“their reactions to when someone is staring at you.”
a/n: saw @tanobatcher’s tiktok where she wrote out her own head cannons and i NEEDED to write them out. thank you for giving me permission to write this out pooks. doing the commanders and captains first!
✶⋆.˚ CODY - CC-2224
It starts while you and Cody are waiting in line at a small café on Coruscant—one of those rare, quiet days where the war feels far away.
You’re reading the menu, rambling about wanting to try the new pastry, and Cody is just… watching you. Soft, relaxed, genuinely happy to be here with you instead of on a battlefield.
Then he sees it.. some guy at a table across the room, openly staring at you.
Not a passing glance.
Not polite curiosity.
A full-on, shameless, hungry stare.
Cody’s smile doesn’t even falter, but he shifts his stance ever so slightly—shoulders squared, chin lifting.
His hand rests casually on the small of your back, thumb brushing with a grounding gesture for himself more than for you.
You don’t notice.
But Cody sees everything.
He leans in, voice low, teasing, warm against your ear,
“Look at you… collecting fans wherever you go.”
You laugh, nudging him.
“Fans? Please. He’s probably staring at the menu behind me.”
Cody snorts, soft but incredulous.
“Oh no, cyare. Trust me.. he’s definitely here for you.”
You roll your eyes, amused, flustered, completely unaware that Cody has already mapped out five different ways to remove this man from the room without disrupting lunch.
“He’s harmless,” you shrug.
“Mm,” Cody hums, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Inside, his thoughts are a different story.
Stop staring at her. She didn’t invite your attention. Walk away before I make you.
He keeps his expression light, because the last thing he wants is to ruin your good mood over something so small.
You finally decide on chocolate, and Cody orders for both of you—calm, polite, charming.
But while you wait, the staring continues, and Cody feels every muscle in his body coil tighter.
He doesn’t confront.
Not yet.
Instead, he slides closer, arm brushing yours, claiming you without making a scene.
“Careful,” you tease him. “People might think you like me.”
Cody gives you that tiny, sideways smirk that always melts you.
“Oh, they already know,” he murmurs. And I want them to.
When you run to grab napkins, Cody’s eyes flick back to the man.
One single look—sharp, commander-level, utterly lethal.
Stop. Now.
And like magic, the guy’s gaze drops to his drink, shoulders stiffening, suddenly reconsidering every life choice he’s ever made.
Cody exhales slowly, controlled, tension draining from his posture.
Not because he doubted himself, he just didn’t want to escalate and ruin your day.
When you return, completely oblivious to the storm that almost happened, he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers resting comfortably at your hip.
You raise a brow.
“Possessive much?”
He chuckles, brushing a playful but honest kiss to your temple.
“Well, what can I say? My girlfriend’s famous.”
You laugh, leaning into him, and Cody decides, yep, worth it.
He’ll joke, he’ll tease, he’ll keep it light… because your happiness matters more than his pride.
But Maker help the next person who forgets how to respectfully use their eyes.
✶⋆.˚ REX - CT-7567
The 79’s cantina is unusually calm tonight—soft music, dim lights, clones scattered at tables unwinding after long rotations.
You and Rex sit in a booth tucked against the wall, his arm draped behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel protected.
He looks relaxed even though he wore his armor, chestplate reflecting the warm lighting, helmet resting beside him on the seat.
He’s smiling because you just said something that made him forget there’s a war outside.
And then he sees it.
Across the room, a man—civilian, slouched at the bar—eyes locked on you.
Not accidental, not passing curiosity.
Lingering. Bold. Disrespectful.
Rex’s smile fades, jaw tightening just a fraction. He forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose.
Benefit of the doubt, he tells himself. Maybe he’s looking past her. Maybe he’s not actually staring.
You’re too busy talking, unaware, glowing in the low lighting, and all Rex wants is to stay in this tenderness a little longer.
But then the stranger’s gaze drops—slowly, lingering, crawling—and returns to your face with a smirk.
Rex’s patience snaps like a blaster bolt through glass.
His arm moves from behind you to rest firmly on the table—protective, grounding—as he turns his head just enough to confirm what he already knows.
Yeah. The guy’s staring at you.
Controlled yet furious, Rex exhales through his teeth. Maker, keep me from decking this man in front of her.
He really does try to stay seated.
To ignore it.
To be the reasonable, composed captain you deserve.
He lasts maybe a second.
Then he stands, his plastoid armor shifting with the movement. Smooth, silent, terrifyingly calm, and he starts walking.
“Rex?” you ask softly, confused.
He doesn’t answer, because he already knows what needs to be done.
He reaches the bar and stops right beside the man, close enough that the air shifts, close enough that the entire room quiets.
Rex doesn’t yell.
He doesn’t have to.
He leans in slightly, voice dangerously even.
“You wanna tell me what you’re lookin’ at?”
The man startles, eyes wide. “I—I wasn’t—”
Rex lets out a humorless and sharp laugh.
“Oh, you were. And now you’re gonna stop.”
The stranger opens his mouth, maybe to deny it, maybe to be stupid, but Rex raises a brow, and the words die in his throat.
Rex’s posture is relaxed, hands loose at his sides, but every fiber of him radiates do not test me.
The man swallows hard. “S-sorry.”
Rex nods, like this was a polite conversation about the weather.
“That’s what I thought.”
He steps back—not breaking eye contact—until he’s sure the guy gets the message.
Then Rex turns, face softening instantly when he sees you watching him.
He returns to the booth, sliding in beside you again, armor knocking lightly against the seat.
You give him a look mix of concern and affection.
“You okay?” you whisper.
Rex shrugs, arm returning behind you, this time brushing your shoulder deliberately.
“Fine. Just didn’t like how he was looking at you.”
You smirk. “Jealous?”
He scoffs, but his ears turn the faintest shade of pink.
“Protective,” he corrects, voice quieter. “There’s a difference.”
You lean into him.
“Well… thank you.”
Rex pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was gentle and grounding, everything he wishes the galaxy was.
“I’ll always look out for you, cyare. Always.”
Across the room, the man suddenly finds the floor very interesting.
And Rex?
He goes right back to smiling, because as far as he’s concerned, problem handled.
✶⋆.˚ WOLFFE - CC-3636
It’s supposed to be a peaceful night—just you, Wolffe, and a quiet stroll through a small Coruscant marketplace after his shift.
Shops are closing, lights dimming, crowds thinning.
Wolffe stays beside you, hand instinctively hovering near the small of your back. Not quite touching, but always there if you need him.
He’s in full armor, helmet tucked under his arm, hair slightly mussed from hours of command.
He looks tired, but content.
You’re pointing out a vendor selling tiny holo figurines when Wolffe feels it—the weight of someone’s stare.
Sharp. Intentional. Unwelcome.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in him goes perfectly still.
Without a word, his gauntleted hand finds your waist and gently guides you forward, placing you directly in front of him.
Your back meets his chest, solid and warm, as his legs widen just slightly, bracketing yours.
A wall of armor and possessive silence.
You blink up at him. “Wolffe?”
He doesn’t look at you—he’s too busy tracking the man across the walkway, gaze narrowed to a sniper’s focus.
“Nothin’ to worry about,” he mutters, voice low, controlled.
But his arm stays firm around your middle, pulling you closer, tucking you securely into his side like you belong there.. because you do.
The guy keeps staring—pretending he’s not, but failing miserably.
Wolffe’s jaw flexes once. Twice.
He won’t cause a scene… not unless he has to.
You go back to browsing, unaware of the storm brewing behind you.
Wolffe rests his chin lightly atop your head, positioning himself so his body blocks the man’s line of sight completely.
Then the stranger decides to walk past you both—slowly, deliberately—eyes still lingering.
Wolffe doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t warn.
Doesn’t negotiate.
He just moves.
As the man passes, Wolffe straightens, shifts his stance, and shoulder checks him HARD.
Hard enough to send the guy stumbling, nearly losing his footing, making a few heads turn.
“Oh. Sorry,” Wolffe says flatly, tone so insincere it’s practically a threat.
The man looks up, ready to start something, until he sees who hit him.
The armor.
The scar.
The unblinking grey-striped commander staring him down like prey.
Wolffe tilts his head. Just a fraction as he silently challenges him.
The guy swallows, quickly averts his eyes, and keeps walking fast.
Wolffe watches him disappear into the crowd, making sure he’s gone.
Only then does he soften, hand returning to your waist, pulling you gently back against him.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
You turn, confused but smiling, completely oblivious. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
Wolffe exhales through his nose, relief slipping into something warm, almost fond.
“No reason,” he lies, thumb rubbing absent circles into your hip.
You loop your arm around his middle, leaning into him.
“You’re in a cuddly mood today.”
He huffs. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”
You laugh and start walking again, and Wolffe follows—close, attentive, protective—eyes still scanning the area, just in case.
Because if anyone else even thinks about staring?
They’re getting shoulder checked too.
✶⋆.˚ FOX - CC-1010
Coruscant nightlife always felt a bit too loud, too bright, too chaotic, but you liked it.
And Fox liked you, so here he was, escorting you to a late dinner during his shift, armor still on, helmet on, posture relaxed for once.
You’re talking about your day, your voice was soft yet excited, and Fox can’t stop staring at you.
Not in the way others do.
His gaze is reverent. Protective. Home.
Then he notices it.
A man at the bar—leaned back in his stool, drink forgotten—eyes glued to you.
Tracking every movement. Undressing you with his stare.
Fox’s pleasant mood dissolves instantly, replaced with a cold, razor-sharp alertness.
You don’t notice since you’re too busy looking through the dessert menu.
Fox does, though. He always does.
He leans slightly toward you, voice calm but edged with steel,
“Stay here a moment, mesh’la.”
You blink. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he says with a reassuring smile. “Just handling a little… administrative matter.”
You don’t even have time to ask before he’s already striding across the room—purposeful, predatory, commander mode activated.
The man doesn’t look up until Fox’s shadow falls over him.
Fox crosses his arms—biceps straining against plastoid, posture perfect and terrifying.
“Enjoying the view?” he asks pleasantly.
The guy stutters. “Wh-what?”
Fox smiles dangerously under his helmet. “I said, were you enjoying staring at the woman I’m with?”
The man’s mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.
“I-I wasn’t staring—”
Fox taps the Coruscant Guard emblem on his shoulder plate.
“Right. Because if you were, that would qualify as harassment. Which, fortunately for you, falls under my jurisdiction.”
The man pales, looking around for help. There is none.
Fox leans closer, lowering his voice so only the man can hear.
“Here’s how this goes. You’re going to stop looking at her, finish your drink, and leave. Or I will drag you out of here in binders, and you won’t see daylight again without clearance codes.”
He pauses, letting it sink in.
“Do we understand each other?”
The man nods so aggressively Fox worries he’ll sprain something.
“Good,” Fox says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
When Fox turns away, the man grabs his coat and practically sprints out of the building.
Fox returns to your table like nothing happened, sliding into his seat, expression calm, voice soft again.
“Sorry about that. What did you decide on?”
You narrow your eyes.
“What did you do?”
Fox shrugs innocently.
“Public safety is my responsibility.”
You give him a look. “…Fox.”
He sighs, reaching for your hand.
“Alright, alright. Maybe I reminded him I outrank literally everyone in this district.”
You snort. “You love pulling the rank card.”
Fox smirks, kiss-creases forming at the corners of his eyes.
“Why have power if you can’t weaponize it in defense of your beautiful partner?”
You laugh, shaking your head, until your datapad pings.
You glance at the screen.
“Um… Fox? Did you just add him to a watchlist?”
Fox removes his helmet as he pops a bite of bread into his mouth, casual as ever.
“Of course. Can’t be too careful.”
“Fox—”
“What? Saves time later.”
You stare at him in disbelief, and maybe a little awe.
He softens, thumb brushing your knuckles.
“I’m never letting someone make you feel unsafe. Not on my planet.”
You melt, because honestly? You believe him.
And somewhere in a database, a brand-new entry reads:
Subject: Creepy bar guy.
Status: Watched, monitored, and extremely unlucky.
✶⋆.˚ GREGOR - CC-5576-39
The hideout was busy today—more civilians than usual had come to drop off supplies: food, medical stock, blankets, spare tools.
You were helping organize it—clipboard in hand, sorting crates, directing where things needed to go.
Gregor was supposed to be helping too.
He was not.
He was leaning against a stack of ration boxes, helmet on the floor beside him, arms crossed, watching you with that familiar lazy grin—like you were the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen.
Then he noticed it.
One of the civilian volunteers—a young guy carrying a crate—kept staring at you.
Not quick glances.
Not accidental looks.
Full-on, wide-eyed, wow who is she staring.
Gregor didn’t tense.
Didn’t get jealous.
Didn’t even frown.
He just let out a quiet, amused little laugh.
You looked over, brows furrowing. “What?”
He tilted his head toward the civilian, smirking.
“You’ve got an admirer.”
You blinked, confused, until you caught the guy doing that lingering stare again.
Your face warmed instantly.
“Oh Maker,” you muttered, pretending to check your clipboard. “He’s being obvious.”
Gregor shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.
“Well, of course he’s staring. Look at you.” He waved a hand at you dramatically. “Anyone with functioning eyesight would.”
You swatted his arm lightly. “Be serious.”
He leaned in, voice rich with playful innocence.
“I am being serious. You’re hot. It’s practically a public hazard.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Gregor cut you off—eyes sparkling, grin widening.
“Honestly?” he mused, nodding toward the guy, “Maybe you should give him a chance. Poor kid looks like he’s about to faint.”
Your jaw dropped. “Gregor!”
He held both hands up like he was being reasonable.
“What? I’m just saying, good for him. Look at his taste! Impeccable!”
You stared at him, scandalized and flustered.
He leaned closer, dropping his voice into something softer, warmer—meant only for you.
“But…” his fingers brushed yours, just barely, “you’re already taken.”
Your heartbeat stuttered.
His grin shifted—still playful, but undeniably possessive—like he enjoyed reminding you as much as saying it.
Across the hideout, the staring civilian suddenly found something else to carry—quickly, awkwardly, and in the opposite direction.
Gregor chuckled, satisfied, bumping your shoulder with his.
“See? No need to scare him off. Just had to remind the room who you belong to.”
You squinted at him. “You are insufferable.”
He winked, picking up a crate like he finally intended to help.
“Yeah, but I’m your problem.”
And as he walked past you, he added—just loud enough for you to hear.
“Lucky you.”
✶⋆.˚ HOWZER - CT-7569
The two of you are standing in line at a small open-air café on Ryloth—warm lights, soft night breeze, quiet chatter filling the streets.
Howzer’s shift ended an hour ago, but he’s still in his armor—minus the helmet—arms crossed loosely over his chest, hair slightly tousled, expression relaxed.
He’s listening to you talk about your day, nodding along, eyes warm and focused, because when you speak, he always listens.
You’re mid-sentence when he notices someone a few tables over staring.
Not a curious glance.
Not a passing look.
A lingering, territorial stare.
Howzer’s smile fades just a touch, shoulders straightening.
He doesn’t interrupt you—he never would—but his attention shifts, eyes narrowing slightly.
He watches for a moment, giving the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe the guy will look away. Maybe he’ll realize he’s being weird.
He doesn’t.
In fact, he stares harder—eyes dragging over you slowly, disrespectfully.
Howzer’s jaw ticks.
He tries to breathe through it, tries to stay calm because he hates conflict, hates making a scene, hates the idea of ruining your evening.
But he also refuses to let anyone treat you like that.
So he steps forward—smooth, controlled, radiating authority—and positions himself slightly in front of you, blocking the man’s view.
You pause. “Howzer?”
He offers you a gentle smile. “One sec, mesh’la.”
Then he turns and walks toward the man with a calm, steady, and purposeful stride.
The guy looks up, startled, clearly not expecting a cloned captain built like a wall to approach him.
Howzer stops right beside his table, tilts his head slightly, voice polite, but sharpened with steel.
“Can I help you…?”
Not friendly.
Not genuine.
A warning wrapped in manners.
The man blinks. “What? No— I wasn’t—”
Howzer raises a brow, unimpressed.
“Oh, really? Because you’ve been starin’ for a while. Thought maybe you needed something.”
The tone is condescending and just enough to make the point without escalating.
The entire patio goes quiet, all eyes suddenly on the interaction.
The guy flushes, shrinking into himself.
“N-no, sir. Sorry.”
Howzer holds his gaze for a moment—long enough to make sure it sinks in—then gives a curt nod.
“Good. Then keep your eyes to yourself.”
His voice is calm, quiet, but devastatingly firm.
He doesn’t wait for a response, he just turns on his heel and walks back to you.
You’re staring at him, wide-eyed.
“Everything… okay?” you ask slowly.
Howzer’s expression softens immediately as he reaches you, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back—guiding you forward in line again.
“Yeah,” he says, voice warm now, almost playful. “Just helped someone remember their manners.”
You snort. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He leans down, lips brushing your temple.
“I know. But I’ll never let someone disrespect you, not while I’m around.”
Your heart flips, cheeks warming.
You loop your arm through his, and he pulls you a little closer—protective, but tender.
Behind you, the man hurriedly pays and leaves, head down.
Howzer watches him go for half a second—satisfied—then returns his full attention to you like nothing ever happened.
“Now,” he says, smiling gently, “you were telling me about the part with the flowers?”
And just like that, your night continues—safe, comfortable, yours.
✶⋆.˚ MAYDAY - CC-????
The outpost is quiet for once—snow drifting lazily outside, heater humming, you and Mayday sharing a rare moment of peace at his cluttered desk.
He’s half in armor—pauldrons off, chestplate unbuckled, gloves tossed aside—hair slightly messy, scruff framing that devastating smirk.
He looks tired, but lighter with you there, shoulder brushing yours as you flip through supply logs together.
Then he notices it.
Some visiting lower rank officer across the room—pretending to review paperwork—eyes glued to you.
Not subtle.
Not respectful.
Just staring like you’re a warm fireplace in the middle of a frozen wasteland.
Mayday doesn’t tense, doesn’t posture, he just… laughs.
A low, amused, is this guy serious? kind of laugh.
You glance up. “What?”
Mayday tilts his head toward the man, voice dripping with smug amusement.
“You’ve got an admirer.”
You roll your eyes, dismissing it. “He’s just looking around.”
Mayday arches a brow, no he isn’t, and leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest like he’s settling in for entertainment.
But his gaze stays soft on you—never threatening, never demanding—just quietly claiming.
Then the staring continues.
Longer.
Harder.
Bolder.
Mayday exhales through his nose—still amused, still dangerous.
He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, leaning in close enough that his breath brushes your ear, voice low and wicked.
“Wanna give him a show?”
You freeze, pulse tripping. “Mayday—”
He chuckles again, hand sliding to your thigh—not squeezing, just resting there like it belongs.
His eyes never leave yours.
“I’m just saying,” he murmurs, tone playful but possessive, “a kiss would send a very clear message.”
You turn slightly, meeting his gaze—dark, confident, inviting.
“And what message is that?” you ask, breath softer than intended.
His smirk deepens—dangerously slow, smug, sure.
“That you’re mine.”
Not up for debate. Not a question.
A fact.
Before you can respond, he gently cups your jaw—thumb sweeping across your cheek, touch both reverent and territorial—leans in, and kisses you.
Unhurried and certain. Completely unapologetic.
The kind of kiss that says I’ve waited for this and I dare you to look away.
You melt into him, fingers gripping the edge of his pauldron, and he smiles against your lips because yeah—he knew you would.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t glance at the staring officer.
He doesn’t need to.
Instead, he keeps his forehead resting against yours, voice soft but laced with smug satisfaction.
“Still looking?”
You peek over his shoulder.
The man is suddenly very invested in a blank datapad.
Mayday laughs—low, satisfied—and presses one more kiss to your temple, thumb brushing your chin.
“Thought so.”
Then he sits back, arm draped over the back of your chair, posture relaxed, claiming you without touching.
“Now,” he says casually, “where were we?”
Like he didn’t just ruin someone’s self-esteem and mark you as his in one breathtaking move.
what if like. bad batch x reader where reader is a medic (HUNTER CANT DO EVERYTHING HES TIRED 😭) whom they have hired and taken in as part of the team. she’s really understanding and sweet and the type to call all her patients ‘sweetie, or honey, or baby’ in like an ‘i know it hurts, sweet boy just a teeeeny little prick, okay?’ sort of way. so the batch like all separately start to have teeny little crushes.
“Just a Teeny Prick, Sweetheart”
Bad Batch x Reader
Hunter was tired.
Exhausted, really. The kind of tired that seeps into the marrow of your bones, the kind that sleep doesn’t fix anymore. He was holding his squad together with sheer willpower, dwindling rations, and stim packs, and Tech had said something the other day that actually stuck:
“Statistically, it would be more efficient to outsource a trained medic. We are ill-equipped for sustained self-triage.”
That, paired with Wrecker nearly bleeding out after a skirmish on Corellia because someone (Echo) had “accidentally” used the wrong bacta dilution, finally pushed Hunter to agree.
You came highly recommended.
And you were… different.
⸻
The first time they saw you in action, you were crouched over Wrecker’s arm, cooing at him like he was a scared child.
“I know it stings, baby. Just a teeny prick, okay? You’re doing so good, honey.”
Wrecker—literal tank of a man, bruiser of nightmares—was blushing.
Hunter stood behind you blinking slowly. Tech actually stopped typing. Echo raised an eyebrow. Crosshair made a noise in his throat that might have been a suppressed laugh.
You, of course, were oblivious to the storm you’d just kicked off.
“All done!” you announced brightly, patting Wrecker’s arm as you bandaged it up. “You were so brave, sweetheart. Go on, get yourself a treat.”
Wrecker beamed. Like a puppy who’d been told he was a good boy.
And from that moment on, everything changed.
⸻
Hunter didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t.
But he started noticing things.
The way your voice softened when you worked on him—“Deep breath, baby. In and out, just like that—good boy.”—and he’d nearly dropped dead right there. The way your hands lingered just a second too long when you pressed a bacta patch to his ribs. How your touch didn’t hurt even when it should.
He’d caught himself looking at you more than once while you cleaned your kit or tucked your hair behind your ear. You hummed while organizing supplies. You smelled like sterile wipes and something sweet. You called him “darlin’” once and he had to physically leave the room.
He started volunteering for med checks even when he was fine. “Just making sure I’m cleared for the next mission.”
You smiled every time. “Of course, sweet boy.”
Hunter was not okay.
⸻
Tech was confused at first. Your bedside manner was… statistically illogical. Surely grown men didn’t need to be called “sugar” or “darlin’” to survive triage.
And yet—
“You did amazing, sweetheart,” you said once, after removing a shard from his thigh. “So still, such a good patient.”
He’d never flushed so fast. His datapad nearly slipped from his fingers. The next day, he updated your medical database for efficiency—and also uploaded a music playlist that made you beam and say “Oh! This is perfect, thank you sugar.”
He recalibrated your scanner after that.
And your med droid.
And the lighting in the medbay.
And then started inventing reasons to come back. “Mild tinnitus,” “possible corneal abrasion,” “a faint ache in my ankle.” All documented. All excuses.
He was fine.
He was not fine.
⸻
Echo didn’t trust you at first. Too soft-spoken. Too sweet.
But then he watched you work during a firefight—calm under pressure, patching him mid-cover behind crates while blaster fire flew overhead.
He looked at you sideways, something twisting in his chest.
Later, after the fight, you came to check his stitches. “You really held it together,” you said with a warm smile. “Tough cookie.”
He snorted. “I’ve been called worse.”
You tilted your head. “Well, I call you Echo. And you’re one of my favorites.”
He didn’t know what to say. He just nodded and looked away.
And when you touched his metal arm without flinching—even thanked him for holding his own gauze—he felt… seen.
He was used to being patched up. But not to being cared for.
Now he sits just a little closer to you at meals. Offers you the first ration bar. He pretends not to notice when you call him “honey” again.
But he does.
⸻
Crosshair didn’t say anything for a long time.
He watched you. A lot. Silently. Unnervingly.
He noticed how your hands didn’t shake, how your tone stayed steady. You never flinched from his scars. You never forced him to speak.
One day, you caught him cleaning his rifle with a nasty cut on his hand.
“Cross,” you said gently, crouching beside him. “That’s gonna get infected, baby. C’mere.”
He raised a brow. “You call all your patients baby?”
You smirked. “Only the stubborn ones.”
He let you clean it. Didn’t complain once. Not even when you blew gently on the wound before bandaging it. His ears turned red, though.
“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.
You winked. “Don’t tell the others. They’ll want special treatment.”
He definitely did not steal one of your gloves to keep in his kit later.
Definitely not.
⸻
Wrecker had it bad.
From the second you cooed at him and called him “sweet boy,” he was gone.
He came to you for everything. Paper cuts. Headaches. “Funny feelings in his tummy” that were totally not butterflies. He’d pretend to limp just to get you to touch his shoulder.
And you? You were so nice about it.
“Oh, baby, you poor thing. Let me kiss it better.”
You didn’t actually kiss it. But he thought about asking. Just once.
He made you a little plushie out of spare parts and gave it to you with a bashful grin. “It’s you! Well, kinda. I made it ‘cause you always take care of us.”
You squealed. Hugged it to your chest. “This is the cutest thing anyone’s ever made me!”
Wrecker nearly passed out.
⸻
Eventually…
You start to notice.
How they hover just a little too long. How they all suddenly have “injuries” every time you do inventory. How they flinch slightly—but in a good way—when you call them sweetheart.
One night, you say it out loud at dinner.
“You boys sure do get hurt a lot. Almost like you’re doing it on purpose.”
They all freeze.
Then Echo coughs. Tech pushes up his goggles. Wrecker drops a fork. Crosshair mutters, “Told you it was obvious.” And Hunter—poor Hunter—rubs the back of his neck and avoids your eyes.
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand with a smile.
“It’s okay,” you say sweetly. “I don’t mind being the team’s favorite. As long as I get paid in compliments.”
Wrecker nearly yells, “YOU’RE SO PRETTY.”
Tech immediately corrects, “Statistically, she has extremely symmetrical features.”
Crosshair sighs. “Maker, you’re all pathetic.”
Hunter just looks at you, dead serious. “You keep us together. You matter.”
You blink. A little stunned.
Then you grin. “Guess I better stock up on bacta patches, huh?”
synopsis: based on the following prompt – “i trust you, do you trust me?”
featured clones: wrecker, hunter, echo, tech, crosshair, rex, fives, wolffe, cody, fox
warnings: mild cursing. nightmares. crime. kidnapping. injury. life-and-death situations. highly uneven word counts because some required more buildup than others. also i don’t think you can repair the hyperdrive from inside a flying ship but uhhh it’s for the plot guys!! not proofread.
wc (total): 6.0k
.✦ ݁˖ wrecker (482 words)
it was a well-known fact that wrecker hated heights. but somehow, he always landed in situations where he would be practically tightrope walking from 300 metres off the ground.
although he tried not to look down, his eyes would subconsciously glance downwards every few seconds, rebelling against his brain which was repeating don’t look down like a mantra.
as you made your way across the narrow cliff’s edge, right in front of him, you also felt fear creep into your mind. you couldn’t afford it, but at that height, anyone would be scared.
just when you started getting used to it, a bomb dropped a few hundred feet in front of the both of you, causing you to momentarily lose your balance.
“if they just bombed us, that means they’re sending droids next. we’ll be trapped,” you tell wrecker. underneath your observation there was an unspoken question: what are we going to do?
as much as he hated the idea, wrecker could only think of one way out. “uhh i have an idea… but you’re not gonna like it.” this did nothing to help your growing sense of fear, considering that most of wrecker’s ideas were unlikeable anyways. “what is it?” you ask, preparing yourself for the worst. for all you know, he’s going to ask you to jump off the cliff.
“you’re just gonna have to trust me.” the look he gives you makes your stomach somersault, and not in the way it usually does when you see him. when you don’t say anything, he follows up. “i trust you, do you trust me?”
as impossible as this situation looked, the truth was that you did trust him. so no matter how terrible his idea was, you trusted that he would never intentionally hurt you. “yes,” you nod.
you yelp as he suddenly picks you up and then jumps. straight off the edge of the cliff. you had never regretted being right about something so much.
wrecker’s screaming so loud that for a split second you accept that this is the end. if he’s screaming so loud when this was his idea, then either something has gone terribly wrong or he didn’t think this through. and both of those things were highly probable.
but your worries are quelled (mildly) when you hear the whoosh of a grappling hook being fired and your bodies jerk as you come to a quick stop.
“whew, that was scary,” he says, voice slightly hoarse from all the screaming. “so is your miraculous plan just to… dangle off the cliff?” you ask, looking down and realizing that the two of you are definitely not close enough to the ground to jump the rest of the way. “no silly, you’re supposed to comm tech to come get us.” after a moment he adds, “and can you ask him to hurry? i don’t wanna be here any more.”
.✦ ݁˖ hunter (394 words)
the two of you had been at this for hours. and still, you felt like you hadn’t improved in the slightest.
hunter was teaching you how to fight with a knife. you were great with a blaster, but blasters weren’t always available. plus, you had kind of wanted to learn a new skill.
honestly, you were being a little harsh with yourself, at least in hunter’s eyes. not only had you just started learning, but you had mastered a lot of the moves he had taught you already. but he could see in your expression that you were frustrated with yourself.
“maybe it’s time for a break,” hunter says, taking the knife from you. hunter’s brow furrows as you nod, not saying a word. he takes your hand and drags you onto the steps of the ship, making you sit down beside him.
“you’re doing great, you know,” he says softly. you’re silent for a moment before shaking your head. “i just feel like it’s not good enough. it’s not like we have a lot of time to be training. i need to get good at this, and fast,” you say, looking away from him to try and hide the tears threatening to fall.
he gently takes ahold of your chin and turns your head to face him. “you’re too hard on yourself,” he says, kissing your nose. “i trust that you’ll get this. can you trust me?” he asks. when you nod, he drops his hand from your chin and says “let’s try once more. this time it’ll be you vs. me.” you groan, already knowing how it’s going to end.
but you surprise yourself with how well you fight. maybe you did need that break, even if you would never admit that to hunter. after a few minutes of intense sparring, you (somehow) manage to pin hunter to the ground, winning.
“see? not half as bad as you thought,” hunter laughs as he pushes himself off the ground. you laugh with him as you help him up. “come on, let’s get dessert. you earned it,” he says, grabbing your hand. you are 100% sure that he let you win, because there was no way you had actually beaten an experienced soldier on your first day of training. but hunter looks proud, and you’re getting ice cream, so who are you to complain?
.✦ ݁˖ echo (406 words)
both you and echo had gotten hurt on the last mission, bad. your skin was littered with bruises, and you had a few minor burns from the explosion that wrecker had accidentally triggered too early. echo looked no better, his prosthetics in bad shape and a serious sprain in his wrist from trying to catch himself as he fell, when he was attempting to take cover from said explosion.
the two of you are in the back of the marauder, alone, on the flight back to kamino after the mission. although he was clearly in a lot of pain from the condition of his prosthetics, he had insisted that he patch you up first.
picking up a bacta pad, he asks, “do you trust me?”, looking at you with wide eyes. “of course,” you respond breathlessly. echo always asked for permission, before doing anything. you admired that about him, especially knowing that it must be important to him. he probably knows better than most what it’s like to have your autonomy stripped from you, and thus refuses to do anything to anyone without their explicit permission.
you hiss as he lowers the pad onto your calf, right under the spot where your pants had been hastily rolled up. “just breathe…” he says, securing the pad around your leg with tape. the two of you sit in comfortable silence as he continues gently cleaning up all your other small burns with the same gentleness. it was admirable how well he was able to work with just one hand.
“all done,” echo declares, sitting back. you smile at him, thanking him silently and he gives you a nod. for a moment, he doesn’t move, looking conflicted. you don’t press, waiting for him to speak when he feels comfortable.
after a few moments, he hands you a small bag of materials, quietly asking you to help him with his injuries. your breath hitches as you take the bag, realizing how vulnerable this must be for him. as your sort through the supplies, you wonder if you’ll really be able to help him, since you would hate to mess things up and put him in even more pain by accident.
as you shift closer and pull his scomp towards you, it seems he can sense your fears when he whispers, “i trust you.” “thank you,” you respond, letting him guide you through repairing his prosthetics and patching up his sprain.
.✦ ݁˖ tech (647 words)
you lot were all in a lot of trouble. the planetary exit, meant to be inconspicuous, had been the opposite of stealthy. now there was an entire separatist fleet chasing after you, and the hyperdrive wasn’t coming online.
“did they sabotage it?” echo calls from the back. he was trying his best to get the hyperdrive online, wrecker was at the back manning the ship’s rear blasters, and tech was piloting. hunter and crosshair were controlling the ship’s cannons. meanwhile you were in the cockpit hanging on for dear life as tech flew the ship like a maniac, attempting to read the ship’s manual to see if it had anything useful to offer. he was simultaneously avoiding blaster fire and trying to shake off the ships by going as fast as possible, but it was only a matter of time before they closed in.
you squinted your eyes to try to focus on the words amidst the jostling of the ship. “deflectors have been compromised!” hunter calls. “i can’t get the hyperdrive online. i don’t know what’s wrong with it,” echo panics.
“i can’t find anything useful in this manual.” you say, panicked. “don’t you have the entire manual memorized?” you ask tech. “i do. but i am currently occupied with trying to keep us all alive.” his usual calm tone is tinged with concern. even crosshair was silent. if he had no aggravating comment regarding the situation, then it was truly dire.
you flip to the next page, reading faster, although your hope was dwindling. just as you were about to throw the manual aside, you come across a passage that might just save all of you. “wait! i found something,” you exclaim. you read out the passage to echo and tech. tech blinks and then says, “i am surprised i did not think about that before. but that is a two-person job, and only echo and i have the ability to repair that part of the hyperdrive. you will have to fly the ship.”
“i can barely fly a ship! especially not during a life-or-death space chase!” you yell. if he really expected you to fly the ship, then you were all as good as dead.
“do not underestimate your abilities, my dear. i trust you with the ship. do you trust me?” he asks, glancing at you for a brief second.
you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task. “i do,” you say, approaching his seat. you two quickly switch spots and he and echo get straight to work on fixing the hyperdrive.
miraculously, your flying wasn’t as bad as you were expecting. you were managing to avoid the blaster fire, which was no small feat considering there were about five different ships trying to shoot down your ship. but just as you started feeling confident, a shot hits one of the wings.
“the left wing’s been hit!” you call to the rest of them. right as you started losing control of the ship, you hear the hyperdrive come online. were you even supposed to go into hyperspace with a compromised wing? probably not, but you didn’t have a choice. you quickly flip the switch and successfully enter hyperspace.
you slump back into the seat, exhaling shakily. you close your eyes as the adrenaline starts to wear off and you feel the effects of being so anxious for so long start to creep in. sitting there for a few moments, you thank the stars for your sudden high-class piloting abilities and that you hadn’t killed the whole batch.
your eyes open as you hear someone come up behind you. a moment later you feel a hand land on your shoulder and give it a squeeze. “you did wonderfully. i am impressed,” tech praises. you flash him a smile, grateful that you had trusted each other. he returns it, thinking the same thing.
.✦ ݁˖ crosshair (501 words)
the batch needed to infiltrate a heavily fortified separatist base, and you had the great pleasure of joining them.
they had been on many missions such as this one and always came out on top. it was hardly a challenge for them anymore, and they had no problem pretentiously whining about it all the time.
you, however, were not as easy-going about this mission as they were. crosshair noticed your anxiety no matter how good you were at hiding it. he noticed how your posture was a little too stiff and the slight furrow in your brow.
but he’s not very good at comfort, and the only way he knows how to address serious topics is using sarcasm. on the ship, during the debrief before the mission, he takes his toothpick out of his mouth and points it at you. “you look confident,” he mocks. which was not helpful, and only put you more on edge.
he backs off slightly after that, paying attention to you throughout the mission. he shifts closer to you whenever your breath comes faster. stands in front of you when he sees your hand flexing, making sure that you’re covered from both the front and the back. practically manhandles you when he hears droids coming closer, making sure you’re behind something that can provide cover. helps shoot some of the targets in your way when your blaster trembles slightly in your hands. by no means were you an incompetent fighter, but anxiety catches up with everyone at times. although crosshair hated to admit it, he would never let harm come to you, and the last thing he wanted to do was invalidate how you feel.
despite your anxiety, the mission turned out to be a success, for the most part. you had recovered what you needed and had managed to make it thus far without anyone getting harmed. but just as the six of you are about to make your great escape, crosshair notices a battle droid in the distance, coming up behind you. he points his rifle straight at your face, and you freeze, eyes wide.
“do you trust me?” he asks. it’s hard to say yes with the gun pointed at your face, but you give him a small nod. as he moves his finger to pull the trigger, he says “i trust you. don’t move.” you close your eyes as you hear the blaster fire, but it never hits you. you open your eyes as you hear the sound of a large droid clattering to the ground. had he fired even a centimeter lower, it would’ve killed you. but if he hadn’t taken the shot like that, he wouldn’t have been able to take the droid out in one go. but he wouldn’t tell you that.
as the two of you run towards the marauder together, you huff, “couldn’t you have taken the droid out from any other angle” without missing a beat, he answers, “i could’ve. but there’s no fun in that.”
.✦ ݁˖ rex (535 words)
the war was tough on your relationship. on one hand, you were very understanding that rex had no control over his schedule. it was extremely admirable that he put his life on the line every day, and helped fight for the republic’s freedom, for your freedom. but the weeks, sometimes months, of loneliness were catching up to you. it was hard, especially since it wasn’t like rex could talk everyday. your communications were few and far between, as he had responsibilities and so did you. and as the war dragged on, his presence only became more scarce, until you felt like he was your partner in name only.
and boy, did rex try to make time for you. the guilt of leaving you alone ate at him constantly, to the point where he sometimes wondered if he should break up with you so you could move on and be with someone who was able to give you all the time you deserved. but selfishly, he wanted to hold onto you. and he also knew that a breakup would only hurt you more than it would help.
which is why he’s over the moon when he finally gets a day off, and runs straight to your place when he gets the chance. and when you open the door, you are the same as always; eternally grateful to see him, and you spend the rest of the day giddy, drunk on his presence. but rex could tell that you had been struggling. your apartment wasn’t as clean as it usually was. your laundry basket was overflowing, the dishes in the sink hadn’t been done in ages, and your plants had all died.
so when the two of you finally make it into bed, he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “hey… are you okay?” he asks gently. “yeah, i’m really happy you’re here,” you answer, giving him a small kiss. he takes a small breath and tries again. “no, i mean, have you been okay?” when you don’t answer, he waits patiently, not wanting to push you. you stay silent for a few minutes, and rex closes his eyes, thinking that you’re just not going to answer. but they open again when you say, “i’ve been really lonely.”
before you can launch into a long explanation to defend yourself, rex presses a kiss to your forehead. “i know it’s been hard. i need to try harder to make time. you’re my priority, and i haven’t treated you like it. i’m sorry for letting you feel lonely. i’m going to make sure to be in touch from now,” he apologizes, slowly stroking your hair. “i’d like that,” you whisper, scared that if you say more, you’ll start crying.
he kisses you slowly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other still wrapped tightly around you. “we need to trust each other to make this work. i trust you, do you trust me?” he asks, looking at you softly. for a moment he’s scared that you’ll say no, that you’ve had enough. but when you whisper “i trust you,” he kisses you again, eternally grateful that he got blessed with someone like you.
.✦ ݁˖ fives (911 words)
being with fives was exasperating sometimes. and this was definitely one of those times.
“are you being serious right now? i am not going through all this effort for some cookies,” you hiss at him in the alleyway, trying not to let anyone hear the two of you. when he had sent you an ominous message to meet him in this shady spot, you had run out of your house, assuming he was in danger. thankfully, that was not the case. unthankfully, he was being ridiculous again.
“these aren’t just any cookies! they look delicious. they smell delicious. and i bet they taste delicious too,” he whispers dreamily. you shake your head, mildly irritated that you were currently standing in a dark alley during the dead of night all because your partner wanted to steal some cookies. “if they’re that important to you, why don’t you just buy them? it doesn’t exactly look good for a soldier of the republic to be stealing,” you attempt to reason.
“they’re so expensive! 25 credits for two cookies isn’t exactly affordable. plus, it’s not like the republic is paying me for my service.” well, he’s got a point there. probably a human rights violation, but that’s an issue for a later day.
you concede with a sigh. “all right. walk me through the plan.” because although fives was the biggest idiot in the galaxy, he was your idiot, and you secretly wanted a cookie too.
his grand plan was as follows: once the owner is finished with closing, they will walk out the door and lock it behind them. while fives distracts them, you are to swipe the key off them. after waiting for about ten minutes, to make sure that the owner was long gone, the two of you would use the key to sneak into the store and try the leftovers. fives had even brought a little box with him to carry more cookies. but the leftover cookies were going to be thrown out tomorrow morning anyways, so really, the two of you were just preventing food waste.
“i trust you to help me pull this off,” he says, taking your hands in his. “do you trust me? we won’t get in trouble, i promise.” you squeeze his hands, saying “i trust you. what i don’t trust is this plan.” his face falls for a moment, but his frown turns upside down when you add, “but let’s do it.”
about fifteen minutes later, fives and you watch from behind a pillar as the owner closes and locks the door behind them. the two of you watch him slip the key into a pocket in his pants. fives takes this as his queue, and as the owner starts walking away, he runs after them, yelling “hey! can i talk to you for a sec?”
you turn around and facepalm from the sheer embarrassment. real subtle. but you still had a mission to complete, so pulling the hood of your cloak up, you start walking towards them. as you approach, you can hear fives’ pitiful attempt at starting conversation and have to suppress a laugh. “your bakery always smells so good, like cookies,” he states, the smile on his face way too wide to be considered natural. “ah, yes, that would be because i sell cookies…” the owner replies skeptically.
but the owner is caught off guard when you slam into them a moment later. but it was a little harder than you had anticipated, and the two of you land hard on the ground. great, this plan’s already failed. but fives is always willing to create opportunity even when there isn’t one, and he reaches for the owner to help them up. while you apologize profusely, fives subtly reaches into the pocket and snags the key, the owner being too busy trying to reorient themselves to notice the slight loss of pressure in their pocket.
“watch it!” they snap at you. you apologize one more time, and the owner storms off. fives gives you a look, and before he can say anything, you roll your eyes. “don’t start.” he raises his hands in surrender and says, “i’m just sayin’, getting the key was supposed to be your job.”
once the two of you had waited for a few minutes, and the coast was clear, you tiptoe to the door and put the key into the lock. fives holds his breath as you slowly pull the handle, trying not to create too much noise. but the door opens without hassle.
the moment fives enters the shop, he dashes towards the display with the same speed he must use on the battlefield. “look! they have a special chocolate chip cookie dough flavour!” he exclaims, gesturing you to come closer. you can’t help but feel just as excited as he is, looking at all the different flavours and at how excited he is.
about ten minutes and fifteen cookie selections later, the two of you exit the shop and leave the key underneath the doormat, with a note taped to the door explaining the situation. after all, you don’t want to stress the poor owner out too much. you’d already most likely broken their hipbone.
later, when the two of you are watching a movie and stuffing yourselves full of cookies, he turns to you and wiggles his eyebrows. “bet you’re glad you trusted my plan.” “shut up,” you laugh, shoving another cookie in his mouth.
.✦ ݁˖ wolffe (353 words)
wolffe is a man of few words. more of an i’ll show you rather than an i’ll tell you kind of guy. so when you get woken up in the dead of night by the sound of his voice, your heart leaps out of your chest.
normally, you’d love to listen to him talk. but as your eyes adjust to the dark, you realize that his eyes are still closed. he’s sleeping, and from the looks of it, he’s not having the best night of his life. his body trembles as he repeats the same word over and over again. “no, no, no, no, no…”
you had never seen him this distraught. “wolffe, wake up,” you say, trying to gently shake him awake, but he doesn’t budge. you try again, and still no dice. right when you think you’ll need to get a frying pan, he jerks awake. he sits up, entire body tense. but when he feels your hand trail down his arm, squeezing lightly, some of the tension leaves his muscles.
“were you having a nightmare?” you ask him softly. he’s still panting a little when he answers “just a dream.” “come on,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him down. you lay with him, running your hands along his body to calm him down. his breathing slowly but surely starts to slow down, and the tension starts to leave his body completely.
once his breathing returns to normal, he snakes his arms around you too, so you’re both hugging each other. “do you trust me?” he mumbles, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear him. “yes, wolffe, i do,” you reply without missing a beat. he kisses you, and where his kisses are usually possessive, this one is soft. after pulling away, he whispers against your lips. “i trust you. don’t leave me.” “wouldn’t dream of it,” you reassure him, kissing him again.
the two of you quickly fall back asleep, comfortable and safe in each other’s arms. but if you ever bring this up at a future date, wolffe would swear it never happened.
.✦ ݁˖ cody (659 words)
it was very rare that cody got a day off from duty. he got a few hours from time to time, but a full day was hard to come by. which is exactly what made today so special.
you groan at the insistent knocking at your door. at first you had just brushed it off, since you weren’t expecting anybody, and figured it must be someone lost, or a thief. but after about thirty seconds, the knocking had only increased in both pace and volume.
having had enough, you turn the burner off and storm towards the door. whoever had decided to ruin your peaceful day of cooking was about to hear it from you. you slam the door open, ready to hurl all sorts of insults at whichever idiot was behind the door.
but all those thoughts are erased from your mind the moment your brain registers who’s there. “cody!” you exclaim, jumping into his arms. he giggles into your hair. “hey, love. miss me?” he teases, planting a kiss on your head.
after a long minute of just holding each other, you reluctantly let go. a few hours later, the two of you are cozied up on the sofa together, bellies filled with delicious food (that you thankfully got to finish making) and hearts filled with happiness.
“you know,” cody starts, hand running through your hair, “i think i need a hair cut.” you look at him, confused. “but i like your hair,” you counter. he stares at you with a mischievous look in his eyes, which only confuses you further. “i think we both need the change,” he says, standing up. what the hell does that even mean?
“cody, what are you doing?” you ask as he heads towards the kitchen. he doesn’t answer you, too preoccupied with opening and closing drawers. “what are you looking for?” he still doesn’t answer, and you’re about to stand when you hear an ah-ha!. he comes towards you, holding the pair of scissors like a trophy, and declares “we should cut each other’s hair.”
the idea is so sudden that you’re stunned into silence. “you want to cut each other’s hair… with kitchen scissors,” you confirm, and he nods, still looking a little too proud at his little idea. “isn’t there some GAR standard for hair?” you push, trying to knock some sense into him. but he only waves his hand dismissively. “there are plenty of clones with crazy hair,” he states (full shade to boost, wtf is that haircut brother). “i don’t believe that rex is a natural blonde. and if he can bleach his hair, then i can afford to cut a few locks.”
when cody wants something, he knows how to get it. which is exactly how you find yourself standing in front of the bathroom sink a few minutes later, freshly-cleaned kitchen scissors in hand. you breathe deeply as you lightly wet his hair with a spray bottle. “hey, darling. don’t be nervous. i trust you,” he comforts you, rubbing your arm lightly.
the process takes way longer than it should. but 45 minutes later, you stand in front of a very happy cody as he admires his new haircut in the mirror. even you must admit; you did a pretty good job. “you should do this full time, love,” he says gratefully, “it’s exactly what i wanted.”
“i’m glad,” you smile at him.
but just as you’re about to leave the bathroom, he grabs your arm and drags you back. he tsks and says, “nuh-uh, now it’s my turn.” uh oh. as he reaches for the spray bottle to repeat the process on you, he laughs as he says, “i trusted you, but the real question is, do you trust me?”
you trusted him in every context except this one. you flash him a nervous smile and nod, resigning yourself to the fact that you’ll probably be wearing hats for the next little while.
.✦ ݁˖ fox (1.1 k words - oops)
fox had never meant for you to get caught up in all this. but no matter what he wanted to happen, the truth was that you were in danger, and he blamed himself.
someone had hired a bounty hunter to eliminate a highly valued prisoner. the coruscant guard had just barely managed to stop the hunter, but hadn’t been able to figure out who they were before they escaped. but the guard hadn’t concerned themselves with the bounty hunter as much as who had hired them. this turned out to be a big mistake, because the bounty hunter had decided that the best way to get to the prisoner was by holding people the coruscant guard loved hostage and threaten them. if he could get the commander to fold, then he had won.
which was how you had ended up in this predicament. one moment you had been getting ready for bed and the next you heard glass shatter as someone entered your apartment via the window. you had tried to fight off the intruder, and almost succeeded, but they managed to stun you and then the fight was over.
you slowly blink as you wake up, a dull ache in your head from being stunned. but all the sleepiness wears off as soon as you register where you are. the concrete was cold beneath your feet, and your waist and wrists were in pain from the tight rope cutting into them. you look around, concluding that you must be in a storage facility of some sort. panic quickly settles in your chest as you realize that you’re alone, and it was unlikely that anybody would be coming to rescue you. fox was overprotective, and he had probably already gone insane since you hadn’t called him to say goodnight the way you usually did. you would be surprised if he hadn’t already stormed into your apartment.
but even if he had realized that you were gone, he would have no way of locating you. the kidnapper hadn’t exactly had the courtesy of leaving you with a way to call for help. trying to fight against the restraints was useless, and would only cause you to maim yourself. so you were stuck.
meanwhile, fox was having the worst day of his life. the bar was high, since he had seen some crazy shit during his years, but this took the cake. he was furious. why would anyone try to target you? you were just a civilian. and while your relationship with the commander wasn’t exactly a secret, it’s not like either of you were celebrities – strangers wouldn’t know about it, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have a reason to care.
he’s just about to leave your apartment when there’s an incoming transmission. he’s never answered faster, hoping that it’s you. that you just went on a stroll, although the broken window indicated otherwise. but that hope is quickly squandered when he hears the voice of the very bounty hunter that had gotten away just a few days ago.
“i have them. and if you’re smart, you’ll take the deal i’m about to give you,” the bounty hunter drawls. fox is so angry that he almost bursts a vein in his head. “if you don’t let them go right now, i will make the rest of your life so miserable you’d only wish you were dead,” he threatens. the hunter just laughs, which angers fox further. “if you give me the prisoner, you’ll get them back. and no ambushes, or else they die. you have until the morning.”
fox has no choice. at least for now, he has to take the deal – thinking of a plan can wait. before the bounty hunter can cut the call, he accepts “i’ll accept your deal on one condition. let me talk to her.” the hunter is silent for a moment before conceding. a few moments later, he hears your voice.
“fox, what’s going on?” you ask. the panic in your voice makes his heart squeeze. “i can’t explain everything right now. just promise me you’ll be okay.” his breath stutters when he doesn’t hear an answer. how could you promise that? you were already not okay. when he realizes how impossible his request is, he takes a deep breath. “i trust you,” he spits out. the vulnerability is so foreign to him that the confession sounds hateful. but the hate wasn’t directed at you, never at you. he hated himself for even letting this happen. “do you trust me?”
“i do,” you exhale. the bounty hunter cuts the call, saying “that’s enough.” as stalks out of the room, he looks behind his shoulder, calling “for your sake, you should pray that he brings that prisoner.” but the words hardly register, your mind preoccupied with replaying fox’s words in your head. i trust you, he had said. that meant so many things. i trust you to trust me. i trust you to do the right thing. i trust you to believe in me. i trust you to be strong.
those words are the only thing keeping you together as you wait for what feels like days, all alone in the dark room. your head has been between your knees for so long that your neck has started to hurt. but you perk up when you hear the distant sound of blaster fire.
a million thoughts flash through your mind at once. it must be fox, here to save you. but the bounty hunter had said that you would die if he ambushed. fox would never let that happen. but what if he got hurt? no, he’s strong enough. but what if the bounty hunter, who had already evaded him once, was too strong?
the sound of the doors sliding open cuts through your thoughts. at first, you only see a shadow, and for a split second you panic thinking that the bounty hunter had come here to finish the job. but as the shadow comes a little closer you realize it’s a man in clone trooper armour; and not just any armour, it was fox’s. he breaks into a run, pulling out a knife to cut through your restraints the moment he gets close enough.
you two reach for one another at the same time, and fox holds you so tight that it crushes you a little. “are you hurt?” he mumbles into your neck. “no, you saved me.” fox takes a shaky breath, thanking the stars that his ambush had actually worked and that you were still here, and unharmed at that. he wordlessly picks you up, carrying you out of the room.
“i can walk by myself, y’know,” you say, but the expression on your face indicated that you didn’t mind this situation at all. “not a chance. you’re staying with me tonight.” he says definitively. “aww, are you worried about me, commander?” you tease. he scowls. “stow it.”
a/n: it was so hard coming up with 10 different scenarios for this prompt rahhh
Description: You and Rex get some time off. Rex likes to cuddle. Gender neutral.
Words: 906
Warnings: established relationship, none unless you're allergic to fluff
Main Masterlist
Note: Past three weeks have just consisted of me being sick plus exams, so this is the best I can do. But who doesn't like a short fluffy fic?
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You’re propped up on one arm, half lying on Rex’s chest, while you’re watching him sleep... not in a creepy way. You're just appreciating how at peace he looks because it's very rare for him to relax, even in his sleep.
You guys are on leave and that means Rex can finally get a full night's rest. Obviously, he's a light sleeper due to always having to be ready for a fight, but that isn't a problem right now. He claims he sleeps better when you're with him. Even though you and Rex are in a relationship, nights together are few. You work with the 501st, but that doesn't mean your schedules are exactly lined up. You were lucky to even get a few quiet moments with your lover.
It was frustrating; you're close in proximity, as you're on the same ship as him, but yet sometimes it still feels like there's a distance between you. So, moments like these where you can spend nights and mornings in his arms, you never take for granted.
Currently, you're at some cheap hotel in the polluted urban maze that Coruscant is. It's what you can afford, since the GAR isn't paying their soldiers. Rex feels bad because he wants to be the one taking care of you, but you always insist it's fine. You're telling the truth too.
Renting a measly hotel room is the least you can do for a man who deserves the most. Besides, Rex makes it up in many other ways. He's a very attentive partner. Always checking in on you throughout the day, always finding a moment to come see you when you're having a bad day, bringing you souvenirs and telling you why they reminded him of you, or making you feel cherished as he whispers the sweetest nothings into your ear are a few examples.
You're snapped out of your thoughts when you feel Rex's arm that's around your waist pull you closer to him. He's still sleeping, but his hand slips under your sleeping shirt, seeking the warmth of the skin of your lower back. You watch his face, looking for any signs of him waking up, but when his breathing becomes softer again, you conclude he's not.
You want to reach up and press soft kisses along his face, but you resist the urge in order to not interrupt his rest. You decide to get out of bed and start making breakfast, so that way you don't have to fight any other urges to touch him.
You slowly untangle yourself from his grasp. At first, you hear him murmur something, and you're afraid you woke him. However, he doesn't make any other move. You tiptoe to the small kitchenette and, as quietly as possible, start gathering ingredients.
You're in the midst of washing some fruit when you feel strong arms wrap around your waist. You let out a yip of surprise and turn your head over your shoulder to see Rex's face inches from yours.
"What are you doing?" He's the first to speak.
"I'm making us breakfast. Did I wake you up?" you playfully pout.
Rex nuzzles into your neck before he answers, "Yeah, you did."
You feel your heart sink and are about to profusely apologize, but he cuts in, "You know I can't sleep without you, cyare."
You feel your racing heart start to slow when you process his words. You set down the fruit in your hands before turning in his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck before teasing, "My poor baby."
Rex scoffs at your words. You gently pull his head to yours, until you're able to place a soft kiss on his lips.
"Can you ever forgive me?" you put a dramatic pout on your face. Rex lets out a low hum of contemplation, while his eyes dart all across your face, taking in your features.
"I might need another kiss before I decide," he murmurs against your lips. A small grin breaks out on your face before you're pulling him back in. The kiss isn't hurried nor is it deep. It's one that blocks out all the noise coming from outside. One that makes Rex feel like the only thing in your world. One that's full of love.
When you break apart, Rex rests his forehead against yours, not ready to part from you.
"You're forgiven," he whispers, which makes you giggle. Suddenly, you feel his arms move down to hook under your thighs, and now you're up in the air. You cling to Rex as he starts moving.
"Rex, our breakfast," you laugh again.
"Mmm, don't care. I haven't had enough cuddles," he states matter-of-factly. Your giggles don't cease until he's placing you on the bed and crawling over you. He plops himself down on top of you, his weight stopping you from escaping.
"Rex," you try again, but really you don't care about breakfast anymore.
"I'll make us something later. Let me just enjoy having you in my arms," he says looking up at you. You could never resist his big brown eyes. You feel him place a kiss against your clothed sternum before resting his head against it. Your fingers automatically find his scalp to start giving him light scratches, and you hear him let out a hum of contentment before his weight is further relaxing onto you.
"I love you, Rex," you whisper through the peaceful silence.
Rating: Explicit/nsfw smut | 18+ only! Minors do not interact
Length: ~6.9k
pairing(s): Fox/reader, Cody/reader, Wolffe/reader, Rex/reader, Bly/reader | no clonecest
Warnings: fem!reader, reader is described as having hair on their head, reader is a sex worker but there are no descriptions of sex work happening, reader and Fox match each others freak, Fox looks like an asshole for a second but its a misunderstanding, reader is referred to as a "gift" for Fox's brothers (she is into it), vaginal sex, explicit permission (for the most part), hair pulling, oral (m and f receiving, but not at the same time), deep throating, groping, threesome/group sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, brief handjobs, double vaginal penetration, not quite choking but close, brief nipple play, praise, finger sucking, brief vaginal fingering, cum spitting (don't look at me), biting, begging, brief cockwarming, multiple female orgasms, overstimulation, post-sex cuddle pile, aftercare, Fox records the whole tryst on his helmet without the reader knowing until after its done but reader IS into it when its revealed, vaguely poly ending
GAR Romance Month prompts: Rex, begging, Cody, begging giving gifts (I'm counting it), and alt prompt Bly.
Description: You're one of Coruscant's most sought after, and most expensive, girls -- you're used to being showered in gifts by senators, bureaucrats, and businessmen. But falling in love with the Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard has made you the gift this time, and you're all eager to give your all to his four younger brothers.
A/n: This fic was, in part, brought to you by me watching Moulin Rouge 3 times in 3 consecutive days ✨ I was desperately trying to finish this for Valentines day, but I had some personal things come up that prevented me from finishing on time, but its done now! I have at least two more fics to finish by the end of the month so let's hope I finish those on time 🫡 | crossposted on AO3
When you were a kid, you thought that living in the Core Worlds would be nothing but glamour, luxury, and frivolity. You had wanted nothing more in life than to escape your backwater, Outer Rim homeworld, and go live it up somewhere beautiful like Chandrilla or Alderaan. The first step was making it to Coruscant, and then, the whole galaxy would be yours to choose from.
You worked hard, saved all your credits, and finally, finally, made it out.
Nothing prepared you for the reality of life on Coruscant; your meager credits didn't cover anything close to luxury, and you were so tired of scrounging and scraping by.
It started with dancing at the Cabaret; you walked out that first night with more credits than you'd earned in a year back home. You quickly made a name for yourself, and the credits started pouring in. In almost no time at all, you had an apartment in the upper district, paid for by businessmen and politicians who wanted your company for the night. And when the war started, when you had expected business to dry up, the credits men were willing to throw at you seemed to skyrocket.
You never loved your job, but it gave you freedom you'd never been afforded before. And you weren't stupid, you knew there was an expiration date on the lifestyle you'd gotten used to. But more importantly, you weren't naive — you knew the men who paid for your time would never care about you, not in any way that was real; most had wives and children back on their homeworlds. However, at least for the time being, you had their attention and their credits, which you convinced yourself was enough.
Why did you need love when you had more than you could ever dream of?
But Marshal Commander Fox in all his intimidating glory had accidentally swept you off your feet, literally, one night while you were trying to sneak out of the senate offices. The toe of your shoe had caught on the plush carpet, and for one terrifying second, you were airborne. You hadn't seen him step out of the shadows, but before your fragile dignity shattered across the floor, his strong arms had caught you around the waist and had pulled you flush against his chest.
It felt like something out of a holodrama with your heaving chest pressed against his unyielding plastoid, his impassive helmet tilted to look at your face, and your body buzzing with heat.
And then he said your name, deep and rumbling in his chest, and your knees went weak.
He walked you home that night, the silence comfortable and warm between you, and you let him when he got to your door and showed him just how grateful you were for heroics. Your very own knight in shining plastoid.
It was the first night of your new favourite routine; most nights that you had private meetings in the Senate, Fox would appear from the shadows and steal a few hours with you. After, while you shared a cigarra in bed and traced the scars on his handsome face, the two of you would bitch about your days and the rich assholes who consumed them. He always stayed until you fell asleep, but when you woke, the only trace of him would be a slip of flimsi on your side table next to a glass of water.
You were positively smitten, although you would never admit it. You laughed at yourself the first time you questioned your feelings. He was just incredibly talented in bed, far better than the selfish senators and bureaucrats you were used to. You refused to think about how butterflies had erupted in your gut even before he'd gotten into your bed. Refused to acknowledge that no one had ever cared about you like Fox did. You told yourself it wasn't serious, that you weren't developing feelings for him.
But you couldn't deny the rush of excitement, pure giddiness, that shot through you when you caught a flash of his distinctive armor out of the corner of your eye. Nor the way your heart pounded in your chest when his massive hands hovered over your back, not daring to touch you until you were hidden away from the prying eyes of Coruscant.
And you tried as hard as you could to ignore the disappointment that swelled in your gut when he sent one of the other Guards to walk you home when he was busy. But the sting of rejection always faded when the trooper slipped a hastily scribbled note from Fox into your palm when they dropped off outside your building.
It wasn't until told you that he wouldn't be able to see you for two whole weeks, and your mood had instantly soured, that you knew you had lost your heart to him. You felt sick to your stomach at the revelation, and he was none the wiser as he laughed and pulled you to lay on top of him, nipping the underside of your jaw while he explained that a number of battalions, all commanded by his closest brothers, were coming back to Coruscant from the front lines.
Apparently, the entire Coruscant Guard were doing double shifts to try and manage their unruly brothers who spent most of their shore leave obliteratingly drunk, and that he had been guilted and harassed into taking a day off to spend time with his four younger brothers to celebrate the anniversary of completing their ARC training. You didn't know what exactly that meant, but it seemed important to them, to Fox.
It made something soft take root in your chest as you carded your hands through his silver streaked curls while he cycled between whining about his little brothers and their meddling, and pressing open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck. The affection in his voice while he complained, the way his head would fall back to the pillow and his chest rumbled with laughter as he told you stories about each of them, made you crumble completely. You loved getting to see this part of him.
And despite knowing just how unfortunately this might end for you, you loved him.
Halfway through a diatribe about how one of his brothers had pulled a 'blond little defect' out of the trashchute with a stupid little grin on his face, you had blurted out that you wanted to meet them. Why wouldn't you? They were who he loved, and you loved him.
But Fox had gone silent for a second, and you worried you had made a mistake and showed your tenderness too soon. In your anxiety, you hadn't realized the stupid little grin had gone sharp and bright until you were on your back with him hovering over you. "Yeah, cyare? Wanna meet my di'kut little brothers? Wanna help me make them jealous? Show them how their ori'vod gets taken care of while they're off on the front lines?"
You had folded immediately, nodding eagerly as he sunk into you with a groan that reverberated in your chest. He had fucked you like a man possessed, and despite usually being somewhat quiet in bed, he spent the whole time babbling about how you were going to be the perfect gift for his brothers, and that predatory smirk never slipped off his face. It was the last thing you saw with bleary eyes as he slipped out of your bed that night.
It had been all too easy, and exhilarating, to clear your schedule for Fox and his brothers. And after a week of waiting, your hands shook as you paced the length of your apartment waiting for them to arrive. The dinner you had prepared was ready and waiting, and you had groomed yourself to perfection; you wanted to make Fox look good, and you wanted to impress them — impress him.
But deep down, if you were being honest with yourself, you wanted them to like you. They were important to Fox, and Fox mattered to you.
Right on time, as if you could expect anything else, you heard them from the hall before the doorbell rang. Nearly identical voices all overlapping, laughing, teasing, before one sharp whistle brought an abrupt halt to the cacophony immediately before the doorbell rang.
You rushed to open it, heels clicking on the wood as you ran to the door and opened it to find four troopers, all adorned with different colours on their armor, standing at your door in what appeared to be begrudgingly obedient silence. And Fox, helmet tucked under his arm, was standing between them and the door with a dark look on his face.
"Do you di'kuts remember the rules?" he growled out.
"Yes, vod," they all sighed in unison.
"Good. Don't make me regret this," he warned before turning to you, the soft smile you were used to growing on his face.
"Rules?" you asked, raising a brow at him.
"Simple: don't say anything stupid to offend you and this isn't a mess hall so don't act like it. Are you sure you want this, mesh'la?"
"Of course I am, Fox," you grinned back, stepping aside. "Please, come in!"
As if the spell of Fox's discipline had been broken by your words, the overlapped conversations resumed as they nearly tumbled into your apartment. You heard Fox sigh and close the door behind them with a gentle click.
"I'm sorry about them, cyare. They forget their manners on shore leave," he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "If they offend you at all, just tell me, and I'll kill them in their sleep."
"Oh kriff off, ori'vod," the one in the grey armor sighed, taking off his helmet. "We are very well behaved."
"Tell that to my three, full, drunk tanks, Wolffe," Fox hissed back. "And one of your men bit me. I had to get a karking tetanus shot."
Wolffe shot you and Fox a smug smile over his shoulder that reminded you of the hungry grin that Fox liked to give you. But the scar and the silver, cybernetic eye caused you to nearly freeze in your tracks, but you forced yourself to keep moving and keep the smile plastered on your face.
Fox had warned you about the minute differences between them; Wolffe's cybernetic eye, the scar on Cody's temple and his messy, unruly curls, how Bly liked to keep his hair cropped short and often had two yellow lines painted on his cheekbones, and Rex's blond peach fuzz. Still, it had shocked you, but more than anything it filled you with sympathy. These men were fighting for a Republic that treated them as replaceable, that treated them no better than droids.
It made you want to ruin every senator who dared to deny them rights, who dared to pretend like they were better than these brave, incredible men. But that would come later, for now, all you could do was give them dinner and let them know that some people in the Republic appreciated them.
"It smells incredible, ma'am," Bly smiled softly at you.
"I wasn't sure what you all liked, and Fox said 'anything is better than ration slop', which was entirely unhelpful, but I didn't think about allergies at all, so I hope you all can—" you rambled.
"Ma'am," Cody, in his bright orange armor, cut you off. "We were engineered not to have allergies, and I promise, if your food tastes half as good as it smells, we will be bragging about this to our battalions for the foreseeable future." You felt your cheeks heating and nodded, ushering them toward the dining room.
Dinner was… loud, but full of warmth. Fox's brothers took turns asking you questions about yourself, and in turn you had questions for all of them. You tried to keep things light, keep their minds off the war, but the longer you talked, and the more comfortable his brothers seemed to get with you, the more Fox seemed to go silent. He had barely spoken, barely looked at you since dinner had started. He just sat back, staring between his brothers as if he was trying to put some unseen puzzle together.
But other than the Fox-shaped void pretending like you didn't exist, dinner seemed… perfect. Fox's brothers were so fun, so distinct, and so full of life that you couldn't help the way your heart opened to them. Not with how earnestly they praised your cooking, and how they made your cheeks heat when they boasted about how their men would be jealous, and the extraordinary stories they had from the front lines of the war. It didn't take long for you to push them all back into the living room to relax while you prepared dessert and tried to get your racing heart under control.
You were just about to cut into the cake when Rex asked you over his shoulder, almost off-handedly, "It's a nice place you've got. How much did it set you back, if you don't mind me asking?"
Your hands froze, and your eyes flickered over to Fox, who had frozen with his cup of caf halfway to his mouth, staring at your coffee table as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Your mind whispered he's ashamed of you, and a thorn of white-hot mortification settled under your ribs.
But you swallowed the lump in your throat, stuffed down the heat of your embarrassment, and smiled at Rex prettily, batting your eyelashes. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. The Senator from Corsin gets billed directly, at his insistence of course."
You felt the heat of Fox's stare on your face as he whipped around to look at you, but you refused to grant him the satisfaction of a response; it was more fun to watch the realization dawn in his brothers' faces.
Wolffe was the first to catch on, a slow, sharp smirk growing across his face before Cody gave a small cough and set his drink on the table, and Bly's eyes darted away. The only one who didn't seem to respond was Rex, who simply stared at you, but you saw the hint of approval in his eyes.
"Oh? Was Fox unclear about what I invited you all over for?" you asked, giving them a fake pout. "I'm just so grateful for your service, it's only fair that you get to—"
"Cyare," Fox ground out, his voice tight and angry, but you didn't know why — you didn't lie. And Fox had been the one who rambled about making you a gift for them, you were simply doing what he had wanted.
You abandoned the kitchen and slunk into the living room, hips swaying exaggeratedly in complete silence aside from the slow, echoing clicks of your heels on the floor. "What?" You asked, stopping behind Rex. You ran a slow, delicate finger down the line of his face, watching how his posture relaxed and his shoulders dropped. "You don't want your brothers to get one of the most expensive girls on Coruscant for free, just like you do?"
Rex released a ragged breath as you draped yourself over his back, hands sliding down the front of his chest plate slowly, undoing the small latches you had learned about in your haste to undress Fox many times. You let it fall to the floor with a clatter, humming at the feeling of his warm, muscular body under your hands.
"That's a little rude, don't you think?" you asked, pressing your lips to the side of Rex's neck, feeling the man go rigid under you. His hands were balled into tight fists next to him,
"It's very rude, ori'vod," Wolffe agreed, voice teasing.
"It's just a bit of fun," you pouted innocently before pulling away from Rex and sauntering over to Bly. "Besides, you're all so handsome, how can a girl resist?"
"You're not obligated to do anything, ma'am—" Bly said, his brows furrowed as you came to a stop in front of him.
"Oh, sweetheart, I know," you beamed at him as you sank to your knees, your hands skirting up the edges of his plastoid covered thighs before settling on his codpiece with a grin. "But I want to. Because I want you. I want all of you. If… that's what you want, of course."
Bly choked on his own spit and nodded as you expertly unfastened his armor and snaked a hand under the band of the tight black garment and took hold of his hardening cock with a smile.
"Not all identical, I guess," you winked, pulling the band down before licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. It earned you a shout of surprise before your lips closed around the head with a gentle suck. You could see his hands flexing next to his thighs, his whole body twitching with desire to do something.
"Bly'ika needs permission, pretty girl," one of them said teasingly.
You pulled back to look at his face with a genuine, soft smile and kneaded the tight muscle of his thighs. "You can touch me if you want to, just be nice."
The effect was instant; his hands were gentle as he pushed your hair out of your face and gathered it at the back of your head, pulling you back toward him with the slightest pressure. You let him guide you forward, tuning out the chatter from around the room to focus on Bly.
Somewhere, you heard what sounded like a door closing, and you turned to look, but Bly gently turned you back to him, one finger gently stroking your cheek. "Is everything okay?" You asked, concern swelling in your chest.
"Everything is perfect, beautiful. Just focus on me right now," he smiled, bright and blinding. And the thoughts disappeared from your mind as you nodded.
His hands were gentle and exploratory, not demanding and harsh, and his moans were more like whimpers than grunts. And they were music to your ears as your tongue swirled around the tip of his cock.
"Kark, you're good at that," he praised, his voice breathy and strained.
You flashed him a quick, wicked smile before you relaxed your throat and sunk down on him nearly to the base, ignoring the way your eyes watered and your jaw strained, focusing on how his fist tightened in your hair and the satisfied groan he let out when your hand wrapped around what you couldn't swallow down.
You worked your tongue and hand in tandem, and it didn't take long for him to go tense under you, his chest heaving and muscles jumping sporadically. You sat back on your heels and let his cock slip out of your throat, letting your hand do most of the work as you sucked on the tip. Bly came with a broken shout of your name, and various curses that you didn't understand.
You pulled off him with a soft pop, his grip on your hair going slack as he sank into your couch nearly boneless. You waited for him to relax, sitting back on your heels as he opened his eyes to look at you. And you smiled at him and opened your mouth, showing him his release on your tongue.
"Fuck, I can't believe you're real," he groaned, sounding almost pained as you preened.
But a new hand, not Bly's, threaded into your hair and caressed the back of your head softly, almost petting you, before tightening into a fist, holding onto the root of your hair. It wasn't aggressive, like Fox usually was, but it was firm. Commanding. A bare forearm and hand appeared in front of your face, cupped slightly. "Spit," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You tipped your head back to look at him, which he allowed without loosening his grip, and found a shirtless Cody staring you down, eyes hard and unwaveringly serious.
You gave him the most pleading look you could muster, letting the tears pool in your lash line. A soft smile broke across his face, and the grip on your hair loosened slightly to scratch at your scalp. "This isn't up for debate, sweet thing. You don't deserve something so nasty in your pretty mouth."
"Kriff, vod, you callin' me gross or somethin'?" Bly slurred out.
"No," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm saying she's too precious for something so filthy. So spit, mesh'la. I won't ask again."
You huffed and gave him a small nod, spitting Bly's cum into Cody's waiting hand, grimacing at the mess you made. You gave a little cough, and looked back up at Cody who beamed at you in response and extracted his other hand from your hair.
"I could have swallowed," you argued half-heartedly, wincing at how wrecked your voice sounded and how much you missed the feeling of his blunt nails against your scalp. "I do it all the time."
"Not here, not with us," Cody cooed, brushing a stray tear you didn't know had fallen off your cheek with his clean hand.
"But Fox—" you began, eyes darting over to where you remembered him sitting.
But Cody caught your chin between his fingers and turned your face back toward him. "No. Not when you made us dinner and are treating us so well. I don't care what anyone else wants, or what you've always done; I want to make sure you're taken care of. That's why you're gonna sit on Rex'ika's face next for us, isn't that right?"
The curl of desire in your gut forced a quiet keen out of you as you scanned the room for the blond man. And you found him, eyes hooded and dark with desire, divested of his armor completely with the sleeves of his blacks pushed up to his elbows and his hard cock tenting the tight black fabric between his obscenely spread legs.
"You want that, cyare?" Rex groaned. "Because, kriff, I think I'd die to taste you."
You nodded and shuffled toward him unsteadily, not trusting your legs to work properly after sitting on your knees for so long. But Rex wasn't having it; he was off the couch almost instantly, scooping you up off the floor into his arms.
An involuntary gasp escaped you as Rex smirked, "Let me enjoy this, enjoy you. Does anyone else like to put their tongue inside your pretty cunt? Or are they all di'kuts?"
You gave him a bashful shrug and Rex cursed under his breath as he carried you to the couch he had abandoned and laid you down, staring down at you like a starving man at a feast.
"May I?" He asked, voice gentle despite the need in his eyes. You nodded, the words lodging themselves in your throat as his hands slid up your thighs and disappeared under the hem of your dress. You could feel how the thin, expensive material of your underwear had been ruined by your desire, your sticky essence making them cling to your skin.
Rex hummed in delight as he flipped your skirt up completely, exposing you to him, and shuffled down until your thighs were bracketing his shoulders. Even the feeling of his breath against your balmy made you squirm and keen, your hips bucking helplessly and searching for friction.
You were only vaguely aware of another body joining you until a second set of hands had hooked under your knees and pulled your legs open even wider and kept them there, steady and strong. "Just relax," he whispered. "Rex'ika has you."
You forced your body to loosen and let your eyes flutter shut as Rex teased his way from the shell of your knee to the apex of your thighs with his tongue, teeth, and lips. You tried to keep your breathing even but every nip, every suck, every lick made you gasp, moan, and writhe.
You were nearly about to whine and complain when you felt him lick a stripe up your cunt, the ruined marital barely providing any resistance. But the angle that the seam caught against your clit had your eyes snapping open with a desperate keen and you found that intimidating, unwavering stare of the mismatched silver and brown eyes, and realized it was Wolffe's hands that had kept you folded nearly in half and spread open.
"Please," you whined pathetically, reaching up and pawing at Wolffe's chest while yours heaved and your hips jerked in desperation. "More, kriff, please."
That animalistic grin that reminded you so much of Fox — where was he anyway? — was painted on Wolffe's face as he carefully released his grip on your thighs to brush your hair out of your face. "Just let us take care of you, honey," he crooned as you gasped, feeling Rex drag your underwear down your legs. "We've got you."
Before the last syllable had left his mouth, you felt Rex's tongue on your bare slit and you nearly screamed in relief and agony. Reality ceased to exist; all that mattered was Rex's tongue, never staying in one place long enough. Just when the pressure would build with his tongue on your clit, he would stray and lap against your entrance, and when you started to sink into the rhythm of it, he would move back up to your clit.
High pitched, breathless moans spilled out of you as you thrashed against the weight of Rex and Wolffe's grip. You were so close, but not close enough at all. "Fuck, Rex! Please, I'm so close!" you sobbed, grinding down for more friction.
"Make her cum, vod'ika," you heard someone say from across the room.
Whatever skill you had thought Rex possessed before paled in comparison to his single-minded determination to drag an orgasm out of you as quickly as possible. All it took was the gentle suck against your clit for your vision to white out and a scream to tear out of your throat.
It seemed like your orgasm only spurned him on, because he pressed himself further into you, making you grind against the ridge of his nose as his tongue fucked your clenching hole. The sting of overstimulation forced the tears to break your lashline as you sobbed in both pain and unbridled pleasure while he coaxed you into cumming again.
But the continued pressure on your sensitive clit had you whimpering in more pain than pleasure as you tried to scramble backwards away from his ministrations. Instantly, the pressure was gone and gentle hands skirted across your skin, soothing you as you shook.
"Sorry, cyare," Rex mumbled into your thigh, voice wrecked but happy. "You taste so good, so sweet. Could spend hours between these thighs."
You felt your cheeks heat as you buried your face in your arms and giggled, feeling almost drunk with ecstacy. "Stop it," you mumbled, "You're just saying that."
"Now, mesh'la," someone tutted, "You can be shy all you want, but Rex doesn't lie."
You sighed and uncovered your face, pouting at Rex who was still smirking at you from between your thighs, lips shiny and wet from your release. Seeing him like that made you whine and toss your head back as another wave of desire flared in your gut.
It wasn't helped by Wolffe's fingertips skimming up your arms and across your chest, his touch featherlight and leaving you breathless.
"Can we get you out of this dress, pretty girl?" he asked, his fingers dipping into the hem of your neckline to trace the edge of your breasts. You nodded, trapping your lip between your teeth to stop the pathetic moan from escaping.
But Cody appeared in your line of sight, and gently coaxed your jaw open, only letting the furrow of his brows drop when your lip against your teeth had been replaced with his long, thick finger pressing down on your tongue. "None of that now, we need words, gorgeous," he said, voice tender but firm.
"Please," you mumbled, the word barely recognizable with Cody's digit in your mouth but you didn't care. The time for shame had long come and gone, and you trusted them, because Fox trusted them.
"Anything you want, cyare," Cody said, smile like sunrise on the horizon. "Tonight is about you."
Suddenly, Bly had replaced Wolffe's strong, sturdy frames and he and Rex worked in tandem to peel your clothes off. They didn't push, didn't pull, didn't rip, didn't demand; they held you with reverence, unbuttoned and unzipped as if you were something precious to them. And the whole time, Cody and Wolffe stood over you and watched, eyes darkening as you were revealed to them, piece by piece, garment by garment. The four of them seemed consumed by you.
And the praise, whispered hot and breathless against you as they worked: the skin of your neck, the shell of your ear, the swell of your breasts, the fat of your ass, the junction of your thighs, the slope of your calf, the inside of your ankle.
It wasn't long before you were barefoot, naked, and breathlessly sandwiched between them, not an inch of you from your neck to your toes had been left untouched or unkissed — you wouldn't be surprised if every inch of you had been left bruised by their mouths.
But you were missing something; that small, empty feeling that only Fox managed to drive away had returned, sitting in your chest like a stone. It made your eyes blur with tears you refused to let fall, and the tips of your fingers go numb.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Bly asked, kneading into your hips with a frown.
"I just…" you choked out, but you shook your head and forced a smile on your face, willing the tears away. "It's nothing, I'm just being silly. Don't—" you tried to lie, but you were cut off by a voice you hadn't heard almost all night.
"You want them to kiss you, don't you, cyare?" Fox asked, his helmeted head appearing between Cody and Wolffe's. Just knowing he was there made the pressure lift off your chest, but seeing him, even though you couldn't see his face, had you sinking into Bly and Rex with a blissful nod. "You want this to be more, you want to know this is real, isn't that right?"
"Mesh'la," Rex sighed, pressing his lips to your forehead, "You should've said somethin' earlier."
It was all the confirmation your blissed out brain needed; you surged up and slotted your mouth against his with a hum of satisfaction. You felt yourself melt even more into him as you tried to memorize the difference between him and Fox, but he disappeared too quickly for you to grasp anything other than the feeling in your gut.
You tried to complain, but before the words could escape you, your head was tilted backwards and Bly's mouth descended yours. He was sweeter, more tender than Rex, but the feeling of his lips pressed against yours made the butterflies on your stomach flare all the same.
"I think our vod'ika are being selfish," you heard someone laugh, your eyes fluttering open to see Wolffe and Cody still looming over you, Fox now gone back to wherever he had been hiding, with matching grins that made your stomach flip, and free of their blacks with matching, leaking, erections that made your heart start to race.
You felt Rex chuckle against your chest as Bly sighed, both of them pressing lingering kisses across your skin as they extracted themselves from where they had been cocooned around you, and were seamlessly replaced by their brothers' imposing frames.
The energy in the room shifted immediately; where Rex and Bly were familiar in the way they teased, they were softer and sweeter than Fox. But Wolffe was menacing in the same way Fox was, all sharp and predatory, and Cody was reserved, but gave you the same impression that disobedience wouldn't be tolerated. You wanted all of it, wanted to learn all of the minute ways they were similar and different, wanted to know what each of them liked and how to get them worked up.
But any attempt to think of the future disappeared when Wolffe's teeth sunk into your neck with a groan in tandem with Cody's tongue slipping into your mouth with the press of his lips against yours. You let their hands wander, both more insistent than the other two had been, and you took the opportunity to let your hands wander too — down Cody's chest with one hand, and up Wolffe's massive thighs with the other.
They were both so warm, so solid, and you couldn't resist the temptation to wrap your hands around their cocks, earning twin moans. It made you feel powerful to have these strong, gorgeous men, panting and desperate for you.
"I told you she was good," you heard Bly chuckle breathlessly.
Wolffe's hands got more bold, pinching your nipple with one hand while the other found home around your throat — not squeezing just there. Like both a threat and a promise wrapped in one.
"It's my turn, ori'vod," he grumbled and Cody pulled back with a smirk. "You let the youngest go first, and then you make me wait? Is this payback for Felucia, because you need to get over that."
"Are you gonna kiss her, or are you going to complain some more?" Cody asked, kissing your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, while subtly turning you to face Wolffe.
You saw the flash of a smile and striking silver eye before he dove in, nipping your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. His was the most demanding kiss, the most insistent, but you refused to back down and nipped his plump bottom lip right back.
"Who do you want first, beautiful?" Wolffe grunted, pulling back as his hips chased your fist subtly. "Want me to wreck you first, or do you want Cody's boring vanilla shebs first?"
"I'm not boring," Cody groaned, dropping his head forward to mouth at your chest, all teeth and tongue.
"Yes, you are, and you know it," Wolffe argued, grabbing your hips and canting them backwards, trapping your hand and his cock between his hard body and your ass with a grunt before he spoke again. "Being a Marshal Commander has made both you and Fox so karking boring—"
"Can I have you both?" you asked innocently, stopping the words in their tracks as a symphony of moans reverberated from around the room.
"Are you sure, cyare? We don't have to if you don't want this," Cody asked breathlessly.
"I'm sure, Cody. I want it. Want you. Both of you," you replied honestly.
Without a second of hesitation, both had batted your hands away from their cocks and Cody's fingers had found their way into your cunt, scissoring you open while Wolffe rubbed tight, quick circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled back as you went totally boneless and pliant, letting them have their way with you.
It was only when you felt the press of two blunt cockheads against your entrance did you realize what you had signed up for. The stretch of them was borderline painful but wiped every coherent thought out of your head and completely destroyed the ability to form words. All you knew was them; the heat radiating off of them, the salt of Cody's sweat mingling with your juices on your tongue from where he had pushed his fingers in your mouth, the sharp zing of pain from Wolffe's teeth against the back of your neck, and the all-consuming fullness that made you want to squirm away and also press yourself further into the feeling.
It felt like their cocks never ended — you didn't think you could take any more but you kept sinking down, inch by impossible inch, until it finally stopped and all three of you went painfully still. But the sudden hitch of one of their hips forced a breathless gasp out of you as you shattered completely. The orgasm was a total surprise and simultaneously not at all as you shook and sobbed, completely at their mercy while they moaned in unison and started thrusting gently in perfect, precision strokes.
"You're gonna have to cum again for them, mesh'la," Fox said, his tight voice cutting through the cocaphony of moans, and the buzz in your ears from somewhere out of sight. "If you don't, they're going to argue about who made it happen."
"Shut up, vod," they both groaned, picking up their pace.
Black spots started to dance in your vision as the pleads for release started pouring out of your mouth nonsensically, nearly unintelligible with Cody's fingers in your mouth. But they seemed to understand; your pathetic whines urged them to go faster, to snap their hips into yours harder.
You came with a broken half scream-half moan as you dug your nails into Cody's thick, gorgeous neck as his tongue invaded your mouth again. You felt his hips stutter to a stop with a groan and a flood of warmth that made you yank Wolffe's neatly trimmed hair back in surprise, which made his jaw clamp shut on your shoulder with an almost pained whine as he followed suit, chasing after his orgasm with short, sloppy thrusts that made you whine and wriggle.
"Stop fucking moving, Wolffe," Cody growled, dropping his forehead onto your free shoulder.
"She feels too good," Wolffe grunted in response, but stopped moving regardless.
"She's perfect, show some respect," you heard Rex sigh.
"Kark, yeah she is," Bly groaned in response.
You cautioned a look to the rest of the room, and found Rex and Bly sprawled out on the floor in front of you, both with cum drying on their stomachs and heaving chests. It made you smile to see them so relaxed and obviously happy, despite the fact you weren't even touching them.
But then your eye caught the movement of red and white in the shadows of the room, and you smiled fondly, watching him shake out his hair after removing his helmet. You reached your hand out toward him with a sleepy whine.
"You did so good for us, cyare," Fox grinned, pushing himself out of the chair in the corner.
"I thought you left. You seemed mad that I—" you started, voice going wobbly with tears but Fox shook his head.
"Never, cyare," Fox promised.
"You probably heard Rex kick his bucket halfway across the room," Bly added.
"Or Wolffe drop his chest plate when you took Bly in your throat," Rex defended himself.
"I was here the whole time, I got it all recorded—" Fox patted his helmet, ignoring his brothers' teasing "—for when you're missing them while they're away. And for them too, when they're missing you."
The thought of it made your walls flutter — pulling pained moans from Cody and Wolffe — and sleepy, mumbled satisfaction from Rex and Bly. You watched him shuffle around the room, eyes growing heavy as he collected discarded armor and assorted them by colour, before removing and stacking his own and stripping down to nothing.
His hands were gentle when they threaded into your hair, and moving entirely on instinct, you let your jaw fall open and go lax. You saw the brief smile before he pushed himself into your waiting mouth slowly and settled heavy in your throat as your eyes fluttered closed. Fox hummed in appreciation as both Wolffe and Cody stroked your sides and pressed soft, open mouthed kisses to your shoulders and cheeks.
You were halfway asleep when a featherlight fingertip circled your sensitive clit in tandem with Fox's gentle head scratches and you came with a shiver, swallowing the moan around Fox's length as he came down your throat with a low moan of his own.
"Perfect, mesh'la, you're too good for us," he sighed, easing himself out of your throat before cupping your face to press a tender, chaste kiss against your mouth.
"Karking perfect," Rex agreed.
"Best gift ever," Wolffe sighed.
You opened one eye to look at Fox, who was smiling at you like you'd hung the stars in the sky. "I told you that you were the perfect gift."
"A week ago!" you argued with a yawn.
But Fox shook his head and sighed, "This is a tomorrow conversation. Right now, bed."
The subtle order in his voice had his brothers moving as if on instinct; Cody and Wolffe detangled themselves from you, scattering a constellation of apologetic kisses across your skin as they pulled out of your cunt while you whined and cried at the discomfort before they deposited you into Bly's waiting arms. He bundled you in a blanket and carried you to your room, where Rex was waiting with a washcloth and a clean shirt.
By the time they had cleaned you up, Fox was waiting in the center of your bed with open arms, bracketed by a half asleep Cody and an almost totally asleep Wolffe who had made themselves comfortable in your usually cavernous bed. Your eyes fluttered shut as Fox tucked you into their embrace and you felt the bed shift as Rex and Bly joined the pile.
You sunk into the pile of limbs, the murmurs of the five brothers bickering lovingly lulling you into unconsciousness.
I'm not sure just how far this road will go (Part 2)
Pairing: Fox x Padawan!Reader / Fox x fem!Reader
Summary: After weeks of distance and silence, the fleeting moment you shared with Fox seems destined to fade into memory. But your Commander in scarlet armor has other ideas.
Word count: 8.7k (when i said he possessed me...)
Tags/Warnings: NSFW 18+; the plot got in the porn again; fingering; semi?-public sex; pinv sex; unprotected sex (armor up your little trooper before deployment guys); armor kink if you squint; pov parkour because I like knowing what everyone is thinking; so much fucking angst; slightly even more awkward!Reader; soft!Fox; would anyone be interested in a part 3?
Part 1 | Part 3 | Taglist | series navigation post
ori'vod - older brother ; vod'ika - little sister
vod - brother ; vode - brothers
cyar'ika - sweetheart, darling
ner - my
mesh’la - beautiful
Jetti - Jedi
shebs - ass
As much as you couldn't wait to message him when you got his frequency, you surprisingly simply... didn't. You got back to your cabin, all giddy and excited, you opened his comm channel and... you froze. You stared at the small typing bar flickering on the screen for what felt like hours urging your brain to let you do anything.
Cody said he asked for your frequency first, that meant he wanted to talk you – logically you knew this. But your damn anxious brain wouldn't let you message him.
You deleted what had to be five attempts at nice, normal greetings, scoffing at the weird phrasing. Everything you wrote felt off, as if you suddenly forgot all the Basic you've been speaking for your entire life. The words looked wrong and you triple checked the spelling on almost all of them, worried that you'd gotten the simplest ones like 'mission', 'system' and even 'weeks' wrong. It was infuriating.
After half an hour of staring at your comm you gave up, threw it on your bed and jumped in the shower, vowing to finally send a simple 'hi' once you were done.
But that was six weeks ago.
You're sitting on a cot in the medbay now, watching the clone medics milling around. The battle was long and exhausting, but it's finally ended and you're en route to Coruscant. You're not injured – you're there for moral support for Waxer, who caught a stray blaster bolt right at the end of the siege. He'll be fine, nothing major – you're actually in there to keep yourself distracted if you're honest.
You still haven't commed him. You thought about it daily, but you kept putting it off. And now you're on your way back to Coruscant where you'll spend the next seven rotations while the men finally have some much-earned leave.
And you're terrified.
Has he thought of you at all these past weeks? Does he still want to see you? You'd know if you'd managed to kriffing comm him… But your anxiety and insecurities didn't allow it. And well, there was also the other issue… the small, impossible-to-ignore issue of, you know, the fact that you’re a Jedi. You’re not supposed to form attachments. Not supposed to get involved with a clone. Not supposed to be hiding in the medbay, unable to focus on anything around you because all you can think about is seeing Fox again.
Will you even run into him? You don't really see how your paths might intersect – you have no business in the Senate, he has no business in the Temple.
Maybe at the 79s? But he's rarely there. In all the times you’ve been there with Cody, Rex and the other troublemakers of the 501st, you've never seen him in.
No... you doubt you'll run into him unless you actually pick up the comm and send him a message.
But it's been so long. Six standard weeks of no contact. And after what? One single night of drunken mistakes? One amazing night that you can't get out of your head... But who are you kidding – the odds of him clinging to it the same way as you have are slim. There's no way he's still thinking about you.
Fox watches the stream of troopers pour out of the transports, his eyes scanning for any sign of Jedi robes among the orange-painted plastoid.
He’s not really supposed to be there. He happened to be on patrol in the area, noticed the transports coming down, and decided to wait for Cody since he'd not seen him in a while.
Well… that’s the story he'll give him and anyone else who asks what he’s doing at the main Base. But the truth is he'd arranged his schedule this way. He wanted to be in the area, knowing that the 212th was returning on-world.
He wanted to run into you.
Fox had tried a second time to get your frequency from Cody – a couple of days after his vod had refused to give it to him – and he learned that you've also asked for his. And Cody gave it to you.
So Fox waited.
And waited.
And waited…
The first rotation passed as it usually did, with Fox dealing with the banthashit thrown at him by various senators or the Chancellor. He’d not even had the time to check his comm until the evening, and when he finally did, he was disappointed to see there was no message from you. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been expecting it…
The next rotations were spent checking his comm increasingly often. At first it was a couple of time throughout the day, but as the days turned into weeks and you still had not reached out to him, Fox began to check it constantly… obsessively.
After four weeks he caved and sent a comm to Cody.
CC–1010: Are you sure you gave her the correct frequency?
His brother’s response came excruciatingly slow – the 212th was in the middle of a siege after all.
CC–2224: I did. She hasn’t messaged?
CC–1010: Oh she has, we’ve been talking all day, every day, and I’ve commed you for no kriffin’ reason.
CC–2224: Don’t take it out on me, vod. She probably came to her senses. It sucks, I get it. But she’s Jetti. You’re a GAR officer. I suggest you follow her example and snap out of it.
CC-1010: Thanks, vod. Always such a pleasure speaking to you.
He hated this. Hated that he expected something from you. That a part of him – the part that should’ve known better – kept hoping you hadn’t forgotten what it meant, even if it had only been once. You’d been his moment of warmth in a never-ending sea of anxiety, pressure and political nonsense. You’d been the first real connection he’d felt with another person in way too long.
And he thought you’d felt it too.
Cody was right, however. Fox had to snap out of it. He had to get his head back in the game. He was the commanding officer of the Corries. He had a duty to the Chancellor, to the people of Coruscant, to his vode. He had to focus on that. He had to get you out of his mind.
And yet, every time the comm lit up, he checked it.
And every time, it wasn’t you.
To his credit, Fox really did try to let it go. He tried to focus on anything else – even on the conversations of senators he usually tuned out. But you wouldn’t leave him. You haunted his dreams, your face appeared clear as day in front of him every time he closed his eyes. It was pathetic, infuriating. And it was really getting to him.
His mood had soured more than usual, his patience even thinner than before – he actually made a couple shinnies cry at one point. The others noticed. Thorn, Thire, Stone, even Hound – they all tried to figure out what had happened, their worry for their vod growing.
But Fox was Fox. The more they tried to reach out to him, the more he pulled away. Especially from Thorn, who knew about that night. Knew about you. Knew what to imply with his questions.
His vod tried, but Fox refused to speak about it. Every time Thorn approached him, he would find something that needed his attention, some place he needed to be. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to name it. Because once he did, it became real – and real things could be lost.
You asked Cody for his frequency. You had the means to contact him. So why didn’t you? Why even ask for it if you weren’t going to use it? You must’ve wanted to send a message – Fox was sure of it. Was it a rejection? Was that why you hadn’t commed yet –were you going to reject him, tell him that it couldn’t happen again, but you didn’t know how? Were you going to tell him it had meant nothing to you, or worse, that you did regret it?
All these questions swarming in his mind – it was driving him crazy.
You were driving him crazy.
So when he learned that the 212th was returning to Coruscant, Fox decided he needed to see you.
So now he’s here, stiffly stood at parade rest in the hangar of the main Base, as if he’s preparing for a thorough inspection.
Ideally, he wants to talk to you – but he knows he shouldn’t. Because what he really wants is to ask if you’d thought about him, if that night had meant anything to you. He wants to ask why you haven’t commed.
He wants… he just wants to be in your warm presence again, hear the melody of your voice – even if only for a moment.
It’s embarrassing, really, how much of an effect you had on him.
Fox steps to the side to let the medics pass, eyes briefly scanning the injured troopers laid out on hover-stretchers. The first transports are always filled with the wounded – those being moved from field medbays to proper infirmaries, or even to the GMF if the damage is bad enough. He’s actually relieved you weren’t on any of them…
He counts the LAATs that have already landed. He’s read the casualty reports – he knows how many transports should be allocated for the injured.
Then come the officers.
If he estimated correctly, you should be on the next one.
He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, the exhale filtering loudly through the voice modulator of his helmet. The transport is approaching. His left hand balls into a fist before he flexes his fingers a couple of times, trying to shake the nerves.
He shouldn’t be this nervous – it makes no sense. He’s never nervous. Not when chasing dangerous criminals through the lower levels. Not when dealing with temperamental, vindictive senators who throw a fit if they don’t get their way. He’s always calm, collected, in control.
Hell, he wasn’t even this nervous that night. He was the one in control – you allowed him to be. Sure, he was also emboldened by the vapours of alcohol, but there’d also been something about you – an openness that encouraged him to let his guard down, to flirt and tease. To be himself. Not a clone. Not a commander. Just–
“Fox?”
The voice almost makes him flinch.
Fox turns, seeing blue-painted plastoid approaching from behind him. His eyes then lift from the tally marks scratched into the vambrace to the bleached buzzcut of his little brother.
“Rex,” he greets with a nod.
Rex’s face lights up. “Didn’t think you ever left the Senate,” he says, clearly pleased to see his ori’vod. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“Saw the transports coming in, figured I’d catch Cody,” Fox replies casually. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”
Rex pauses, giving Fox a quick once-over. “You alright?”
“Still breathing,” Fox says, then hurries to change the subject. “I didn’t know you were on-world.”
“Special assignment with Skywalker,” Rex answers. “Redeploying tomorrow. It’s why I’m here actually. Was gonna ask Cody to join me at the 79s tonight.”
The hiss of the repulsorlifts draw Fox’s attention and he glances over in time to see the doors of the LAAT swish open. He swears his heart stops for a moment.
But the first to jump off is Cody.
Fox can pinpoint the exact moment his vod spots him. Cody’s walking beside his general, gaze scanning lazily across the hangar – until he freezes mid-step. His helmet snaps toward where Fox and Rex stand. And he just stares.
This isn’t ideal…
Fox hoped he’d manage to get your attention while somehow avoiding him.
Cody, who will immediately see through his lie and know the true reason he’s there.
Cody, who thinks of you as a little sister and is fiercely protective of you.
Cody, who he’d never seen furious – properly furious – until that night outside his office.
Their last interaction had been that comm exchange two weeks ago. It didn’t exactly end on a friendly note.
“– so you’re coming, yeah?” Rex’s voice cuts in, clapping a hand to Fox’s shoulder.
“What?” Fox blinks, only now tuning back in.
“To the 79s,” Rex grins. “You’re coming with us.”
“Uhm… sure,” Fox mumbles, his gaze already moving back to the 212th’s Commander.
Cody is marching towards them, his helmet now off, eyeing Fox with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Fox straightens instinctively, his posture going rigid.
The uproar of the chaotic hangar fills the gunship as soon as the doors open, momentarily drowning out the noise of your anxious mind. You’re among the last to disembark the transport, hovering around Waxer despite his protests that you have no reason to fuss over him. But you need something – anything – to keep your mind busy. To keep your mind from thinking of–
Him.
Hard plastoid hits your chest as you walk straight into Boil’s back, knocking the wind out of you for a second.
“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath. You bring your hand up to the left side of your sternum and rub what will undoubtedly become a new bruise – as if you didn’t already have enough after the siege.
“You alright, vod’ika?” Boil asks.
But you don’t even register his question. Your eyes lock on a figure you didn’t expect to see here.
Commander Fox – talking to Rex and Cody.
His scarlet armor is glistening in the iridescent light of the hangar and he is standing tall, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders squared. He looks just as imposing and maddeningly confident as you remember. As if nothing happened…
“I wonder what he’s doing here.” Waxer unknowingly voices the question buzzing in your mind.
Well… one of the questions anyway.
“Eh, can’t be anything bad” Boil comments. “No other Corries in sight.”
Their conversation doesn’t quite reach you – it’s like you’re listening to it from underwater. Plus, the sound of your heart thudding loudly in your ears seems to muffle all noise of the busy hangar.
You don’t know what to do.
Should you go over there and say hello? Risk embarrassing yourself – blurting out something idiotic, or worse, admitting you’ve been thinking about him nonstop for six weeks?
Or should you bolt?
He hasn’t seen you yet. You could make a run for it and catch up to Obi-Wan who’s heading toward the shuttle that'll take him back to the Temple. But he’s just given you permission to stay behind after you said you wished to remain with the men a little longer. If you suddenly change your mind he might figure out that something’s wrong.
No… the risk is too high – you don’t trust yourself to properly mask your emotions right now.
Maybe if you stick close to Waxer and Boil until you’re and out of the hanger… then head straight for the infirmary. There’s bound to be more than enough for you to do there. Help the medics. Focus on the walking wounded. Take the minor cases and lose yourself in the work.
Long enough for a certain Commander to return to the Senate where he belongs.
But you don’t get to make a decision.
You glance back toward the three men–
And your stomach lurches.
A shiver jolts through your body. He’s seen you. Fox is looking straight at you.
You’re sure of it. Even through the dark visor of his helmet, you can feel it. Your eyes meet – you know they do.
For a few moments you don’t move. You can’t – it’s as if you're frozen in carbonite.
Then, after what feels like an unreasonably long time of just staring, your brain kicks back into gear and you realise how ridiculous you must look. And how ridiculous this whole situation is. You are a Jedi – a damn good one too – and here you are, freezing like an Alderaanian deer in the headlights at the sight of a man you slept with once. Get it together. You’re supposed to be better than this.
Unfortunately for you, the others can see that something is wrong.
"Are you okay?" Waxer asks. "You look a little out of it."
"Uhh... fine," you manage to croak. You swallow hard, then start walking without another word.
Every step you take feels heavy, like wading through water. Your hesitance is impossible to hide. He's not making it easy either. The only sign of tension is the slight stiffening in his shoulders – barely noticeable, but you catch it. Though you don’t know what it means. He still stands tall, still looks unbothered. Calm. Collected. It makes your stomach twist.
Because a small part of you – a tiny, treacherous part – hopes that maybe, somehow, he’s here for you.
And that scares you. You’re worried that if you let that seed of hope take root in your heart, it’ll just be crushed. You can feel the heartache before it even takes place. Maker, you wish you’d bolted when you had the chance.
Captain Rex notices you approach, and warmly says your name.
“Captain,” you reply with a slight curl of your lips.
It’s a rehearsed smile – the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes – but it’s the best you can manage right now. Too bad Cody knows you so well – you really wish he didn’t look at you with such blatant concern written all over his face.
“How’d the siege go after we left?” Rex asks, glancing between you and Cody.
“Believe it or not, we can actually handle a few of droids without the 501st,” you sigh, rolling your eyes with theatrical flair. “Careful, Rex – it sounds like you’re letting Anakin’s overconfidence get to your head.”
“Never,” the Captain chuckles.
Next to him, Fox shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The slight movement catches your attention, and without your permission, your eyes glance his way again.
“Do you know Commander Fox?” Rex asks. “He’s–”
“We’ve met,” Fox cuts in.
His voice hits you like a physical blow. It’s not cold. It’s not bitter. Just… impersonal, completely devoid of any emotion. No wonder some troopers joke that the Corrie Guard Commander is secretly a droid – he might as well be, speaking and standing so damn rigidly.
Actually…
You look at him – really look at him. He’s too rigid. His voice is too emotionless. Not at all how you remember him from that night. He’s… different. Apprehensive. Maybe even anxious?
That little seed of hope stirs again in your heart.
“Yes,” you confirm. “We met at the fundraising gala.”
Your voice is lighter now, and the small smile you offer is more genuine. Maybe you’re reading too much into it – analysing the smallest movements – but it seems to have an immediate effect on him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders and there’s a slight tilt of his helmet your way. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s hoping you’ll say more. Acknowledge that night in some way. You need to think of something quickly.
“The Commander actually saved my shebs,” you blurt out. Heat rushes to your cheeks as both Cody and Rex turn their heads to look at you. Maker, why did you open your mouth? “The Senator of my home planet he… uhh – there were these-these journalists taking photos – and, uhm, anyway I could’ve been in trouble.” You wince. “Still think that was abuse of power though,” the conclusion is accompanied by an awkward laugh.
Your eyes drop to the floor and you bite your lip, cursing your heart for racing and your mouth for spewing out incoherent nonsense. And yet, it worked.
“Brenko lost the election,” Fox says, voice steadier. “The new Senator actually seems decent.”
You glance back into the black of his visor, hoping that your eyes meet – it feels that way anyway. That sounded… more like him.
“Good. I couldn’t stand that fucker,” you chuckle.
A quiet, amused huff crackles out through his voice modulator. He laughed – sort of.
And just like that, that seed of hope is a flower in bloom.
“You were planning his murder if I remember correctly,” Fox says, the edge in his voice softening into something almost cordial – maybe even a little teasing. “Bold of you to admit that to the commander of the Guard.”
Definitely teasing.
“I said I was considering it, not actively planning,” you shoot back, slipping easily into the banter. “Don’t twist my words, Commander. That won’t stand in court.”
Another small huff escapes his lips and you can’t help the bright smile that lights up your face. Fox seems more at ease now – the tension in his shoulders has melted away and he finally releases his hands from behind his back.
“I could probably fabricate some evidence,” Fox continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve already established I’m not above abuse of power.”
“I knew the Coruscant Guard was corrupted,” you exclaim dramatically.
Next to him, Rex frowns slightly, shooting Fox a quick, confused look. He’s not actually… flirting, is he? The confusion deepens when he glances at Cody – who is glaring at Fox. His jaw is clenched, and the helmet is gripped so tightly, his knuckles must be white under the glove. So Rex isn’t imagining it. Cody sees it too – and he’s clearly not thrilled.
Rex takes half a step back – he’d rather not be standing between the two commanders right now. But the movement startles both you and Fox, breaking the spell. You glance around the hangar, then at Rex, whose eyes flick between his brothers, suspicion written plainly across his face.
You feel it now – the ripple in the Force coming from Cody. Not as furious as that night outside Fox’s office, but still… very much not happy. You swallow hard and risk a glance. Just as you expected, an annoyed grimace darkens his face.
Fox sees it too, and his posture instantly goes back to rigid.
The uncomfortable silence that settles over the four of you is deafening, and as much as you’d like to talk to him for longer, you need to escape the tense atmosphere. You cannot deal with Cody right now, and you can basically see the wheels turning inside Rex’s head – he’ll figure it out if you don’t dissipate the tension soon.
“I uhh…” you start quietly, pausing to clear your throat. “I should head back to the Temple.”
Fox’s helmet dips toward you, then shifts ever so slightly to Cody. His left fist clenches and unclenches by his side a couple of times as he quickly runs a few scenarios through his mind. It can’t end well – he knows it – but he still wants to do it. He wants to be close to you just a little longer.
“I can give you a ride,” Fox offers. “I’ll drop you off before I head back to the Senate.”
Cody inches closer to you, in an unspoken plea for you to decline. But nothing he could do or say right now could stop you. Not when your heart is racing with anticipation and butterflies are fluttering in your stomach. All at the prospect of spending more time with him. Alone.
“Thank you, Commander. That’s… really kind of you,” you reply with a small smile.
Fox stands a bit taller. A warm flicker of pride swells in his chest every time you smile because of him. His eyes linger on you just a moment longer before he turns his head toward his brothers.
“Rex. Cody,” he nods at them before he starts walking.
“Bye guys,” you say as you move to follow. But your steps falter as you make eye contact with your ori’vod. “See you later, Cody?” you add timidly.
Cody exhales hard, shaking his head with a loud, disappointed sigh. “See you later, vod’ika.”
You mouth a silent “sorry” before jogging to catch up with Fox.
Rex’s watches the two of you disappear out of the hangar. “What… was that?”
“Don’t ask,” Cody replies flatly.
The BARC speeder wasn’t designed for two people, so you feel a little cramped sat behind Fox. At first, you try to give him space, gripping the seat's edges instead of him as the two of you leave the military compound, but Fox is having none of that. He lifts the bike up and accelerates sharply, then veers into a higher traffic lane, swerving around a transport like he’s in a podrace. A tiny squeal involuntarily leaves your lips, but you still don’t do what he wants.
“You’ll fall. Hold on to me,” Fox orders over his shoulder.
You don’t immediately comply, so Fox switches traffic lanes even more abruptly. This time, your arms fly around his waist, anchoring you tightly to him so you won’t slip. You hear him make a satisfied grunt and the bike significantly slows.
“Were you flying like a lunatic on purpose just to get me to do that?” you exclaim.
“You were being stubborn,” he deadpans.
“You… you are such an asshole,” you mumble.
A low chuckle comes through the voice modulator. “We’ve already established that, cyar’ika.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks at the Mando’a pet name – you’d forgotten how much you liked it when he called you that. Thank the Maker he can’t see your face; it’s probably the same shade as the paint on his armor.
You tighten your grip around his torso and lean forward, pressing yourself against his back and resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. You look around; Coruscant doesn’t look so bad from up here.
The durasteel buildings gleam under the harsh midday light and the colourful speeders flying around in all directions paint a chaotic picture of life. You close your eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool wind on your heated face. Then you breathe in. Underneath the smell of fuel that is ever-present in the busy traffic of the city, you can make out the clean, familiar scent of GAR-issued soap… with just a hint of bitter caf. His scent.
Fox hears your content sigh and turns his head slightly – but the sunvisor of his helmet makes it impossible to catch even a glimpse of your face. However, he can see ahead, and in the distance, the Jedi Temple already looms, tall and imposing. The end of the line. Another goodbye with no promise of tomorrow. No resolve, no clarity… no reassurances.
You see the Temple too. He can tell by the way you straighten, then let out a deep, defeated breath. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, like you're trying to get as physically close to him as possible. The hard plastoid must be digging into your skin, but you don’t seem to care. You just want to savour the fleeting moment for as long as you can.
He should be content. This already was more than he’d expected. He didn’t think he’d even get to talk to you, let alone have you so closely pressed against him. This is more than he could’ve hoped for.
But it’s not enough.
A few soft words policed by his brothers’ presence are not enough.
Your arms around him for half the duration of an already short speeder ride are simply not enough.
Fox needs more. He wants more.
And Maker help him – he hopes he’s right to think that you do too.
He veers sharply.
The sudden change of course startles you, and you look up as the speeder bike starts to descend. The Temple fades from view, swallowed by the skyline as the tall buildings rise around you. You’re getting closer and closer to the surface. You can’t pretend you’re not relieved.
“Are you kidnapping me, Commander?” you ask sweetly.
“Yes.”
You chuckle at his curt response, soft and amused, then rest your chin back on his shoulder. You have no idea where he’s taking you and, truthfully, you don’t really care.
Fox steers the speeder deeper into the planet. Sunlight fades, giving way to neon lights and flickering holograms as you enter the lower reaches of the Uscru District. But Fox doesn’t stop. You ride past glowing shopfronts and loud clubs, catching fragments of cheers and bursts of laughter. The nightlife of Coruscant is always awake this deep within the planet.
But he keeps diving lower. The light dims, the streets thin out, and the architecture grows more industrial. You’re somewhere in the mid-levels now – right on the border of what most would consider the lower levels. It’s not a place you’ve ever been before. The streets are rougher, more dilapidated – the kind you wouldn’t walk alone, even as a Jedi. But you’re not scared. You feel completely safe.
Because you’re with him.
The speeder glides to a stop on a narrow street in front of what looks like a warehouse. Fox dismounts and offers his hand to help you up. You accept, timidly curling your fingers around his. There’s no fireworks at the touch – just warmth and grounding steadiness. The kind that melt your insecurities away and encourages you to be at ease in his presence.
He doesn't let go once your feet are on the ground. Instead, he keeps your hand in his, tracing the back of your palm with his thumb. You take a breath in and step closer, looking up into the dark visor of his helmet. You wish he would take it off already.
Fox gently squeezes your hand, then let's go, his gloved fingers settling on the small of your back, applying tender pressure.
“This way.”
“You know, regular people go to a caf shop on their first date, not to dodgy industrial areas in the lower-levels,” you say half-teasingly.
Fox freezes for a second – is this a date?
He clears his throat. “We’re in the mid-levels. And uh… I’m not a regular person.”
You glance down at the floor and bite the inside of your cheek to temper your grin. He didn’t argue with the ‘first date’ part.
Fox guides you to the entrance of the warehouse, pulling his hand away from your back in order to pry open the control panel and start messing with the wires.
You chuckle at the sight. “Are we allowed to be here?”
“Abuse of power, remember?” he shoots back. You let out a soft laugh that makes his chest tingle.
The door half-opens with a mechanical hiss, just wide enough for a person to slide past. You glance at it, then at Fox, who gestures for you to step inside.
The lights begin to turn on one by one once you’re past the threshold and activate the motion sensor. You take a couple steps in–
Then you stop, eyes wide.
The room is large; you count at least two dozen support pillars lined in two parallel rows. But the size is not what captures your attention.
There’s grass on the ground. Actual grass – wild and unkept. The ceiling panels show images of blue skies and clouds – scattered with dark patches of faulty screens that keep glitching. There are large planters with purple-leaf bushes and even a couple of trees – you recognise the species as one native to Chandrila, although they’ve definitely seen better days. In the centre there’s a shallow dip in the floor – you can only assume it’s meant to hold a pond.
You’re speechless. You did not expect to encounter a corner of nature this deep in the heart of Coruscant.
“It was supposed to be a community garden,” Fox answers your unspoken question, coming to stand by your side. “There was an issue; something about permits, funding – whatever. Got tied up in red tape, so it’s been sitting like this ever since.”
“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.
“I thought you’d like it,” Fox quietly mutters.
The small comment wasn’t meant to reach your ears – but it does. You look up at him and find his helmet tilted your way. He’s clearly startled that you caught him. Fox clears his throat and abruptly looks away, then with a couple hurried strides he’s by the side of one of the duracrete pillars.
“There used to be bird songs too,” he says, pointing to the speakers mounted at the top of each pillar. “The sound system broke a while ago.”
“So you’ve been coming here for a while then?” you ask, slowly walking until you’re leaning against the pillar, facing him.
“Yeah,” Fox admits with a long sigh. “It’s a good place to clear your head.”
“And you come here a lot? As in…” you continue sweetly, “if I wanted to accidently run into you, would this be a good place you try?”
Fox turns to face you better, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you want to run into me cyar’ika, you could just use that frequency you asked Cody for and comm me.”
You straighten from the pillar, feeling your stomach drop and chest fill with embarrassed panic. “Y-You know about that?”
“I do.”
The garden suddenly feels too hot. You stare into the dark visor and swallow hard, even though your throat feels as dry as Tatooine.
“Oh…”
Your gaze drops, idly fixating on your boots. Silence settles around you, broken only by the low hum of the overhead lights and Fox’s breathing, filtered out through the voice modulator. But then – a hiss cuts through the air. You lift your eyes and watch as Fox finally pulls his helmet off.
He looks just as gorgeous as you remember – and just as tired. The bags under his eyes are still there – an ever-present part of him – but now there’s also a thin layer of stubble all across his jaw. His silver-streaked hair seems a bit longer as well. His duties must’ve kept him busier lately.
And, Maker, those whiskey-coloured eyes… your knees feel weak just at their sight. You could easily get lost in their amber hue. But the way he’s looking at you? It takes your breath away. There’s a longing in his gaze, a quiet hunger. And underneath all that, a softness you hope he holds just for you.
The corners of his lips lift into a small smirk and Fox cocks his head to the side. “You’re staring.”
“Maybe I missed your face,” you say in a kittenish voice.
“You've been surrounded by my face,” he snorts.
“No” – you shake your head – “not by yours.”
Fox studies your expression, his eyes lingering on your lips for a brief moment. Then he inches closer, voice dropping low as he utters the question that’s been tormenting him for weeks. “Then why didn’t you comm?”
The question is not accusatory. It’s not angry or disdainful. It’s raw, vulnerable – more vulnerable than Fox ever allows himself to be with anyone else. There’s a gentleness in his voice that stirs something in your chest.
“I…” you start, words eluding you at first, “I was worried you didn’t really want me to.”
Fox reaches his left hand and tenderly cradles your cheek. “I did, mesh’la.”
And then his lips are on yours.
It takes a second for your brain to catch up with what’s going on, and by then, your hands are already grasping his chestplate, fingers hooked at the base of his neck. Fox moves his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate pace, taking the time to reacquaint himself with your sweet taste. Your eyes flutter closed, melting at the way his thumb delicately strokes your cheek.
You shift a hand, lazily sliding it around his neck, until your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. It’s soft – softer than you remembered – and just long enough now to start curling at the tips. Maker, you’ve missed him; and from the way he’s kissing you, it seems like he’s missed you too.
When you tentatively slip your tongue past the seam of his lips, something in Fox snaps.
There’s a faint thud as his helmet slips from his grasp, landing in the grass by his feet – but he pays it no mind. His right hand comes to tightly grip your hip, pulling you flush against him, as his body presses you firmly into the pillar. The hand that was cradling your cheek slams against the duracrete just above your head, caging you in.
The kiss deepens, turns hungrier. His tongue enters your mouth, sliding around yours in a desperate dance of needy intimacy. It’s so soft, and there's that taste of caf again, dark and earthy. Him. Oh how you missed the taste of him.
You match the frantic movements, your heart racing in your chest. It feels so good that you can’t stop the whimper that sounds from the back of your throat.
Fox breaks the kiss and pulls back, taking a moment to admire your heated cheeks and slightly swollen lips. A self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of mouth.
“Am I moving too fast?” The question is half-genuine, half-laced with teasing.
“N-No,” you answer. You’re breathless, panting for air, but Maker, you do not want to stop.
“Good.” Fox leans back in. “Normally I’d be more patient,” – he moves his lips along your jaw, then start trailing down your neck – “but you made me wait, cyar’ika,” he murmurs into your skin. “I don’t like waiting.”
You gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the base of your neck. Fox chuckles, a low and dangerous sound that travels straight to your core, causing tingles of anticipation to shoot through your body.
Then his hands move, quickly travelling to your chest and sliding your overtunic aside as much as possible. His mouth returns to yours as his left hand cups your breast through the fabric of the undertunic. But his right hand trails lower and lower.
“We're technically in public,” you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, as if anyone could hear you in this desolate garden.
“We are.” His hand doesn’t stop, and it finally reaches the waistband of your trousers, fingers toying with the button. “If you want me to stop just say so.”
Your ragged breathing is the only sound you hear as you meet his gaze. His pupils are blown with lust and desire – and you know yours must be too. You want everything he has to give, and you want to give him everything you have in return.
“I... I don't. Don't stop, Fox. Never stop,” you pretty much whine.
“That's what I thought,” he leans in to rasp in your ear.
Fox unbuttons your trousers and slips his hand between your thighs. His fingers graze over the fabric of your underwear, moving back and forth in a slow, maddening pace. Your breath catches lightly every time they slide over your clit and without thinking, you start grinding into his hand, trying to build up that delicious pressure. His eyes are studying every shift in your facial expression, every crease of your brows and parting of your lips. But just as you think he’s about to slip his fingers underneath the thin fabric – he abruptly pulls his hand away.
“No! Why–” you start, your eyes snapping to meet his.
But you don’t finish your complaint.
Fox lifts his hand to his mouth, gaze locked on yours, and pulls off his glove with his teeth. The motion is fluid, controlled – intimate in a way that punches the air from your lungs. You swear your brain short-circuits. That was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
You gasp when he swiftly returns it to your core, this time slipping it underneath all layers of fabric. His fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before gently circling your clit. He repeats the motion, slowly dragging his fingers from your apex all the way to the edge of your entrance and back, but every time he reaches your sweet spot, his touch turns so featherlike, you can barely feel it.
Fox crashes his lips back into yours to keep you from objecting to his teasing. The kiss is deep and hungry, but you can feel the way he’s smirking against your lips. He’s very much enjoying the small vexed whimpers you’re making and the way you try to grind down on his hand. His codpiece feels uncomfortably tight, but he is determined to see you fall apart on his fingers before he does anything else.
“Fox…” you whine, breaking the kiss. “Please.”
“Please what, mesh’la?” he asks.
“Please stop teasing.”
“You want me to stop teasing?” he repeats between the kisses he’s planting along your jaw.
You respond with a nod, unable to form any words as you feel his fingers glide closer to your entrance. He pulls back to look at you, eyes darkening.
“I’ll stop teasing.”
And with that he pushes two fingers inside.
Your sharp gasp turns into a moan as Fox sets a rapid pace. His fingers pump in and out, curling just right along your walls. You can’t help the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, while your other hand is still holding on for dear life to the rim of his cuirass. His lips frantically return to yours, kissing you with a speed that matches the motion of his fingers. Then he trails his mouth lower, licking and nipping at the column of your neck. Your head falls back against the duracrete of the pillar, eyes fluttering closed.
“Don’t stop,” you beg.
The pressure is building, Fox can feel your muscles tense, clenching his fingers tightly. He keeps up the speed and brings his thumb to brush against your clit. Your eyes snap open, meeting his burning gaze. The determined look alone is almost enough to make you come. He’s not just trying to pleasure you. He wants to ruin you in the best possible way. To remind you exactly how good he can make you feel.
With just a few more thrusts of his fingers, Fox gets his wish. You squeeze your eyes shut as the pressure releases, and cry out his name. Pleasure spreads like electricity all over your body, surging through your veins in warm, rapid pulses. Fox doesn’t slow the relentless drag of his fingers until he feels your walls relax.
You’re panting heavily and your knees feel weak, like they might melt away at any second. But before you can even catch your breath, the world spins – and you find your front pressed against the cold duracrete pillar. Fox is right behind you, his body molding to yours, the hard edges of his plastoid armor biting into your back. Not that you mind – the pain quickly reignites the desire in your core.
His hands roam your sides, greedy and unrelenting, before one of them slides up to grope your breast. His mouth returns to your neck, the kisses now desperate. You can feel how worked up he is by the intensity of his movements. A hiss escapes your lips as he gets carried away and sucks on your neck a little too hard.
“Sorry,” he whispers, soothing the sting with the slow drag of his tongue.
“I don’t mind,” you breathe. “But I wouldn’t make them too visible if I were you. You’re the one in trouble if Cody sees them.”
Fox grunts. “Let’s not bring him up right now.”
Your giggle is cut short by Fox suddenly yanking your trousers and underwear down in one fluid motion, exposing your bare ass to the chilly air. There’s another small thud as something hits the ground, but before you can identify the sound, his hard length presses against your inner thigh. You arch back, encouraging him to slide through your folds and coat himself with your arousal.
“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, hands tightly gripping your hips.
The tip of his cock catches at your entrance and your entire body tingles with anticipation. Then, without waiting any longer, he sinks in, accompanied by an incoherent Mando’a curse falling from his lips. You press your forehead to the cool duracrete as you adjust to the sting of the stretch, taking a couple of breaths. Fox pauses, buried to the hilt inside of you.
“Are you ready for me to move?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Just start slow please.”
Fox leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheekbone. “Alright, mesh’la.”
He begins to move, rolling his hips slowly and listening to every small whimper that leaves your lips. The painful sting soon gives way to pleasure and you start pushing back to meet his thrusts, letting him know he can move faster. Fox groans and buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. He can’t tell whether it’s perfume or shampoo, but whatever it is, it’s intoxicating – and his new favourite scent. His grip on your hips turns vice-like.
You reach your arm back, curling it around his neck, and you tilt your head against his shoulder in a silent invitation. Fox immediately complies, crashing his lips to yours in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. His hips pick up speed, and his armored chest slams against your back with every unforgiving thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs. You almost laugh – he’s quite literally taking your breath away. You squirm, trying to make room for your ribs to expand, and he notices. Shifting slightly off you, he braces one forearm against the pillar and leans to the side. The new angle is exquisite for the both of you.
“You feel so good,” Fox mumbles in your ear. “So… so tight. So good.”
You moan his name as a response, your vision starting to blur around the edges. The tip of his cock is hitting that spot inside of you perfectly and you can already feel your second orgasm approaching. He is not too far behind. More incoherent mumbles fall from his lips as Fox gets lost in chasing his pleasure. At one point you think he says “ner mesh’la Jetti,” and your heart skips a beat.
You probably misheard. But the thought alone? The thought of being his? It’s enough to push you over the edge.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling firmly at the strands, and you arch back into him. He groans, but you can barely hear it over the loud moans that leave your lips as the climax ripples through you. Fox keeps the rhythm steady as you ride out your high, not changing a thing until he feels you melt into his grasp. Then his hips pick up speed, the thrusts turning harsh, unforgiving, frantic, as his low grunts fill the air around you. He slams into you a couple more times before going rigid, his cock the only thing still twitching inside your walls, filling you with his warm release.
His head falls on your shoulder and his ragged breath feels hot on your skin. The hand on your hip wraps around you, holding you tightly against him. You bring your own to his, interlacing your fingers together as you simply stay there and breathe. The moment stretches on in comfortable silence and you savour every second of it. His armor is still digging into your skin – there will definitely be some bruises tomorrow – but you can’t bring yourself to break the spell. Not when his other arm wraps around your chest. Not when he’s holding onto you like you’re a rare sunny day, shining after weeks of cold, unrelenting rain. Not when you can feel how much he needs the closeness – how much he needs you.
But your body betrays you – the chilly air of the abandoned garden makes you shiver. Fox notices immediately and slowly slides out of you, tucks himself back in with two quick motions, then helps pull your trousers up.
“Thanks,” you say as you turn to face him.
The sight that greets you is one you want to carve into your brain. There’s a soft smile frozen on his lips and his eyes are bright, pupils still a little blown. A thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead and the hair you ruffled during the act looks wild and messy. But the most striking thing is that he looks so young, so relaxed. It won’t last long – you both know it – but just for a moment the two of you and this garden are the only real thigs in the galaxy.
You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing him like this.
Without thinking, you reach your hand to smooth down his hair. Fox closes his eyes, a small hum slipping from him on the next exhale. It’s such a small, natural gesture, yet it fills his chest with a warmth he’s almost afraid to name. He opens his eyes and finds you watching him, your gaze soft in a way that stirs something deep inside. But there’s something else behind your eyes – something he can’t decipher.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Better than okay,” you chuckle. “That was amazing. Ten out of ten.”
“Maker,” Fox groans. “That joke was terrible then, and it’s still terrible now.”
“Too bad,” you grin, a little smug. “I’ll make it after every time.”
His brain short-circuits for a second. Every time. That implies a next time. A next time he’ll get to have you in his arms, to hear you moan his name. ‘Every time’ implies a future he’s never allowed himself to dream of. But now? Now that it’s standing in front of him, wearing your smile, he wants it more than anything.
He recovers fast, and arches a brow as he steps closer.
“Every time? So we’re doing this again?” he teases.
Heat rushes to your cheeks. “W-Well, I do-I’d like to” you stammer. “If you want to of course, I can’t demand-I-I’m not assuming you want to because it-it is against the rules and–”
Fox silences you with a kiss. Searing, but slow. Passionate, but careful. His tongue moves around yours in measured, deliberate motions, fully demanding your attention. It tastes dangerously close to a promise.
When he pulls away, you feel weightless, and can’t stop the bright smile that spreads across your face.
He plants another small kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Come on. I need to actually deliver you to the Temple before they send out a search party.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to show your disappointment. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever – but that doesn’t mean leaving won’t sting.
Fox reattaches the codpiece and picks his helmet up, then frowns as he looks around.
“Where the hell is that glove?” he mutters.
You both look around the pillar, but it’s like it vanished into thin air. After a few minutes of sifting through the tall grass, Fox gives up with a resigned sigh – he’ll just get a new one – and the two of you leave the garden behind.
The ride back flies by in comfortable silence. You hold onto him tightly, smiling the entire time. He doesn’t go to the hangar; instead, Fox pull up on a street close to the Temple entrance, but just out of sight from any Jedi that might walk past.
“Thank you, Commander,” you purr, sliding off the speeder. “It was so kind of you to give me a ride.”
You can’t see his face under the helmet but you can just about imagine his unamused expression – and the slight shake of his head confirms it.
But before you can leave, he catches your wrist.
“Don’t make me kidnap you again,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“You say that like it wasn’t the best kidnapping I’ve ever had,” you laugh.
“I mean it, mesh’la,” Fox continues. “Actually comm me this time. I… I want to see you again.”
There’s a slight anxious edge to his voice, one that immediately sends butterflies to your stomach. He wants to see you again. Whatever this is blooming between the two of you, he feels it too, you’re certain now. You gaze into his visor, briefly wondering if he can feel the racing pulse in your wrist.
“I will. I promise.”
His hand lingers a little longer, thumb gently stroking your skin.
“Good.” He lets go.
Then he’s off, revving the engine of the speeder twice before disappearing into the Coruscant traffic.
You walk away, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on your skin. You’re already planning the comm you’ll send tomorrow.
A/n: if anyone is wondering what happened to the glove, a rat took it. Give me a shout and i'll write the rat's pov too
Taglist: @selene131 ; @lilooos-stuff (hope you don't mind the random tag, but it was your comment from a few weeks ago that motivated me to actually start writing, so thnx)
Okay I know we all agree that the clones should be darker in the animated series BUT what about tan lines? They get so much sun when they’re out on missions and maker knows they aren’t taking the time to tan everything. Well, most of them aren’t. Fives and a few others might. Actually, I can picture most of torrent (torment) company pulling out the tanning uh shields? Whatever they’re called. Just to annoy Rex. Ahsoka would so be in on it. Actually, Anakin would too. Rex, Obi-Wan, and Cody are just standing there watching like disapproving parents fighting back smiles.
But give us clones with armor tans (instead of farmer tans lmao). I think it would be so funny if their heads were darker than the rest of the body. And it’s super noticeable when they’ve been on a planet that gets an obscene amount of sunlight. Like they go to spar and workout and off goes the shirt and BAM the rest of them is several shades lighter.
Clone trooper of your choice + inapprotiate use of the force
This is written in a rambling manner, because I've been worn out these past couple of days. I wanted to make it possible to imagine your clone of choice, cuz I love them all.
My writing program has decided to be an ass, so I can’t use autocorrect at the moment. I’m hoping it gets fixed or whatever. Expect errors.
Kinktober 2025 masterlist
Okay, so. Imagine being a jedi, or a force user, or whatever. You can access the force, and you work alongside your beloved Clone. It can be as their superior, if you like that, or more as their equal, or as equal as a jedi can be to a clone in the eyes of the republic.
Maybe you are one of those forceusers, who can sense people’s emotions and feelings much more than average, which is how you figure out your clone has feelings for you.
It wouldn’t be too out of this world to imagine it starts with fantasies, of your clone letting his thoughts wander when he thinks he’s alone, or that nobody will notice.
Most jedi aren’t incredibly open about their skills, so it would make sense if you weren’t either. At least, not describing all of it in detail. They might know that you can feel strong emotions, but your clone thinks his fantasies won’t be noticed.
And normally they wouldn’t, had you not already been attracted to him and checking on him on a regular basis. You know as much as the next guy that jedi aren’t meant to have attachment, but you can’t help it.
Only all your training keeps you from blushing when you see his thoughts. As your clone imagines bending you over your desk and flipping your robes up, leaving fingerprints on your hips and hickeys all the way up your spine as he splits you open.
It's even worse if you guys are having an active conversation as his thoughts drift, eyes focusing on the way your lips move, and how he imagines it wrapped around him. Or the times where he’s feeling softer, and just wants to kiss and love.
If I remember correctly, some force users can enter dreams or manipulate them to a certain degree. So, imagine you do just that after you start dating. You guys can’t be openly affectionate in public, so it has to happen in dreams.
Imagine your clone being so exhausted from active duty with little rest, and he falls asleep in his bunk, mourning the fact that he couldn’t see you this entire time.
Only to be met with you when he opens his eyes in his dream. It’s much clearer than any normal dream, helped by the force to be more solid and real.
Being in a dream means pretty much anything is possible, which you two get to use to the fullest. There are no rest periods in dreams either, so you two can keep going for what feels like hours.
When your clone wakes up though, he gets laughed at by some of the other troopers, as he would mumble and groan your name throughout the night. Everyone assumes he just has a crush, because who doesn’t.
You snicker when you learn about it, teasingly asking your clone if he’s been struggling to sleep lately. He knows exactly what you are doing, and gets back at you the next chance he gets.
Having the force is also useful, since you guys can’t be physically affectionate out in the open and all that.
You guys don’t even need to be together for you to pleasure him. When your clone is alone, he might feel a ghostly version of your lips kiss his cheek, your hands on his shoulders, your arms wrapped around him.
Or your ghostly mouth kissing down his chest and stomach, or your tight hole squeeze around him until he’s spilling inside his undersuit. It leaves him uncomfortable for the rest of the day, as he won’t have time to go off and change without being suspicious to the others, who already enjoy ribbing him too much.
Obviously, you know he’s gonna get back at you for that, but that is part of the fun. Especially using the force to just barely give him glimpses of you before slipping away, so your clone has to actively chase you down from time to time.
