The overhead lumens slam on like artillery. Groans ripple through the barracks, but you roll out of your bunk already gathering your contraband caddy—a slim duraplast kit labeled “Mk‑III MedPatch”
Fives, half‑dressed and wholly curious, nods at the kit. “Alright, mystery box—you packing bacta or blasters in there?”
You flick the latch. Bottles, tubes, and sachets unfold like a miniature armory—just shinier and pastel‑colored.
“Moisturizer,” you say, dotting cream onto your cheeks. “SPF 50. Sun in space still finds a way.”
Fives blinks. “You’re lotion‑plating your face before breakfast?”
You smile. “Armor for the skin.”
As you pat the sunscreen in, Fives watches, fascinated. “How long does all that take? We get, like, sixty seconds to hit the refresher.”
“Practice,” you reply, capping the tube. “And a bit of multitasking.”
Across the aisle, Jesse mutters, “She’s waxing her cheeks?”—which earns him a smack from Kix.
The medic tilts his head, curious. “Actually, hydrating the epidermis reduces micro‑tears that form when helmets chafe. Fewer micro‑tears, fewer infections.”
Fives groans. “Kix, not you too!”
Tup perks up. “Will it stop my forehead from peeling on desert drops?”
“Only if you commit,” you reply, tossing him a travel‑size tube.
Tup bobbles it. “Commit to… face goop?”
“Commit to self‑care, shiny,” Jesse teases, but he secretly dabs a fingertip of cream on the scar running over his temple when he thinks no one’s watching.
Hardcase flips down from the top bunk, dangling upside‑down. “What about night routine? Can we weaponize it?”
You laugh. “Weaponize hydration?”
You begin to rattle off the list for your routines while shoving items back into the caddy.
Jesse whistles. “That’s more steps than disassembling a DC‑17.”
“It’s upkeep,” you say, snapping the kit shut. “Blasters, armor, skin. Treat them right and they won’t fail mid‑mission.”
Kix, ever the medic, hums thoughtfully. “Prevention over cure—sound protocol.”
Rex marches past the doorway, barking for PT. He notices the cluster around your bunk, eyes the lotions, then decides he’s not paid enough to investigate at 0500. “Five minutes to muster. Whatever you’re doing—do it faster.”
The squad scrambles. You close your caddy with a click, satisfied. Step one: curiosity planted.
As you pass Fives he murmurs, “Armor for the skin, huh?”
“Exactly, vod,” you grin, tapping his chest plate. “And just like yours—it’s personal issue.”
He barks a laugh, then jogs after the others—already plotting how to requisition micellar water under “optical clarity supplies.”
Curiosity piqued, routine revealed. Now the real fun begins.
⸻
An hour later, after PT and standard mess rations, the 501st files toward the strategy room. You’re meant to present local intel, but you duck into the refresher first to rinse sweat and slap on a leave‑in hair mask.
Inside, Tup stares at his reflection, damp curls drooping. “How tight is the towel supposed to be?”
“Snug, not suffocating.” You demonstrate the twist‑and‑tuck, shaping his towel into a tidy turban. He looks like a spa holo‑ad—if spa ads featured wide‑eyed clone troopers in duty blacks.
Rex storms in mid‑lesson. The captain’s expression cycles through confusion, exasperation, acceptance in under a second. “Explain.”
“Deep‑conditioning,” you answer. “Helmet hair’s a war crime.”
You pat the towel. “Technically, still a head covering.”
Hardcase bursts from a stall, face covered in neon‑green clay. “I CAN’T MOVE MY MOUTH! THIS STUFF SETS LIKE DURASTEEL!”
Kix swoops in with a damp cloth. “That’s the detox mask, vod. Rinse at four minutes, not forty.”
Fives leans in the doorway, filming everything. “Historical documentation, Rex. Posterity.”
Rex pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have two minutes to look like soldiers before General Skywalker arrives.”
Tup whispers, “Uh… do I rinse or…?”
You yank the towel free with a flourish; his curls bounce, glossy. “Ready for battle,” you declare.
Rex sighs. “One minute forty‑five.”
⸻
The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…
Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.
“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”
You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”
Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along. You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.
⸻
The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…
Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.
“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”
You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”
Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along.
You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.
Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.
Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”
Jesse paints Dogma’s clay mask into perfect camo stripes; Dogma tries to protest, fails, secretly loves it.
Rex sighs as you smooth the sheet onto his face. “If this vid leaks, I’m demoting everyone.”
Tup giggles when the nerf‑printed mask squeaks. Fives records the sound bite for future memes.
Everyone reclines on mesh webbing strung between crates.
The timer pings. Masks come off—revealing eight glowing, ridiculously refreshed faces.
Hardcase flexes. “Feel like I could head‑butt a super tactical droid and leave an imprint.”
Fives snaps a holo of Rex’s newfound radiance. “Captain, you’re shining.”
Rex grumbles, but his skin does glow under the fluorescents. “Get some rack time, troopers. 0600 briefing. And… keep the extra packets. Field supply, understood?”
A chorus of cheerful “Yes, sir!”
You watch them file out, each tucking a sheet‑mask packet into utility belts like contraband. Mission accomplished: the 501st is combat‑ready—and complexion‑ready—for whatever tomorrow throws at them.
⸻
Obi‑Wan strolls through the hangar, robe billowing. He pauses mid‑conversation with Cody, eyes widening at the radiant 501st lined up for deployment.
“My word, gentlemen, you’re positively effulgent.”
Jesse grins—dazzling. “Training and discipline, General.”
Cody side‑eyes Rex. “Whatever you’re doing, send the regimen to the 212th.”
Anakin trots up, spying a stash of leftover masks tucked behind Rex’s pauldron. He plucks one. “Charcoal detox? Padmé swears by these.” He pockets it with a conspiratorial wink.
Rex mutters, “Necessary field supplies, General.”
You walk by, sling a go‑cup of caf into Rex’s free hand. “Don’t forget SPF,” you remind, tapping his helmet.
Rex looked over to Cody, Deadpan “Non‑negotiable, apparently.”
⸻
Blaster fire and powdered sand fill the air. Jesse dives behind a ridge. “Double‑cleanse tonight—this dust is murder on my pores!”
Fives snorts through the comms. “Copy, gorgeous. Bring the aloe.”
Hardcase detonates a bunker, cheers, then yelps, “Mask first, explosions later—got it!”
Rex stands, sand sifting off armor, skin protected under a sheer layer of sunscreen that miraculously survived the firefight. He shakes his head but can’t hide the small smile.
“Alright, 501st,” he calls. “Let’s finish this op—tonight we rehydrate, tomorrow we conquer.”
You chuckle, loading a fresh power‑cell. The war may rage on, but for this legion, victory now comes with a healthy glow.
⸻
A/N
This was a request, however I accidentally deleted the request in my inbox.
Sun Sun Sun!!!!!!!! My beloved!!! I got you for the Halloween Clone Exchange @clone-exchange
I had a lot of fun with this and sat eating cookie dough while I typed with one hand on my phone.
(Btw Sun and I are platonic but both love pet names/terms of endearment so that's my babe right there)
Post on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73482866
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
NSFW Fic under the cut!!
"Is this really necessary?" Dogma huffs at Tup as he finishes zipping up his shirt.
"Absolutely. This may be a natborn holiday, but it's Ahsoka's favorite."
Tup is already in his outfit. He had it on when he cornered Dogma in the barracks.
"Why does it have to be this costume though? Couldn't I be more.." Dogma flops his hands into his lap trying to think of the word.
"More cute? More handsome? More cuddleable? Even more lovable?"
Tup knows Dogma is pouting even though he can't see it. When he's done fiddling with Dogma's costume he comes around to the front. There are two final pieces left of the costume.
"Now you have a choice." Dogma perks up at that, "Which tail would you like to wear? There is not a wrong answer, it is what you'd be most comfortable with."
Tup produces two tails. The actual tails look physically the same. Both dark brown and fluffy but when they hit the light they have a bluish glint to them. Dogma has no idea where Tup got them. He reaches out and touches the fur. They're both soft and silky, not rough and made of cheap materials like other fake fur materials he's seen.
The only difference between the two is how they would attach to him. There's a small slit in the bottoms of the outfit that the tail would come out from. One has clips that would clip on to his undershorts or the costume itself. Dogma bites his lip at the base of the other one. It is a longer plug that is curved to sit inside him. He looks up at Tup.
"No one would know which one you chose, that's why they're identical." Tup leans in close and places a kiss right below his ear, "That is unless you want them to know and have them pull on your tail." He purrs.
Tup pulls back slightly to read Dogma's face. His partner is biting his lip either at the thought of the others teasing him all night or from Tup purring in his ear. To reassure Dogma's brain that there isn’t a wrong choice, Tup continues.
"Though we can play with that another time in a smaller group than a large party if you're not comfortable with it tonight."
Dogma meets Tup's eyes and all he sees is honesty and admiration in them. His eyes flick back down to Tup's hands and dart back and forth between the two options. Finally he settles on one. His cheeks start to redden as he refuses to make eye contact with Tup. He's gotten better about it since they first became partners back on Kamino and then with the rest of Torrent Company when they joined the group's relationship. Though during more daring endeavors like this one he can't help falling back on the old compulsion.
"I'd like to do the plug one, please."
Tup smiles and sets the tails down. He brings one hand to the back of Dogma's neck to ground him. The other he lightly grips Dogma's chin to tilt his head up to make him make eye contact.
"Are you sure?" Tup questions. He's always on top of asking this to tell if Dogma is trying to choose the answer he thinks the other party would want. Instead of the option Dogma would actually prefer.
Dogma's cheeks darken more, "Yes, I'd like that one."
Tup smiles softly at him and kisses him. He's always proud when Dogma asks for his own wants.
"Well then let's get you out of these bottoms and I'll prep you."
Dogma lays back on the bed and lifts his hips for Tup to pull his pants and shorts down. He pulls the top up to just below his chest, not wanting to get anything on it. He's glad Tup had it be short sleeved otherwise he'd be too hot while Tup prepares him.
Tup grabs the lube from the drawer under their bunk. He places the chosen tail next to Dogma on the bed. Taking a moment, he appreciates Dogma splayed out before him. Legs parted just for him and he places a kiss to each inner thigh making Dogma squirm at the gentleness.
Tup spills some lube onto his fingers and rubs them together to warm it up. It's always easier for Dogma of he doesn't have the shock of the cold temperature on his skin. Once it's warm enough, he circles Dogma's hole before slipping one finger in.
Between all of their partners, they could all easily start with two fingers. However, it's easier on Dogma's sensory issues to start with one and work your way up. Once Dogma's walls are thoroughly coated as much as the one finger could do, Tup adds a second.
Dogma's head falls back with a stifled moan. He is half hard and trying to will it away. Tup is just preparing him for a plug, nothing more. At least that's what he presumed. Tup on the other hand had a different idea.
To help relax Dogma for the evening and have him more comfortable with the tail, Tup plans to coax an orgasm out of Dogma. He'll make sure to milk more out of him at the end of the night when he's sure Dogma will be begging for all of them to fuck him after all the teasing he's in for.
Tup scissors his fingers and Dogma fists the sheets trying to ignore how good Tup's fingers are. He whimpers when Tup curls them and brushes his prostate.
Looking up from watching Dogma twitch and his fingers disappear into him, Tup sees Dogma biting his lip, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut. Wanting none of that and for his love to enjoy this, Tup bends forward and licks a strip up Dogma's cock.
Dogma can't help from bucking and letting out a gasp at the contact. His eyes fly open and he looks down at Tup who is grinning at him.
"I- I thought you were just prepping me?" He stutters.
"Who says that prepping can't be a bit of fun?" Tup fires back.
Dogma huffs at him, more so because doesn't have a good retort back than anything else. Instead he spreads his legs more to give Tup more room and rolls his shoulders to get more comfortable.
Tup rubs his thumb over his hip waiting for Dogma's signal to continue. He keeps his fingers still inside him while Dogma adjusts. After a moment passes where Dogma doesn't move, Tup meets his eyes and Dogma gives a small nod.
He keeps his hand on Dogma's hip to keep him still when he wants. Tup does another lick up his cock before tonguing Dogma's slit. Curling his fingers at the same time, a stifled moan passes through Dogma's bitten lip.
Tup knows his partner inside and out. He knows all the spots that drive Dogma wild and can have him sobbing and begging in minutes. This however is relaxed and at a decent pace. He could take it slower, but he's fully aware of Dogma then worrying about the time. That'd take away the whole point of getting him to relax before the stimulation of a large social event.
He pours some more lube on his fingers and thrusts back in aiming directly for that spot where he just barely brushes Dogma's prostate. At the same time he takes just the head of Dogma's cock into his mouth.
"T-tup!" Dogma's breathy moan is like music to his ears every time.
Tup grins with a mouthful of cock. With the added lube, he slides a third finger in. His lover tries to cant his hips, but Tup holds him down firmly. He tongues the base of Dogma's head how he likes and builds a slow rhythm with his fingers. Every pull back of his fingers he spreads them, not forgetting the other objective here. Then every thrust back in he aims directly at the spot that makes Dogma's toes curl.
Another minute passes by when Dogma loses the resolve to try to stifle his moans. He moans and whines as Tup edges him closer. There's no need to be quiet in their bunkroom or if they were even in the larger barracks. But he'll always remain self conscious at the beginning of every session.
Tup takes him all the way into his mouth and swallows. Dogma keens and moves his hands into Tup's hair. His hair wasn't in a specific style for Tup's own costume, so it doesn't matter if he messes it up. He's on edge when Tup hums around him and strokes his prostate. That was the last thing he needed before spilling down Tup's throat.
Tup planned this if Dogma had chosen this option as it completely reduced the fear of getting any on the shirt of the costume. He closes his eyes enjoying the warmth in his throat as he swallows every drop from Dogma. Once Dogma's hands go slack in his hair, Tup pulls off and rests his head against Dogma's leg as he waits.
Several minutes later when Tup knows Dogma wouldn't get overstimulated, he slides his fingers out. Drawing a gasp from his lover. He coats the plug end of the tail and slowly slides it in.
Dogma whines at the feeling. He didn't notice that the plug was the exact size of Tup's cock and curved to touch right below his prostate. Any time he'd walk tonight it'll brush against it. He's going to make Tup stay with him all night so he can cover up any of Dogma's reactions.
Once in place, Tup gives it a tug to be sure everything is set. He bites back a grin at Dogma's moan. With everything done he gets up to wash his hands and bring back a cloth to clean up Dogma.
He returns to Dogma relaxed and curled on his side. The tail splayed out behind him. He smiles, always loving seeing Dogma like this. Tup sits on the bed in front of Dogma. He lifts the top thigh and wipes the small excess of lube that's spread onto his cheeks and between his thighs.
Next, he lightly cups Dogma's cock and gently cleans him with the wet cloth. Wiping away any hint of Tup's saliva or his own precum. He throws the towel in the direction of the laundry shoot and works on getting the pants onto him. Dogma not much help other than lifting his legs for him to maneuver.
Before dragging the pants all the way up, he loops the tail through the slit in the pants. He pulls it through and then works the pants the rest of the up until everything is secure. He made sure to tuck Dogma's cock up under the waist of the pants and shirt in case he gets hard from the tail teasing him.
All said and done he lays in front of Dogma smiling and holds his hand. The other running through Dogma's hair and he tries not to coo at him leaning into the touch like an actual tooka. They'll put their boots on before they leave. Otherwise there's still one last piece to the costume.
"We still have one more piece, but we can lay here for another 5 more minutes until we need to get up and finish getting ready."
Dogma nods and Tup wraps his arms around him. Dogma turns his head so his ear is pressed over Tup's heart. He knows Tup will keep track of the time for them and he lays there relaxed in his partner's arms.
5 minutes later they detangle and sit up. Tup grabs the final piece of the costume and Dogma squints at him.
"I knew it was happening, but didn't realize they'd be just as fluffy as the tail."
Tup does a version of his puppy dog eyes that the rest of their partners can never resist. "But they match your hair and tail perfectly!"
Dogma rolls his eyes, but it lacks the annoyance that gesture usually has.
"Alright, put them on me."
Tup happily follows the order. When he pulls back to make sure the ears are even he lets out a coo.
"Yup, this costume made you even more cuddleable. Dogma, you look so cute. You're like one of those feral tookas on Coruscant. The ones that can be cuddly and allow pets one moment and the next they can scratch your eyes out."
Dogma crosses his arms and shakes his head. The ears stay in their place.
"Fine, but you all owe me for this."
Tup smiles and pulls him up off the bed.
"Anything you want, the others will agree."
He kisses Dogma who can't help but give a small smile and they head to the door to head to the party. Dogma doing his best to ignore the tail.
So like..I got so nostalgic over Clone Wars.. I love so so many characters from there so deeply im lkjdljkj
The last jedi is responsible
I’m super emotional over that and !!!!LEIA!!!(even got a Leia tattoo ffs)
But I really needed to sketch my children...I love..
