“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.
Summary: Toby and Cody are sent out on a recruiting mission. ‘Find the girl and bring her back here’ The Operator said. It was simple. Finding themselves now enrolled as college students as a cover up they find the girl. But, little do they know there’s so much more then meets the eye.
Warnings: female reader, she wears glasses, reader kinda has a pre established story but it’s not an oc, mentions of abused (reader and Toby), mentions of murder, I’m bad at writing stutters so please give me tips, also tips on how to write tics would be helpful, fanfic logic on how college works (aka it’s poorly written), I do believe that’s it!
“I can’t believe we have to do this.”
“Quit yer bitchin’. Th-The Operator said w-we have to do it, so we’ll do it.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Cody retorts, shrugging Toby’s hand off his shoulder. He looks around the campus. Watching as all the students bustle around heading towards their classes. He rolls his eyes at the jocks tossing footballs as the cheerleaders giggle like bimbos.
The only thing worse than highschool is college. Why? Because now their all legal and can fuck without hiding it. Students make out in the hallways and girls suck dick in the boys bathroom. College is basically highschool but with less strict teachers and way more drugs.
The two boys never had much luck with school and socializing. Hence why they’re in the business they’re in now. They were often mocked and made fun of. The laughing stock of the school.
Toby was often bullied for his stutters while Cody was often called a geek for his interests in science. No one ever understood them, until they found each other. From then on if someone laughed it would fall on deaf ears. The pair didn’t need anybody but each other. They were brothers, and they had a bond stronger than diamonds.
Their brotherhood was stronger than most real families. Not to say that the bond they had wasn’t real. It’s just they weren’t blood relatives. Toby had found Cody one night while wandering through the woods and well, the rest is history.
They had been close since the beginning. Always looking out for one another. Always making sure the other was safe. They were best friends. Not anything or anyone could get between them.
Until her.
The pair walked down the hall to the school office. There at a desk sat a young woman typing on a computer. Her eyes squinted at the screen as she read every word she wrote. Toby and Cody share a glance before looking back at the girl. Was this really her?
The operator had sent the two boys out to find her. A girl he had been trying to recruit. He’d shown the boys a picture and sent them on their way. Giving them a new life and new identities just for the sake of the mission.
Toby clears his throat to grab the girl's attention. She jumps slightly at the sudden noise, so lost in her train of thought she didn’t see the two boys standing in front of her. Cody speaks first resting his arms on the counter as he sits down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“We were told to come here and check in. We’re new.” He says blankly, leaning back in his seat as his knees part in a man's spread. The girl's eyes darted from each boy back to her computer screen. “Names?” Her voice was light and calm as she spoke.
“Tobias and Cody Rogers.” She nods briefly before typing away at her computer. Her eyes scan the screen as her glasses slide to the tip of her nose. Toby and Cody share another glance. Secretly communicating through their eyes.
“You’re the Colorado boys, right?” She asks, looking up from the screen to meet their eyes. Still typing away at the computer as she brings up their student portfolio. “We f-famous or somethin’?” Tobias retorts flatly.
She bites back a smirk at his words, looking back at her computer screen. “Nah, Ms. Davis told me you guys would be coming in either today or tomorrow.” “So, we’re famous to you.” “Try ‘infamous’.”
Cody smirks quizzically at her words, tilting his head ever so slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Oh nothing, just that you have a bit of reputation from your old school.” “Oh yeah? Like what?” Cody leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.
“Like vandalizing school grounds. It says in your files that you sprayed painted..dicks all over your old school. As well as ‘I <3 MILFs ”
…
Stupid fucking elf. Of course he’d say all that. Shouldn’t never let that bastard be in charge of making their new identities.
“We were f-framed.” Toby says through gritted teeth, meanwhile Cody rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. Most likely yelling at Ben for his ridiculous comments. “Yeah, totally.” The girl smiles, raising her eyebrows teasingly.
She stands up and walks towards the printer on the other side of the room. She grabs two papers before rounding the counter and standing in front of the two boys. “Here are your schedules. I can show you your classes before first period starts if you’d like?”
The boys look at each other for a moment before looking back at the girl. Cody’s expression holds a hint of amusement while Toby looks intrigued. Although he's been silent throughout most of this ordeal he's been watching. Observing the girl and her mannerisms.
He watches the way she chews on her nails, biting and picking at the skin so much that it looks raw. He watches the way she pulls at her hair, so much so that her ends are split and uneven. He watches the way her knee bounces rapidly. The way she always makes sure her sleeves are pulled down all the way. The way she overtly conscious not to take up too much space.
It was all things he did back when he was still at school. Back when he still lived at home. Toby and Cody have a lot of things in common. But, Cody would never understand what it was like to be physically abused.
Cody’s birth mother was shitty. A criminal who cares more about scheming than raising her own son. But, Cody got out. Went to an orphanage for a little while before being adopted. He got a good father, a nice one.
He’s the reason why Cody is the way he is now, why he’s a genius. Toby never got that. Sure, he had a good mom and great older sister. But, Tobias’s father was a scum of the earth. A piece of shit abuser who thought it was okay to hit women.
Toby could handle the beat downs from his father. But to put his hands on his mother and sister? God, it pissed him off to no end. That's why he killed him. To save what was left of his family.
“Sure, lead th-the way.” Toby says, his expression softening ever so slightly. The girl nods and hands them their class schedules. She leads them out of the office and down the hall. “The school tried to keep most of your classes together, as per requested.” She begins, “I think there’s only a few you don’t share only because of your selected majors.”
She continues down the hall, pointing out classes. “This is Ms. Meyers classroom, this is your first period math class which you share. Then, over here is Mr. Andrew’s class which is your shared second period literature class.” The girl smiles softly, waving at teachers as she passes them. “I actually have Mr. Andrew for my second period as well, he’s very nice.”
“Over here is Mr. Austin, this is yours and my own 3rd history class which—” “—We share?” “Yes.” She laughs softly as she turns down a second hall. “This is our science hall. Cody this is where most of your classes will be because of your major. Sadly, the two of you don’t share a science class because you’re on different levels.”
The girl then turns to point to a hall adjacent to the science hall. “However, Workshop is right next to it where you, Toby, will be spending most of your classes because of your major. So, because of how you arranged your schedules, you’ll always be close to each other. The school tried their best to accommodate your needs.”
Cody tilts his head curiously. “Our needs?” “Yeah, in your notes it said the two of you have separation anxiety. That it’d be best to keep you two together. You guys also share a dorm, just the two of you.” She says, gesturing towards the exit door near the path to the dorm building.
The two boys share a look. Another thing that Ben put it, although probably for the sake of mission it still felt like a jab to their codependency on each other. Cody nods firmly, speaking once more. “Right, we appreciate it.” The girl smiles and claps her hands together.
“Well, first period will start soon. And my first period is on the other side of the building so I will leave you guys here. After all your classes come back to the front office and ask for me. I’ll show you to your dorms. I hope you guys have a good first day!” She smiles softly before beginning to walk away.
“H-Hey, w-w-wait!” Toby calls out. She turns and looks at him with a quizzical pout. “H-How will w-we know who t-t-to ask for?” Her eyes widen slightly before she begins to laugh, shaking her head softly. “Right! I totally forgot. My name’s y/n. It’s nice to meet you both.”
She says, waving to the two boys before continuing down the hall. Toby and Cody share another look. Smirking to themselves. This mission just got a lot more interesting. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
We need a more clones (Fives, Rex, Cody, and the ones you still want) 😈
(Please)
Clones x gn reader: wedding headcanons
Includes Rex, Fives, Cody, Wolffe, Fox
warnings: some mild suggestiveness
notes: here is the TBB version mentioned
Rex:
Rex is so honored by the idea of marrying you, like it means so much to him that you want to choose him that openly and permanently. But he doesn't need anything fancy and he tells you a hundred times that as long as he gets to marry you, he's happy
That being said, he knows next to nothing about weddings. He tries his best but he's a little clueless. You ask his opinion on almost anything like flowers or outfits or ceremony details and he just kinda stares for a minute like …that's something people do?
He's mildly nervous on the day because he knows how important it is and he just really really wants everything to go well for you. He forces himself to be like kinda overly composed and proper but everyone who knows him can tell he's tense. He's just trying so hard to keep it together
But then he sees you and all that nervousness vanishes. Probably sheds a tear or two but tries to be subtle about it. And his voice is all rough when he's giving his vows
The whole day just ends up meaning so much to him. The best part of it to him is really just knowing that he's married to you now, but everything about the day just hit him really hard. At the end of the night he's staring at you with the softest little smile you've ever seen on him because he feels like this was genuinely the best day of his life
Fives:
Fives is SO excited to marry you. Like from the second he decided he was going to propose to you he was thinking about the wedding lol. Was planning that proposal like it was the most important mission of his entire life and then immediately became the most unbearable person in the galaxy after you said yes
Like "I'm getting married" lowkey becomes his whole personality for a bit. Brings you up constantly to other people just so he can refer to you as "my fiancé" with a big grin on his face. He's so proud of you and so proud to be with you and it makes him giddy that he gets to marry you
He wants the wedding to be perfect, but he's not actually super picky about the details. Like yeah he wants it to be really special but more than anything he just wants the day to feel like you and him. His primary concern is making sure you have a good time and he thinks that getting too swept up in the details will kinda defeat the whole purpose
His vows are like the perfect mix of light/cute and really emotional/heartfelt. Probably emotionally destroys everyone there. Gets choked up at one point as he's speaking and then has to laugh it off
Afterwards he's just so happy and the reception's probably a blast. He's dancing with you and kissing you every chance he gets and bragging to everyone about you. He's sooo proud to be married to you
Cody:
Cody's pretty neutral on the idea of a wedding itself, but he wants to marry you very very badly. The ceremony isn't the part that matters most to him, but making that commitment to you absolutely does. So if a wedding is what you want then fine, he's in, and he's gonna make sure it's done properly
Super organized about the planning, says he's just being practical but has oddly strong opinions on things he previously said were unnecessary or claimed not to care about. He kinda gets sooo into the planning lol and you could basically leave it all to him if you wanted
On the day, Cody is composed right up until he sees you. Then his control slips and he's just a lil bit of a flustered mess. Not in an obvious way but his expression goes so soft and stunned that everyone can tell he's completely gone for you
His vows are simple but really heartfelt, every word really deliberate and sincere, and you can tell he spent a lot of time deciding on exactly what he wanted to say. He's kinda quiet when he says them too because he's just speaking directly to you and wants you to know he means every word
Enjoys the reception more than he expected but he's also very very ready to get you alone by the end of the night. He's fairly relaxed and composed during the reception but the second the two of you are finally away from everyone else his restraint starts disappearing fast. Let's just say this man has essentially been waiting all night to properly appreciate being married to you lol
Wolffe:
Wolffe initially acts like having a wedding is completely unnecessary and kind of an inconvenience. Tells you that you don't need some ceremony when the two of you already know you're committed to each other. But he's also just possessive enough to like the idea of everyone knowing so undeniably you're his, so eventually he relents
Leaves most of the planning to you and pretends he doesn't really care about the details but the second you actually ask his opinion, he has VERY strong opinions. Suddenly the guy who supposedly thinks weddings are pointless has STRONG thoughts on dress code, food, music, guest count, where everyone should be standing. Highkey bossy about it
The teasing is the worst part for him. If anyone in the Wolfpack makes one joke about him getting married, settling down, being soft, whatever, he shuts it down with the deadliest glare imaginable. He is NOT letting this get in the way of his image lol
On the day, he's tense pretty much the entire time. He doesn't like everyone staring at him, he doesn't like that he's being…emotionally perceived, and he HATES that everyone's waiting for him to be vulnerable in front of people. He does soften a little when he sees you and for a second you see all his irritation fade into this quiet, helpless look
His vows are short and a little rough around the edges, but very sincere. Stares at you super intensely as he says them mostly because he's trying to shut everyone else out and just focus on you so he doesn't falter at all
Kinda antsy for most of the reception tbh cause he wants to get OUT of there. He's just emotionally kinda drained (and also wants you to himself so badly it's making him even more irritable than usual. Once he gets you alone neither of you are getting any sleep that night for SURE)
Fox:
Fox wants to be married to you. He is absolutely certain about that. What he does NOT want is a wedding. He would very much prefer to just sign the necessary paperwork, kiss you after, and call it handled
It takes you a long time to wear him down enough to agree to an actual ceremony, and even then he's stubborn about every single detail. It has to be small, private, controlled, and absolutely not some big display where half the Guard gets to watch him have emotions. He loves you deeply but he'd rather go into battle barehanded than be vulnerable in front of people who aren't you
So he helps with the planning but mostly by being bossy and kinda critical. He's just stressed and this is apparently how he copes. Calls almost everything you bring up unnecessary and eventually you have to kinda ignore a lot of his input cause if you did what he wanted there'd. like. not be a wedding lmao
When the Guard finds out, they tease him so badly he almost calls the whole thing off out of spite
On the actual day he's exhausted because he was up all night thinking about it, and he's tense and visibly on edge. Really he's mostly nervous about saying his vows in front of people but good luck getting him to admit that
He stubbornly holds back tears when he sees you and he's internally furious about how close he comes to losing that battle. His vows are quiet and gruff because he mostly only wants you to hear them, but they're really sincere
During the reception he relaxes a little but keeps his arm locked around your waist almost the entire time. Like you are NOT getting physically separated from this man for as long as possible. Is honestly pretty happy when the night is finally over and he gets you alone. Is shockingly soft and affectionate that night tho
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
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! established relationship, fluff, a little hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), pinv, dirty talk, rough sex, cum play?, who knows, Cody is an acts of service king, you are so married
Summary: At the end of another miserable week, you're looking forward to curling up in bed and shutting out the galaxy. The sudden return of your clone commander boyfriend throws all those plans out the window.
A/N: Posting this for @gar-romance-month ♥️ I've never written for Cody before because at my core I'm a Codywan truther, but I've received quite a few requests for him so I decided to give it a shot! And as a PR professional myself I couldn't resist doing something for the GAR's only PR trained clone.
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“Watch where you’re walking!”
“Sorry, sorry!”
You duck under a man’s arm as he tries to hail a speeder, the damp sleeve of his trench coat brushing against your cheek. The city breathes around you—exhaust, steam from grates, the sweet, greasy air from a nuna stick stand on the corner. Your boots, already slick with an unnamed grime, slip on a wet spot on the pavement. The evening traffic is a river of light and noise, and you are a fish swimming against its current.
You pass the bright holographic signs flickering in the twilight, promising exotic vacations, droid companionship, and the finest Corellian ale this side of the Trade Spine. They paint the rain-slicked duracrete in shifting shades of blue and magenta, and you have to shield your eyes against the white light of a particularly obnoxious Zippozi energy drink ad. It seems to follow you down the street, its mascot, a grinning blue alien, winking and thrusting a can toward you with manic persistence. Behind it, the real skyline of Coruscant claws at the perpetual twilight, a thousand spires of light and steel piercing the smog.
Most days, the surface world of the ecumenopolis boasts shining buildings and sparkling sunlight, a perfect utopia for the perfect citizen. Its weather systems are carefully controlled and calibrated to the second. The city was a machine, and everything within it—from the traffic patterns to the atmospheric pressure—ran on a precisely tuned schedule. Rain was a rarity, a controlled event meant to clean the grime from the upper levels.
This was not that kind of rain.
It falls in fat, heavy drops, smelling of rust and metal, and the wind carries it on sharp, unpredictable gusts. A perfect punctuation mark to a dreary day spent pouring over the latest sentiment report on GAR troop morale—down three points from last quarter—and arguing with the procurement droid about the cost of new ink cartridges. You're trying to forget the whole mess.
A crackle of thunder rumbles overhead, so deep you feel it in your bones. The sky dumps a fresh torrent of water, and the crowd rushes for cover. There’s no point in following them. You’re already soaked through to the bone.
It's just one more thing to add to the growing list of grievances that constitute your life right now. Coruscant’s endless churn, the soul-crushing work of spinning words for the Republic, the messages gone unanswered on your datapad, the neighbors who think 3 AM is an excellent time to recalibrate their sonic scrubber, the creeping, gnawing certainty that you are a tiny, insignificant cog in a galaxy-spanning machine that is slowly, deliberately grinding itself into dust.
And to top it all off, you've just remembered that you forgot to buy caf-pods.
You finally reach the narrow steps that lead down to your sublevel apartment, and the sweet scent of damp soil and mildew replaces the exhaust of the upper levels. Your boots squeak on the stone as you descend, the ambient glow from the street above fading with each step, replaced by the dim, humming phosphorescence of the corridor lights. Three doors down, on the left, is yours. The lock is a fussy antique, a real tumbler mechanism that requires a heavy, ridged key, not a scan or a code. It jams, as it always does, and you have to jiggle it just so, muttering under your breath as you do.
The teeth finally catch just as you hear a muffled rustling from the other side. You freeze, key still in the lock, and hold your breath.
Then you hear it again. The sound of something—or someone—moving around inside. And it's not your neighbor's malfunctioning droid this time. You hear something metal, clinking against ceramic. The faint scrape of a chair against the floor. And then, a soft, almost inaudible cough.
Your hand drops from the lock. You are suddenly, painfully aware of your heartbeat, of the cold sweat prickling the back of your neck. You look back up the stairs, at the rain-slicked street. The distant wail of a siren is the only answer you get.
Every instinct screams at you to turn and run, to retreat up those steps and melt back into the anonymous flow of the city. But your legs are rooted to the spot, the damp chill of the corridor seeping through the thin fabric of your trousers. Your eyes dart left and right, but the hallway is empty, the only light the sickly yellow glow from the flickering lum-panel overhead.
You reach slowly, carefully, into your jacket pocket to close around the familiar, reassuring weight of your comlink. You could call the authorities. Coruscant Security. They’d send a couple of droids, maybe a trooper if you were really lucky. They’d sweep the apartment, file a report, and you’d be left to deal with the aftermath. The violation. The paperwork.
Your hand loosens its grip, drifting from your pocket to your bag, and finds the safety of the vibroblade Cody had given to you. ‘For emergencies only,’ he’d said, with the kind of serious look that made your stomach flip.
This feels like an emergency.
You take a deep breath, the musty air catching in your throat. You make your decision.
The key turns with a final, grudging protest, and the door swings inward on silent hinges. You’re immediately hit with a wave of warmth and humidity, and the familiar, comforting scent of your own space—old books, burnt incense, and the lingering hint of the caf you'd brewed that morning. But beneath it all, there’s something else. Something new. The faint, metallic tang of blaster oil, and the clean, sterile scent of bacta.
The main room of your small apartment is exactly as you left it this morning: the holovid screen dark, the blanket you’d been using on the back of the sofa a rumpled heap, the half-empty mug of caf from yesterday sitting on the end table. Your small street-level windows are covered in raindrops, distorting the neon glow of the city outside into an abstract, watercolor painting.
But there’s something else. A small, compact travel bag, made of scuffed dark leather, sitting on the floor next to the sofa. It’s not yours.
And the sound of that soft, metallic clink—it’s coming from the kitchen.
You transition from the worn carpet of the living area to the cracked linoleum of the kitchenette. Each step is a calculated act of defiance against the instincts screaming at you to flee. Your boots, still wet from the rain, make soft, sucking sounds against the floor, and the vibroblade in your hand vibrates with a secret thrum against your palm that feels both dangerous and somehow comforting.
The kitchen is illuminated by the harsh, sterile glare of the overhead light. The chrome faucet, usually dull and spotted, gleams with a recent polish. The half-eaten protein bar you abandoned on the counter this morning sits there, looking even more desiccated than when you left it.
And then you see him.
Leaning against your counter as if he has every right to be there, dressed in a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his frame just a little too tightly. A datapad rests in one hand, while his other curls around your favorite mug.
His eyes lift from the datapad, finding yours across the small kitchen.
He doesn't flinch. He doesn't startle. He simply takes a slow sip from your mug, his gaze unwavering over the rim.
"About time you got home," Cody says, his voice a low, familiar rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "The caf's getting cold."
The vibroblade slips from your nerveless fingers, clattering against the linoleum. The sound echoes in the sudden, overwhelming silence of your tiny apartment.
"Cody?" you breathe, the name barely a whisper on your lips.
He pushes himself off the counter, setting the mug down with a soft click. He looks… different. Tired. The edges are worn away. The crisp uniform of the GAR is gone, replaced by the soft, civilian clothes he keeps in your—his—dresser drawer. But it’s him. The same sharp, intelligent eyes, the same set of his jaw, the same way he stands, as if he’s carrying the weight of a galaxy on his shoulders. Maybe he is.
He takes a step toward you, then another, and you're frozen, a statue of disbelief and shock. He stops just short of you, the space between you crackling with a thousand unspoken questions. He reaches out, not to touch you, but to pick up the vibroblade from the floor. He weighs it in his hand for a moment, then deactivates and places it on the counter with a heavy, final thud.
“You actually remembered to carry it,” he says, a hint of something like pride in his voice. “Good.”
You close the distance in two strides, throwing your arms around his neck. Cody catches you easily, as he always does, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head. He smells of soap and clean laundry and something else, something metallic and sharp that you can’t quite place. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, the damp wool of your coat pressing against him.
"You're here," you mumble into his skin, the words muffled and thick with unshed tears. "You're actually here."
“I’m here,” he confirms, his lips brushing against your hair. “I told you I’d come back.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands coming up to frame his face. His skin is warm to the touch, his hair damp and curling at his nape, and there's a new scar, thin and silver, that cuts through his left eyebrow. You trace it with your thumb, and he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief, unguarded moment.
You pull back and slap his chest. Hard.
“You didn’t answer my messages,” you chide, though your heart’s not in it. You’re well aware of the cost of dating a clone soldier during a war by now. “You're a real piece of work, you know that? I was about to ask Admiral Kilian to forward my complaint straight to the Jedi Council.”
Cody doesn't flinch. He just takes the punch, his body swaying a little with the impact. His eyes are warm, crinkling a little at the corners, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. You're hit with the sudden, overwhelming urge to slap him again. To do something, anything, to break the spell of unreality that's settled over you.
He catches your wrist before you can land another blow, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss.
“My comlink was fried in the last engagement,” he says, and he turns your hand over and traces the lines on your palm with his thumb. “Had to requisition a new one. By the time we got back to the Negotiator, they’d already rotated us out for shore leave.”
You feel a fresh wave of guilt wash over you. “Oh. I... are you okay? Was it…?”
He cuts you off with another kiss, this one to your forehead.
“It's fine,” he says, and you know he's lying, but you also know you won't get any more out of him. For now. “We’re all fine. A little singed around the edges, but nothing to worry about. The important thing is, I’m here now. And—“ He presses another, more deliberate kiss to your lips. “—I’m on leave for the next two weeks. Two whole weeks.”
The anger, the guilt, the anxiety of the past few weeks—it all melts away, replaced by the warm, fuzzy feeling of hope. Two weeks. Two weeks of having him to yourself, of not having to wake up in the middle of the night with the cold dread that you'll never see him again. Two weeks of him.
"Are you serious?” You’re suddenly grinning like an idiot, the tears welling up in your eyes. “Two weeks? Here?”
“Here,” he confirms, and he’s smiling too, the expression transforming his face, making him look younger, less burdened. “Assuming you’ll have me.”
“Don't be an idiot,” you say, and you pull him in for another kiss, this one deeper and more desperate, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He responds with equal fervor, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.
The world outside your little apartment, with its rain and its grime and its endless, soul-crushing work, simply ceases to exist. You’re floating, adrift in the familiar, comforting warmth of him, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel safe.
You’re the one to break the kiss, gasping for air. Cody makes a noise of protest, chasing your lips for another quick peck before letting you go. He looks you over, and his smile fades slightly as he takes in your soaked clothes, your messy hair, the dark circles under your eyes. His thumb comes up to brush away the moisture on your cheek, and you’re not sure if it’s rain or tears.
“C’mon, get out of those wet clothes,” he says, his tone shifting from lover to commander in an instant. He presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back, patting your hip. “I put your pajamas in the ‘fresher. They’re warm.”
You look down at yourself, at your soaked jacket and dripping trousers, the boots that have tracked mud all over your clean floor. You look back at him, at the perfect picture of domesticity he makes in your kitchen, and you can’t help but laugh. It’s a slightly hysterical, breathless sound, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.
“You broke into my apartment, made yourself some caf, and did my laundry?” you ask, shaking your head in disbelief. “Commander Cody, you’re turning into quite the househusband.”
He snorts, but you can see the hint of color creeping up the back of his neck.
“I didn’t do your laundry,” he protests, and he crosses his arms over his chest, trying for stern and missing by about a parsec. “I just put your pajamas in the dryer to warm them up. And I didn’t ‘break in.’ You gave me a key.”
“A spare key,” you correct. “For emergencies.”
“This is an emergency,” he says, deadpan. “I haven't had a decent cup of caf in weeks.”
You roll your eyes and swat at his chest again, but your heart is singing. You head for the refresher, shrugging out of your wet jacket and letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap as you go.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” you warn over your shoulder. “I’m still mad at you. The list of grievances is long, and I plan to go over every single one of them in excruciating detail.”
“I look forward to it,” he calls after you, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll make some food. You must be starving.”
You are. You hadn't realized it until he said it, but you're ravenous. You shut the door to the refresher, leaning against it for a moment as the adrenaline of the last few minutes finally wears off, leaving you feeling weak and shaky.
And once again, you’re met with the undeniable reality of Cody’s presence in your space. The leftover humidity from his shower fogging the mirror, the hum of the dryer unit, the neatly folded towels and your favorite pair of pajamas waiting for you. The scent of his soap lingering in the air. On the small shelf above the sink, next to your own messy collection of bottles and jars, sits his kit. You’d left space for it, just in case, and to see it finally back where it belongs fills you with an ache that is both painful and sweet.
You peel off the rest of your wet clothes, leaving them in a sodden pile on the floor. The warm spray of the shower is a welcome balm against your chilled skin, and you stand under it for a long moment, letting the water wash away the grime of the city and the lingering anxiety of the day. You close your eyes, focusing on the sound of the water, the feel of the heat on your skin, the faint sounds of Cody moving around in the other room. The clatter of pans, the hiss of the stove.
You try to remember the last time your apartment felt this much like home. You can’t.
When you finally emerge, wrapped in a thick towel, the smell of something wonderful hits you. Something spicy and savory, a world away from the bland, synthetic taste of the quick meals you make for yourself. You dry yourself quickly and dress yourself in your warm pajama shorts and oversized shirt, and you follow the scent out into the main room.
The holovid screen is on, but it’s muted, playing some mindless travelogue about the crystal beaches of Zeltron. The small table in your eating nook is set with two mismatched placemats, two forks, and two glasses of water. And Cody is standing at your stove, stirring the contents of a pot with the focus and intensity of a general planning a battle, a datapad in his hand.
You lean against the doorframe, content to just watch him for a moment. He’s so focused, so utterly absorbed in the simple domestic task of making dinner, that he doesn’t notice you at first. He moves with an economy of motion, every action precise and efficient. He’s donned your favorite apron, and the sight of him, this legendary commander of the GAR, with the words “Kiss the Cook” emblazoned across his chest, makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“What are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice soft.
“Reading a recipe,” he answers without looking up from the datapad. “This kublag curry is surprisingly complicated.”
You cross the room and peer into the pot. The aroma is intoxicating, and your stomach rumbles in interest. "You’re cooking? From a recipe?”
He finally looks up, and his look of intense focus melts into something softer as his eyes sweep over you. He takes in your flushed cheeks, your damp hair, your ridiculous pajamas covered in little tooka-cats, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into that half-smile you love so much.
“I have a lot of free time on the ship,” he says. “And the mess hall gets… repetitive. I’ve been practicing.”
You step close, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your cheek against the solid warmth of his back. He’s tense, the muscles in his shoulders tight and knotted, and you can feel the faint, constant tremor of exhaustion that seems to vibrate through him.
“It smells amazing,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades.
“It’s not ready yet,” he says, but he’s leaning into your touch now, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. He sets the datapad down on the counter and places one of his hands over yours, lacing your fingers together. “Give it another five minutes.”
“Can I help?”
“No,” he says, and it’s not unkind, just… final. “You’ve had a long day. Go sit down. I’ve got this.”
You want to argue. You want to stay right here, to anchor him to this moment, this reality. But you know him. You know that this simple act of making you dinner is more than just dinner. It's a ritual. A way to recalibrate, to transition from the cold, brutal logic of war to the messy, uncertain warmth of peace. It’s his way of telling you he’s home.
So you do as he says. You let him go and retreat to the table, sitting down on the worn, cushioned bench. You wrap your hands around the cool glass of water, watching him as he moves around your kitchen, retrieving bowls and utensils with an ease that speaks of countless nights just like this one, even if they’ve all been in your imagination until now.
He works in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft clink of ceramics and the rhythmic scrape of the spoon against the pot. He moves with a quiet confidence that’s both reassuring and heartbreaking. This is what he does when he’s not fighting. This is what he becomes.
“General Kenobi’s been teaching me,” he says, breaking the silence.
You look up, surprised. “Teaching you what? To cook?”
“To appreciate it,” he corrects, and he turns away from the stove, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. He looks tired, but it’s a good tired. A settled tired. “He says that in the midst of chaos, it’s the small, deliberate acts that keep us sane. The things we do with our hands. The things that nourish us. He’s right.”
You think about General Kenobi, the Jedi you know more from carefully curated holovids and propaganda reports than from any real interaction. You’ve always pictured him as a serene, almost untouchable figure, a bastion of calm in the storm of war. The idea of him in a kitchen, teaching one of his most trusted commanders how to make curry, is so absurdly normal it makes your head spin.
“I always thought Jedi just… absorbed nutrients from the Force,” you say, only half-joking.
A real, genuine smile breaks across Cody’s face, transforming him completely. It lights up his eyes, makes the new scar on his eyebrow fade into the background. He shakes his head, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting your gaze again.
"Only when the rations are particularly bad," he jokes, and his smile widens as you laugh, “but he says it lacks… character.” He opens the oven, peering inside, and his next words are slightly muffled by the rush of hot air. “He also says that the ability to cook for another person is one of the most basic forms of love there is.”
The words linger in the air between you, heavy with meaning. Love. It’s not a word either of you uses lightly, or often. It’s too dangerous, too fragile in the face of your respective realities. But here, in the warm glow of your kitchen, with the smell of exotic spices filling the air, it feels true. It feels right.
“Does he…know about us?” you ask, the question barely audible.
Cody closes the oven and straightens up, wiping his hands on the apron. He doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, and his gaze is so open, so vulnerable, it takes your breath away.
“He knows,” he says finally. “He’s known for a long time.”
Your mind races, trying to process this revelation. General Kenobi knows. And he’s okay with it. He’s teaching Cody how to cook. You suddenly feel like you’ve stepped into an alternate reality, one where the war is still raging, but the lines are blurrier, more human.
“He doesn’t mind?” you press, needing to be sure.
“He trusts my judgment,” Cody says simply. “And he likes you. He thinks you’re good for me.” He turns back to the stove, giving the curry one last stir before turning off the heat. “He thinks we’re good for each other.”
And just like that, the last of your reservations melt away. The fear, the secrecy, the constant, gnawing anxiety that your relationship with him is somehow wrong, or doomed—it all evaporates. You’re not just some clandestine affair, a brief distraction from the war. You’re… something else. Something real.
He ladles the curry into two bowls, topping it with a sprinkle of fresh green herbs you’re not sure you’ve ever seen in your pantry. He pulls a pan of flatbread from the oven, the crust golden and puffed. He arranges it all on a tray, along with two small glasses of a deep red wine you didn’t even know you had, and sets them down with quiet precision. The spread is so thoughtful, so perfect, it makes your heart ache.
Cody finally takes off the apron and hangs it on the hook by the door before sitting down opposite you. The small table suddenly feels impossibly intimate, the space between you charged with an unspoken current of emotion.
For a moment, you’re both silent, just looking at each other across the table. The muted holovid plays on, the light from the screen catching the planes of his face, the warmth in his eyes. You feel like you could sit here for the rest of your leave, just looking at him, memorizing every line, every detail.
"Eat," he commands gently, nudging one of the bowls toward you. "It’ll get cold."
You pick up your fork and take a hesitant bite. The flavors explode in your mouth—spicy and sweet and savory, all at once. It's so delicious, so perfect, you actually moan a little, your eyes fluttering shut as you chew.
“It's good,” you say, your eyes wide with surprise. “Really, really good.”
A genuine, unguarded smile lights up his face. You hadn’t realized how tense he still was until you see it fade, replaced by an expression of pure, simple pride. He looks younger like this, less burdened. More like the fresh-faced trooper you met on Kamino, before the war had carved its harsh reality into him. More like the man he might have been.
“Told you I’ve been practicing,” he says, and he finally takes a bite of his own. He eats with a quiet, focused intensity, clearly analyzing every mouthful.
You eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the scrape of forks against ceramic and the distant hum of the city. You can feel the tension in your own body finally starting to uncoil, the anxiety of the past few weeks replaced by the simple, comforting reality of the man sitting across from you.
“I was thinking,” he says, breaking the silence. “We could go away for a few days.”
You pause, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Go away? Where?”
“Anywhere,” he says, and he leans forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze earnest. “There’s a transport leaving tomorrow for Naboo. The Lake Country. We could get a small house, somewhere quiet. Just… be. For a little while.”
Naboo. The name conjures images of rolling green hills, cascading waterfalls, and serene, blue lakes. It's the kind of place you see on the holoboards at the metro terminal, the kind of place that feels like another galaxy entirely from the grimy, neon-drenched canyons of Coruscant. The kind of place that feels impossible.
“You want to go to Naboo?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “You and me?”
“Why not?” he asks, and he reaches across the table, taking your free hand in his. His thumb strokes your knuckles, the calloused skin sending shivers down your spine. “We have two weeks. We deserve it. You deserve it.”
You want to say yes. You want to shout it from the rooftops. But the practicalities, the realities of your lives, intrude. The cost, the logistics, the risk. “Cody, I can’t just… my job. I can’t just take off. I’d need to put in for leave, and I don’t know if they’d approve it on such short notice—”
“I already took care of it,” he interrupts, and his grip on your hand tightens. “I spoke to your supervisor this morning.”
Your fork clatters against your bowl, the sound echoing in the sudden, shocking silence. You stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s just said. “You… you spoke to Director Pello? My Director Pello?”
“I did,” he says, completely unfazed by your disbelief. “I may have… implied that it was a matter of Republic security. A request from the GAR for your… particular expertise. For an off-books consultation.”
A disbelieving laugh escapes your lips. You can just imagine it: your stuffy, by-the-book superior, with his perfectly pressed suit and his datapad full of tedious memos, getting a direct communiqué from Marshal Commander Cody himself. You picture him stammering, sweating through the collar of that perfect suit, trying to reconcile the mundane reality of your job in the Sub-Administrative Office of Public Affairs with the high-stakes world of Republic Intelligence.
“You didn’t,” you breathe.
“I did,” Cody confirms, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in that familiar, self-satisfied smirk. “He was very… accommodating. Said he’d process the paperwork immediately and wish you the best on your… assignment.”
You’re speechless. You’re also, you have to admit, deeply impressed. And more than a little turned on. The sheer audacity of it, the way he just… moved heaven and earth, rearranged your entire life with a few well-placed words. It would be concerning, if you didn’t trust him so implicitly. It would be terrifying, if you didn’t know that he did it for you.
“That’s quite the spin, Commander,” you manage to say, and you squeeze his hand, hard. “You were paying attention in my classes after all. All that fluff I write about strategic communication really is good for something.”
“You’re a brilliant writer,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone is so disarming it catches you off guard. “And a brilliant strategist. Don’t sell yourself short. You could be running that entire division if you wanted to.”
The compliment hangs in the air, warm and heavy. You’re still not used to this, to someone seeing so much potential in you. To someone seeing you. You’ve spent so long feeling invisible, like your words just disappear into the void, that having him look at you like this—like you matter, like you’re important—is almost too much to bear.
You look down at your plate, at the half-eaten curry, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “Naboo,” you say, testing the word on your tongue. It feels foreign and wonderful. “What are we going to do in Naboo for two weeks?”
“Absolutely nothing,” he says, and the finality in his voice is music to your ears. “We’re going to sleep. We’re going to eat real food that doesn’t come in a silver packet. We’re going to walk by the lake. We’re going to sit on the grass and do nothing but breathe the clean air. No comlinks, no datapads, no GAR, no Republic. Just us.”
It sounds like heaven. It sounds like a dream you’ve had but never dared to speak aloud. A world without deadlines, without fear, without the constant, crushing weight of expectations.
“Okay,” you say, and you look up, meeting his gaze. You can feel the tears welling up again, and this time you don’t even try to stop them. “Yes. Let’s go to Naboo.”
The relief that washes over his face is palpable. It’s like watching a dam break, the years of built-up tension and exhaustion finally receding, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable and so incredibly beautiful it makes your heart ache.
He pushes back from the table and rounds the corner, pulling you up from your seat and into his arms. He holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair, and you can feel the unsteady rhythm of his heart against your cheek. He’s just as scared as you are. He’s just as hopeful. He’s just as desperate for this little pocket of peace.
You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. The holovid continues to play its silent, colorful story, the remnants of your dinner grow cold on the table, and the storm outside rages on, but in here, in this small circle of light and warmth, there is only the two of you. And the promise of two weeks.
He finally pulls back, but he doesn't let you go. His hands cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears you hadn't realized were falling.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “No tears. We’re on leave.”
“I know,” you reply with a watery laugh, and you lean into his touch, closing your eyes for just a second. “I’m just… happy.”
“Good,” he says, and he kisses you, soft and deep. It's not the desperate, hurried kiss of two people about to be torn apart, but the slow, deliberate kiss of two people with all the time in the world.
When he finally breaks away, you're both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.
“You're amazing, you know that?” you murmur, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “The things you do for me.”
“I do what I have to do,” he says, and there’s a shadow of the old commander in his tone, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Now, let’s clean up this mess and go to bed. I have two weeks of lost sleep to catch up on.”
You don't argue. You help him clear the table, the simple domesticity of the task feeling more intimate than anything else you’ve done all night. He insists on doing the washing up himself, shooing you away when you try to help. You watch him from the doorway of the small kitchenette, leaning against the frame, content to just soak in the sight of him. The way the muscles in his back shift under the thin fabric of his shirt as he scrubs the pans, the quiet hum of the sanitizer unit, the occasional splash of water. These are the sounds of home.
While he finishes up, you turn your attention to the rest of the apartment, seeing it through new eyes. You tidy up the stack of datapads on the end table, fluff the blanket on the sofa, and finally turn off the silent holovid. The sudden quiet is unnerving at first, but it’s quickly replaced by a profound sense of peace.
You dim the lights until the room is bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the city beyond the window, and when you turn around, Cody is standing behind you.
“Ready?” he asks, and he holds out his hand.
You take it, lacing your fingers together, and he leads you toward the bedroom.
It’s the smallest room in the apartment, barely big enough for the bed and the two small dressers on either side. You’d spent your last salary credit on the mattress, splurging on the top-of-the-line model with memory foam and temperature regulation, and it’s the best investment you’ve ever made. You sink into it with a sigh, the familiar softness of the sheets a welcome relief.
Cody doesn't join you right away. He moves with purpose, retrieving the spare datapad from the top of his dresser and plugging it in on the nightstand. He checks the locks on the window, even though you both know they're flimsy at best. He turns off the main light, leaving only the small reading lamp on, casting the room in a warm, golden hue. He’s securing the perimeter, you realize. A final, ingrained habit from a life lived on the front lines.
“Do you want to check under the bed for monsters, too?” you tease as you settle back onto your hands, your feet dangling off the side of the bed.
He gives you a wry look, one eyebrow raised in that way you’ve come to know so well. You watch as he makes his way around to your side of the bed and drops on one knee, hand braced on the mattress next to you. He makes a show of looking under the bed, peering into the dusty darkness with a mock-serious expression, before looking back up at you.
“No monsters,” he confirms, his voice soft. He takes one of your dangling feet in his hand, his thumb gently rubbing the arch. “But I did find some dust bunnies that could probably stand to be dealt with.”
You laugh as you wiggle your toes against his palm, but the sound gets caught in your throat as he leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. Then to your calf. Then to the sensitive skin behind your knee. Each kiss is slow, deliberate, and so full of reverence it makes you shiver.
He continues his upward path, his hands tracing the curve of your legs as he goes. He pushes your shorts aside, his lips following the line of your hip. He’s not in a hurry. He’s mapping you, reacquainting himself with the geography of your body, and every touch is a confirmation that he's really here.
“Cody,” you breathe, your fingers tangling in the sheets.
“Shh,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’m on leave. I have two weeks to do this properly.”
“I hope you’re not planning to spend all two weeks doing this,” you reply, your voice hitching as he nips at your hipbone.
He looks up at you, and the look in his eyes is so full of love and desire it takes your breath away. “Maybe not all of it. But a significant portion. I made a list.”
“A list?” you manage. “You made a list of things to do on leave?”
“A very detailed list,” he confirms as he pushes himself up, his body hovering over yours, one arm braced on the bed beside your head. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his hips to meet yours, the thin layers of your clothing suddenly feeling like nothing at all. “I have to be efficient with my time off.”
You laugh despite yourself and the heat building in your core. It’s so like him, to approach lovemaking with the same tactical precision he applies to everything else in his life. And you know from experience that he’s very, very good at making the most of his time.
“I expect nothing less than peak performance from my Commander Cody,” you say, running your fingers through his hair, the short, soft strands tickling your palm. “I’ve seen your evaluations. I have high expectations.”
His answering laugh is warm against your cheek. “You should lower them. I haven’t slept in three days.”
“Then maybe we should postpone the efficiency exercise,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, the new scar above his brow, the old one on his temple. “I’d hate to ruin your record.”
“I’m not that tired,” he replies immediately, and he shifts, pressing his thigh against the growing heat between your legs. “I have priorities.”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the flutter of anticipation that runs through you at his words. You can feel the tension in him, the way his muscles quiver with the effort of holding himself up, the way his breath catches when you run your fingers down the side of his neck.
“What’s on the agenda, Commander?” you ask, your voice barely above whisper. “What are your priorities?”
He doesn't answer. He just leans down, capturing your lips with his own. The kiss is slow, unhurried, as if he’s trying to imprint the moment on his memory. You can taste the faint, smoky flavor of the wine on his tongue, the lingering heat of the curry. His hand slides under your shirt, his fingers splayed possessively over your ribs, and you arch into his touch, your body craving the contact.
He breaks the kiss and lifts himself up just enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it aside with casual grace. The sight of him, half-naked and braced above you, sends your heart into overdrive, and you can’t help the way your hands immediately go to the hard planes of his chest, the lean, chiseled muscles of his abdomen. He’s still got the edge of that youthful, Kaminoan perfection, but the war has left its mark on him, too. The new scar, the faded one on his side, the faint lines of tension around his eyes. You trace each one with your fingers, mapping the story of his body as he mapped yours.
He lets you explore for long moments, his eyes closed, his breath coming in soft, measured gasps. You can feel the weight of his trust, his willingness to be vulnerable, and it fills you with an almost unbearable tenderness. He’s so strong, so powerful, and yet he’s given himself to you, completely and without reservation.
Finally, his hand catches yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. He brings your hand to his lips, kissing the palm before pinning it above your head, his eyes locked on yours.
“Now you,” he says, his voice low and rough with desire.
You comply willingly, lifting up just enough to help him remove your shirt. The cool air of the room pebbles your skin, and you shiver despite the heat of his body. But Cody is back on you before the chill can set in, wasting no time in wrapping his lips around one nipple while his thumb toys with the other. The sudden, sharp spike of pleasure has you gasping, your back arching up off the mattress, your fingers tangling in his hair. He’s not teasing, he’s not playing—he’s claiming, marking his territory again, and you’re only too happy to be claimed.
He lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle suction and soft, teasing licks. It’s enough to have your head spinning, your body already throbbing with need, but he’s not done. He moves down, trailing kisses along the sensitive underside of your breast, the curve of your waist. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, pausing to look up at you, as if asking for permission.
You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and he pulls the shorts down your legs, taking your underwear with them. You’re completely bare before him now, but you’ve never felt more safe, more protected.
He places his hands on your knees, gently coaxing them apart, and you comply, opening yourself to him. The first touch of his lips against your inner thighs has you trembling, and when he finally makes contact with your clit, you nearly come off the bed.
He’s slow at first, his tongue exploring your folds with deliberate care. He teases your clit with soft, feather-light strokes, and when you whimper, he gives you more, his tongue circling and stroking in the patterns he’s spent the past year learning by trial and error. The patterns that can make you fall apart in minutes, if he so chooses.
Tonight, he does so choose. It’s been too long, and you’re both too keyed up to go slow. His tongue is relentless, his hands pinning your hips to the bed, keeping you from squirming away from the intense pleasure. You can feel the orgasm building inside you, the pressure of it, and when he adds two fingers, curling them just so inside you, you shatter. Your back arches, your hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets, and Cody’s name on your lips.
Cody is still between your legs as you come down from your high, his lips and chin slick with your release, his eyes dark with desire. He presses one last, lingering kiss to your clit before sliding up your body, dropping soft, chaste kisses on your belly, your breasts, your collarbone. He hovers over you, his arms bracketing your head, and you can see the hunger in his gaze, the barely restrained need.
But he waits, giving you time to recover. He’s always been that way, always putting your pleasure before his own. And it only makes you want to give him more, to give him everything.
“I missed you so much,” you whisper, your hands framing his face. “I missed this.”
“Me too,” he says, his voice strained. “Every day, I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I need to feel you. Please.”
You reach between you, your fingers tracing the length of his erection through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. He hisses, his hips jerking forward at the contact, and you feel the dampness where he's already leaking against the fabric. You can't resist the urge to press your thumb against the wet patch, feeling the heat of him through the cotton, the way he throbs under your touch.
“Tell me what you want,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. You may have been the one to teach him the art of dirty talk, but he's become an expert practitioner in his own right. He knows just what to say, how to say it, to send shivers down your spine. To make you wet. To make you want. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”
His eyes flash at that, and you watch the struggle play out across his face, the battle between his natural reserve and his desire to tell you everything, all the filthy, desperate things he's imagined while you've been apart. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, and you can't resist the urge to lean up and suck lightly on his pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your tongue.
“I want to fuck you,” he says, and the raw hunger in his voice has your toes curling, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. “I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”
“That’s not very specific,” you tease, but you can't keep the breathlessness out of your tone. You reach for the waistband of his pants, tugging them down just far enough to free his cock. You take him in your hand, stroking him slowly from root to tip, feeling the way he swells in your grip. “How are you going to fuck me, Commander?”
He groans, his eyes fluttering shut for just an instant. “Like this." His hips jerk forward, his cock pushing through the circle of your first to slide against your clit. You're both sensitive, and the sensation has you gasping, your hand stilling. “Just like this. Deep. Slow.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” you ask, your thumb sweeping over the slick head of his cock, smearing the fluid there. You know him too well, know that there’s something else he wants, something he’s holding back. “Are you sure that’s how you want to take me, Cody?”
The sound that rips from his chest is almost feral, and he suddenly pulls back, his hands grabbing your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach. You let out an indignant squeak, but it quickly turns to moan as he drapes himself over your back, the hot, hard length of him pressed against the cleft of your ass. He’s heavy, his solid weight pushing you down into the mattress, and you feel completely surrounded by him, consumed by him.
“This is what I want,” he growls in your ear, his hips rocking against yours. “This is how I want to take you. Hard. Deep. Until you’re begging me to stop.”
You moan again, your hands fisting in the sheets, and he takes that as his cue. He lifts himself up, his hand sliding between your bodies, and you feel the broad, flared head of him pressing against your entrance. He doesn't enter you right away, just teases you with shallow thrusts, pushing in just an inch or two before pulling back. You can feel yourself dripping, practically sobbing with need, and you try to push back, to take him inside you, but his hand on your hip holds you still.
“Cody,” you gasp, your voice muffled by the pillow. “I need you. Please."
"I intend to," he says, and he punctuates his words with another shallow thrust, and you feel the thick head of his cock breaching you. It's not enough, not nearly enough, but it's something, and your inner muscles clamp down on him greedily, trying to pull him in deeper. He groans, his hand flexing against your hip. "Fuck."
“Please," you beg again. “Cody, please.”
And finally, finally, he relents. With one sharp snap of his hips, he buries himself inside you, and the force of it jolts your whole body forward. The stretch of it, the fullness, it's almost too much, and for an instant, the line between pleasure and pain blurs. You gasp, your fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as your body struggles to accommodate him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tight with strain. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, I’m good,” you reassure him. “I just… I forgot how big you are.”
He laughs, and you can feel the vibration of it in his chest. “You didn’t forget. You just like to complain.”
You huff in indignation as he pulls back, and his hands find your hips in the darkness, lifting your ass up and back towards him. He slides back in more gently this time, letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him. His hips press flush against your ass, and he grinds in deep, his cock nudging that spot inside you that has you keening against the pillow.
“Fuck," he grits out, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it’s almost painful. He holds you still, keeping you trapped on his cock as he grinds against that spot again, harder this time. The pleasure of it makes you clench, and he hisses, his hips jerking forward. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
“I wonder why," you gasp as he grinds in again. “Maybe it’s because someone left me alone in this bed for weeks on end.” You manage to rock back against him, even with his firm grip. It's awkward, uncoordinated, but the friction is delicious. “Maybe it's because I missed you so much, and I—” Your words cut off in another moan as he gives you another sharp, short thrust.
“Don't talk like that," he growls, and you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he's struggling to hold back his own pleasure. “I can't think when you talk like that."
“Then don't think," you challenge. “Stop thinking and just fuck me, Cody. Stop being so damn gentle and just take me the way you said you would."
His fingers flex against your hips, and for an instant, he's motionless. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he wars with himself. He's always been so careful with you, so mindful of his strength, of the damage he could do if he lost control. He's never taken you like this before, never truly unleashed himself on you, and you're not sure he's willing to do it now.
But he is. With an animalistic growl, he pulls back, the flared head of him tugging on your entrance, before slamming back in. His hips slap against your ass, the force of his thrust jolting you forward, and you let out an involuntary yelp. He freezes, his cock pulsing inside you, and you can feel the tension in him, the fear that he's gone too far, that he's hurt you.
But the pain is fleeting, and in its wake is only pleasure. You reach back, your fingers finding his hip, and you pull him toward you, urging him to continue.
“Don't stop," you beg, and that's all the encouragement he needs.
He withdraws again, only to thrust back in, harder this time. Your fingers scrabble for purchase in the sheets, your knees slipping on the soft mattress, but it doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere, not with Cody's hands on you, holding you still for his punishing pace. His hips slam against yours, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls, and the sound of it, the primal, animalistic rhythm, has your head spinning. He's not being gentle anymore, he's not holding back, and it's everything you've ever wanted from him. Everything you've ever needed.
“You feel so good," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass. He spreads you open, his thumbs pressing against either side of your stretched pussy as he fucks you, and the sensation has you sobbing into the pillow. “So fucking perfect. So tight for me."
You want to respond, to tell him how good he feels, how full, but you can't. You can't do anything but take it, to let him pound you into the mattress with wild, frantic thrusts. He's fucking you like he's trying to break you, like he's trying to split you in two, and it's exactly what you wanted, what you need.
Your climax catches you by surprise, slamming into you like the thrust of Cody's hips. It's sudden and intense, and you're not even sure what does it, what finally pushes you over the edge. All you know is that you're clenching around his cock, your entire body trembling, and he's still fucking you through it, his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you sobbing into the pillow.
“Fuck, you're beautiful," he says, his voice low and ragged. “You're so beautiful like this.”
He shifts, leaning down to press his chest against your back, his lips finding the nape of your neck. He sucks at the soft skin there, his tongue tracing the bumps of your spine, and the sensation is almost too much on top of the rest. You're sensitive, overstimulated, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. It's too much and not enough all at once.
“Cody, I can't," you gasp, even as you're pushing back against him, trying to take him deeper. “It's too much. I can't.”
“You can," he grunts, and his hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pushing you down until your breasts are pressed against the sheets. The new angle has him hitting even deeper, the head of his cock nudging your cervix with each stroke. “I know you can. You were made for this. You were made for me.”
The words should infuriate you. They’re possessive, they’re presumptuous. They’re the words of someone who believes they own you, body and soul. But all you feel is heat, pulsing through your core, and the truth of them rings through you, undeniable.
So you take it. You take his cock, his words, his love. You let him pour himself into you, and you give yourself back to him, all of you, everything you are.
It doesn't take much longer. Cody's stamina is legendary, and he can keep going long after most men would have collapsed into an exhausted heap. It's one of the many, many benefits of being with an enhanced soldier of the GAR. But even Cody has his limits, and you've pushed him to the brink.
"One more," he grits out, his hand sliding down between your legs. He finds your clit, and the rough pad of his finger against your swollen, sensitive flesh has your hips jerking forward, trying to escape the intense sensation. “Just one more. Come on."
“I can't," you whimper, even as your inner muscles flutter around him. You're exhausted, spent. Your body feels like it's made of lead, heavy and boneless. But he's relentless, his fingers working you even as he slams his hips into yours. And against all odds, against all reason, you feel it building again. That familiar, insistent pressure. The tightening in your core.
“Cody, please," you beg, not even sure what you're asking for anymore. Release, mercy, relief from the overwhelming pleasure that's threatening to tear you apart at the seams. “Please."
“That's it," he coaxes, his fingers relentless. "That's my girl. You can do it. Just one more. Give me one more."
“Oh, fuck," you moan, burying your face in the pillow as your whole body tenses, as you hover on the edge of oblivion. “Fuck, Cody, please."
“Now," he demands, and there's no mistaking the order in his tone this time. It's the voice of Marshal Commander Cody, the man who's led armies, fought battles, won wars. And you obey, because you always obey. Because you're his.
Your orgasm hits like an avalanche, wiping out everything in its path. You're dimly aware of Cody cursing, of his hips stuttering, but all you can focus on is the way your body is spasming around him, the way your pleasure is pouring out of you, drenching his cock and the sheets beneath you. It's too much, too intense, and you're pretty sure you're going to pass out from sheer sensory overload.
But you don't, and Cody doesn't stop. He keeps going, pounding into you even as the last waves of your climax roll through you. His hips are erratic, his breathing harsh, and you can tell he's close. You can tell he's hanging on by the thinnest of threads.
So you give him what he needs, the same thing you've always given him. The thing he can't find anywhere else. The thing that's kept him coming back to you, time and time again.
You give him permission to let go.
“Do it," you urge, reaching back to grasp his forearm, digging your nails into the meat of him. “I want to feel you come in me. I want you to fill me up, Cody. Please."
And that's all it takes. With something that's half roar, half sob, he slams his hips forward one last time, and you can feel the hot, wet rush of his release deep inside you. His cock pulses, throbbing against your inner walls, and you can feel every twitch, every spasm. You're so full of him you feel like you might burst. Like he's marked you in the most primal, most basic of ways.
His climax seems to go on forever, and when he finally collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you to the bed, you can't stop the satisfied smile that curls your lips. This is what you've been craving, what you've been missing in the long weeks apart. And by the way he's still inside you, the way his cock is still pulsing weakly, you know he's missed it too. Missed you.
“Thank you," he whispers, his voice ragged and raw. “Thank you for that."
“I think I should be thanking you," you reply, shifting your hips, and he groans at the sensation. “I forgot how good it was. How much I needed this."
“I didn't," he says as his arms slide around you, pulling you close. He's still inside you, still half-hard, and you're pretty sure he has no intention of pulling out anytime soon. “I've been thinking about it nonstop."
You laugh, and the movement has him twitching inside you, his cock giving another weak pulse. “I could tell. Peak performance indeed, Commander. Very efficient."
He snorts at that, his breath fanning against the nape of your neck. “I have my moments.”
“You have more than moments," you assure him, running your fingers along his arm. You can feel the hard, corded muscle there, the strength that could snap you like kindling if he chose. But he never has, and he never would. He's always been so careful with you. So gentle. “You have everything I need."
He doesn't respond, but you feel him smile against your skin, his lips pressing against the curve of your shoulder. His arms wind around your waist, and he slowly turns on his side, bringing you with him. His cock slides out of you in the process, and you can't stop the little mewl of protest that escapes your lips.
“I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing the back of your head. “I didn't mean to hurt you."
“You didn't," you reassure him as you snuggle back against him. “I just… I wanted you to stay."
“I know," he says, and you can hear the regret in his voice. “But I have to get cleaned up, and I have to take care of you. I don't want you to be sore tomorrow. Not on our first day of leave."
You want to argue, to tell him you don't care if you're sore. That it's worth it for the pleasure he gives you, for the intimacy. But you know he's right, and you don't want to make his job any harder than it has to be. So you let him go, rolling onto your stomach and letting him climb over you, padding off to the bathroom to fetch his supplies.
While he's gone, you take the opportunity to stretch, your body feeling deliciously loose and pliant after the intense workout. You're sticky and wet between your thighs, and when you reach down to touch yourself, you can feel his seed leaking out of you. It's dirty, filthy even, but you can't deny the thrill of satisfaction that runs through you at the thought.
When Cody comes back, carrying his familiar white box, he stops short at the sight of you, your fingers lazily exploring your tender folds.
“You're killing me," he groans, setting the box on the nightstand before settling on the bed beside you. “I'm not sure I'm going to survive this."
“I think you'll manage," you reply, and you spread your legs wider, giving him better access. “Get to work, Commander."
He does, of course. He's nothing if not obedient. He opens his kit and takes out his supplies. Cleans his hands first, as he always does, before cleaning you, as gently as he can. You wince, your flesh still sensitive and swollen, and he murmurs apologies, pressing kisses to the back of your thigh. And when you're both cleaned up to his satisfaction, he covers the bruises on your hips from his frantic fingers with bacta and massages your tired muscles, working the knots and tension from them until you're practically boneless.
By the time he's done, you're almost asleep, your eyes heavy, your body limp. He covers you with the sheet, and you're dimly aware of him moving about the room, picking up the clothes strewn on the floor. You hear the sound of water running, and when he comes back, he's wearing nothing but his briefs, and his hair is damp.
“Come on, baby," he says, kneeling beside the bed and smoothing the hair back from your face. “You need to drink something. And I need to change the sheets."
“S'fine," you murmur, burrowing deeper into the pillow. “Don't need sheets. Just sleep."
“You'll be sorry in the morning," he says firmly, and he scoops you up in his arms, carrying you bridal-style out of the room. “You can sleep on the couch while I clean up."
You're too tired to argue, and the truth is, you don't want to let him go, not for one second. So you let him carry you, let him set you down on the couch, wrap you in your fluffy bathrobe, and press the bottle of water into your hands.
“Drink," he says, tapping the top of the bottle. “All of it. Doctor's orders."
You scowl at him, but you comply, taking small sips. You watch him move back toward the bedroom, and even in your exhausted state, you can't help but admire the view. The way the muscles in his back and shoulders flex as he strips the soiled sheets from the bed. The way his briefs cling to the tight curves of his ass, and the way the dimples just above them seem to be begging you to run your fingers over them.
He's gorgeous, there's no doubt about that. But it's more than his looks that draw you to him. It's his heart, his soul. It's the way he cares for you, the way he loves you. The way he sees you, not just as an object to be desired, but as someone to be cherished. To be protected. To be loved.
“I love you," you say suddenly, and the sliver you can see of him through the doorway freezes, the clean sheet clutched in his hands. “I really, really do."
“I love you, too," he calls back, and you can hear the smile in his voice. The wonder. The awe. “Now finish that water and get some rest. We have to get up early tomorrow if we're going to make our flight to Naboo. I'm not losing the deposit because you were too tired to get out of bed."
“Bossy,” you grumble, but you can't help but smile as you take another sip of water. This is the Cody you love. The Commander. The lover. The man who's already planning your vacation down to the last detail. The man who, for the next two weeks, is all yours.
“I have to be," he says as he appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “If I'm not, you'll sleep all day, and we'll miss our flight. And I've been looking forward to this for months. I’m not letting you sabotage it with your laziness."
“My laziness?” you protest, indignant. “You’re the one keeping me up all hours of the night. A girl needs her beauty sleep.”
Cody grunts. “You don’t need beauty sleep. You’re already perfect.”
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Commander,” you say with an eye roll, though you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks.
"I disagree," he replies with one of his rare, genuine smiles that still have the power to make your knees weak. He crosses to the sofa, crouching down in front of you, and takes the half-empty water bottle from your limp hands and sets it on the floor. He leans in, and you think he's going to kiss you, but instead he presses his forehead against yours. "It's gotten me here, hasn't it?"
He has you there. You close your eyes, soaking in the feel of him. The warmth of his skin, the gentle puff of his breath against your cheek, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. You could stay like this forever, in this small, perfect bubble of peace. In this apartment on the grimy, lower levels of Coruscant that feels more like home than any place you've ever known because he's here with you.
“Yeah,” you whisper, tilting your chin to kiss him again. “It has.”
surprising clones with flowers pt2 💐💝 (my headcanons)
a/n: ugh i cannot decide on a theme bear with me
part i (the bad batch)
gn reader
warnings: none
501st
rex doesn't often indulge in getting nice things for himself. if he's looking for something special, it's probably for you. he looks a bit startled when you give him the flowers, eyes wide and body frozen even as you kiss him on the cheek before leaning back on your heels. it's like his brain has short-circuited a little bit, and he meets your gaze tentatively. "they're harmless, rex, you can breathe," you laugh, not expecting such a fearless, gutsy soldier to tremble in front of a pretty bouquet. "i—sorry," he laughs, too, and shakes his head. "just surprised, is all," he kisses your forehead, "can't tell if i'm forgetting something, or..." you lean into him, rubbing his back reassuringly. "no, i just wanted you to have them." he shifts the bouquet in his grip to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer, dropping his mouth to the top of your head. "you're sweet," he whispers, "thank you."
fives is a flower guy. giving them, of course, but also receiving them—even if he hasn't ever before. today, you change that. he grins as you show him the flowers, puzzled, but still excited. "for me?" he says, taking them in one hand so that he still has the other to pull you in by the waist. the tip of his nose touches yours when he leans in, head tilted and smile wide. "something special happening today?" he asks before dropping a soft kiss to your mouth. he gives you time to breathe between every slow collision of your lips, and you respond, "seeing you is special enough." a low, gravelly laugh sounds from deep in his chest as he shakes his head, kissing you again. "c'mon, tell me what's going on," he insists, but there really is nothing else to explain. you cup his face and pause his lazy kisses. "do i have to have a reason?" you tell him. his gaze softens, round and brown with nothing but pure adoration for you. you've stolen any of his usual smooth talk off his tongue, and he just finds himself folding as he says, "aw, c'mere, you."
kix is used to associating flowers to honor the loss of life; he doesn't have much experience with them outside of his medic duties, which is why the meaning behind a particular flower is super important to him. you do your research, surprising him with something that will bring a smile to his face instead of the grief he carries so strongly. he stares at you as you give him the flowers, both of you a little shy and nervous. "i thought you might like these," you tell him, "forget-me-nots." he's quiet at first, taking them from you with keen observation. "they symbolize love that lasts," you continue in the soft tone that spreads goosebumps across his arms and tingles down his back, somehow relaxing him while also setting his body ablaze. he glances up at you, smiling. "i like that," he says. his hands come around the back of your thighs as he pulls you closer, into his lap. "i like that a lot."
jesse gets a bit emotional, but he doesn't want to show it. he's just so genuinely touched by this gesture that he melts right then and there, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his trembling expression. "are you...crying?" you ask in disbelief. "no," he snaps harsher than he intended, so he softens his voice and repeats, "no, of course not. just—it's just the pollen." you laugh and hug him close, skeptical as you reply, "since when were you allergic to pollen?" "i've always been allergic." rolling your eyes, you hum, "uh-huh..." but you let him have it, cradling him in your arms as he sways your bodies from side to side in a gentle rhythm that makes the world feels like it's slowing down for once, giving you all the time in the world to be with each other.
hardcase doesn't trust himself to take care of any sort of plant, but he's definitely tried before. he hopes he can break his kill streak when he realizes these flowers are for him. "it's not our anniversary, is it?" he jokes, dodging the light slap you flick at his chest. his eyes dance with laughter as you arrange the flowers in a vase for him. "lucky for you, it's not," you reply, playing into his amusement. he cages you into the countertop from behind, planting his arms on either side of you firmly. "kidding," he mumbles, and you lean back into the kisses he trails along your neck, only pausing to breath in your scent, almost obsessively, desperate to be as close to you as possible. "you picked out a good one."
commanders
wolffe used to roll his eyes and ridicule the simplicity of romance, but he's come to realize that it truly is all about the little things. after all, his own way of showing love is hardly grandiose and loud; it's quiet, and that's its strength. you surprise him at the door, holding the flowers behind your back as he steps inside. the hard, deep lines on his face from scowling too much while he was away seem to soften and melt back into his skin, but you don't get much of a chance to look at him before he quickly embraces you. he buries his face in your hair and growls, "hug me back," in that needy, scolding voice he only lets you hear. his chest muffles your laugh like he's absorbing the sound, keeping it for himself with shameless greed. your hands are full from hiding the bouquet, and you try to step back for the reveal, but he's holding you too tight. "wolffe," you struggle, "i want to show you something—just let go—for one second—" and he reluctantly listens, staring down at you with narrow eyes as if to say, "this better be worth it." you bring the flowers out from behind you and hold them up for him to see, carefully sliding them into his hand. "for you," you tell him. his eyes flicker in surprise, and he parts his lips slightly. he didn't expect this, not at all. his fingers tighten around the base of the bouquet as his jaw tenses. unsure what to make of the thoughts storming behind his dark gaze, you ramble to fill the silence. "it's okay if you don't like them—i guess i should've asked you first, but that would've ruined the surprise—" he cuts you off, sharp and stern. "i like them." your eyes light up—your whole body seems to, actually, and he wishes he could freeze time to stay this moment if it means seeing you this happy forever. "really?" you ask, and he nods. smiling, you come forward and wrap your arms around his midsection, finally hugging him back the way he's been waiting for. "i'm glad," you whisper. he sighs like all the heaviness wearing him down is slowly slipping away, and all that matters is you in his arms, listening to the thud of his heartbeat—a testament to his unwavering love for you.
fox finds the flowers you leave him at his office desk, and he sighs exasperatedly, thinking someone either made a delivery mistake or decided to pull a prank on him. but then he recognizes your handwriting in the note slipped underneath, and he brings it close to his face as some air pushes out from his lungs in a soft, shaky exhale. he's not the type to fall easily into romantic, lovey-dovey gestures, at least, he wasn't until he met you. he can't fight the smile that curves his lips, and his lifted mood lasts for a while—a rare sight for his corrie brothers. he comes home to you later, catching you off guard as he hugs you from behind and buries his face into your neck, dropping slow kisses along your shoulder-blade. you smile knowingly and ask, "had a good day today?" he squeezes your waist, "something like that."
cody sees his flowers on the windowsill. assuming they're yours, he gently tells you, "those are gonna dry up if you leave them out like that." your eyes widen as you realize what he's talking about. "oh, you saw—i got them for you..." this grabs his attention. he tilts his head to the side, eyeing the soft, orange color that seems to glow under the morning sun. you clearly picked these flowers with him in mind. "did you now?" he says quietly. you nod as you watch him take the flowers off the windowsill, probably to move it somewhere else so they can last longer. he has that look on his face—the same kind he always does when he's thinking ahead, making a plan. "when did you become a botany expert?" you fold your arms over your chest. he smiles at you and leans down, nudging your chin up for a kiss with the crook of his finger. his lips linger on yours as he humorously replies, "about a minute ago."
mayday is the gentleman bf who always replaces your wilting flowers. he likes these traditional kinds of gestures, but he never expects them in return. "what's this?" he chuckles and pulls you into his side, looking down at the flowers you hold to his chest. "just thought i'd return the favor," you whisper. he tilts your chin upward and kisses you slowly, and you feel him smiling against your lips. "they're pretty, aren't they?" you murmur. "very pretty," he nods, staring at you tenderly, "but don't spend your money on me, alright?" you roll your eyes, "c'mon, it's nothing..." but he can't be convinced otherwise, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head before he takes the flowers from you to display next to the ones he got you.
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gn! reader
warnings: none
a/n: it’s so hot rn, I have sweat in places I should never have sweat
it’s summertime, the reader and the clones are on a hot planet! it’s too hot to sleep next to them and you overheat easily, so you lay on the floor next to the bed instead.
FOX feels the bed move, any signal of something out of the norm awakes him immediately. he opens his eyes and notices the empty side, making him sit up. “what are you doing?” he asks, you tell him it’s too hot to be next to anything. fox needs structure, so he won’t be able to sleep, he moves onto your side of the bed and peers down at you, lying back down.
WOLFFE stirs slightly as the bed moves, he opens his eyes and frowns at the emptiness of the bed, the light in the ‘fresher is off, so you’re not there. it’s when he hears creaking from the floor, he sits up and glares down. “why are you down there?” you tell him it’s too hot, he sighs in return and lays back down, ending the conversation there.
CODY startles awake and opens his eyes, he glances down at the floor. “uh, what are you doin’ down there?” you tell him why and he snorts softly in response, kicking the blanket off the bed. “fair enough, g’night.” he goes back to sleep.
BLY awakes at the sound and tilts his head, calling your name, you tell him you were on the floor. he scoots over and murmurs, hoping you’re not mad at him, “why are you on the floor?” you tell him you’re overheating, he nods in return and leans his arm over the bed, gripping your hand as he lays back down.
MAYDAY doesn’t awake at first, it’s a little later in the night when he goes to put his arm over you, to find you’re not there. he pats around the bed and lifts his head up, panicking slightly, he sits up and sees you on the floor. he sighs and rubs his face, he glances down at your sleeping form and smiles, glad you were safe.
REX hears the movement and lets out your name through a hushed whisper, you tell him you’re overheating and need to sleep somewhere else. he hums sleepily in response, scooting over to the edge of the bed so you can be in his sight as he sleeps.
GREGOR was already awake when you shuffle against his arms, he groans and opens his eyes. “mm, where’re y’goin’?” you say you’re too hot to be against anything and want to sleep on the floor. he nods and hops off the bed, going down on the floor with you. “you’re right ‘bout this being better.”
HOWZER hands twitch as he felt the warmth of the other hand disappear, he murmurs incoherently and slowly sits up, before whispering your name. you tell him you’re on the floor, to which he responds confused. “okay… why?” you chuckle at him and say it’s just because you’re too hot. “oh, right, ‘pose it’s a bit hot.” he lays back down and grabs your pillow to hug.
HUNTER hears the littlest noise of movement and opens his eyes, he stays silent but watches you settle on the floor. you notice him and tell him you’re overheating. “yeah, s’quite hot, ain’t it?” he murmurs, he already has his hair up and sleeping in minimal clothing possible, he also overheats easily.
WRECKER has you in a bear hug as he snores, you try to wriggle out of him, but he doesn’t wake. you shake him and tell him you’re extremely hot and need some space. he slowly softens his grip, he’s disappointed but doesn’t show it. “aw, can’t have ya suffocatin’ now.” he chuckles and gazes at you.
TECH already knows you overheat easily, he’s read your signs and kept space between you both during your sleep anyway. he watches you slip out of bed and onto the floor. “would you like me to get you any cold water?” you shake your head and tell him your fine, you just need some more space.
CROSSHAIR grunts annoyed as he opens his eyes, he glares as you slide onto the floor. “what the hell are you doing?” you tell him you need to sleep elsewhere because you’re overheating. “suit yourself, then.” he murmurs, but watches over to make sure you get back to sleep.
ECHO snaps his eyes open as movement and creaking filled his ears, he saw you and whispers, “hey, you okay?” you say you just need to sleep on the floor because it’s cold. he understands the discomfort and he nods in return. “m’kay, sleep well.”
FIVES wakes up as soon as he feels you move away. “hey… where ya goin’? I was comfy.” you laugh softly and say you just need some space because of the heat. “huh, didn’t think I was that hot but touché.” he grins and lay on your side of the bed.
JESSE lets out an absentminded groan as he feels the bed dip and move. “mmh, what’re you doin’?” you say you need to sleep on the floor because you’re overheating. “oh, yeah—sure, just be comfy n’ that.” he murmurs in a way that makes you think he didn’t comprehend what you really said.
HARDCASE was already awake before you decide to move, he grumbles and holds you tighter as you move. “mm, don’t go.” you respond by telling him you’re too hot and need to be somewhere. “oh! we can both sleep outside, let’s go!” he sits up and grips your hand, the other arm grabbing the pillows and he literally drags you outside. not what was quite on your mind, but it was nice either way.
KIX softens his grip silently as you move, he watches you move to the floor and he whispers. “too hot?” you nod in reply. “want me to get you some water?” you shake your head and say you just want sleep. “I get that, but if you’re overheatin’ you need water.” basically, there was no way to stubborn your way around it.
DOGMA chews his lower lip as you move away from him. he doesn’t say anything but just watches you, his facial expression is subtly sad, though, he thinks he did something wrong. you reassure him you’re just too hot. “oh…” he murmurs embarrassed. “sleep well.”
TUP furrows his eyebrows as you move away, he whispers your name in a disappointed tone. “i’m sorry, did I do something?” you quickly sit up and shake your head, saying you’re just too hot. “oh! okay, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” he smiles and lays on the bed close to you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ plot: late-night, silk sheets, and the hum of the city is outside. and for some reason, cody rhodes, your boyfriend, is relentlessly horny. he’s tense, he’s restless, and he’s far too proud to admit how much he wants you in this moment. but, if he wants you… he’s going to have to beg for it—something he’s never done before in his life.
. ݁₊ ⊹ notes: day 4! cody gets to begging and holy fuck, i love how submissive i made him here, oh my GODDDDD
moonlight spilled through the hotel suite, slicing across the tangled silk sheets and catching every curve of cody’s sweat-slick skin. his match was two hours ago, but the feeling still pulsed through his veins, every fiber of him humming with leftover fire, making him ache for you in ways he couldn’t quite ignore. you looked back at him in a sleepy daze, wondering why he was squirming so much. and he shifted under your gaze, hips rolling just slightly as his fingers clenched and released the cool satin beneath him. he was restless, and you could obviously feel it; every tremor of his muscles, every sharp inhale betraying the calm mask he tried to wear.
you let your gaze drag over him again, slow and deliberate. his thighs were trembling under the blanket, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fought the urge to reach for you. that smirk of his, the one that promised arrogance and trouble in equal measure, wavered when you decided to be a tease and take your fingertip, letting it finally, finally trace the curve of his shoulder. why not help out your needy boyfriend? his skin was fever-hot, damp with the kind of sweat that came from anticipation, not exertion. you could see the goosebumps rise in your wake, watched him flinch when you moved your hand to his ear, grazing that oneee spot… the one he never admitted was sensitive.
his breath hitched, low and unsteady, and a twitch of his former smirk crossed his lips. “not. fair.”, he murmured, though the sound came out more like a groan. pride, ever stubborn, still clung to him, but you could see it cracking, small fractures forming under the weight of his need. his nipples were already tight, begging for attention, and when you chose to graze one with your thumbnail, he jerked like you’d shocked him, a broken sound tearing from his throat.
you leaned in, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, but not close enough to give him what he wanted. your fingers ghosted over his chest, skimming the ridges of his abs, the trail of brown hair that led down south—close, but never quite there. his stomach fluttered under your touch, muscles jumping. “you knowww you want it.”, you murmured, voice a velvet whip. “stop pretending you don’t need my hands on you. my mouth on you.” his cock jerked at that, precum already beading at the tip, and you smirked because, oh, he was so fucked.
your breath fanned over his collarbone, hot and damp, and when you finally pressed your lips there, he shuddered, his cock leaking against his stomach. the sight of it, thick and flushed, has you biting your lip to stifle a moan of your own.
cody’s jaw clenched, that stubborn set to his mouth screaming “defiance”, but his body?? his body was a traitor. his hips arched off the bed, seeking friction, seeking you, and the sound that tore from his throat was half-growl, half-whimper. “i’m—fuck…—i’m fine.”, he rasped, but the way his thighs trembled, the way his fingers clawed at the sheets, betrayed him. you could smell him: the musk of arousal, the salt of sweat, the faint metallic tang of the initial necklace (his initial, you bought it for him), now tangled in the mess of sheets.
the head of his cock was a dark, angry red now, precum beading at the slit, and you watched, fascinated, as a drop rolled down the thick vein on the underside. “you’re not fine!”, you purred, dragging a fingertip through the mess he’d made on his stomach, then bringing it to your lips. his eyes locked onto your tongue as you licked it clean, and his breath stuttered. “you’re desperate.”, you corrected, voice dripping with satisfaction. “and i love it.”
his pride was a dying thing, gasping its last breaths as his body took over. you could see the war in his eyes; the wrestler, the showman, the man who never lost control, now reduced to a trembling, needy mess under your hands. his throat worked, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “p… please.”, he choked out, voice cracking like a teenager’s, and you grinned, wicked and triumphant.
“please what, baby??”, you taunted, trailing your fingers down his chest, over his abs, stopping just shy of where he needed you most. his cock twitched, as if trying to reach your hand, and you laughed, low and dark. “use your words, cody. or i’ll leave you just. like. this. hard and leaking.”
you drew circles on his hip, letting your nails trail down the inside of his thigh, watching his cock weep as you got so close to touching him. his breath came in sharp, desperate pants, his body strung tight as a bow. every time you pulled back, he whimpered. every time you teased closer, he moaned, hips jerking like he could chase your touch. “i—i—i need you.”, he gasped, voice raw, and you rewarded him with the barest graze of your fingers over his cock. he sobbed, his entire body vibrating, pre-ejaculate smearing over your skin.
“good boy.”, you murmured, finally—FINALLY—wrapping your hand around his cock. he groaned, long and broken, his hips faltering up into your grip. you stroked him slow, twisting your wrist just right, and his precum slicked your palm, obscene and hot. “look at you, so eager for me.”, you teased, thumb swiping over his slit. “you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you??”
his nails raked down your back, leaving stinging trails that only made you hotter. “that’s it.”, you talked under your breath, leaning down to lick a stripe up his throat, tasting salt and man and him. “let go. let me hear you.” and god, did he. his moans were filthy, broken things, his body arching like a live wire as you worked him over. every shudder, every uneven exhale, every plea spilled from his lips was a confession. his cock pulsed in your hand, his thighs wobbly, his entire body coiled tight.
you leaned close, pressing lips to his ear, teasing between whispers and light bites. the tension had him shivering, hips bucking against your hand. he gasped, clutching at the sheets, voice breaking into pure, ragged need. “i… need… you, please…!”, his cock was throbbing, the head dark with blood, and you could see the way his balls drew up, tight and ready.
“then… cum.”, you commanded, stroking him fast and hard. and when he did, it was with a choked, guttural cry, his body jerking like he’d been electrocuted. cum striped his chest, his stomach, his thighs, and you watched, fascinated, as he trembled through it. his nails dug into your shoulders, his breath coming in sharp, desperate huffs and puffs as he sagged back against the sheets.
spent and quaky, the room fell silent except for shallow, mingling breaths. you traced your fingers along his shoulders, soothing him as his moans dwindled to murmurs. his lips found your shoulder, pressing soft, wet kisses against your skin, voice low and hoarse. “i… i’ll beg again, if that’s what it tuh—takes for you to want me.” the words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you had to bite back a moan.
“oh, babyyy.”, you talked under your breath, turning his face to yours, kissing him slow and deep. “i always want you.”
his answering whimper was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard.
