp as your back hit the wall, his body crowding yours with heat and tension wound far too tight, “Rex-”
“No. Don’t,” he cut in, hands braced on either side of your head now, muscles flexing, “Don’t talk your way around this. You scared me.” His voice cracked at the edges, like the words were tearing out of him, “You ran straight into that cannon’s line of fire. Force help me, I thought I was gonna watch you die.”
You opened your mouth to speak or to explain or to soothe him, but one look in his eyes and you knew that he didn’t want comfort. He just wanted you.
“I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered, “Not you. Not when you’re-” He swallowed hard, knowing his next words are one he thought he’d never get to say to anyone, “You’re everything to me.”
Your heart stuttered. Your hands moved instinctively, gripping his sides, fingers brushing the edge of his blacks where his armor gave way to skin, “But I’m here,” you reassured him, “I made it back.”
“That’s not enough,” he rasped, his voice louder now, “It’s not enough just to survive when, kriffing maker, I need you.”
He didn’t give you time to answer. His mouth desperately and possessively crushed against yours, his hands tangling in your robe like he had to feel you just to prove you were real. The kiss was all teeth and heat. Almost like he was punishing you for scaring him, and punishing himself for letting you.
Your hands slid into his hair, anchoring him to you, triggering a low groan in his throat. His hips pressed into yours and although his armor was cold, you could feel his body burning beneath it. Just as you went to part from his lips for air, he was already one step ahead. Within moments, his mouth was everywhere.
Teeth scraped along your jaw and down your throat before settling on your collarbone like he needed to mark you and brand you as his. You gasped, tilting your back against the wall as Rex pressed closer, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other wrestled your robe off your shoulders.
“Mine,” he grumbled against your skin, “You’re mine. You don’t get to risk yourself like that. Not when I’ve been losing my mind just thinking about what it would do to me if I-” his voice broke again. You felt the sharp tremble in his breath as his fingers dragged down your waist, “I thought I lost you today.”
His breath was heavy against your clavicle. Slowly, you shifted your head, allowing yourself to place soft kisses across his cheek and up to his ear, where you stopped, “Rex, I’m right here.”
That did it. Something in him snapped.
He picked his head up fast - scooping you up in one motion and tossing you onto your perfectly made bed. Your quarters were instantly filled with the sound of the remainder of his armor being snapped off and discarded haphazardly across the floor at an impressive rate.
“You should see your face right now,” you teased, trying to bite back a smirk, “I’ve never seen armor come off that quick.”
Rex chucked the last of his armor across the room, leaving him in only his blacks, before mounting himself across your thighs, placing his hands at the hem of your waistband. He paused, slowly curling his body down to press his lips into the side of your head. “Keep talking,” he snarled against your ear, shoving your pants down roughly, “See how long that attitude lasts.”
You whimpered. He was already hard and grinding against you through the blacks with zero patience, like he’d rip through the fabric of his blacks if it meant getting to you faster. Your hand dropped to return the favor, tugging at his waistband.
He hissed between his teeth when your fingers brushed against him, “Fuck, you drive me insane.”
“Good,” you huffed, nipping at his neck, “Then we’re even.”
That broke the last of his control. He hooked one of your legs up around his waist, shoved his blacks down just far enough, and pressed into you all at once. The thrust was deep, fast and accompanied a desperate growl that vibrated straight through your spine.
You cried out, back arching into his clothed chest as he filled you with his entire length. There was no buildup, no teasing - just raw, ragged need, “Stars, Rex.”
“Too much?” he grinned, pausing while fully inserted into you.
“Not even close.”
Rex then set a brutal pace, his thrusts snapping into you like he had something to prove. Perhaps he did. Maybe it wasn’t just about the fear or the fury or the way you’d looked back at him through the smoke like you didn’t realize what it would do to him if you died.
Maybe it was about ownership. Maybe it was about making sure you never forgot who you belonged to. Maybe it was about making sure you knew that you were more important to him than being a soldier.
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the scarred skin beneath his blacks. He buried his face in your neck, panting against your skin as his rhythm got even rougher, your name breaking off his lips like prayer and curse all at once.
“You’re mine,” he reminded you again, teeth scraping your shoulder.
“Yes,” you gasped, dizzy from the intensity, speed and stretch of him slamming into you, “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”
Hearing those words from your lips sent a slight shutter down his spine. Almost as if your words gave him some sort of surge, he plunged himself even deeper into you, forcing an involuntary whine out of you as he hit new depths.
“Don't sto-” you attempted to rasp out as Rex continued to ruthlessly drive deeper into you, muffling your words with your own moans.
“Why. Would. I. Stop,” he gritted between thrusts, “After. Finding. Your. Sweet. Spot?” The smug, hungry heat in his voice lit every nerve inside you on fire. He was relentless now, driving his cock into you at the same devastating angle over and over again, hitting so deep and so precise it knocked the breath from your lungs. You couldn’t even find the words anymore, just breathless gasps and broken whimpers as your body clenched around him, trying to hold on and falling apart all at once.
“Yeah,” Rex muttered darkly against your forehead, “Right there, huh? That the spot you lose your mind for me?”
You could only nod and shut your eyes, dizzy from the pressure building low and fast in your core, twitching your hips with every deep drag of him inside you.
“Look at me,” he growled, pulling back just enough to cup your jaw and tilt your face to his, the motion forcing your eyes open. Sweat began to bead at his temples,“You tell me when you’re close, cyar’ika.”
You nodded, a sob of pleasure caught in your throat as he slammed into you again, and again, and again, “Rex,” you cried, your thigh trembling against him, “Rex, please - I’m gonna-”
“That’s it,” he grunted, his thrusts ragged now, chasing both your highs like an animal hunting for prey, “Come with me.”
It hit you like a shockwave - your whole body arching against his, muscles locking around him as you shattered on his cock, crying out his name Rex followed with a low, guttural groan, burying himself as deep as he could, clutching you tight as his climax pulsed hot inside you.
For a long moment, the only sound filling the room was each of your muffled breaths as he held you like he could anchor himself in you forever. You slowly moved your hands from his back to his head while you watched his back rise and fall with each labored breath as he tried to steady himself. You began to scratch his head - which was still buried between your shoulder and the pillow - earning yourself a sigh of content from Rex.
Slowly, he shifted his head to face you, eyes half cracked and glassy, with his lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words just yet. Still nestled between your thighs, you could feel all the tension drain from his body. Without warning, he slipped out of you, replacing the space he just filled with the dazed, disarmed warmth you only ever got from him.
You trailed your fingertips from his head down to his cheek, cupping it. He nuzzled into your palm instinctually.
“Hey,” you whispered, giving him a soft smile, “Still with me?”
Rex didn’t speak right away. He just nodded once, his nose brushing yours as his hand slipped up your side, dragging across sweat-damp skin like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.
“I’m here,” he mumbled eventually, “I just. I just needed to feel you.”
You kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then just under his ear, letting out a soft laugh “I’d say you did.” That seemed to finally loosen something in him. He shifted his weight carefully, allowing himself to take off the top half of his blacks before doing the same with your top and chest band.
“I probably should have taken those off for us earlier,” he chuckled under his breath before placing his mouth on your chin, planting kisses down your neck, collarbone, and chest. They were the kind of slow, open-mouthed kisses that said thank you; that said I’m sorry.
He slid down the bed, scanning your body for any bruises he might have just left behind. His hands roamed softly, over your stomach, hips and thighs. Anywhere that had been bruised or bitten or gripped too hard in the heat of the moment was met with the most delicate touch of his lips.
Eventually, he pulled the sheets up around you both and settled at your side. You threw one leg across his hips and placed one arm over his chest, resting your head perfectly in the crook of his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I was rough with you. You just scare the hell out of me you know,” he confessed against your shoulder. “Every time you jump in front of a blaster or run headfirst into danger, I feel like I can't breathe until you come back.”
You angled your neck up to face him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I’ll be more careful. I promise.”
His eyes flicked down to meet yours. You could swear they were wet with a little red around the edges, “I don’t need careful. I just need you.” He pressed his head forward to kiss you slow and deep. So slow and so deep it stole what little breath you had left. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone like he was afraid you might disappear again. You kissed him back with everything you had. Not because it was expected, but because loving him felt like coming home.
Warnings : No warnings for this part, the smut is coming in the next parts
Also, English is not my first langage !
If you spot any mistakes, feel free to let me know! I'd love to improve my English (and the story).
There will be 3 parts !
Part 2/ Part 3
You tightened the last bolt on the starfighter's port stabilizer, your fingers aching from the hours of precision work. The ship gleamed under the hangar's harsh lights, its lines sharp and aggressive like the man who flew it. Captain Rex's ship. You'd spent the better part of the rotation on it, tweaking calibrations that most mechanics would have overlooked.
The hangar was quiet now. Most of the 501st clones were either in the mess hall or catching sleep in their temporary barracks. The rotation had been slow, and you'd taken advantage of the peace to focus on the task. The ship deserved attention. The pilot deserved it more.
You wiped your hands on the rag hanging from your belt and stepped back, inspecting your work. The stabilizer sat perfectly aligned. The hyperdrive motivator hummed clean. You'd replaced the coolant lines yourself, rerouted the auxiliary power conduit, and recalibrated the targeting systems. The ship would fly smoother than it had in weeks.
"Looks good."
The voice came from behind you, low and tired. You knew it already. You'd heard it giving orders across the hangar earlier, but now it carried a softer edge.
You turned. Captain Rex stood a few paces away, his armor still on but his helmet tucked under his arm. His hair was cropped short, regulation style, and shadows sat under his eyes. He looked exhausted. He also looked like someone had carved him from stone and forgot to add the soft parts.
"Thanks," you said. "She should handle better now. The port stabilizer was throwing off your trajectory by about two degrees. Nothing critical, but it would've worn down the gyro over time."
He stepped closer, running his hand along the hull. The gesture was almost reverent. His fingers traced the carbon scoring marks, relics of battles you'd never witnessed.
"Two degrees," he repeated. "I didn't notice."
"Most pilots wouldn't. But you would've felt it eventually, in a tight turn or a heavy atmosphere."
He turned to face you, and the full weight of his attention settled on your shoulders. His eyes were brown. Deep brown, like the old woods on planets you'd only read about. There was something careful in his gaze, the way he looked at you like he was cataloging every detail.
"Appreciate it," he said. "The boys and I have been running non-stop. Having a ship that actually works is a luxury."
You wanted to say something clever. Something that would make him smile or laugh or look at you differently. Instead you just shrugged. "It's my job."
A silence stretched between you. The kind that felt thick enough to push against. He was standing close. Closer than necessary. You could smell the recycled air from his armor, the faint metallic tang of blaster residue, and underneath it something clean and warm that was just him.
He reached for the tool kit on the crate beside you. At the same time, you reached for the same crate to set down your rag.
Your fingers brushed his.
The contact was brief. A whisper of skin against skin. But it sent a current through you that had nothing to do with static electricity. You froze. He froze too, his hand hovering mid-air.
You looked up at him. He was looking at your hand. Then his eyes lifted to yours, and something shifted in his expression. The careful soldier mask cracked, just a little.
"Sorry," you muttered, though you weren't sorry at all.
"No problem," he said. His voice was rougher now. He didn't pull his hand away.
You let your fingers linger on the crate, close to his. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Your heart was hammering, and you were suddenly very aware of how your coverall fit against your chest, how your hands were still greasy from work, how your hair had probably escaped its tie hours ago.
His hands. You'd thought about his hands before. The way they gripped his blasters, the way they moved when he gestured during briefings. But now they were right there, within touching distance. Strong hands. Calloused. Capable. The kind of hands that could probably take you apart piece by piece, if he wanted to. The kind of hands that you were seeing in your more filthy dreams.
Your thoughts slipped further. They always did around him. You imagined those hands on your waist, on your hips, sliding under the rough fabric of your coverall. You imagined his mouth, that serious mouth, pressed against your neck while his fingers worked the fastenings of your clothes. His body against yours, hard and warm, the armor discarded somewhere on the floor. He would be careful at first, measured, the way he approached everything. But you didn't want careful. You wanted him to lose that control, just once. To grip you hard enough to leave marks. To make you forget every reason why this was a terrible idea.
You swallowed. The thoughts were getting too loud. They were going to show on your face eventually.
"Are you off duty?" you asked. The question came out before you could stop it.
He blinked, surprised. "Technically, yes. We're resting for the rotation. Why?"
"Drink," you said. "In my quarters. I've got a bottle of spotchka I've been saving for something special."
You watched him process the invitation. His jaw tightened. A muscle in his neck twitched. He was weighing something, calculating odds like he would in a battle simulation. You could see the moment his training told him to refuse. But you could also see the moment when something else, something more stubborn, pushed back.
"Your quarters," he repeated. "That's not exactly regulation."
"Neither is leaving a ship with a misaligned stabilizer," you said. "But people do what they need to do."
He almost smiled. Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched, and you counted it as a victory.
"Lead the way," he said.
You turned before he could change his mind, walking toward the corridor that led to the personnel quarters. The hangar doors slid shut behind you as you stepped into the hallway. His footsteps followed, steady and measured. A soldier's gait. You tried to match it, but your legs were shorter, and your steps felt frantic in comparison.
The quarters were cramped. A cot, a small table, a storage locker, a sonic shower. Your home for the duration of the war. You gestured for him to sit on the cot while you dug the bottle of spotchka from under your bunk.
He sat on the edge of the cot, his forearms resting on his knees, his helmet placed on the floor beside him. He looked too big for the space. Too sharp. Like a predator that had wandered into a cage meant for something smaller.
You poured two cups and handed him one. His fingers brushed yours again, deliberately this time. He held the contact for a moment longer than necessary.
"To good ships," you said, raising your cup.
"To good mechanics," he replied.
The spotchka burned going down. He didn't flinch. Clones were built for worse stuff.
You sat beside him on the cot. The mattress dipped under his weight, pulling you closer. His shoulder brushed yours. You could feel the heat of him through his blacks, the thin layer of fabric that separated his skin from the armor.
"I shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
"No," you agreed. "But you are."
He turned to face you. His eyes were searching yours, looking for something. Hesitation. Doubt. Permission.
You gave him none of those.
He leaned in slowly, like he was giving you every chance to pull away. You didn't. His lips met yours, and the spotchka taste mixed with something sharper. He kissed like he flew starfighters—intense, precise, holding nothing back. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek, and you melted into him.
Your hands found his chest. The fabric of his blacks was rough under your fingers. You wanted to peel it off him, to feel skin and scars and the heat of a body that wasn't designed for softness. He groaned against your mouth, and the sound sent a thrill down your spine.
The comm unit on his wrist beeped.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours for a second. His breath was ragged. The comm beeped again, more insistent.
"Sir," a voice crackled through the speaker. "We've got an update from command. Priority channel."
Rex straightened. The soldier snapped back into place, the transformation almost violent to witness. He grabbed his helmet, stood, and paused at the door.
"I have to—"
"Go," you said. Your voice was steadier than you expected.
He lingered for a heartbeat, then he was gone. The door slid shut behind him, leaving you alone in the small room with an empty cup and the ghost of his mouth on yours.
You touched your lips. They were still warm.
The exhilaration flooded through you, bright and sharp. He had kissed you. He had wanted to stay. For a moment, he had forgotten about duty and the war and everything else.
Then the fear settled in, cold and heavy.
You had jeopardized his career. If anyone found out—if his brothers saw something, if the wrong person noticed—he could lose his command. He could be reassigned. Court-martialed. You knew the rules. Fraternization between clones and civilians was strictly forbidden. The Republic had no room for complications like this.
You sat on the cot, staring at the door, and wondered if you had just ruined the only thing that made him feel like something more than a weapon.
The spotchka sat unfinished on the table. You didn't reach for it.
Warnings: Mentions of blood (smell), cursing, fingering (f rec), closet sex, semi-public sex, a lil exhibitionism, kind of overstimulation, kind of orgasm denial (interrupted), pet names (love) MDNI
Word Count: 1,155
A/N: Istg someone said something about Kix in glasses and my neurons activated but i can not for the life of me find the post 😭🙏
Star Wars Masterlist ｜ Main Masterlist ｜ Navigation
MDNI THIS IS SMUT
The med bay doors woosh open, letting the faint smell of antiseptic and blood filter out into the hallway. You step in, holding the box of supplies under one arm and a datapad in the other. Pausing for a moment, you hike the box up higher on your hip and narrow your eyes at the screen. "The supplies droid says we're running low on bacta but this manifest says we should have more in a different-" You glance up at Kix, then do a double take, gawking.
Kix, hearing the sudden pause in your sentence, looks up from where he had been leaning over a datapad. He looks a little confused, straightening and taking a step over to you. "A different what?"
"Uh, storage, different storage room- are you wearing my glasses?" You splutter out, eyes tracking the movement of his face, specifically the glassed that were indeed perched on his nose.
His face contorts, into a smile. "Yeah, they help me read."
"I thought clones were supposed to have perfect vision?" You stammer out, trying desperately not to look like you were staring.
Kix shrugs, turning back around to sift around in a box of bandages. "We are, but we're still human and our eyes can weaken over time." He turns his head, tapping the frame of the glasses. "Turns out staying up reading all those med journals in the dark isn't good for your eyes."
"Yeah." You mutter, stepping forward and putting your box of supplies down as well. Sneaking another sidelong glance at him you're cought in the act when you find him staring directly at you.
He cocks his head to the side, glasses sliding a little down the bridge if his nose. "You can have them back if you-"
"No!" You say, maybe a little too quickly. He raises an eyebrow, a little smirk teasing in the corner of his mouth. "They look good on you." He pushes the glasses up his nose with one finger, turning back to rummage in the box.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Fuck"
"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you." He whispers in your ear, hot breath sending a wave of goosebumps down the side of your neck. You can feel the hard edges of the glasses still perched on his face pressing into the side of your head, surely fogged up from all the 'organizing' the two of you had been doing.
It had only taken a matter of minutes before he had trapped you against the wall of the storage closet, lips finding the curve of your neck and working their way up to where they now sat perched against the crown of your head. His fingers had gone the complete opposite direction, descending down the front of your pants to work their magic.
His fingers curled up again, drawing another senseless moan from your lips. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, squeezing tight enough it surely would have left marks if not for the armor. "Please, please Kix." You whine, fingers scrabbling against the smooth planes of plastoid. Your head snaps back with another kink of his fingers and a thud echoes through the small room.
His other palm come up behind your head to cradle the dull ache, the warmth of his hand a soothing contrast to the growing heat below. "Careful love, wouldn't want anyone hearing would we?" He murmurs, lifting his face away from your head. The glasses are indeed fogged, and sliding down the bridge of his nose, its almost endearing. His hand slides around the back of your head, moving to cradle your jaw instead. The pad of his thum presses against the seam of your lips and you open them obediently, surrounding his thumb with the warmth of your mouth.
His eyes darken, pressing down to leverage your jaw open. You blink at him blearily, legs shaking slightly from having to hold yourself up for so long. Then his fingers move, pushing up into you again and drawing an embarrassingly loud moan out. Your eyes widen, knowing someone could have easily heard that, someone probably had heard that. He just grins, removing his fingers from your mouth and letting you snap it closed sheepishly.
"Shhh" He hisses through his teeth, eyes glittering mischievously over the rim of the glasses. You glare at him, grunting when he starts to move his hand at a steady pace. He leans down, one arm above your head, lips hovering above yours. "Is this what's got you so worked up, hmm?" He murmurs. "Your glasses?" His lips find their place on yours, pushing them apart and muffling every noise to slip out of them.
You don't even try to fight him, not that you can in your position. You just let your head lean back, lips breaking away from his as you choke out obscene noises. The building pressure is making it harder and harder to think straight, your mind only occupied with what is just out of your reach. "Kix-"
"I know, I know. Just relax." He whispers, lips pressing to your forehead. You try, you really do try but your body is tensing up as if in preparation. You're so close you can practically feel it, already craving the satisfaction your release will bring. So close, the drag of his fingers along your walls so familiar yet somehow making you feel new ways you didn't even know were possible. Just a little more, one more push of his fingers-
Suddenly the movement inside you stops, his fingers rest. Your eyes fly open, a cry slipping out of your mouth ready to be aimed at him. His hand slides across your mouth, cutting off the noise before it can be completed. He's not looking at you, head tuned to the side and facing the door- the door, oh shit the door. Your eyes snap in that direction, landing thankfully on the closed door.
"Did you hear that?" He murmurs, glancing back down at you. You freeze, trying not to focus too much on the fact his fingers were still buried inside you. Then you hear it, the sharp wail of the med bay alarm. You let out a groan of annoyance, body going limp against the wall. The muffled noise turns into a moan as the slight change of position shifts Kix's fingers just slightly.
His eyebrows raise slightly above the rim of the glasses, a smirk appearing on his face. He pulls his fingers away from you, drawing another wanton moan out of you. He brings the soaked fingers to his lips, putting them in his own mouth.
Taking a step back, he pushes the glasses up. "I think I'll keep these." He turns, hand on the door already. "For next time."
With that, he's out the door and into the med bay. Leaving you to collect yourself in the closet, and hoping that next time is very, very soon.
A/N: I feel like this started off well but went downhill at the end ragh whatever 😀🔪🔪
Ik there's the whole trope of clones using mandoa but I'm a sucker for the pet name love. Idk maybe its the inner thomas brodie-sangster fan in me. I melt ( . .)
Summary: As a Jedi Padawan fighting during the Clone Wars, you and your Master are used to teaming up with Clones. But none are as intriguing as Clone Force 99 and their leader, Sergeant Hunter. Sparks fly immediately and it's difficult to keep your focus. With the mission complete, perhaps the two of you will finally give in and indulge in your desires...
Pairing: Hunter x Jedi!fem!reader
Word count: 5.7k
Warnings: smut, 18+ MDNI, Dom!Hunter, use of pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting, mentions of alcohol consumption, masculinity kink, voice kink, light choking, hand kink, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, orgasm delay, creampie
A/N: This is the result of me watching The Bad Batch while ovulating. This is (probably) not how the Force works but your honour I was horny.
Thank you to my dear @thefrogdalorian for the immense help and support! I love you so much!
Amazing divider by @saradika-graphics
At the end of the fic you'll find the links to some amazing Hunter fanarts I found here on Tumblr! These were such an inspiration when writing and I wanted to thank and credit the artists for creating such amazing pieces!
Masterlist - Read on Ao3 - Read Part 2 here!
Another day, another dangerous mission in the Outer Rim.
Nothing new for you and your Master who are used to leading these missions successfully. The only difference is that this time you'll be assisted by Experimental Unit Clone Force 99. It’s the first time you even heard about them, but your superiors assured you they’re best suited for this job. A highly-skilled squad of defective clones with desirable mutations? Sounds interesting.
Apparently, The Bad Batch, as they call themselves, despise rules and protocol and adopt unusual methods to get the job done… Much like you and your Master.
Their ship has just made a bumpy landing on the field, causing a fuss. You watch curiously as the squad descends the ramp. There are four of them, and they undoubtedly look badass in their black armour.
The first one – their leader, you assume – removes his helmet and... damn. Damn. He's hot, with a confident look in his deep brown eyes. He also has long, wavy, dark hair; a feature which has always been a weakness of yours. His face is half covered in a tattoo that resembles a skeleton. He's undoubtedly the most charming of the Batch, and also the most attractive clone you’ve ever come across.
“I’m Sergeant Hunter,” he rasps as he greets you and your Master. His voice is deep and husky, very different from those of all the other clones you’ve met so far.
After introducing himself, Hunter moves to quickly describe the peculiarities that make each of the members of the team unique. As you stand back to observe them, you can’t help thinking just how much fun they are. Wrecker (the strong one) is getting reluctantly lectured by Tech (the smart one) while Crosshair (the laconic and lethal sniper) stands there in silence. He reminds you of your Master so much.
As much as you enjoy observing the rest of the squad, you find your gaze returns to Hunter, the clone with enhanced senses. You are unable to tear your eyes away from him. You know you have to keep it together, but you can’t help eating him with your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his body, on the way his pauldrons make his shoulders even broader, how much the black colour of his armour suits him.
You have just begun fantasising about the way his strong body would look without the armour when you notice Hunter staring directly at you. Busted. You lock eyes for a few seconds and you just know that he understands the nature of the thoughts you’re having about him. Then, your pounding heart skips a beat when Hunter winks at you. It is a split-second gesture that is over so quickly amidst the chaos of the conversation, a little secret between the two of you. You smile flirtatiously at him in response.
The whole group begins heading towards their ship, The Marauder. While the rest of the Batch and your Master head up the ramp towards the ship that will take you to the rendezvous point, you and Hunter pause at the bottom.
“I’m afraid I haven’t caught your name, sweetheart?” Hunter asks, breaking the silence with his deep, raspy voice.
"I am a Jedi, not a sweetheart," you point out teasingly and look at him with crossed arms, trying to sound tough.
"A Padawan," he reminds you with a smirk on his face.
You watch curiously as Hunter takes your braid – the unmistakable sign of your rank as an apprentice – between his fingers. He gently rolls it between his gloved finger and thumb contemplatively as his brown eyes meet your gaze once again.
"I technically outrank you, Sergeant," you say, challenging him.
"You do, Commander," Hunter nods, but makes no effort to move his hand away from your braid, or to interrupt eye contact.
Hunter can tell that you don’t mind the gesture. As if to push the boundaries further, he moves his hand from your braid to gently place it on your cheek. The leather of his glove feels soft against your face. You are stunned that a seasoned soldier such as him can actually be so gentle in the way he touches you.
You can feel the tension coming from the two of you, a simmering fire somewhere deep within. It's only a matter of time before it boils over. You look at each other straight in the eyes, neither one of you daring to look away.
Just as you're about to tease him with yet another witty reply, you hear the sound of footsteps at the top of the ramp.
"Hey, Hunter, are you gonna come with us or what?!" Wrecker shouts, abruptly interrupting your shameless flirting.
"On my way," Hunter replies, without breaking eye contact with you.
His intense gaze lingers on you for a few more seconds before he looks at you apologetically and turns to head up to the ramp and onto the Marauder.
As soon as Hunter turns away from you, you realise just how hard your heart is thundering in your chest. His gaze was so intense that it made you forget to breathe properly. So much for the Jedi breathing techniques. It turns out if there is a handsome man with dark eyes flirting with you, they lose all effectiveness. You take a deep breath, filling your burning lungs with oxygen.
When you enter the ship, you are still trembling. As you take a seat next to your Master, you try to ignore his accusatory glare. You feel his eyes burning into your soul as the guilt threatens to overwhelm you, even though nothing too scandalous happened.
As the Marauder enters hyperspace, your Master takes a seat on the cold metallic floor in an isolated area of the ship. Meditating before battle is a ritual he always follows and you immediately join him. It can help you shift your focus back to where it should be – on the mission. Only, you can't focus.
Instead of your mind becoming one with the Force, you're highly attuned to the actions of the members of the squad. It is as though you can see them as if you were standing before them: Tech studying the holo-maps, Crosshair cleaning his sniper rifle, Wrecker taking a nap, and of course, Hunter. He is mindlessly playing with his vibroknife as he slouches on a crate.
You are entranced by the way his fingers move across the handle and the blade. Maker, the movement of his hand and fingers – you can't focus on anything else as he makes the knife masterfully swirl between them. There's something so erotic about the way he plays with it. Your mind wanders to think about his hands roaming on your body, slipping between your thighs, skillfully rubbing your clit. You fantasise about how quickly Hunter would make you come, how hard your orgasm would be as it tore through you, leaving you a trembling wreck.
Your focus then goes to his muscular thighs. Hunter’s legs are spread wide and he looks so effortlessly masculine. The aura of confidence he radiates as he comfortably sits there, taking up the entire crate as he lounges on top of it, gives you even more thoughts that are unbecoming of a Padawan. It makes you almost dizzy with want as you think about how much you want to straddle him and ride him into ecstasy.
“Are you done?” your Master’s cold voice interrupts your filthy train of thought with a brief and concise message through the Force.
He heard your thoughts. Each and every single one. Your Master caught you red-handed. How embarrassing.
You are too mortified to even mumble an apology, through the Force or otherwise. Instead, you sit there wishing you could be anywhere else in the galaxy as you feel the heat rise in your cheeks and pull your hood up to hide your flustered face in your cape.
Luckily, before the awkward moment can continue for any longer, Tech announces the imminent jump out of hyperspace. You still cannot bear to make eye contact with your Master, shrinking into your blessedly baggy cape as you begin the descent into the planet’s atmosphere...
The mission was a success – you and your Master worked your magic with the precious support of Clone Force 99. What seemed like a desperate operation, turned out to be an extremely important victory for the Republic. Training with your Master has been so hard, but damn did that pay off. You slayed all your enemies elegantly and effortlessly, just like he taught you. The whole Bad Batch congratulated you two. Wrecker was especially impressed, electing the two of you as his favourite Jedi. What an honour. Hunter also invited you and your Master to celebrate the victory by having a drink all together in a cantina.
Just as you’re about to enter the cantina and join the Bad Batch, your Master calls your name. You stop in your tracks, scared that he might reprimand you for the way you acted today. You begin panicking and thinking back to what happened in guilt…
When you and your Master had taken off your heavy capes before engaging in battle, you noticed Hunter couldn't keep his eyes off you. You were wearing a skin-tight dark suit, after all.
It was a fact you decided to exploit after Hunter had given his squad their orders for the mission. You walked away swaying your hips, making sure you gave him a great opportunity to look at your ass. You remember how you could feel his eyes glued to it. You could also feel his desire for you. It was impossible for him to hide; it permeated him, radiated from him. Maker, you love making him crumble.
You think back to the way Crosshair rasped, "Hunter, don't lose your focus.” You are certain that is what your Master is about to scold you for.
Instead, you watch in shock as a half smile appears on your Master’s face, something you don't see very often.
“You did good today. I’m proud of you,” he nods.
Since when does your Master pay you compliments like this?
“Th-Thank you,” you stammer, caught off-guard by how unexpected his praise is.
“You fulfilled your duties as a Jedi. Now, go and have your fun.”
You don’t have time to respond before he turns on his heel and walks away, cape billowing in the breeze. You know your Master doesn’t often like to stick around after missions, often needing some quiet time to himself to decompress and meditate. You let him go, knowing that he will find his way back to the Marauder before it departs, as he always does.
As you step into the Cantina, a smile spreads on your face when you notice the Bad Batch sitting at a table with a full flagon of booze and an empty seat for you to toast your success. You and Hunter lock eyes again as he invites you to sit in that spot close to him.
Hunter loses no time in placing his arm around your shoulders while smiling at you. You lean into his embrace, feeling comforted and protected. The warm presence of his arm around you makes you smile contentedly. It feels so good to let the guard down for once, especially if you're in the arms of a handsome, strong and charming man such as Hunter.
As the night goes on, the three other members of The Bad Batch keep conversing with each other, giving you and Hunter the opportunity to speak privately. It’s as though the background noise fades out. You don't even bother focusing on the discourse the others are having. It’s just you and Hunter flirting shamelessly now.
“You know, I've never seen a ship like yours. I wish I had time to properly explore it... Thoroughly," you flirt with him while draining the last few dregs in your flagon.
"Want me to give you a tour, sweetheart?" he says with a smile on his face, perfectly understanding your intentions.
"Would be cool, yeah," you reply.
Hunter offers you his hand and you gladly accept it with a mischievous smile.
Just as you stand, you feel the alcohol has definitely kicked in. You’re not drunk though, just a little bit tipsy, enough to make you brave and go get exactly what you want.
As soon as you and Hunter get out of the cantina and find yourselves alone in the dark alley, you both give into the instincts you tried to suppress all day long. Hunter pins you to the wall as you pull him closer at the same time, until you join in a passionate, longing kiss.
You welcome his tongue in your mouth as his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His touch and the way he kisses you are so confident that you clench around nothing, holding him tighter as you moan in his mouth. Maker, you want him. His whole body jolts when he feels that, pinning you harder against the wall, mentally cursing the armour that is preventing him from feeling the softness of your body against his.
He stops kissing you just so he can look at how stunning you are under the moonlight, hot and flustered after that first, heavy session of making out.
"Look at you. So beautiful," he whispers as he cups your face with his hand, the other one still lingering around your waist. Hunter is treating you like the most precious thing in the galaxy now that he can finally have you all for himself. You lean into his gentle touch as he takes in all the features of your face, especially the way your eyes glimmer with admiration and arousal for him.
You look at his deep, dark and expressive brown eyes and the strong, masculine features of his face that make you throb with need. Your hand caresses his cheek, following the lines of his skeleton tattoo and the contour of his chiseled jaw. He observes you as a sweet smile appears on your face, making you look irresistible and drawing his lips closer to yours once again…
"Hey! Where's Hunter?!" you hear Wrecker shout from inside of the tavern, just as your lips are mere inches apart.
You and Hunter both laugh as you resume the kissing. It's like the whole galaxy stops existing. For a soldier who has seen nothing but war, his kisses are to die for. Your tongues twirl in each other's mouths and it's like his greedy lips can't ever get enough of yours. His mouth is hot like a damn furnace as he takes all the time in the galaxy to worship you with his lips, letting his hands wander throughout your body. You're getting soaked already, feeling your arousal slowly dripping down your legs as a throbbing need pulsates between your thighs. You moan in his mouth as you dig your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss is getting deeper and more passionate as you go on.
Hunter's lips start to trail down to your neck, making you sigh deeply as he covers it in kisses. Your scent drives him wild. He can smell your pheromones, feeling you're unmistakably full of desire. He can't resist and just gives a swift lick from the base of your neck to your ear that makes you sharply stifle a gasp, arching your back and tightening your grip on his hair.
"Let's go to the Marauder, shall we?" he rasps in your ear, a voice full of lust that gives you goosebumps.
"Y-yes…" you stutter, feeling light-headed with arousal and being incapable of hiding it.
He offers you his hand as you enter the ship. The two of you cut a clumsy path through the Marauder towards Hunter’s bunk, frequently taking breaks where Hunter desperately pushes you against the cool steel walls of the ship, your arms clinging tight to his shoulders and his face buried in your neck.
"Maker... Take off your armour," you plead as his teeth dig into your delicate skin like a feral beast would do with his prey.
He does, letting each piece fall to the ground as you go on kissing each other, leaving a trail of armour pieces on the floor as you slowly make your way towards his bunk. He looks stunning with just his tight black suit on. You take in the broadness of his shoulders, the way his pectorals stand out, highlighted by the tightness of the suit and grope the strong muscles of his biceps. Oh, fuck. How much do you love a man. Tall, muscular, strong, confident, with dark eyes and a head full of long, wavy hair. A Man.
You moan in his mouth when you feel his thick biceps flexing under your touch. A smile forms on his lips as he feels how much you like this. As his arms wrap around your body, yours go in his hair. Maker, how safe do you feel in his arms. It's such an innate instinct – wanting to be held in the arms of a strong man, surrendering and trusting him, something that usually you would never be permitted to do in your life as a Jedi.
You can feel his erection against your lower belly, straining against his extremely thin black suit. His fingers hook in the hem of your pants, yanking them down over your ass, exposing your drenched cunt as he sits you down in his bunk.
He kneels before you, taking your boots and pants off and spreads your legs, his dark eyes looking into yours as a smirk appears on his face.
"Hunter–" you sigh.
"Wanna get you nice and ready for me, sweetheart," he coos as he starts to kiss your inner thigh.
The vision makes you tremble with lust and your hands helplessly clench into fists in a desperate attempt to grab the material under you to keep you steady. Your legs shake but he keeps them steady in his strong arms. He goes on trailing kisses on your inner thighs without ever stopping looking at you. He's taking his time with it, wanting to enjoy the way your whole body is throbbing with need. Your breathing gets more and more shallow as his mouth gets closer to where you want him the most.
You lift your gaze from Hunter’s dark brown eyes, shutting your eyes for a mere fraction of a second, trying to alleviate the aching need you feel. Hunter chooses that moment to finally give you what you need. With a quick lick to your clit, your whole body jerks into his touch and a whimper escapes from your lips.
Hunter smirks up at you, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards in a smug, satisfied look. Then, he proceeds to bury his face between your legs and masterfully lick your swollen clit. His tongue brings you so much pleasure that your back arches involuntarily, pushing yourself further into his mouth. You moan his name and grab a handful of his long, thick hair. He purrs in your cunt when you entangle your fingers in his hair and you notice how his grip on your legs becomes tighter.
"Oh... Oh fuck!" you exclaim in ecstasy, barely able to form words.
One of his hands releases its grasp on your legs, which he has been using to keep you spread open for him. You throw your head back gasping as he slowly slides two of his thick fingers inside you.
"So tight," he growls with a smirk on his face.
Hunter pumps his fingers inside of you, slowly increasing the rhythm, ensuring that you’re stretched out for him. It is a motion that brings you so much pleasure you wonder how it could possibly get better. Your whole body jerks in pure bliss under his touch. He enjoys looking at you like this, you can see it from how darkened his eyes are with lust.
For a brief second, his fingers and mouth leave your cunt, leaving you devastatingly empty. You watch in awe as Hunter sticks them in his mouth, without breaking eye contact with you. He sucks on his fingers, humming while closing his eyes to savor your taste from places where his tongue can’t reach.
"You taste so good, sweetheart," he rasps as he resumes fucking you with his fingers.
He watches you contort under him, moaning and begging for him to return his skillful mouth between your thighs. Your hips thrust up and down right in front of his face. You are shamelessly fucking yourself on his fingers, inviting him to bury his face back in your folds. You desperately bury your hands in his hair in an attempt to pull him closer.
"Damn, you're so beautiful like this," he says before his mouth goes back exactly where you wanted.
Then, Hunter does something absolutely devastating. While he continues licking your clit, he starts sucking it gently, all as he continues pumping his thick fingers inside of you. Hunter wants to draw an orgasm from you, his actions becoming more and more frantic as you grow closer to your climax. He can feel by the irregular way you breathe and shake that you're close.
"Yes. Yes. Like this. Let go, sweetheart," he encourages you.
It's only a matter of seconds before you come, writhing under him. Your legs are wrapped around his head, squishing it. You scream his name so loud it echoes in the Marauder. Hunter is pleased as he looks at your blissed-out expression and feels your cunt clamping around his fingers. Your back arches as you ride your orgasm, pushing yourself further into his tongue so you can feel him licking you through your orgasm. Hunter purrs into your cunt, loving the way you let go around him. He loves how his face is getting soaked in your arousal, so addicted to the way you taste.
Hunter holds you steady as your orgasm fades out. When you regain your senses, you slowly release your grip on his hair. Only then he props himself up and slowly unzips his suit, showing you the beautiful golden skin underneath. A warm contrast under the black, tight layer.
The dark hairs on his chest are perfectly trimmed, accentuating each of his toned muscles and the tattoos which decorate his thick, masculine body. Your gaze is locked on his hand trailing down his abdomen, his muscles rippling as he approaches the hem of his pants.
You shamelessly look at the bulge in his dark suit, a sight that makes your mouth water. Hunter’s lips curve into a smirk once again, noticing that you like what you see. The smug look on his face makes you throb with need once again, despite the fact that he just gave you an intense orgasm.
He hooks his thumb in the hem of his pants, watching intently for your reaction as he slowly pulls the material down to reveal the trimmed, dark hairs around the base of his thick cock.
Hunter notices the intense way you look at it and hears the whimper you just tried to suppress in your throat. He can feel your heart rate going up. It makes him smirk confidently as he goes on, finally freeing his hard, thick cock. You gulp while looking at it, as he uses the same fingers he had buried in you to cover it in your arousal. He gives it a few, firm strokes to ensure it’s nice and wet for you. The mere vision of it makes you bite your lip to muffle another impatient whimper.
Then he is on you, peeling your shirt away from your quivering body, rejoicing when he can finally touch it and worship it with his mouth. Hunter trails kisses across your collarbones and down towards your breasts. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive flesh there, before softly biting your nipples. You gasp when you feel his erection hard against your cunt. He starts to thrust his hips against yours so his cock can rub against your drenched core, getting it soaked in your juices. Your mind turns completely blank at that, heart thundering in your chest as his hands roam across your body.
Hunter aligns himself to your entrance, groaning as his cock slowly makes its way inside of you. You admire his restraint. You know how much he probably wants to take you with one thrust, but instead he is being so gentle and careful with you, making sure that you are well-adjusted to his size.
He takes your jaw in his hand, looking deep inside your eyes as his thick cock stretches you open. You struggle to keep eye contact with him, unlike earlier when you were flirting with him. Now, your eyes only want to roll backwards. The pleasure you feel as he splits you open is overwhelming your body and senses.
You pathetically try to mumble some incoherencies, but he's quick to shut you up with a kiss. Hunter growls low in his throat when he feels your walls desperately clenching around him, as he buries himself into you to the hilt.
"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good," he rasps, almost desperately before giving you another wet kiss. Then, he raises his hips only to bury his cock deep inside you, making you moan into his mouth.
"How – how can you feel so fucking good?" he whimpers.
Hunter’s large hands gently cup your face, as he continues placing passionate kisses against your lips while thrusting into you. You notice his kisses become more desperate as he slowly increases the rhythm. As Hunter picks up the pace, he buries his face in your neck, panting low in your ear.
You are certain that he can’t go any faster, before he proves you wrong. He increases the pace to a brutal rhythm, fucking you so hard you start screaming.
"So loud,” he rasps, “They're gonna hear us in the Cantina."
"Then make me shut up," you whisper daringly.
A blaze of lust glimmers in his eyes as you lay down that challenge. Something shifts inside of him as he gives you a feral, animalistic look. Hunter quickly covers your mouth with his hand, showing you his more dominant, commanding side which makes you clamp tightly around his cock.
"Oh, you like this," he smirks, satisfied that this is precisely what you wanted all along.
You nod frantically. There is no use hiding how much this turns you on. Despite how much Hunter shows care towards you, you suspect there is something darker which lingers below the surface. You want to draw it out of him.
"What else do you like, hm?" he coos as he wraps his other hand around your throat, lightly choking you, his thumb rubbing your throat possessively.
The sight of you, looking so vulnerable under him as he can finally dominate you makes him frantic with lust. Gone are the measured thrusts and even rhythm of before. Something feral has overtaken Hunter, a desperate need to claim you. He continues silencing your moans with one hand around your throat and one across your mouth, muffling your gasps as he wrecks you with his cock.
Having Hunter's hand muffling your own moans gives you the opportunity to hear his desperate grunts and pants as they mix with the obscene, squelching sound his cock makes each time he thrusts into you. You close your eyes in bliss, enjoying this moment of pure pleasure.
"Can't keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart? Look at me with those pretty fucking eyes," he growls.
You can't help but whimper at that, at how authoritative he sounds. The Sergeant of The Bad Batch is dominating the fuck out of you. You are a moaning, gasping mess beneath him, unable to think about anything other than how good being furiously pounded by him feels.
"I didn't catch that,” Hunter rasps as he slowly lifts his hand from your mouth. He leans down to put his ear against your mouth “What were you saying, sweetheart?"
"L-let me – fuck!” you gasp, too blissed out to form words.
“Use your words,” Hunter commands, slowing his thrusts down so you can finally speak.
“Let me touch you!" you beg, unable to care about how desperate and pathetic you sound. All you can think about is roaming your hands around the warm, firm expanse of his body.
Hunter smirks, intrigued by your request, only too happy to oblige you. He grabs your hand roughly by the wrist and positions it over his abdomen. You can feel his muscles flexing and contracting under your touch as he thrusts into you. His body is as hard as iron and on fire like a damn furnace, burning with lust.
"Maker…" you whisper.
You let your hand trail up to his firm chest. You grope his pectorals, appreciating the firmness of his muscles. Your cunt clenches around his cock at the sight of your hand against his golden skin. A smirk appears on his face, enjoying what he does to you.
Your hand goes up to his broad shoulder, rubbing over it before you move your hand towards his back. You feel how his muscles strain there with each thrust as he continues pounding into you at a relentless pace. Both of your hands are now caressing his back, feeling every single dimple under your fingertips. Just as you try pulling him close, he starts to give it to you even harder. You scratch your fingernails along his back. You watch in awe as Hunter moans in your mouth at that.
"Could–could fucking smell how much you wanted me earlier. You distracted me the whole time. Couldn't think of anything else besides how good you'd look with my cock inside of you,” he rasps in your neck before biting you, growling wildly as he does. “I was so fucking hard for you, sweetheart," Hunter grunts.
He's so feral for you, fucking you so hard. You can't even mumble a response.
"Smell so good – so fucking good–" he whispers in your ear.
"D-don't s–stop," you mumble in your cockdrunk delirium.
"I can't, sweetheart. This cunt's all I ever wanted,” he growls, “Gonna make you mine. Mine."
"Oh, fuck… Yes," you pant as he props himself up, kneeling in front of you without stopping that devastating rhythm for even half a second.
He looks at your body, at the way your boobs bounce with each thrust as he gives it go you even harder, holding on tight to your legs, using them as leverage to bury himself even deeper inside of you. Seeing him like this makes you remember just how badly you wanted to ride his cock earlier.
"Hunter. Hunter. I want to ride you," you whimper.
"Is that an order, Commander?"
"Y–yes. Yes. Order. S–s-sergeant," you mindlessly go on as he keeps thrusting his cock inside of you.
The thought of you bouncing on his cock makes him throb. In an instant, Hunter lifts you in his arms as if you were weightless and makes you straddle him. He sits with his back against the wall of the bunk. His hands are on your waist and you immediately start rocking your hips up and down, giving into your fantasy from earlier.
"Such a good soldier… So good at following orders," you whisper against his lips.
"Yeah… Sometimes," he smirks before gripping your hair and stealing another wet, hot kiss that makes you melt into him even further.
Your head rolls back in pleasure at the way his cock feels from this position. It's devastating, hitting something deep within you. You almost lose yourself in that feeling, but Hunter won’t allow you to. Even though you are on top of him, Hunter is quick to remind you who’s in charge as he takes your jaw in his hand.
"Eyes on me," he orders firmly.
"Yes, Sergeant," you moan.
You swear you feel him throbbing and choke a grunt when he hears the sensual way you pronounce his title. Clearly, using his rank in this context has done something to Hunter. He moves his thumb between your lips and you suck it provocatively, never stopping yourself from meeting his gaze. Hunter’s pupils widen at the sinful way your lips envelop his finger and your tongue gently touches it. His eyes take into your sensual, precious beauty, before bringing you to him and kissing you again.
Your bodies are damp in sweat and rubbing against one another. Your nipples deliciously catch against his hairy, broad chest. You continue moaning into each other's mouths; your tongues never stop touching.
"Hunter, I'm gonna come–" you whimper.
"Hold it for me, sweetheart," he rasps in a sweet, yet dark voice, having the opposite effect from what he intended.
"Please, I want to come on your cock," you plead desperately.
"Not yet," he smirks.
Hunter grabs your hips and guides your movements so that your clit starts to rub against his pelvis. You let out a loud moan as you hold on to him tighter, digging your nails in his shoulders.
"I can't hold it!" you scream with your eyes shut.
He grabs your chin in his hand, clearly uninterested in your desperate appeals.
"Look at me," he says firmly as you open your eyes. Your vision is too blurry to focus on him but you try nonetheless.
"Now come for me, sweetheart," he rasps darkly.
You obey his order and come hard around his cock. An overwhelming, intense wave of pleasure starts at your core and completely takes over your body. You’re wrecked by uncontrollable shakes as Hunter holds you in his strong arms. You scream and pant as you ride your high. Your eyes roll backwards while Hunter focuses on how beautiful you look when you lose control. Especially when he is the one responsible for it.
Hunter feels your heart running in your chest and every single contraction of your muscles around his cock. The unmistakable, heady scent of sex that fills the Marauder drives him insane, making him burst inside of you. He grunts loudly as he fills you up with his load, holding you tight in his grasp.
You moan in each other's mouths, your forehead leaning on his as you look into each other’s eyes. You never leave each other’s gaze as you both give into the highest of pleasure.
As you come down from your high, your rhythm slows down until it stops completely. Your bodies are intertwined like vines, naked and sweaty as you catch breath in each other’s embrace.
You really do make a great team, after all.
Fanarts:
Hunter's back + Shirtless Hunter by @mesvi
Hello handsome by @corukant
Wet Hunter by @iszapizza
Hunter under the shower by @shakall
Hunter and his vibroknife by @ve-ti-ver
Hunter under the shower by @cloned-eyes
Hunter taking off his shirt + Tech by @constant-brain-fog
Hunter taking a shower by kaijurave (on twitter/x)
Summary: You've heard whats going on upstairs at 79’s and tonight you decide to try it.
Notes: I can’t believe I wrote this. Don’t even look at me, this is pure filth and I have no excuse. Description of what’s happening in a dark room. There is lot’s of unprotected sex, oral(f and m receiving), kind of barracks bunny? The description is kept vague and the room is dark so you can imagine it beeing your clone(s) of choice. This is part of a few shorter fics I wrote for Kinktober. If you have any special kink and clone you would love to see, my request are open. All for our favorite copy paste men.
Tonight 79's was more alive than usual, laughter and chatter filling the bar as clones and civilians mingled together. It seemed a few battalions were in for quarterlies at the same time. The familiar smell of drinks, sweat, and cheap food filled the air as you navigated your way through the throng of bodies, your eyes instinctively scanning the room.
Your gaze first landed on a few Coruscant Guards, their red and white armor standing out in the crowd. They were regulars here, often taking up the same tables whenever they were on leave. Tonight, however, there was a greater mix of clones than usual, and as you continued to glance around, you noticed lot’s of white and blue armor scattered throughout the room. 501st troopers, their distinctive color making them easy to spot. They seemed to be blowing off steam, you even spotted a few troopers in white and orange armor from the 212th, drinking and laughing nearby.
Your attention was drawn to a specific table, though. It was occupied by what you could only assume were commanders—men who carried themselves with an air of authority. One of them, in particular, stood out immediately. Wolffe.
You recognized him right away, his grey white armor, the scar running across his face and his piercing cybernetic eye making him impossible to miss. You had... history with him. Your stomach fluttered slightly at the memory of your brief but intense encounter. His gaze, as sharp as ever, scanned the room in a manner that suggested he was aware of everything happening around him.
You made a beeline for the bar before he could spot you, you had different plans tonight. Then, in the corner, your eyes caught sight of another group. These clones were different, and it wasn’t just their black and red armor that set them apart. They were seated away from the rest, almost as if they preferred to keep to themselves. The distinct markings on their armor marked them as members of the elite squad known as the Bad Batch. Even seated, their presence was commanding, and they seemed quieter than the rowdy groups of 501st and 212th troopers, observing rather than fully engaging with the revelry around them.
You’ve never seen them here before, only heard of them, but they were hot.
You pulled your gaze away and made your way to the bar. You leaned against the counter, watching the sea of armor and uniforms, feeling a familiar, restless heat building inside you. It had been weeks since you'd last been satisfied, and the men in here -all strong, built, and confident- were tempting you more than you could bear. You licked your lips as you scanned the room, each clone more attractive than the last.
You'd heard whispers about what went on upstairs at 79's - the dark room where anyone could go, seeking quick satisfaction without names or faces. The idea had always thrilled and terrified you in equal measure.
You'd never dared to venture there. But tonight, after weeks of pent-up desire, the temptation was too strong. Tonight, you were sex-starved, and all the rules you usually held yourself to seemed unimportant. You wanted this. You wanted to be touched, claimed, filled without the usual game of having a drink or two and then hoping your choice of the evening would take you some place more private.
A particular clone caught your eye, his broad shoulders and easy confidence standing out even among the crowd. He was tall, his skin a beautiful tone of caramel and the silhouette of his armor sharp as he moved through the room. You watched as he headed for the stairs, your pulse quickening as you realized where he was going.
The dark room.
You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You had fantasized about it, the thrill of being touched by strangers, of surrendering to the anonymity of the space, letting yourself go. Your heart pounded in your chest as you made your decision. Tonight, you'd take that risk.
You ordered yourself a drink, something strong to ease your nerves, and downed it quickly, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. Then, with one last glance at the stairs, you headed toward the women's restroom. Your breath was shallow as you locked the door behind you, the anticipation building with every second.
Standing in front of the mirror, you looked at your reflection - flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted with excitement. You reached down, sliding your hand between your legs, teasing yourself where the wetness had already begun to pool. Your fingers slid through your folds, just enough to warm yourself up, your breath hitching as you touched your clit. You were ready for this. So ready. After a few moments, you straightened, took a deep breath, and slid your panties off, tucking them into your clutch.
With one last look at yourself in the mirror, you turned and walked out, making your way upstairs to the dark room. The nerves prickled under your skin as you approached the unmarked door.
You pushed it open, stepping inside, and the world around you shifted into complete darkness. The air was thick with heat and sweat, the faint sounds of whispers and bodies moving against each other filling the space.
Your heart raced, your senses heightened in the absence of sight. You waited for your eyes to adjust but they didn’t, it was pitch black. The darkness was thrilling. You couldn't see a thing, but you could feel everything - every brush of fabric, every shift of movement in the room. You stepped forward carefully, your breath shallow as you ventured deeper into the room, your body buzzing with anticipation.
And then, you bumped into someone.
Before you could react, hands were on you. Not just one pair - several.
Large, strong hands gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress. You gasped, your pulse skyrocketing as one hand slipped beneath your dress, hiking it up to expose your bare skin.
"No panties, seems someone’s eager" a voice murmured, filled with appreciation.
A shiver ran down your spine as fingers trailed up your thigh, finding you wet and ready.
You heard a soft gasp of surprise as one of them realized how slick you were, the heat between your legs betraying just how much you wanted this. You barely had time to react before someone dropped to their knees behind you, and the next thing you knew, a hot mouth was on you.
You moaned as a tongue pressed into your folds, licking and sucking at your pussy with an intensity that made your knees weak. Hands continued to roam your body, pulling your dress down to expose your breasts, pinching your nipples, squeezing your ass. You were surrounded, claimed by their touch, the darkness only amplifying the sensation.
"Fuck, she's so wet”, one of them whispered, his voice rough with lust.
You didn't know who they were, and in this moment, you didn't care. All you could focus on was the overwhelming pleasure. The tongue between your legs worked expertly, and you bucked against them, your body desperate for more. Hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against the mouth that devoured you.
Suddenly, someone stepped in front of you, pressing the thick head of their cock against your lips. You moaned, opening your mouth eagerly, taking him in as he slid between your lips. His hand threaded through your hair, gently guiding you as you sucked him, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head.
"Good girl," a deep voice rumbled above you, sending another shiver through your body.
Your mind was spinning from the sensations - one cock in your mouth, another pair of hands working your body, a tongue between your legs. The feeling of being used by all of them, of being taken so completely, had you trembling with need.
And then, just as you were about to fall apart, the mouth on your pussy was replaced by something thicker, harder. You gasped around the cock in your mouth as someone slid into your pussy from behind, filling you to the brim with one smooth thrust.
"She's tight," the voice from behind you groaned as he buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips as he started to move. "So fucking tight."
You moaned around the cock in your mouth, your body stretched and filled in every possible way. The rhythm between them was perfect - one thrusting into your mouth as the other fucked you from behind, their movements in sync, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
"That's it," the voice behind you growled, his hips slamming against your ass as he picked up the pace.
"You're taking us so well, sweetheart.”
Your body was on fire, pleasure building with every thrust. You could barely think, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely. Your hands gripped the cock in front of you, desperate for more as you sucked him deeper into your throat.
You were surrounded and claimed by the men around you. Their armored bodies pressed against your soft skin, their hard edges digging into you, heightening every sensation. The cock in your pussy pounded into you relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge, while the man in front of you thrust deeper into your mouth.
"She's close, getting so karking tight" someone murmured, his voice thick with desire.
You could feel it - the tension coiling in your core, ready to snap at any moment. The hands on your body, the feel of their armor, the sensation of being taken by multiple men at once - it was almost too much. You moaned around the cock in your mouth, your body trembling as the man behind you pounded into you with abandon.
"Come for us," the man inside you growled, his thrusts becoming erratic.
"Let that perfect little pussy squeeze my cock”
With those words, your orgasm ripped through you, your pussy clenching hard around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You moaned around the cock in your mouth, your entire body shaking as you came.
“Fuck”
The man behind you groaned loudly, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural moan. The one in front of you wasn't far behind, groaning as he pushed deeper into your mouth, his cock pulsing as he came down your throat. You swallowed eagerly, your body still trembling with aftershocks as you took everything they gave you.
Before the pleasure had fully faded, he pulled out, but his place was immediately replaced by another cock, hard and ready.
You barely had time to catch your breath before the next man was inside you, filling you once again. The sensation of being fucked over and over, by man after man, their armor pressing against your skin, their hands all over you, pinching you nipples, fingers pushing into your mouth, it was overwhelming. You lost count of how many times you came, your body spent but still craving more. It was intoxicating you couldn’t get enough and you knew you’d be sore the next day, but you didn’t care, you wanted more.
Fingers slid into your pussy next, followed by another cock, and the cycle repeated. Your throat was raw from moaning, your legs trembling and obscene amounts of cum dripping down your thighs as they fucked you hard and fast, each one claiming you like you were theirs.
By the time you finally left the dark room, your legs were shaky, your body blissed out from more orgasms than you could count, your pussy leaking cum with every step you took and you felt completely satisfied, your skin buzzing with the afterglow. You couldn’t stop smiling and you knew you'd be coming back for more.
When you got home later that night, you reached into your clutch for your panties, but instead, you found a small note. Your panties were gone.
With a sly smile, you unfolded the note, reading the simple words:
Summary: You're bored out of your mind at a Senate banquet. Fortunately, Fox has some "confiscated contraband" that's enough to lure you from your post. However, this leads to a topic that catches Fox off-guard, leading him to slip out his best kept secret.
Word Count: 10.1k (i need therapy)
Warnings: Brief alcohol consumption, mutual pining, openly discussing sex like it's nothing, THIS IS SMUT - MINORS DNI
A/N: I am incapable of writing a SFW Fox fic. Thank you @bigbadbatch for beta reading this for me so I don't die like Fives.
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The heavy double doors of the Republic Senate Banquet Hall were designed to keep the chaos of Coruscant out, but all they really accomplished was trapping a different, far more exhausting brand of madness inside.
To the average galactic citizen, tonight’s gala was the pinnacle of high society. It was a dazzling display of unity, wealth, and unwavering resilience in the face of a grueling war. To you, it was a waking nightmare. The air inside the cavernous hall was heavily perfumed with imported Corellian lilies, expensive roasted meats, and the sweat of hundreds of politicians who had never seen the muddy trenches of the Outer Rim. The noise was a bruising weight on your ears. It was a chaotic symphony of clinking crystal glassware, high pitched forced laughter, and sycophantic conversations that made your temples throb.
Worse than the noise, however, was the clothes.
The formal ceremonial robes of a Jedi were clearly designed by someone who had never had to swing a lightsaber, let alone stand perfectly still for four hours under the blinding glare of high intensity lights. Your formal attire was a masterpiece of restrictive design. The inner tunics were woven from a heavy, stiff linen that scratches mercilessly against your collarbone. Over that sat the drapes. They were thick bands of dark, heavy fabric that pressed down on your shoulders like pieces of lead armor. The final insult was the formal cloak. The yards upon yards of floor-length silk caught on your boots every time you shifted your weight, wrapping around your legs like a fabric trap.
To the Senate, the outfit looked like discipline and flawless devotion to the Republic. To you, it just felt like a very expensive, very hot coffin.
You were stationed near the Chancellor’s elevated dinner table, ostensibly under the guise of "heightened security detail." In reality, you were a glorified living ornament. The Jedi Council loved to place its generals on display at these functions. You served as a subtle, visual reminder to the wealthy dignitaries that the Order was successfully bleeding for them on the front lines, so they should probably keep voting to fund the military.
Every muscle in your shoulders was locked into a painful knot. You tried to rely on your training, closing your eyes for a brief second to reach into the Force, searching for a thread of peace. But the Force in this room was a muddy, turbulent swamp.
One senator was hoping another senator’s trade route would collapse. Meanwhile, a corporate delegate was furious that his glass of Alderaanian wine wasn't chilled to the exact, correct temperature.
The sheer, concentrated selfishness of the upper class was staggering. If you stayed inside for one more minute, you were going to entirely lose your composure.
Stepping backward into the deep, welcoming shadow of a massive marble pillar, you bided your time. You watched the crowd for a while, timing your exit perfectly between a boisterous burst of laughter from a group and the grand entrance of a fresh, distracting tray of rare Naboo appetizers. The moment the eyes of the surrounding dignitaries shifted toward the food, you bolted.
You snuck down the hallway and slipped through a pair of arched glass doors at the rear of the hall and stepped out onto a balcony.
The air out here wasn't exactly clean - it was the upper levels of Coruscant, after all. It tasted faintly of speeder exhaust, and the permanent metallic rust of a world entirely made of durasteel. It was cold, but more importantly, it was beautifully quiet.
You immediately leaned your forearms against the polished stone railing, letting your head drop forward. You closed your eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath, letting the wind whip at your robes. Slowly, the tight, throbbing knot behind your eyes began to loosen.
You knew you couldn't stay out here forever. Eventually, an aide or a fellow Jedi would notice your absence. If anyone asks, you firmly told yourself, crafting the mental script, that you are conducting a physical sweep of the perimeter. You were just assessing security vulnerabilities along the outer terrace. You are doing your job. That would work.
"You look like you're plotting an escape, General."
The voice was instantly recognizable. You didn't even have to open your eyes to know who it was. Regardless, you opened your eyes and turned your head, a genuine, unforced smile breaking across your face for the first time all evening.
Commander Fox stood in the balcony doorway. He wasn't wearing his helmet - it was tucked securely under his left arm. In his right hand, he casually carried two condensation beaded glasses of chilled liquid.
"Commander," you exhaled, letting your rigid posture slump just a fraction now that you were in safe, trusted company, "Are you accusing me of slacking?"
"Just making an observation," Fox replied smoothly, his boots clicking with each step against the stone tiles as he walked out onto the balcony. He stepped right up to the railing and extended his right hand, offering one of the glasses, "Here. It looked like you were about two minutes away from drawing your lightsaber on yourself."
You took the glass, your fingers brushing briefly against the rough, black fabric of his glove. You took a sip and nearly sighed with relief. The liquid was crisp, ice cold, and carried a sharp bite. It was the exact kind of drink you would get for yourself if you wanted to forget where you were.
"You're terrifying, Fox," you teased, raising the glass to him in a silent toast, "Did they teach you mindreading on Kamino, or is this a specialized skill they only give in Commander training?”
Fox took a slow, deliberate sip from his own glass, a rare, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Neither, Sir. It’s just what happens when a clone gets stuck on the same planet with his commanding officer for an entire war. You learn the tells. For instance, when you start rubbing the bridge of your nose right before the Chancellor speaks, it means I have approximately ninety seconds before you completely bolt."
You let out a soft, genuine laugh, "Am I really that transparent?"
"Only to me," Fox murmured. His eyes drifted away from you, fixing on the endless, swirling traffic lanes below, where millions of speeders blurred into rivers of red and white light cutting through the skyscrapers. His smirk faded, replaced by his usual, no nonsense professionalism, though his tone remained relaxed, stripped of the rigid military formality he used regularly, "And frankly, I don't blame you tonight. The banquet is a complete disaster. I've spent the last hour stationed near the western entrance listening to a senator from Bespin complain about the air quality on Coruscant."
You snorted into your drink, thoroughly amused, "You're joking."
"I wish I were," Fox exhaled, "A man who literally represents a floating city surrounded by toxic gas clouds spent fifteen minutes lecturing me on atmospheric filtration systems and the legal rights of Tibanna gas workers. Protocol dictates that I remain silent, stand at attention, and maintain a pleasant, compliant demeanor. But internally? I was calling him a colossal idiot in three different languages. It's pure bantha crap in there tonight, General. You don't want to go back in for the closing toasts. Trust me."
"And what do you suggest I do instead, Commander?" you asked, tilting your head back against the stone pillar, looking up at him with a playful, challenging glint in your eyes, "Desert my post entirely? Mr. Protocol himself, suggesting a retreat from a mandatory Senate function? I'm shocked. Truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had a hot date lined up down in the lower levels."
Fox actually scoffed, a short, sharp laugh that rattled the plastoid plating on his chest. "A date. Right. Because between managing logistics for this entire planet, dealing with the Chancellor’s endless security audits, and hunting down rogue bounty hunters, I have so much free time to court civilians."
He turned his head to look back at you, his intense gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual. "No date. But I did manage to acquire something far more valuable than a civilian companion during a customs raid in the lower docks this morning."
Your curiosity sparked instantly. Your strict Jedi training entirely failed to suppress the sudden, human urge to know what a tightly wound Clone Commander considered contraband worth bragging about. You leaned in slightly, your robes rustling. "Oh? Do tell, Commander. What did you find?"
Fox leaned closer, lowering his gravelly voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if they were discussing highly classified Separatist intel rather than standing on a balcony at a public gala. "My men impounded a light Corellian freighter coming in from the Mid Rim. The captain was smuggling unmarked spices, but his personal cabin had some luxury items. Specifically, a pristine, high definition, completely functioning holoscreen. Color-accurate, localized audio, no blue hue. The whole works."
You blinked, a bit startled. "Fox. Did you steal a civilian holoscreen?"
"I requisitioned a piece of unmonitored electronic equipment for monitoring purposes," he corrected flawlessly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of rare, wicked mischief, "It is currently set up and fully operational in my quarters at the military ops center. And before we left for this nightmare gala, Thone got it hooked up to the local broadcast feed."
You stared at him, a sudden, ridiculous realization dawning on you. "Wait so you’re saying-"
"Dilf Dungeon," Fox beamed, “That diabolical show you saw that ad for outside 79’s and have been curious about ever since? The season premiere is tonight. If we leave through the eastern maintenance lift right now, we can escape before the Chancellor's convoy blocks the main exits."
The sheer, glorious absurdity of the situation struck you right in the chest. A highly respected Jedi General and the fearsome Commander of the Coruscant Guard, elite protectors of the Republic, bailing on a crucial, high stakes political gala just to go watch trashy civilian dating drama on a stolen holoscreen.
"Fox," your voice was entirely devoid of any Jedi restraint as a massive, beaming grin split your face, making your eyes crinkle, "If I get caught, I am telling the entire Council that you baited me.”
Fox pulled his helmet from under his arm, sliding it back over his head. Through the visor, his voice carried a distinct, amused smirk. "They'll never believe you, General."
By the time Fox's private office door sealed shut behind you, the tension in your shoulders from the weight of your robes had turned into a dull, throbbing ache.
The main office room was exactly what you would expect from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It was a functional, unyielding workspace dominated by a heavy central desk stacked with encrypted datapads and a flickering tactical grid mapping the lower districts. There were no personal trinkets and no signs of life outside of the strict demands of a soldier.
To the side, however, a narrow door led into his private quarters. It was a compact layout designed for sleeping and that’s it. The quarters were dominated by a single, narrow cot pushed flush against the dark durasteel wall like a utilitarian daybed, and tucked just beside it was a private refresher.
"Make yourself at home, General," Fox murmured as he unlatched his chest plate. He set the plastoid armor into its designated spot for the night. "The security logs for the night shouldn't hit my desk for another few hours. We have time."
He stepped past the cot, bending down to pull a heavy, reinforced storage crate out from beneath the frame. He flipped the latches, fished out a folded bundle of dark fabric, and disappeared behind the sliding door of the refresher.
You leaned your back against the edge of his metal desk, crossing your arms tightly over the heavy, suffocating layers of your ceremonial robes. Every second spent wrapped in the stiff, chafing inner tunics felt like a minor form of torture.
When the refresher door hissed open a minute later, Fox stepped out completely transformed. The imposing Commander of the Guard had vanished. In his place was a man wearing simple, standard issue gray GAR sweatpants and a form fitting black t-shirt with a faded Republic cog stamped over the left chest. Stripped of the bulk of his armor, the sheer physical reality of his build was obvious. But most important, he looked entirely comfortable.
An immediate, sharp wave of jealousy hit you right in the chest.
"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned, looking from his relaxed collar down to your own heavily draped, velvet lined prison of a robe. "You look like you're about to take a standard cycle of shore leave, and I am currently sweating through three separate layers of formal roves. Do you happen to have a spare set of those in that crate, or am I expected to watch the premiere of Dilf Dungeon like an expensive human statue?"
Fox paused, an amused smirk tugging slowly at the corner of his mouth. He leaned his hip against the doorframe of the refresher, crossing his thick arms over his chest as he took in the sheer, tragic absurdity of your elaborate attire.
"The crate is strictly inventoried for Guard personnel, General," he hummed, his voice dripping with dry, playful trouble. "I'm fairly certain misappropriating Grand Army physical training gear for a Jedi civilian counts as a code violation. I'd hate to have to write myself up."
"Fox," you warned, narrowing your eyes at him with a mock-serious glare, "I am your commanding officer. If I have to sit on that cot in these formal drapes, I will make it my personal mission to make you audit the entire military inventory logs for the next three standard months."
Fox let out a short, low huff of a laugh, shaking his head. "Rank pulling. Truly unbecoming of a peacekeeper."
Despite the teasing, he moved back to the storage crate beneath his bed without a second thought. He dug through the neatly stacked contents until he found another bundle of dark gray and black fabric, tossing it directly at your chest. "Here. Go. Before you actually find a code violation to charge me with."
You caught the heavy, soft material with a triumphant grin, "Thank you, Commander."
You practically bolted into the small refresher. With an almost aggressive sense of relief, you began tearing at the intricate, stubborn bands at your shoulders. You unpinned everything, letting the thousands of credits worth of custom tailored fabric fall into a sad, crumpled, abandoned pile in the corner of the floor.
You shook out your arms, letting out a long, shuddering breath of pure physical freedom, and reached for Fox's spare clothes.
The moment you pulled the gray sweatpants up, however, the reality of the size hit you. Clones were engineered to be tall, heavily muscled soldiers. You, by comparison, were completely swallowed alive by the fabric.
The thick waistband of the sweatpants had to be rolled over three full times just to keep them from sliding completely off your hips, and even then, the heavy fleece cuffs pooled comically around your bare ankles. You pulled the black short sleeved t-shirt over your head, and the shoulder seams dropped halfway down your biceps, the hem hanging so low it reached nearly to your knees. You pushed the massive sleeves up your arms, took a breath, and slid the door open.
Fox was standing by the desk, adjusting the volume on the scavenged holoscreen. The moment the refresher door hissed open, his eyes snapped over to you.
He froze entirely. His gaze slowly tracked from the comically rolled up waistband down to the pooled fabric at your feet, then back up to the way the oversized collar shifted loosely against your bare collarbone.
A silence stretched across the room. Then, a deep, rumbling chuckle started at the base of Fox's chest.
"This is outstanding," Fox remarked dryly, a genuine grin splitting his face as he shook his head, "Good to know that if the Separatists ever cut off our supply lines to the front, we can use my spare physical training uniform as an emergency shelter for you. You're drowning in that, General."
"Oh, shut up," you whined, throwing your hands up in exasperation, though you couldn't help but laugh as you took a clumsy step forward, nearly tripping over the excess fabric of the left pant leg. You kicked your foot out toward him in mock defiance. "It is incredibly comfortable. And frankly, after three hours of standing like a statue for the Chancellor, I don't care if I look like a deflated balloon. Now, turn on the contraband, Commander. I didn't risk a lecture from the council just to stand here and be roasted by my own officer."
Fox let out another soft huff, the amused glint still lingering in his eyes as he walked over to the narrow cot. He plopped onto one side of the mattress, leaning his back straight against the wall, one leg bent casually up to support his arm.
You happily shuffled over, navigating the massive sweatpants, and plopped down on the opposite side of the cot. The mattress was firm but compared to standing on the cold marble floors of the Senate, it felt like absolute heaven. You pulled your legs up, crossing them securely beneath the massive folds of the gray shirt, using the far side of the durasteel wall to prop yourself up.
Fox picked up a small, heavily modified remote control, pointing it toward the crate near the foot of the bed. "The things I let myself get dragged into," he grumbled, "If anyone checks the power logs and asks why my quarters has a signal that is streaming a civilian broadcast, I'm blaming you."
"No one will check," you shot back smoothly, leaning your head against the wall. "Boot it up, Fox."
Fox paused, the remote control hovering in his hand. He didn't turn toward the screen immediately. Instead, he slowly turned his head to look back at you, his brow raised.
"Fox?" he questioned, his eyes locking onto yours with amusement, "So we're good to drop titles entirely now?"
You gave him an unbothered, playful tilt of your chin. "I’m hiding in your private quarters, wearing your sweatpants. Titles can take a break."
"Fair enough."
With a quick tap of his thumb, the holoscreen hummed to life. His quarters were instantly flooded with light, casting vibrant shadows across the cold durasteel walls.
Within two minutes, the sheer, unadulterated chaos of civilian entertainment exploded into the room. The show’s premise was laid out by a wildly enthusiastic Twi'lek host with entirely too white teeth and an obnoxiously shimmering vest. A group of young, incredibly glamorous civilians had been moved into a luxury estate on a tropical resort world, entirely unaware that the new batch of contestants entering the house to date them were, in fact, their own fathers.
Fox's expression went from mild curiosity to absolute, unfiltered horror in a matter of frames.
His jaw visibly tightened as a young human woman on screen began sobbing hysterically into a silk couch because her father had just entered the main lounge wearing nothing but golden swim bottoms and immediately tried to flirt with the woman she befriended moments ago.
"What? What is this?" Fox asked as if he were trying to analyze a crime scene that made absolutely no logical sense. His brow furrowed so hard the scar near his hairline twisted. "Why is she weeping? Why is the man in the gold short talking directly to the recording droids about his 'emotional journey'? Is this some form of psychological warfare?"
You burst out laughing, the sound echoing brightly in the cramped room as you watched his face. "No, Fox! It’s a reality show. It’s entertainment. Look at his face! He genuinely thinks he’s the most attractive man in the Core."
"He looks like an insecure man with zero emotional discipline," Fox groaned, his eyes wide with a mixture of disgust and profound disbelief as the screen cut to a commercial for luxury speeders. He turned his head to look at you, “The civilian sector is completely untethered. If my men conducted themselves with this level of public instability, the Coruscant underworld would have dismantled the Guard in a standard week. Who watches this? Why would you want to watch this?"
"Because my life is filled with war, political corruption, and tragedy, Fox," you said softly, shifting slightly against the wall, your voice relaxing into the quiet space between you, "Watching entirely inconsequential people cry over entirely inconsequential problems is the only time my brain actually turns off. It's pure, beautiful, garbage, and I will defend it to the death as elite entertainment."
On screen, the dramatic music swelled as two contestants began a screaming match over who got the larger bedroom, but Fox wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.
He was still staring at you, his head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed in deep thought.
"I still don't buy it," he mused. He shifted his weight on his side of the cot, resting his forearm on his raised knee. "There's got to be a psychological angle here. I bet you only like this garbage because it represents everything the Jedi Order doesn’t stand for."
You turned your head away from the screen, an amused smile playing on your lips. "And what exactly do you think is everything the Jedi Order doesn’t stand for?"
Fox gestured vaguely toward the screen with the remote control held loosely in his hand. "The whole premise of this show. It’s entirely centered on relationships, romance and sex. Those are the big no no’s, right? This is your way of experiencing all of that, but through civilians who don't have a code to follow." He leaned back slightly, a look of absolute certainty on his face. "It's all about relationships and sex. That's what you guys can't have, right?"
You let out a soft snort, leaning your head back against the wall. You looked at him, your expression entirely flat, completely devoid of the solemnity clones usually expected when their generals were discussing the Jedi Code.
"Relationships, no. Sex and romance? Yeah, we can."
Fox froze. The remote control dropped from his hand. For a second, his brain seemed to physically stutter, as his mind was trying to process a sentence that completely shattered everything he had been led to believe about the Jedi.
"What?" he asked, his voice dropping into a flat, stunned register. He blinked, shaking his head as if trying to clear a bad comms signal, "No really, what?"
"We are forbidden from forming attachments, Fox," you explained calmly, shifting comfortably within the massive, enveloping folds of his clothes. "We can't have possessive love, we can't get married, and we can't allow our personal feelings for another individual to dictate our actions or cloud our judgment. That leads to jealousy, fear of loss, and attachment. But the physical act itself? The Order doesn't forbid it."
Fox stared at you, his jaw tightening. To a man who had been bred, raised, and trained under strict, unyielding military protocols where every single action had a regulation attached to it, this loophole sounded completely lawless.
"How does that even work?" Fox questioned. He looked genuinely baffled as his hand dropped to his knee. "How do you just do that? How can anyone separate a physical act like that from emotional attachment? It's an intimate connection between two people. You can't just switch your brain off from attachment, right?"
You couldn't help but laugh at the sheer, intense gravity of his confusion. You gave him a playful, teasing look, tilting your head. "Oh, Fox. Look at you. You're a total romantic, aren't you?"
A dark, red flush crept up the back of Fox's neck, though he stubbornly refused to look away, his gaze locked onto yours with fierce curiosity. “I’m just trying to make sense of this.”
"It's strictly one night stands," you admitted, your tone softening as you laid out the cold reality of Jedi intimacy. You looked past him for a moment, watching the lights of the holoscreen dance across the ceiling. "It’s simple. You see someone once, and you go into it knowing that if they vanished from the galaxy tomorrow, you wouldn't care. There are no names exchanged, no second meetings, no comm frequencies traded. It begins and ends in that room."
You paused, letting out a small, quiet sigh that felt heavy in the narrow space between you. "I admit, it’s unfortunate. But it’s a necessary boundary to avoid attachment. It ensures that my path through the Force remains clear and untainted by the threat of loss. We take what we need for physical release, and then we walk away as strangers."
Fox didn't answer right away. He absorbed your words, his eyes tracking the subtle shift in your expression. The quiet in the room stretched out, entirely detached from the dramatic chaos playing out on the scavenged screen across from you.
Fox cleared his throat. He changed his position on the cot, leaning forward slightly, his chest tightening as he gathered a level of courage he rarely needed on the battlefield.
"Alright," he exhaled, prefacing his next line with a sharp, heavy breath that signaled he was stepping into dangerous territory, "This is the big one."
You raised a brow, thoroughly intrigued by his sudden intensity. "The big one?"
Fox swallowed, his eyes darting to the floor for a fraction of a second before snapping right back to yours, "So, is it any good?"
A wicked, delighted smirk broke across your face. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, entirely unwilling to let him off the hook that easily, "Is what any good, Fox?"
Fox's jaw clenched, his shoulders squaring as if he were facing down a firing squad. "The sex," he said, the word coming out clipped, professional, and entirely forced, "Is it any good?"
You hummed, leaning back against the wall again, throwing a casual, nonchalant shrug into your shoulders. "It’s fine. It’s not all it’s hyped up to be, honestly."
Fox completely short circuited.
He didn't just look surprised - he looked visibly, utterly stunned. He sat perfectly still on his side of the mattress, his eyes wide as your nonchalant review fully registered in his brain. He had sat through this entire conversation fully assuming that you were speaking purely from a theoretical standpoint. He had expected you to say you didn't know because you had never tried it.
But with your casual tone and your effortless dismissal of it all, it pretty much confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that you had. You had actually done it. With someone else. Someone nameless.
"Oh," Fox managed, the word coming out hollow.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Fox's gaze hardened, a strange, sharp tension suddenly flaring in his jaw. He placed his hand on his knee and squeezed, his knuckles turning white as he questioned the reality spinning out in front of him.
"You've actually done that?" he asked, "You've actually just gone out and found a stranger for the night?"
Fox sat perfectly still, his jaw locked so tightly that the small muscle near his temple twitched. The hollow, strained edge in his voice hung in the air between you, a tangible marker of the boundary he had just crossed by asking a question so raw and so entirely divorced from military protocol.
You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his reaction. The defensive, almost possessive sharpness in his dark eyes was entirely unexpected. To you, discussing the cold realities of the Jedi Code was as natural as discussing standard supply routes or hyperspace coordinates. But looking at Fox now, you realized his engineered, structured mind was fighting to process something that felt inherently lawless.
A sudden, lighthearted thought broke through your confusion. You leaned forward, resting your elbows casually on your knees, allowing the hem of his black t-shirt to sag loosely against your collarbone.
"You know, Fox," you began, letting out a soft, incredulous gasp as you tilted your head to look up at him, "You’re sitting here looking at me like I’ve committed a crime. What exactly is stopping you from getting that kind of experience? Clones are technically allowed to. The Republic doesn't mandate celibacy for the Grand Army. We all know what the shinies are up to at 79’s when they are on shore leave. Rex in the 501st even told me one of his men found a long term girlfriend there."
Fox didn't blink. He stubbornly refused to break eye contact, though the blush that crept up his neck seemed to burn just a fraction more. His shoulders squared instinctively, a hard, protective instinct kicking in as he tried to save face, desperately scrambling to composure back over himself.
"My role doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for wandering around over there. Besides, when I do, you typically tag along and have never played wing-general for me," he joked, though his voice was in a defensive mumble. He cleared his throat, looking toward the far corner of the ceiling for a split second before forcing his gaze back to yours. "And frankly, if nameless encounters are as entirely mediocre as you claim they are, I don't mind waiting. I’ll wait for the right person."
His words were spoken with a stubborn conviction that made you pause. The teasing remark that had been forming on your tongue completely died away.
You stopped Fox in his tracks, your entire demeanor shifting from playful amusement to a deep, unyielding seriousness. You looked at the scars on his arms, then up to his hair. Your eyes dragged along the thin scar cutting into his hairline and down to the heavy exhaustion etched permanently under his eyes.
"The only reason it’s mediocre for a Jedi is because there is no passion allowed. There is no emotion, no vulnerability, no warmth. We purposefully drain the act of everything that makes it human so we can walk away without feeling anything."
You leaned back against the cold durasteel wall, pulling your knees up closer to your chest, your hands wrapping around your legs, "It’s admirable that you’re holding out for the right person, Fox."
You turned your head to look at him, "Consider that a luxury you have. Once the war is over, you are a man with his own heart and his own destiny, you have the right to give yourself completely to another person. You have the right to feel that emotional intimacy where two people become entirely intertwined. You have the freedom to experience love in its purest, most passionate form."
Your voice cracked slightly, "But a Jedi will never know that. The Code ensures that we are permanently barred from that kind of intimacy. The freedom to love someone and to wait for the right person and give them everything you are; that is a beautiful, precious thing. Don't dismiss it just because my version of it is hollow."
Fox sat entirely paralyzed on his side of the cot. He never heard you speak with such unshielded vulnerability. To hear you call his capacity for love a luxury, especially to hear the quiet grief in your voice, tore an invisible tear through his heart.
"Look at them," you huffed, trying to inject a bit of your humor back into the room as the Twi'lek host began explaining the romantic drama. "This is a prime example of what I'm talking about. They can swap partners by the next broadcast cycle and they won't suffer a crisis of identity. It's the perfect model of detachment."
"Alright," he mused, "Let's say I accept the logic. If there's no emotion allowed, how does a Jedi even select someone? How do you choose a person to do that with? What's the criteria?"
You let out a genuine laugh this time. "Oh, it's incredibly scientific," you joked, throwing a wide, playful grin his way. "You don't overthink it. You just go into a cantina, look around, and pick the closest, tall, handsome guy who doesn't look like a total loser, but gives off massive 'one night stand' vibes. You look at them, they look at you, you reach an unspoken agreement, and that's it. It's safe. It's predictable."
You expected him to huff, or to make another dry, sarcastic comment about civilian lack of morals.
Instead, Fox completely slipped up.
"The woman I'm attracted to - hypothetically - I'm going to be attached to," Fox hesitated, for a moment. He stared at you, "I wouldn't want the idea of her with anyone else even scratching my mind. The thought of some random lowlife, some cantina stranger even looking at her like that."
You froze, the smile completely vanishing from your face as you stared back at him. The sheer, untamed ferocity in his voice was startling. You had seen Commander Fox face down angry anti-war mobs, corrupt politicians, and syndicates without ever losing his cool, but right now, he looked entirely ready to tear the galaxy apart with his bare hands over a purely hypothetical scenario.
"And that, Fox, is exactly why we look for guys who don't think like you.” Your voice carried a gentle but firm warning, "A man who loves with that kind of intense, protective possessiveness would get entirely destroyed by a Jedi. If a Jedi took someone like you to a room for a night and then walked away the next morning without ever looking back, it would break you. That's why random civilians are the only safe option. They don't care, so we don't have to care either."
The words were meant to be an explanation and a gentle reminder of why the boundaries existed. But inside Fox’s mind, the truth was an agonizing reality.
He sat there, staring at you, realizing the absolute, bitter irony of his entire existence. He was a perfect fit for every single piece of your physical description. He was the closest man to you, he was tall, he was undeniably attracted to you, and he knew damn well he wasn't a loser. He was right here. He was the safest harbor you had in the entire galaxy.
But because he actually cared, because he harbored a deep devotion to you that went far beyond military duty, he was permanently disqualified. A random, nameless scumbag in a dirty cantina was a safer choice for you than the man who spent every single day at your side. The fact that his attachment to you was the very thing that made him toxic to your Jedi way of life made him want to scream.
"Fox?" you asked softly, leaning slightly closer across the space between you, your eyes searching his face with genuine concern, “I can feel it. You’re angry."
Fox closed his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, "It’s not that.”
He offered you a small, sad, and entirely heartbreaking half smile, "I'm not angry. I guess it just upsets me to think that out of everyone in this miserable galaxy, the person who deserves that kind of real, passionate love the most isn't even allowed to have it. It’s a shame, that’s all."
"Thank you, Fox," you said softly. You looked at the tired, dark lines beneath his eyes, giving him a gentle look. "But you know, you deserve that kind of love just as much as anyone else in this galaxy. Probably more than most."
Fox didn't answer. He simply gave a slight, microscopic nod.
You shifted your weight on the narrow mattress, stretching your legs out across the length of the cot. Without overthinking it, you casually rested your lower legs and feet right across Fox's lap.
Fox didn't move away. He didn't tense up, either. He simply let his hands rest on your legs, his thumb tracing a slow, subconscious circle against your shin, entirely accepting the casual intimacy of the gesture. He looked down at your feet in his lap, then cut his eyes over to the holoscreen where one of the girls was currently throwing a tropical drink into a dad’s face.
"This show is absolute garbage," Fox grumbled, "If you're that desperate for a distraction that we are watching this, let’s head down to the lower levels. I’ll personally escort you to the nearest cantina and help you scan the room for a tall, handsome stranger who fits your criteria. I'll even check his security clearance for you."
You slowly lifted your right leg and playfully nudged his forearm with your foot to get his attention. You tilted your head against the wall, a dangerously amused smile breaking across your face.
"Nah," you shrugged, "I’ve got one right here I can just look at."
Fox completely froze.
The circle his thumb had been tracing against your leg stopped dead. Slowly, almost painfully, he forced his neck to turn, his head pivoting until his intense, bewildered gaze locked back onto your face.
"Right here?" Fox questioned, "Are you telling me that I physically make the cut for one of your one night stands, but I don’t make the final cut for the list because I’m me?"
He expected you to laugh. He expected you to kick his arm again and call him an idiot.
Instead, the humor entirely faded from your face.
Your expression went serious. You looked at him, your gaze holding his with an intensity that made the smirk die instantly on his lips. The playful, teasing atmosphere evaporated.
"Fox," you said just barely over a whisper, "Trust me. You never want to be on that list."
Fox blinked, his brow furrowing, "Why not?"
"Because I don't even remember those men's names," you confessed bluntly, looking dead into his eyes. There was no shame in your voice, only the cold reality of the Code you lived by. "I can't picture their faces. If I passed them in a hangar or a corridor tomorrow, I wouldn't even recognize them. When I was with them, I felt pure apathy. They were a nameless, fleeting hookup meant to be forgotten. That is all they ever were, and that is all they were ever allowed to mean to me."
You paused, leaning forward, your knees brushing against his thighs, "If I woke up tomorrow and you were gone, I would be upset for quite some time. I would miss you terribly. I would miss your humor, your complaints, and the way you always know exactly when I need to escape. I care about you."
Fox's breath caught in his throat, his chest rising as your words sliced through his last defenses.
"If I put you on that list," you explained, "it would mean I’d have to force myself to feel that apathy toward you. It would mean going into a room with you knowing that if you vanished from the galaxy the next day, I wouldn't care. And the truth is, Fox; I care far too much to ever do that to you."
He caught the beautiful, terrifying paradox immediately.
"Hold on," Fox paused, his voice dropping as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes searching yours, "That kind of sounds exactly like the way you were describing what attachment is earlier."
A small, helpless, and incredibly soft smile broke across your face. You didn't look away. Instead, you looked at the man whose clothes you were wearing, whose lap your legs were resting in, and you gave him the ultimate, honest confession.
"That's why I'm sitting on the other side of your cot, Fox," you hummed.
"Well," he murmured with his familiar irony, "good to know that legendary Jedi self-restraint is actually functioning for something. I'd hate to think all that meditation was going to waste."
You let out a soft breath that was half laugh, half sigh. The casual warmth of your legs resting across his lap felt dangerously comfortable. But the sheer honesty of what you had just admitted, that you cared too much to ever reduce him to a nameless face, still lingered in the air
"If you keep looking at me like that, maybe you and I are just going to have to take a little trip to the nicer cantinas tonight. I'll help you find someone absolutely perfect for the night. Someone who is just right for you."
The reaction was instantaneous, and it wasn't the amused banter you had been angling for.
"No, no, no, no," Fox shut it down aggressively. His entire posture locked up, his hands tightening around your legs as he shook his head, "Absolutely not."
You blinked, surprised by the hostility of his rejection, "Fox, it was just a-"
"I know," he interrupted, doubling down. He leaned closer to you, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line, "If random, nameless encounters are as entirely bland and hollow as you say they are, then,” he paused, “I want the real thing, or I want nothing."
You stared at him, completely captivated by his romanticism. For a clone bred in a laboratory, his view on intimacy was staggering in its purity.
You tilted your head, “How do you plan on identifying a feeling that complex?"
Fox didn't answer immediately. A sudden, quiet stillness washed over his face. A very small, private smile touched the corner of his mouth. It looked so soft, it completely transformed him.
"I know," he said simply.
The words slipped out before he could catch them. He froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly as he realized exactly what he had exposed. He rushed to correct it, "I mean- I'll know. When it happens. I'll know."
But the slip had already done its work. He kept his eyes fixed on the holoscreen, his heart thudding a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He had been keeping his feelings hidden for months, burying them beneath piles of datapads, late night security logs, and inventory records. The man was completely, deeply, and hopelessly in love with his General. He loved the brilliant, chaotic light you brought into his world. He loved the sound of your laughter in his quiet quarters. He loved the very fabric of your being. And keeping that truth locked away was becoming harder with every passing second.
You, however, had caught the slip, and your curiosity was instantly piqued. You pried at the sudden vulnerability, leaning closer across the gap of the cot.
"Fox.” You reached out, nudging his forearm with your foot again, demanding his attention, "Don't you dare try to 'I'll know' your way out of this."
Fox kept his head turned away, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Oh, bantha shit," you laughed, "There absolutely is someone in mind. Because if there wasn't, Fox, you'd just deny it. If you know you’re in love then what are you waiting for?"
Fox let out a long, ragged sigh that seemed to drag itself from the very depths of his soul. "I don't even know what I'm waiting for," he admitted in a defeated whisper. He looked down at your legs over his lap, "Even if I tried, it won't happen."
"Hey," you said, your humor instantly softening into a gentle, optimistic pep talk. You hated the absolute defeat in his tone. You couldn't understand why a man like him would ever count himself out. "Don't talk like that. You don't know until you try, Fox. You face down impossible odds every day. Whoever she is, you just have to take the leap."
Fox huffed out a bitter, hollow half laugh,"I do know. She's the only person in the galaxy I can't have."
The words were a direct, screaming confession, but your mind remained completely blind to it. You wouldn’t even think of the idea that you were the center of his universe. You scoffed, throwing your hands up in a dismissive gesture as you rolled your eyes.
"Oh please," you exaggerated, entirely missing the mark as you rained compliments on him, "You know damn well you could get whoever you want, Fox. Look at you. You are incredible. You run the entire security of this planet without falling apart. You are handsome, you are fiercely dedicated, you are brilliant, and any woman in this galaxy would be damn lucky to have you completely devoted to them. Stop selling yourself short."
Every single word of praise tore through Fox. The compliments, meant to lift his spirits, actively hurt him. Hearing the person he loved list every single reason why he was desirable, while remaining utterly blind to the fact that his heart belonged entirely to them, was a form of torture the Republic wouldn’t dare use on even its worst prisoners.
"Do you truly believe that?" Fox asked.
“I would never lie to you. You know that."
Fox looked away. The last line of hope inside his chest completely collapsed, leaving him entirely crushed. He stared at the far corner of the room, his face hardening into a mask of pure sorrow.
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice almost cracking, "Then it really is unfortunate."
The words echoed in the small space, bouncing off the walls. You sat perfectly frozen on your side of the cot, your mind racing backward through the entire conversation at lightspeed.
I'm waiting for the right person...
The woman I'm attracted to, I'm going to be attached to...
She's the only person in the galaxy I can't have...
That's why I'm sitting on the other side of your cot…
The pieces finally clicked.
A sudden wave of realization crashed over you, leaving you entirely breathless. Your heart gave a massive, frantic thud against your ribs as your face dropped in shock. The blindness vanished in an instant, leaving truth exposed between you. It wasn't a civilian. It wasn't a senator's aide.
It was you. It had always been you.
"Fox," you softly whispered his name, the syllable barely carrying enough air to escape your lips.
He immediately locked down. Sensing the exact moment the realization hit you, his survival instincts kicked in with a vengeance. He completely shut his emotional vault, his face turning into an expressionless stone wall as he snapped his gaze upward. He stared fixedly at the ceiling, his eyes wide and unblinking as he deliberately avoided eye contact at all costs. His chest rose and fell. His breath came in strained, shallow gasps as he tried to pretend he hadn't just destroyed the only boundary he had left.
"Fox," you repeated, your voice stronger this time, filled with a sudden, fierce determination.
He didn't move. He kept staring at the ceiling as if his life depended on it.
Completely obliterating the physical boundary that had kept you safe on the other side of the cot, you crawled forward. You dragged your legs out of his lap, bending your knees as you slid across the mattress, closing the distance between your bodies until your chest was only inches from his.
You reached up, your hands entirely steady despite the frantic racing of your heart. You placed your fingers gently along the rough, scarred line of his jaw, your thumb resting against his cheekbone. The heat of his skin burned against your palms.
Gently, you guided his face down, forcing his head to turn. He still tried to look away, his eyes darting desperately toward the far wall, his teeth grinding together as he fought the pull of your hand.
You dropped your voice to a soft, incredibly intimate whisper, the sound vibrating directly against his skin.
"Hey."
The word was a command, a plea, and a promise all at once.
Fox's resistance completely broke. He finally, slowly, turned his eyes straight into yours. The depth of his devotion was entirely exposed, a quiet storm of love and terror swirling in his gaze as he looked at you from inches away, entirely at your mercy.
A breath shuddered out of him. The most fiercely guarded secret of Clone Commander Fox was laid out between you.
"You're right, Fox," you whispered, "I already failed in the attachment department. Because no matter what happens today or tomorrow, you will always mean something to me. You already do."
His hands came up, not to push you away, but to grasp your wrists where they held his face, as if your touch was the only thing tethering him to reality. His grip was tight, almost painful. Slowly, he leaned his face closer, his nose brushing against yours as his voice dropped.
"Please," Fox pleaded, "I know you forget those nights and the people you shared that with. But please, promise me you won’t forget this."
You began to breathe out, a soft, sweet response. A promise to never let him fade into the dark, but the words vanished entirely, swallowed whole as he leaned in and placed his lips on yours. There was no desperate collision. His kiss was claiming, deliberate and deep like slow, soul searching exploration that poured every ounce of his confessed devotion into you. His hands released your wrists to cradle your face, his touch tender, his thumbs tracing the arches of your cheekbones.
You melted into him, your own hands sliding up his chest, feeling the powerful, rapid beat of his heart through the soft fabric. You kissed him back with equal measure, pouring your own truth into it. It was your want, your certainty, your love, a word the Code forbade but your soul screamed nonetheless.
The kiss deepened, and grew hungrier. His tongue swept against yours, a slow, intimate dance. One of his hands slid from your face, down your neck, over your shoulder, coming to rest on your hip, his fingers pressing into the muscle there, possessive and grounding.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw and down your neck. You tipped your head back with a soft sigh, your fingers tangling in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. He found the base of your throat and sucked gently, drawing a low moan from you. The sound seemed to galvanize him. His hands moved to the hem of your - his - t-shirt.
He paused, “May I?”
The uncertainty in his voice melted you.
You pressed your lips to his ear, "Of course.”
That single fragment of permission was all it took to collapse the final wall of his hesitation. Fox’s hands slid beneath the hem of the shirt, his touch sending a shiver straight up your spine as his palms dragged upward. He was incredibly gentle, yet entirely checking for any sign of hesitation as he lifted the shirt over your head and cast it away into the darkness of the small quarters.
The cool air of his quarters kissed your skin. You sat before him in just his sweatpants, and you had never felt more seen. You reached for him, pulling his own shirt up. He helped you, his muscles shifting under your palms as you pulled the shirt over his head. His chest was a map of his service. There were pale scars from shrapnel, a deeper one from an explosion, but above that was the powerful build of a man who carried himself through war.
Fox reached back out to you, wrapping his hands around your back and pulling you closer until his lips were almost brushing yours. But he paused, blinking a few times and pulling his head back.
“I- What if-” he began, but he couldn’t finish. The fear was too large. The fear of being inadequate, of being a disappointment, of giving you the most sacred thing he possessed only to have it filed away as a forgettable experience. The fear that his inexperience would mean he couldn’t give you what others had, that he’d fail you in the one moment he wanted, more than anything, to be perfect.
You rested your forehead on his, sensing his fears, “I don’t need this to be perfect. I need this to be you.”
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The answer to his fear was in the steady, sure pressure of his hands on your shoulders, a gentle but undeniable force that guided you backwards until the mattress met your back. You went willingly, your eyes never leaving his. The world narrowed to the space between your bodies.
He followed you down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging you in. t across your chest with each breath. His gaze traced the line of it, then lifted back to your face. He leaned in, slowly, his lips finding yours in a kiss. It was deep, unhurried, and profoundly quiet. A communication more intimate than words. His tongue swept against yours, a slow, claiming dance that tasted of shared breath and absolute trust. You could feel the slight tremor in his muscles, not from fear now, but from the intensity of his focus, the sheer magnitude of the moment.
He lowered himself, the heat of his bare skin meeting yours from chest to thigh. The sensation was so profoundly right it drew a soft, shuddering sigh from you both. He buried his face in the curve of your neck for a moment, breathing you in, his lips pressed to your collarbone. Then he lifted his head, his eyes finding yours again. In their depths, you saw a universe of feeling - awe, devotion, a tender, fierce protectiveness that stole the air from your lungs.
His hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweatpants and the soft cotton beneath. He paused, a silent question in his raised brow. You answered by lifting your hips. He drew the garments down your legs with a reverence that was never taught on Kamino. When you were bare to him, he simply looked, his gaze a slow, worshipful journey that made you feel not exposed, but seen. Truly, completely seen.
You returned the favor, your hands going to the waistband of his own pants. He helped you, shifting his weight, and soon the last barrier was gone, kicked to the foot of the cot. The reality of him, fully aroused and achingly ready, was a potent truth between you. The sight sent a fresh, liquid rush of heat through your core.
He settled back over you, and this time, the full weight of him pressed you into the mattress. The feel of him, skin to skin, from the hard planes of his chest to his legs against yours, it was an overwhelming, perfect intimacy. He kissed you again, as he positioned himself at your entrance. The broad, blunt head of him nudged against your sensitive folds, already slick and ready for him.
He stilled, breaking the kiss to look down between your bodies, watching. His expression was one of rapt, almost painful concentration. Then his eyes, dark and blazing with emotion, lifted back to yours. He held your gaze, a silent promise passing between you. This was it. No going back.
With a slow, inexorable press of his hips, he entered you.
It was a feeling beyond description. A stretch of initial resistance that melted instantly into a consuming, perfect fullness. He filled you completely, a joining so deep it felt less like penetration and more like two separate halves fusing into one whole. A low groan escaped his throat. It sounded like a mix of profound pleasure and overwhelming emotion. You cried out softly, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, to take all of him.
He held there, buried into you, his entire body trembling with the effort of remaining still. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath coming in ragged, hot gusts against your lips. You could feel him, every throbbing inch of him, inside you. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart where your chests were pressed together. The connection was absolute, a circuit of sensation and emotion that left no room for thought.
Then, he began to move.
It was not a frantic pace. It was a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that seemed to originate from the very core of him. He moved with a natural, instinctive grace, his hips finding a cadence that worked perfectly. There were no words. The only sounds were the soft, wet sounds of him thrusting against you, the syncopated rhythm of your mingled breathing, the occasional, gasp or groan that was more feeling than sound.
Your eyes remained locked. In his gaze, you saw only Fox giving himself over to this experience with a trust that was humbling. You watched as pleasure consumed his face; the tightening of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelids, the parting of his lips on a silent moan. He watched you, seeing every flicker of ecstasy that his movements wrought within you, his own eyes darkening with a possessive, tender joy.
The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened, a sweet, relentless pressure. You could feel his own control beginning to fray at the edges, his rhythm gaining a subtle, urgent hitch. His thrusts became slightly harder, deeper, each one a deliberate press against that blissful, internal spot that made the galaxy burst behind your eyes.
You clenched around him and his eyes flew wide open, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.
“Please,” he managed to let out.
It was the only word spoken.
The peak, when it arrived, did not crash over you. It rose from the depths of the profound connection and radiated outward, suffusing every limb. Your climax was a silent, shattering expansion, a feeling of pure, radiant light flooding your senses. Your muscles clamped around him in rhythmic pulses, the sensation tearing his own release from him.
He didn’t cry out. A deep, shuddering groan was wrenched from the very depths of his soul as he buried himself into you and held, pulsing inside you. His entire body locked, then convulsed in a series of powerful tremors. You felt the hot, intimate rush of his release, that triggered another, softer wave of pleasure within you.
Through it all, your foreheads remained pressed together. Your eyes, blurred with unshed tears of overwhelming feeling, stayed open, locked on his. You witnessed the exact moment of his surrender, saw the awe and the disbelief that washed over him. He saw the same in you.
For a long, timeless moment, there was only that point of contact and the emotion of a moment that was about far more than physical release.
Gradually, the tremors subsided. His breathing began to slow. He didn’t collapse. He softened, his weight settling more fully upon you, but he kept his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still holding yours. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a slow path through the stubble on his temple. You didn’t brush it away. It was a sacred part of this.
He had not lost his virginity through sex. He never wanted to. He wanted to by making love. And he did.
After a long moment, he shifted his weight completely off of you, rolling to the side just enough to pull you flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you like the whole army would be needed to try and tear you away from him.
You rested your head over his chest, your fingers mindlessly tracing scars on the edge of his shoulder. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, finally understanding the truth your Master spent your lifetime trying to protect you from.
The one night stands weren’t intimacy at all. They never were. They were just the Jedi’s fabrication of what they believed intimacy should be.
This is what it was actually supposed to feel like. It was supposed to leave you breathless, but not from sex, but from the sheer magnitude of caring about someone so much it hurt.
You let out a soft sigh and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against his chest. You spent your whole life following a Code that was designed to keep you from all of this. But lying there, wrapped in Fox’s arms, you knew there could be no darkness in this. You both were merely experiencing what love was supposed to be, with the person it was supposed to be experienced with.
