I know you've done something similar with Wolffe already but could you do that trope where people catch him with hickeys🙏🙏 And like he doesn't realise how obvious one is and his men are just gawking at him in the middle of a briefing untill he gets fed up and asks them why they're staring at him and they tell him about it.
I love love love you're writing soooooooo much. The banter? *chefs kiss* The drama? BOMB. The writer? Amazing :)
Commander Wolffe x Reader
The debriefing room was unusually rowdy.
Not loud—Wolffe would have shut that down with one glare—but… twitchy. Restless. Shifty eyes and barely-concealed smirks. It was enough to make any seasoned commander suspicious, and Wolffe, who had survived more battlefield chaos than most, immediately zeroed in on the odd tension infecting his unit.
“Something funny, Boost?” he growled, side-eyeing the trooper who had been attempting—and failing—to suppress a laugh for the last three minutes.
Boost immediately stiffened in his seat. “No, sir.”
Wolffe narrowed his eye at him, then slowly swept his gaze around the room. Every clone was seated, helmets off, datapads ready. And yet none of them could meet his eye. Sinker had his head bowed, but his shoulders were shaking. Comet was chewing the inside of his cheek like his life depended on it. Warthog was avoiding looking at anything above the table entirely.
“Alright,” Wolffe said, letting the silence stretch for just a second too long. “What’s the problem?”
Silence. Comet made a strange squeaking sound and coughed to cover it.
“I said—what’s the problem?”
This time, all eyes turned to Sinker, the unofficial sacrificial lamb of the squad. He cleared his throat, clearly chosen—or bullied—into speaking.
“It’s just, uh… Sir,” Sinker began, his tone very careful, “are you aware there’s something on your neck?”
Wolffe’s eye narrowed to a blade-thin slit. “Like what?”
Sinker hesitated. Boost snorted into his fist.
Comet gave in, finally laughing. “It’s a hickey, sir!”
The room exploded into chaos.
A chorus of gasps, stifled laughter, and dramatized “ooooohs” echoed against the durasteel walls. Warthog clutched his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. Boost leaned back with a wheeze and said, “Who knew the commander was such a romantic?”
Wolffe just stood there. Blinking. Processing.
And then he reached up—absently, instinctively—and brushed his fingers along the right side of his neck.
Right where you’d left your mark.
A very enthusiastic mark. Last night. After that mission. After hours of tension, sniping, arguing, and finally being shoved into a dimly-lit supply closet with you during base lockdown, where things got… heated. The kind of heated that left bruises and regrets—not for the act, but for how it was definitely going to be discovered.
He hadn’t even thought to check.
“Are you—” Warthog was grinning, “—seeing someone, Commander?”
“Since when?” Comet added. “Do we know her? Do we like her?”
“I definitely like her,” Boost said solemnly. “Anyone who manages to sneak up on Wolffe and leave a mark like that deserves respect.”
“Who says she snuck up on me?” Wolffe muttered under his breath.
It only made the room go louder.
Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly resisting the urge to either murder everyone in the room or walk out and face-plant into traffic.
“Sir,” Sinker said, still grinning, “permission to requisition more rations. We’ll need extra caf and snacks if we’re gonna be sitting through a romantic subplot on top of all the war stuff.”
“You’ll be sitting through a disciplinary report if you don’t shut it, trooper.”
Wolffe sighed, rubbed at the back of his neck again, and finally just grunted. “Get it out of your systems now.”
“No. The death wishes. Because if anyone brings this up again in an actual field op or in front of a general, I swear on every one of your shiny skulls I will make you do hand-to-hand drills until you vomit.”
Then Boost, ever brave, raised a hand.
“…What if she gives you another one, and we just notice it again?”
Wolffe leaned forward just enough to make the lights glint menacingly off his cybernetic eye.
“I will make you scrub every inch of this base’s refresher block with a toothbrush.”
Comet choked on his laughter. “Totally worth it.”
The room was once again filled with snickering, and somewhere in the back, Warthog whispered, “Commander’s got a girlfriend,” like a schoolboy daring the teacher to call on him.
Wolffe didn’t respond. He just activated the holoprojector for the actual briefing and started talking over them.
But you better believe he was glaring holes through the floor the entire time.
And later, when he walked back into your quarters, he cornered you with a dark look and a husky whisper: “Next time, warn me when you leave battle scars where my entire unit can see them.”
