"Scorch didn't reply. He could hear Fixer snoring mechanically in the next bunk, and the noise now seemed reassuring rather than something that exasperated him enough to pour a jug of water over his brother while he slept."
I often think about this passage from Order 66. Fixer snoring is just the cutest thing to me. It got me wondering if Scorch ever really did pour a jug of water on his brother in the past. Which then led to me writing this. -
The cockpit was quiet and peaceful when you were the only one awake. Scorch never liked the silence. He had told Sev that when he was still and alone, his thoughts grew too loud, but Sev didn’t mind being the one up late to make sure the ship stayed on course without incident. Sure, he was tired and his muscles ached from being in the heat of battle for days without end, but Boss would be up to relieve him soon. For now, he got to cherish his time alone and enjoy the view that being in hyperspace gave him.
The door behind him hissed open.
“Trouble sleeping?” Sev asked. Boss wasn’t supposed to be up for another hour.
“How can anyone sleep with Fixer snoring louder than the engines?”
Sev turned to look, not at Boss, but at Scorch. His brother crossed his arms and leaned against the control panel. Fixer’s snores were as annoying to Scorch as Boss’s gravely cough had been to Sev the last couple of missions. At least gargling bacta could keep their Sergeant’s coughs at bay for some time. Fixer’s sinuses didn’t care if he drank the entire container, his snores weren’t going away anytime soon.
“Plan H240.” Scorch shot a mischievous smile at his brother. “I’m doing it.”
“He’s going to kill you.” Sev shook his head and fought down the smile trying to creep onto his face. Plan H240 had always just been a joke, but he couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about seriously doing it himself.
“You can keep my helmet to remember me by,” he snorted and headed for the door. “What do you think would be big enough to use?”
Sev cast one last look out the viewport to make sure everything still looked fine before following Scorch. This was something he didn’t want to miss. He could already hear the sound that elicited Scorch’s loathing before they had even made it to the bunks. The almost perfect repetition of it echoed softly around them. He almost felt bad for his older brother. It wasn’t like Fixer was doing it on purpose, and sleep was such a rare and precious thing to all of them, but his curiosity to how it would all play out kept him from stopping what was about to happen.
Scorch rummaged around as quietly as he could until he pulled out a medium sized jug that he waved in the air triumphantly then headed for the ‘fresher. Light spilled across the floor as the door opened. Boss shifted in his sleep, his breathing hitching for just a moment before resuming it’s steady, deep pace. Sev shot a quick look at the two sleeping Commandos as the sound of water flowing from the tap whispered its way toward him. Waking any Commando suddenly was dangerous. Waking them this way was unfathomable…. And they called him psycho. They all needed to take a harder look at Scorch.
Water sloshed over the edge of the jug slightly as Scorch moved silently across the room. Sev felt like he was watching a large beast stalk its prey through thick underbrush. He hesitated as he loomed over Fixer’s sleeping form. His eyebrows knitted together. His teeth dug into his bottom lip. For a moment, Sev thought that Scorch had changed his mind.
Until the water made contact with Fixer’s face.
The Commando jolted upward, his head hitting the top of the bunk. Scorch jumped back instantly. Sev inhaled sharply through his teeth.
“Kriff!” Fixer shouted, grabbing his forehead.
“What’s going on?” Boss was awake.
Fixer stood up, water dripping from his body and falling to the durasteel floor like rain. Sev knew that Fixer was just as lethal as the rest of them. He had seen his brother kill on several occasions, and he also knew that Fixer preferred hands-on combat with a melee weapon better than anything else, and right now, Sev found himself grateful that Fixer was only in his blacks.
“What the kark is wrong with you?” he shouted when spotted the empty jug in his brother’s hands. Fixer slammed his palms roughly against Scorch’s chest. “Are you out of your damn mind?”
Boss stepped between the two and nodded toward the ‘fresher. “Go dry off.”
His tone left little room for argument, but Fixer didn’t move instantly. He only stood there glaring into his younger brother’s eyes as if trying to rip out his soul through his eye sockets. Boss stood unwaveringly between them until Fixer turned away and disappeared through the door of the ‘fresher before turning to look at the smug grin on Scorch’s face.
“What the hell possessed you to do that?” Boss asked, folding his arms across his chest. His face was set in the ‘no-nonsense, serious boss’ look that he used mostly when dealing with Jedi.
Scorch shrugged. “C’mon, Boss. Don’t act like you’re not tired of his snoring too.”
Boss narrowed his eyes. “You won’t have to worry about his snoring because after you clean up the water, you get to keep watch in the cockpit for the foreseeable future.”
Scorch scrunched his nose in disgust before giving another shrug. “Still worth it.”
Starting my fic migration off with a bang! This is by far my most popular work on AO3, because people be horny. Delta Squad/Republic Commando girlies, come get y'all juice!
Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI
Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader
Wordcount: 2.9k
Summary: You are a GAR analyst, and your job is to process clone trooper helmet feeds. Being surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent troopers makes it hard to keep a professional distance, but you've managed. Until now.
Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship
Next chapter | Masterlist
You love your job. As a GAR tactical analyst assigned to the Venator-class Star Destroyer Guarlara, you spend your days immersed in clone trooper helmet feeds. It might seem boring or tedious to some, but with your keen eye for detail and extensive knowledge of tactics, it is as close to a perfect occupation as you can imagine.
Besides, the clones are pretty entertaining. You always love the snippets of banter that pop up in their comm feeds, from gallows humor, to good-natured mockery, to genuine awe or delight at a new planet. Seeing the galaxy from the perspectives of these men, who have seen too little of beauty and too much of the chaos and horror of war in their short lives, gives you a new appreciation for its wonders.
At first, you try to maintain some professional distance from the troopers, if only to preserve your sanity when so many of them are lost in each engagement, and you have the responsibility of watching as their helmet feeds fade to black. But it isn’t easy. The battlefield camaraderie you witness in their feeds continues onboard the Guarlara, and you can’t help being pulled into it. You make friends with a few clones, and every time they go on a mission, you hold your breath until they come back safely.
It doesn’t help your resolve to keep them at arm’s length that you are surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent soldiers in peak physical condition. Several of your fellow nat-born analysts have already had flings with clones, and by all accounts, the experience is worth the risk of official reprimands or even demotions. You haven’t done it yourself—yet—but you’ve been tempted.
And the temptation just got one thousand times stronger.
A new clone commando unit has been temporarily assigned to the Guarlara: Delta squad. Regular clone banter is entertaining, but the Deltas are on a whole different level. Boss is all business, and Fixer is quiet and by-the-book, but Scorch and Sev are hilarious. You often have to bite your lip to keep from bursting into unprofessional laughter at their antics, even as you are blown away by their tactical prowess.
You find yourself saving the Delta feeds for the end of your work cycle, just so you can finish your day on a high note. Sometimes, you wish you could get your hands on some Mantell Mix while you’re watching the feeds. They’re better than any holoflick you’ve ever seen. If only they could be released to the public; they would make a blockbuster action comedy.
But there’s another reason you are quickly becoming obsessed with the Delta feeds.
The first time you hear Sev’s voice, you gasp, and prickles run down your neck. He sounds different from the other clones: deep, gravelly, menacing. Incredibly sexy. You often find yourself replaying snippets of his comm feed, just so you can hear him speak. Whether he is making a dark joke, tallying his kills, or snarling at an enemy, his voice never fails to make you breathe a little faster.
You have never met the squad, never seen their faces, though you’ve seen them in their distinctive armor around the ship. The commandos mostly keep to themselves. You aren’t even sure which armor belongs to which commando, though you would bet every credit of your cycle’s pay that Sev is the one with the helmet painted to look like a bloody handprint.
You know that the commandos were the same height as all the rest of the clones, but somehow, they seem larger. More solid. Far more intimidating. Maybe it is the armor, but you doubt it. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about what Sev looks like under all that bulky commando armor. Lying in your bunk during your sleep cycle, you picture him. Copper skin, curly black hair, eyes the color of amber. Hard, sculpted muscles. Broad shoulders, narrow hips that flex against yours, driving his thick cock deep inside you until you whimper his name. And of course, you imagine his voice: deep and dark, murmuring the filthiest words in your ear as he pounds into you with that incredible clone commando stamina.
When you meet up with your fellow analysts for lunch in the mess hall, you confess that a clone has finally caught your eye—or more correctly, your ear.
“He has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” you say, keeping your volume low so as not to attract attention from the troopers eating at nearby tables or milling around in small groups.
“They all do,” laughs Drinna. “They’re clones!”
“This one is different,” you insist. “It’s so deep and growly. He sounds so… dangerous.”
Jeelee shivers next to you, and you don’t blame him. None of your friends can deny that the rush of adrenaline is at least a small part of their attraction to the clone troopers. There’s just something about a soldier who has been trained from birth to be a killing machine that activates your fight, flight, or fuck response.
“Stars, I never thought I’d get turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum,’” you say with an uncertain laugh. “If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”
Drinna snorts with laughter, and the group hurries to finish the meal before you all have to get back to your stations to close out your work cycle.
---
Sev can’t believe his ears. He’s sitting in the mess staring at the empty table where you and your friends were just sitting. He’s off duty and wearing only his black body glove, which is why you don’t notice him sitting alone when your group takes the table next to his. But he notices you. How could he not? He’d spotted you the very first day he and the Deltas came aboard.
He isn’t completely sheltered. He’s met nat-born GAR personnel before, including a few female officers. And he has made the rounds at 79’s during Delta squad’s all-too-rare shore leaves. But something about you grabs his attention. He first notices your laugh. You laugh a lot, and you do it with your whole body. Your eyes light up, your mouth opens in a delighted smile, your head tilts back, your shoulders shake, your tits bounce. One time, he saw you laugh so hard you had to lean against a wall for support when your knees gave out. It makes him want to be the one who makes you laugh.
His keen sniper’s eyes have also spotted you stealing glances at him and the rest of his squad when you pass in the hallways of the Venator. He’s seen you chatting amiably with other clones, and he wonders why you never try to talk to the Deltas. Maybe she’s intimidated, he thinks. He doesn’t blame you.
When he overhears you talking to your friends, he doesn’t think much about it. He just enjoys getting a little glimpse into your life. And then he hears it: “... turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum.’ If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”
Sev nearly chokes on his nutrient paste, and for once, it’s not because of the flavor.
It’s me, he realizes. She’s talking about me.
All this time he’s been watching you, and now he knows you’ve been thinking about him. Getting off to his voice. Imagining him during your “private viewing sessions.” The thought of it has him semi-erect in the middle of the mess hall, with no armor to disguise his state. He spends a long time eating his nutrient paste.
---
The next time the Delta feeds update, you notice that Sev’s is a little longer than the other three. As usual, you save his feed for the last of your day. You take a quick look around to make sure nobody is watching, which is ridiculous, because this is literally your job. But you can’t help feeling a wicked little thrill as you queue up his feed, as though you are about to do something forbidden. You settle the headphones over your head and turn up the volume as you press play.
The holofeed isn’t what you expect. Instead of a battlefield or the inside of a gunship, you see a barracks filled with empty bunks. It looks spare and sterile. The bunks don’t even have pillows; just thin blankets and rough sheets. Your own quarters are austere, but at least you have the luxury of a door and a small refresher. You’ve never seen the inside of the clone barracks before, and you feel as though you are intruding on something private. You reach to scrub forward through the feed, but you halt when Sev’s voice crackles in your headphones.
“I heard a sexy little analyst say she likes my voice,” he says. “I have a present for her ‘private viewing sessions.’ If she comms me the code to her quarters, I’ll know she wants it.”
Oh, stars. He heard. He knows. And he knows who you are. If ever there were a time for the Guarlara to have a small hull breach and launch you into space, now would be the ideal moment! Your heart beats so hard you are sure everyone around you can hear it. You steal a glance out of the corner of your eye, but none of your fellow analysts have noticed anything out of the ordinary.
You send him a quick message. “RC-1207, this is the tactical analysis center. Your helmet feed flashed an error code during your most recent upload. The code is one-one-three-eight-four-echo-bravo. Please run a diagnostic and purge your helmet’s memory bank to prevent corrupted feeds.”
The reply comes almost instantly. “Copy that, tactical. Thanks for the code. That’ll help me track down what I’m looking for.”
You take a deep, shuddering breath, and turn your attention back to the feed. It cuts to the hallway of the Venator as Delta squad heads out for a mission, and the comm feed is just more of their usual banter, followed by their day’s activities in the battlefield.
You scrub back to the beginning of the feed and listen to it one more time before you trim the recording and upload it to the GAR server. You often have to cut out sections of feeds, so the missing section won’t raise any eyebrows, but Sev could get in huge trouble if anyone higher up the command chain saw the original recording.
With shaky hands, you tidy up your workstation as you do at the end of every work cycle. You straighten your uniform, joke with your friends, and head out of the analysis center. You meet up with a few clones in the corridor, and you make your way as a group to the mess hall, where you complain about the bland rations and make plans for your next shore leave. When you’re confident that you haven’t aroused suspicion, you stretch and tell your friends that you’re going to turn in early.
You barely restrain yourself from running through the halls to your quarters. You key in your door code with fumbling hands, and once inside, you spot it immediately: a datachip lying innocently on your pillow. You plug it into your personal player. There’s no holo, but Sev’s voice rumbles through your headphones.
“Get comfortable, beautiful. I want this to be good for you.”
You gasp. You pause the recording and strip out of your uniform in record time, flinging it across your cramped quarters to lie rumpled on the floor. Crawling into bed, you slide naked under your blanket and pull the headphones back over your ears.
“That’s my good girl. Are you naked? Kriff, I hope so. You look hot as hell in your uniform. You must be the prettiest karking thing in the galaxy out of it. All that soft, smooth skin. I want you to feel yourself for me, little one. Run your fingers through your hair. Is it as soft as it looks? Does it smell as good as I imagine?”
Oh, sweet gods, he’s been imagining you, too. You wonder if he has been picturing you when he touched himself. Arousal licks up your spine, tinged with a tiny bit of disappointment that you hadn’t made a move sooner. You push the thought aside, determined to enjoy this moment.
“Now I want you to touch your skin. Slide your hands up and down your body, your arms, your thighs. Cup your tits. Give your nipples a little squeeze. Do you like that?”
You nod, biting your lip and breathing hard. You imagine Sev’s hands, rough and strong and big, and your hand drifts down your belly.
“Don’t touch your cunt, sweetheart. Not yet. I don’t want you to rush this.”
Force, it’s like he’s there with you, watching you, instead of away on some Maker-forsaken planet blasting droids. You obey his pre-recorded commands, wanting to get the full experience.
“Brush your fingers over your neck. Do it gently, like you can feel me whispering in your ear instead of a recording. Touch your mouth, baby. Gods, I wish it was me. Would you lick my fingers? I wonder what you taste like. I bet you taste amazing. Sweet, soft lips, wet little tongue. Fierfek, you make me so hard I could nut right fucking now. How kriffed up is it that I’m jealous of your hands?”
Your breath stutters as you hear another sound in the recording: the rhythmic slide of skin against skin. Oh stars, he is getting off on this, too. Or he already got off. Whatever. You roll your hips instinctively, looking for stimulation.
“Damn it, Sev, let me touch myself,” you whisper.
But you don’t. Not yet. You wait for his permission. Instead, you writhe in the bed, sliding your hands all over your body, pinning your hips to the mattress, touching yourself everywhere except the place you so desperately need.
“If I were with you, I’d take my time. Explore your whole body inch by inch. I would kiss you, and taste you, and suck on your tits until you beg for more. I’d bite your sexy ass and then kiss it better. I’d eat that pretty little pussy until you scream for me. Oh, fuck—” He panted for a moment. “Sorry, honey, I needed a minute to cool down or I was gonna blow early. I don’t want you to think I’m not up to the mission. Because right now, you are my mission. And you know that the mission always comes first.”
You can’t help it: you giggle. It’s endearingly cheesy, but you suspect it’s also true. Once Sev has you to himself—because you have no doubt that he will, and soon—he is going to give you the ride of your life.
“Have you been a good girl for me? Did you touch your pussy before I said you could?”
You shake your head. “Please, please, Sev, I need it.”
“I think you have been a good girl, and now you deserve your reward. I want you to touch your cunt, angel. Just brush your fingertips over it, nice and easy. Are you wet? Kark, I hope so, otherwise I’m doing this wrong. Slip your fingers inside, just a little. Get them nice and slick. Now I want you to play with your clit. Do what you like best, baby. Go hard, or go soft. Rub it in circles, or give it a little tap, or press on it nice and slow. I can’t wait to find out what makes you scream. Do you like it when I suck on your clit? Or maybe you like it a little rougher. Do you want me to slap you, pretty thing? Slap that beautiful little pussy and then lick it better? Or would you rather I go slow and gentle, just barely touching you, taking hours to build you up before I ruin you?”
You moan as you work yourself frantically. You are close, so close, and his voice is doing unholy things to you. You can hear him fucking his fist again, and it turns you on even more to know he is into this just as much as you are.
Sev’s breath grows ragged. “It’s gonna be so good when I fuck you. I know your cunt feels amazing. So tight and wet and warm—fuck—gonna be incredible. I can’t wait, I can’t kriffing wait—gods baby, gonna make me come—FUCK!”
He grunts, and it is loud. You can hear the wet spatter of his orgasm, and the sound of it pushes you over the edge. You feel the entire universe contract into your body, so tight, so hot, and then Fuck! The tension snaps, and you cry out as your body jerks and spasms. You gasp for air, twitching away from your own fingers as your hypersensitive body shudders. Your body is drained, your head is empty, every drop of energy in your being is utterly spent. Your eyes close, and you slip into oblivion.
---
Chapter 2
Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul
This compilation of lines from the Republic Commando game will never not be funny to me: https://youtu.be/WHXy-_mztg0
Turn It Up When You're Gone (3/? - Kriff it, it's a series now)
This is just straight smut, friends. Absolute filth. There is no plot to be found. If you want to know more context, I recommend starting here, and then reading this.
Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI
Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader
Wordcount: 2.1k
Summary: Sev is a connoisseur of cake, and he's just getting started.
Start here | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Join my tag list here
Sev breathes hard as you slide your hand down his body. You feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, feel his harsh gasps against your hair. His hips flex against you as you stroke his erection through the body glove. Before you can explore much further, though, his hand settles over yours, bringing your movements to a halt.
“Oh, darling,” he says, his voice a deep rumble against your ear. “Did you think I was finished with you? I’m just getting started.”
He brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips to your wrist, then, holding you securely in his strong arms, he rises from the floor, lifting you with him. He notices the way your legs tremble as you stand, and he supports you with an arm wrapped around your waist as he guides you to your bunk. The backs of your knees collide with the edge of the bed, and he lowers you gently onto the mattress.
He straddles you, looming over you, and you have the odd thought that you should feel smothered or claustrophobic under his bulk, but instead you feel… safe. Protected. He touches you with astonishing gentleness, as though you are something precious and fragile. His fingers are warm against your skin as he trails them softly across your cheek, down your neck, across your collarbone. He slides his hand beneath your head as he leans forward to kiss you.
His lips taste like you, and you’re a little startled by how much you like it. As Sev pins you to the bed, he overwhelms your senses until all you can see is his eyes, and all you can taste is his tongue, and all you can feel is the slide of his hands against you, and all you can smell is his skin, and all you can hear is his deep, deep voice as he groans against your lips. His kiss lights up your entire body, and almost unconsciously, you roll your pelvis against him, desperate for stimulation. His strong, thick thighs hold you in place, though, and only allow you the tiniest range of motion. You wrap your arms around him and dig your fingers into the muscles of his back, and he lets out a growl of pleasure that makes your skin prickle in response.
“Kark me, your mouth is enough to make me believe in god,” he says as he finally breaks the kiss. “Your lips are so soft, and oh, fuck, that tongue.”
“You should see what else my tongue can do,” you whisper. You draw one hand around his body and reach for the autofastener of his body glove. “Let me just—”
He grabs your wrist and pins it to the bed. You snap your eyes to his, startled.
“Not yet, little one,” he says.
You give your wrist a little tug, and he releases you immediately.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “I liked it.”
He sucks in a breath, and his pupils flare, consuming the clear amber of his eyes in their inky depths.
“Did you?” he asks, his voice dropping to an even deeper register, and fuck, you could just close your eyes and listen to him talk for hours. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for next time. But I have plans for you tonight.”
“What kind of plans?” you ask.
You don’t realize you’ve caught your bottom lip between your teeth until Sev fixes his intent gaze on your mouth. You release your lip, and he strokes his thumb across it. Remembering what he’d said in his recording, you swipe the tip of your tongue over the pad of his thumb. He slips it into your mouth, and you scrape your teeth over it gently. He withdraws his hand and rests it softly across your throat as he lowers his mouth to yours in an all-consuming kiss. He holds you lightly; not hard enough to cut off your circulation or breathing, but firm enough that you can feel your blood pulsing against him, and the lightheadedness makes all your sensations feel even more overwhelming.
You whimper as you try again to lever your hips up off the mattress and into him. You can feel the rigid length of his cock pressing against your body, but he holds back, and you can feel what that self-control costs him in the tensity of his muscles.
“Please, Sev,” you gasp. “I want you so badly.”
He drags his mouth down your neck and chest, and then—FUCK! He bites your breast. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to karking hurt.
“What the hell?” you demand indignantly, before releasing a soft, pleasurable, “Ohhh.”
His tongue glides over the painful mark, the gentle heat soothing the ache and sending waves of pleasure lapping across your skin. Your hands rise unbidden to his head, and you tease your fingers through his curls.
“Too much?” he asks.
“No,” you reply, a little uncertainly.
“I won’t do it again unless you want me to,” he says.
“I think I do,” you confess. “But maybe work up to it next time.”
“As you wish,” he says, dropping one final, light kiss onto your breast. He shifts his weight so he’s no longer pinning you to the mattress, and with a single dexterous movement, he flips you over onto your belly. “Kriffing hell, you have an incredible ass.”
His tone falls somewhere between lust and awe, and you feel his strong hands sweep up the back of your thighs and onto your ass, his fingers kneading into the flesh and muscle. He works his hands over you in long, languid strokes, massaging your hips, thighs, lower back, and buttocks with a hypnotically relaxing thoroughness, and you let out an involuntary moan as your eyes flutter closed in bliss.
Sev slides his palms firmly up your back and in between your shoulders, rubbing circles into the muscles, and then working his way back down. When his hands reach your ass, you feel the subtle rasp of his facial hair scrape against your skin as his mouth descends on you. He kisses and licks and nibbles his way across your buttocks, and his fingers tease your entrance.
You shift to give him better access, and with a deep growl, he grabs you by the hips and lifts you until you’re on your knees before him, face pressed into your pillow as he buries his mouth in you. He swirls his tongue over your clit, and then dives into your cunt as his hot breath fans against your ass, and holy mother of the Force, the noises he makes are intoxicating. His grunts vibrate against your tender skin, making you squirm with pleasure. He devours you like a man starved, and soon his fingers slide between your labia as he works his mouth backward toward the smooth, sensitive ring of your anus. He flicks his tongue over you, and your body lurches away reflexively as you let out a guttural curse. Sev freezes, then starts to pull away, but you press back against him.
“Fuck, don’t stop,” you say raggedly, and that is all he needs to hear.
He snakes one arm around your thighs and pulls you firmly against his face as his other hand continues to work your cunt, stretching you out and circling your clit with purposeful strokes. You hear him rumble with pleasure as he explores your ass with his mouth, and just when you think he couldn’t possibly take you to a higher point of ecstasy, he slides his tongue into you, and you shatter with a hoarse scream.
Sev clamps his strong arm around your thighs and pins you against him, ruthlessly tongue-fucking you through your orgasm and not stopping until you are a twitching, sobbing mess. When at last he pulls away from you, he crawls up the bed and lies down on his side, drawing your back up against his solid warmth as he kisses your shoulder and strokes his hand across your limbs in a calming rhythm.
You shudder almost uncontrollably in his embrace, but then you realize that he is still wearing that damned body glove, and you twist yourself around to face him.
“Take this off,” you murmur, trailing your fingertips across his chest. “I want to see you.”
He hesitates, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”
“Why not?” you ask, confused.
“I’ve been wearing this thing for three days. I’ve been in debriefings all day. I didn’t have time to shower.”
You blink. “Sev, you just had your tongue in my ass, and you’re worried about how you smell?”
“Of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s smelled both, and I can tell you, your ass is better. Trust me, babydoll. You don’t want me to take this thing off.”
You try to cajole him, but he is adamant.
“If you want a shower, why don’t you just use my refresher?” you ask at last.
He has not stopped caressing your limbs, but his hand pauses its progress at your offer, and something vulnerable and confused flickers in his eyes.
“Your refresher?” he repeats as though he doesn’t understand the question.
“Unless you don’t want to, of course. No pressure,” you say, hoping that you’re not putting him on the spot.
“No, it’s not that,” he says. “It’s just, nobody has ever—I’ve only ever used the communal showers before.”
You remember the bleak austerity of the clone barracks you saw in the short clip of Sev’s helmet feed, and you swallow down your guilt and rage at the shittiness of the hand that’s been dealt to these brave, extraordinary men.
“You can use mine any time you want,” you offer impulsively.
He is quiet for a moment, eyes roaming over your face, looking for something only he knows. Finally, he nods. “Thanks. I’ll make it quick.”
“Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” you say. He rises and crosses to your small refresher, but before he goes inside, you add, “If you toss your body glove out, I’ll run it through my sonic washer for you.”
“Thanks,” he says after a pause.
Sev looks curiously around your small refresher. It’s cramped and plain, but the idea of having a private refresher all to himself seems an unfathomable luxury. Everywhere he looks, he sees small glimpses into your life. The room is scrupulously clean, and there’s no hint of the dank smells of mildew and body odor that pervade every communal refresher he’s ever used. He performs a quick recon of the wall cabinet and finds your toothbrush and other toiletry items, as well as a bewildering assortment of mysterious small jars and vials.
Not wanting to take too long and arouse suspicion, he strips out of his blacks and cracks open the door to drop them outside. Your offer to wash his blacks had been an even bigger surprise than your willingness to share your refresher, and to be frank, he hadn’t been sure how to respond. His first instinct had been to refuse—it was too intimate a task to expect of someone he’d just met, even if his tongue had been inside you mere minutes before. But you had offered willingly, and the prospect of showering only to have to put back on the filthy garment had convinced him.
He steps into your shower, and the water turns on automatically. He stretches his neck under the hot spray, willing the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders to relax. He is exhausted. Delta squad’s mission hadn’t been any worse than usual, but it had still been three grueling days of fighting. Still, it had been worth powering through his fatigue to feel your warm, soft body beneath him.
His cock is still achingly hard, and the sensation of his slippery hands as he soaps up is almost too much for him. He would take care of himself right now, if you weren’t waiting on the other side of that door. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea—rub out a quick one so he can last longer with you.
Your soap isn’t the harsh, medicinal-smelling kind issued by the GAR. It smells fresh and clean, and he recognizes the scent from your skin. He leans his head against the shower wall, imagining it’s your hands working his cock, that it’s your skin he smells, and not just your soap. He knows you are waiting for him, so he picks up the pace, jerking himself in a tight, frantic grip. He is close, so fucking close, when he hears a soft knock. He freezes, eyes going wide.
“Sev?” he hears you call. “Want some company?”
---
Masterlist
I am physically incapable of letting Sev get off. What is wrong with me? I promise, the next chapter will finally be his time to shine.
The conclusion... Or is it? Posting these has got my thots going again, so I may need to write another installment. UPDATE: I did it. Also, this chapter has one of my favorite lines I've ever written. Guess which one?
Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI
Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader
Wordcount: 2.4k
Summary: Delta Squad is back on board your Star Destroyer, and Sev is determined to make up for lost time. Reader is about to learn that commandos do it better.
Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship, facef*cking (but not like you expect)
Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist
Delta squad is back on the Guarlara two days later. You know this because they stroll casually into the mess while you’re eating breakfast. You almost stab yourself in the face with your fork when the one with the blood-red paint turns and looks right at you. Your eyes widen, and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks.
“Girl, you good?” Jeelee asks, noticing your agitation.
“Yeah, I just—uh, I realized I need to—I forgot, um—” you stammer.
You can practically see Sev’s smirk behind his helmet.
Cocky bastard.
“I need to stop by the, uh, med bay before my shift starts,” you finish lamely.
“Are you all right?” Drinna asks, concern evident in their wide eyes.
“Yeah,” you say. “Just, uh, lady problems.”
“What kind of lady problems?” Draa asks, confused.
Jeelee and Drinna send pitying glances at the clone trooper.
“Sorry, was that too nosy?” the clone asks with a sheepish expression. “I just don’t have much experience, is all.”
“That’s okay, Draa,” you reassure him. “You should ask the medic to explain it.”
You excuse yourself and make a beeline out of the mess. You’ve listened to Sev’s recording more times than you care to admit, and you aren’t quite prepared to face him in front of an audience of dozens of clones—not to mention the coworkers who already know about your crush.
When you reach your workstation, your message indicator light is blinking.
“Tactical, this RC-1207. Any trouble with those feeds?”
You record a response. “No trouble, 1207. Everything came through loud and clear. If you want to run another diagnostic, be sure to do it after 2100 hours when the feeds update.”
There. That ought to do it. Subtle enough not to raise any eyebrows if anyone overhears, and obvious enough for him to figure it out.
---
When you return to your quarters promptly at 2100 hours, Sev is already waiting for you, helmet and gloves removed and resting on the floor. He stands up from his seat on the edge of your bunk as the door slides open to admit you. You step inside quickly and close the door.
“Hi,” you say. You sound nervous, even to yourself.
“Hi,” he replies.
You’ve had all day to think about this. For hours, your mind has tormented you with erotic fantasies, heating your skin and leaving you drenched and slippery. You have imagined Sev’s large hands touching you everywhere, his talented mouth drifting over your body as he tells you all the filthy, delicious things he wants to do to you, the fullness of his cock as he stretches you out.
But now that he’s here, in the flesh, in your space, you feel awkward. He’s a big man, even bigger in his armor, and the small room feels crowded with both of you inside. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do with your hands. They’ve taken on a mind of their own, fluttering in front of you, fidgeting with your cuffs, and finally wrapping around your waist in a self-soothing embrace. Sev also seems unsure what to do, and it occurs to you that you’ve invited a total stranger into your bunk.
“I’m Sev,” he says.
“I know,” you nod. “I heard on the feeds.”
“Should I just call you ‘tactical’?” he asks. “I want to make sure I’m yelling the right name all night.”
You laugh and tell him your name.
“Can I touch you?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” you whisper.
You expect him to go straight for the goods, so it’s a surprise when he takes your hand and draws it away from your body. He strokes his thumb across your skin, across your fingers, across your wrist.
“I knew you’d be soft. Even softer than I imagined,” he says with satisfaction. He presses his fingers to the pulse point on your wrist. “Your heart is racing, little one. Are you sure you want this?”
“I’m sure,” you say. You raise your free hand to trace the lines of his face, and he leans into the contact, closing his eyes. You wonder if he’s ever felt a gentle touch before. You brush your fingers over his skin. Intellectually, you have always known what he would look like, but now you take in all the small details that make him unique from his fellow clones. The scars, the faint lines around his eyes, the slightly longer-than-regulation hair, the prickly scruff of a beard that hasn’t been shaved in three cycles. Deep circles under his eyes betray his exhaustion, and you feel a momentary twinge of guilt at keeping him awake after a mission.
“Do—do you?” you ask.
His mouth twists in a half smile. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the last three rotations. I want this.”
He presses his lips to your palm, and then he reaches for you, pulling you into his strong arms, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His duraplast armor is hard and cool against you, and you scramble for purchase against it.
“You taste amazing,” he says against your lips. His tongue brushes against you, and you part your lips to let him in.
Oh, damn, he’s good. He kisses you with an intense, single-minded focus, as though you—your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your pleasure—are the only thing in the galaxy. There’s no awkward, over-enthusiastic tongue thrusting; just slow, skillful movement that pulls you in and steals your breath. His kiss leaves you lightheaded and unsteady, and you’re grateful for the way he cradles your body in his arms, keeping you from melting into a quivering heap at his feet.
“Kriff me, did they teach you to kiss like that in commando school?” you breathe.
“Yeah, we learned it after hostage extraction and before demolitions,” he says, deadpan.
You laugh again, and he looks very pleased with himself.
“They also taught us how to take off our armor in under a minute,” he says. “Want to see a demonstration?”
“Will you do a sexy dance while you show me?” you ask.
“That might slow me down,” he replies.
“In that case, skip the dance,” you say. “What’s your personal best time?”
“Thirty-nine seconds. I was motivated,” he says.
“And are you motivated now?” you ask.
“Time me and find out,” he suggests.
“I’d rather enjoy the show,” you say.
“Don’t blink,” he says with a smirk.
He strips off his armor. He works efficiently, and you watch with interest. You’ve never seen a clone go through the process before. He starts with his vambraces, works his way up his arms, then removes the cuirass and proceeds down his torso and legs. Each piece is stacked neatly as he removes it, and you suspect the habit is so ingrained in him that he couldn’t leave the duraplast in a messy pile if he tried.
“I think I shaved a couple seconds off my best time,” he says once he’s stripped down to his body glove.
You remember the way he tallies his kills on each mission.
“You’re very competitive, aren’t you?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “How many times did you make yourself come to that recording?”
Your skin heats, and you aren't sure if you're embarrassed, aroused, or both. “Why do you want to know?”
“Professional curiosity. Also, I want to know how many to aim for tonight.”
“Uh, six,” you confess.
“That’s only two per day,” he says. “I’ll have to do better with my next recording.”
“It was actually three the first night and only one on the second. I was tired,” you explain, a little defensively.
“I hope you’re rested up,” he says, tugging you into another searing kiss.
You slide your hands up his back, feeling the hard muscles shift beneath the black fabric of his body glove. The man is massive, built like a tank, and if the bulge you feel pressing against your belly is what you think it is, he is proportionate all the way down. You grind your pelvis against him experimentally, and in response, he crowds you against the wall, growling into your mouth.
Actually growling. Maker save you.
His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you against him. Yep, definitely proportionate, you think.
His kisses are hot and frantic now, and his hands roam possessively over your body. He moves his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, next to your ear. His warm breath whispers across your skin, leaving a thrill of arousal in its wake.
“Do you know how hard it is to stay focused on the mission when all I can think about is you, fucking yourself to my voice?”
“Tell me,” you gasp, needing to hear those obscene words from him.
“Almost got nailed by a vulture droid ‘cause I was thinking about these tits.” He slides his hand up the rough wool of your uniform to palm your breast. “Oh, kark, that’s good. So fuckin’ good. Let me see you.”
You start to unzip your uniform jacket, but Sev is impatient. He yanks the zipper down and shoves the jacket off your arms.
“How many kriffing layers are you wearing?” he demands.
“Only three more,” you laugh. “Let me help.”
You unbutton and remove your uniform blouse, then slip your undershirt off over your head and unclasp your bra as Sev unzips your trousers and tugs them down.
“Finally,” he says when you are fully bare. “Stars, look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He trails his hands reverently across your skin. His fingertips are rough and calloused, but they touch you with an aching tenderness that leaves you breathless. He drops to his knees, bringing his head level with your chest, and draws you to his mouth. The sensation is overwhelming. His busy hands touch you everywhere: fondling your breasts, sliding up the inside of your thigh to squeeze your ass, brushing across your clitoris to feel the dampness gathering there.
“Sev,” you breathe as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. His lips tug insistently as his tongue swirls over you again and again, and your body thrums in response.
“Fucking perfect tits,” he mumbles against you. “Even better than I thought. So soft. You look so good in my hands.”
You look down to see his large, brown hand on your breast, your flesh spilling out between his fingers as he squeezes you gently.
“You can be rougher with me,” you whisper, “if you want.”
His dark eyes snap to yours, and he pinches your nipple experimentally. Pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp, your head dropping backward to lean against the cold durasteel walls.
“Like this?” he asks, sucking your nipple into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth.
“Yes!” you hiss. “Harder!”
He groans and does as you order, finally giving you the intense stimulation you crave.
“Oh fuck, yes, just like that, don’t stop, keep going,” you chant.
His clever mouth is doing unspeakable things to you. Kissing, sucking, biting, teasing, worshiping. You are stunned to feel your orgasm building, and you wonder if it is possible for you to come like this. The tension draws tighter and tighter, but you need more.
Sev releases your breast and kisses down your belly. He pauses when he reaches your hip, working over you with excruciating thoroughness.
“Kark, I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he says, his voice even deeper than usual. “I wanted you the first time I saw you.” He presses a hard, open-mouth kiss onto your hip bone, and his tongue flicks across your skin. “Jerked my cock to you every time I took a shower. I made myself come so many times imagining this beautiful little cunt.”
He is still playing with your breast with one hand, squeezing and pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. His other hand grasps your ass roughly, digging his fingers into your flesh. His kisses are brutal, hovering on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, leaving a stinging trail as he makes his way slowly—so agonizingly slowly—across your pelvis.
And gods, it’s so much. It’s too much, and you can’t stand it any more. You grab his head and shove him against your pussy, and his tongue flicks out to slide between your labia and swirl over your clitoris, and fuck that’s it right there just like that—fuck! Your orgasm takes you by surprise, slamming into you, wrenching his name from your throat in a ragged cry. Your hips buck against Sev’s face, and you would feel bad for using him like this, but he’s grunting with pleasure, and his mouth is on you and his tongue is inside you, and he’s grabbing your ass to pull you even harder against him as you fuck his face, and then your legs give out, and he catches you, supporting your weight with his strong arms as he sucks your clit into his mouth until he wrings out the last tremors of your orgasm, and then he eases you down the durasteel wall to rest on his thighs.
Your lungs heave for oxygen, and your forehead drops to rest on his shoulder. He’s still wearing his body glove, and the fabric is soft against your face. He wraps his arms around you, stroking the back of your head as he whispers the sweetest words in your ear: so good for me, so beautiful, taste so sweet, so pretty when you come, love to watch you lose control, so fucking sexy.
You roll your head to face him, burying yourself against his neck. He smells like salt and skin and battlefield smoke and bacta, and your tongue darts out to taste him, drawing a rumble of pleasure from his chest.
“Did I hurt you?” you ask.
He lets out a single, short laugh. “No, babygirl. You could fuck me into the ground, and I’d thank you for giving me a warrior’s death.”
You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you slide your hand down his body to stroke his length through the thin fabric of his body glove.
“In that case, I should probably take care of this,” you murmur. “Can’t fuck all night if we don’t start early.”
I wrote a smutty reader-insert fic for my Sev girlies. Anyone else obsessed with this man's voice? Reader is, and Sev gives her exactly what she needs.
Pairing: Sev (RC-1207)/fem!reader
Word count: 2,879
Rating: 18+. Minors DNI
Warnings: voice kink tag with actual voice kink content (whaaaat?!); PWP; mild dom/sub undertones; praise kink; body worship
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/2
Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando (Video Games)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: CT-9904 | Crosshair & RC-1207 | Delta-07 | Sev
Characters: RC-1207 | Delta-07 | Sev, Crosshair (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), RC-1262 | Delta-62 | Scorch
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Cadets Clone Force 99 | Bad Batch, Character Study, Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), Rivalry, Clone Commandos Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Snipers, scorch being a di'kut to people he doesnt even KNOW, Canon Universe, Chapter 1 POV Sev, Chapter 2 POV Crosshair
Series: Part 6 of bad batch canon universe one-shots
Summary:
“--and then when he’s all out of samples, the intern spits—” Scorch mock-hocked, and if it weren’t for the glass between them and the whitejob mess down below, Sev was certain he would have spat. Thankfully for the lunches below them, he only swallowed. “--and scrambles up the tube, and ta-daa, you get the tall one.”
The squad was left the shitty, icy tundra table, and even as they nudged into the seats on the far end, the few brothers who took what they could get stood up and left them to it, shooting looks over their shoulders and then laughing loud enough to make it up to them on the gangway.
The tall one grabbed Sev’s sharp eye. He had a pale crop of hair, definitely not blonde, thin as a whip with gaunt cheeks. He alone remained upright while his squad hunched over their trays and made quick work of their meal, head up and…
Scanning. Something horribly akin to recognition shivered down Sev’s spine. The karking mutie was on watch duty, eyeing the collected masses of cadets just like Sev had been doing, earlier.
