“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.
clone characters who are into primal play (my headcanons)
a/n: lowkey imagine how crazy this would be w imperial!hunter thoo holy fuckk ts has layers to it. and ofc had to include my predator animal-coded twins 🐺🦊 yes im nasty what about it…
fem reader
warnings: sexual content + bdsm themes with pre-established consent (please DNI if these topics make you uncomfortable)
bf!hunter who likes the chase. he’s always harbored a very secret, very sick and dirty kink for primal play, living up to his name. he holds your jaw from behind with his big, thick biceps wrapped around your upper body, bringing his mouth down low to your ear in a raspy whisper, “i’ll give you a head start, yeah?” his prowl for you is unpredictably patient, slow to draw out the pounding in your heart as you try to steady your breathing, knowing he can hear and feel everything. he follows the sweet scent of your perfume, all the nearby sounds rattling across his skin like a ticklish whisper, taunting him, dragging him closer to you. he doesn’t hunt aggressively; he plays with time, triumphant when he stands over you and smirks at your round doe eyes. “gotcha,” he murmurs, capturing your mouth in a messy, wild kiss as he rakes his hands over your body, shedding your clothes through a hoarse groan that vibrates against your soft lips.
bf!fox who likes the capture. this is a man who builds himself on his achievements, the thrill of being given a challenge and then delivering on it without fail. he often uses primal play as a way to punish your bratty tendencies, muttering, “ten minutes. don’t let me find you.” but he always does. he wedges his thigh between your legs to lock you down, pinning your wrists above your head with the firm grip of his hand. you squirm under him and rock your hips against his thigh, trying to soothe the throbbing ache in your pussy as he cocks his head to the side, smirking sadistically. “you’re a greedy little thing aren’t you?” he says in your ear. you whine as he kisses your neck and bites the same spot, marking your throat up. his teeth tug your skin back before his tongue runs over the sensitivity, licking up the sharp sting of pain. “mm, you’re gonna behave now, yeah? you’re gonna behave real good and give me what i want…”
bf!wolffe who likes the control. he’s so fuckin’ feral when he finds you, his hands rough as they grab you and put you on all fours, tugging down your bottoms with insatiable haste. sex with him is never delicate, but sex with him in this context brings out all the carnal, animalistic desires that eat him alive the same way he wishes to devour you, like you’re his prize and prey at the same time. you gasp when he spits on your pussy and thumbs your clit, getting you wet and ready for him, but you’re already soaked, which rumbles an amused, fucked up chuckle through his chest. “already making a mess all over me, huh?” he mutters in a low voice as he fists his cock, throwing his head back at the way his tip leaks with desperation. you moan when he slides two fingers inside you and curls them, quietly commanding, “clench—just like that.” he puts your obedience to the test, groaning as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, and you squeeze around him so tight he nearly cums right then and there. “that’s it,” he murmurs, grabbing your hips to thrust into you from behind. you cry out, causing him to clamp a hand down over your mouth while he fucks into you harder. “not a fucking sound.”
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
SUMMARY: As Admiral of General Plo Koon's ship, you had it going everyday. You were no Jedi to feel detached, and you were no soldier to withstand the stress. So, when a certain commander noticed, you didn't expect him to suggest an offer that could be beneficial to the both of you—a breather, he said.
CONTENT: 5k words, piv sex, soft wolffe (let's give the man a break too), oral sex (fem receiving), touch-starved idiots, mildly dubious consent, let's pretend the Triumphant survived for fic purposes, coworkers with benefits?
RATING: EXPLICIT
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!
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As Admiral of the Venator-class Star Destroyer Triumphant, under the command of Jedi Master Plo Koon, you held the weight of the galaxy's endless war on your shoulders. It was a position you'd earned through years of strategic brilliance, unyielding discipline, and a knack for turning chaotic battlefields into orchestrated victories. The crew looked to you—not just the clones, but the officers, the pilots, even the Jedi—for direction.
Your voice echoed through the bridge like a beacon, issuing orders that could mean the difference between survival and annihilation.
"Helm, adjust course to bearing zero-three-zero. Gunnery, prepare for incoming Separatist fighters. Medical teams stand by for casualties."
Day in, day out, you were the unbreakable pillar.
The one who kept the ship running like a machine amid the Republic's crumbling front lines.
But beneath that polished veneer of authority, everything was taking its toll on everyone.
The war had no mercy for everyone.
Especially to a mere human like you.
Sleepless nights blurred into hyperspace jumps, reports of fallen troopers stacked higher, and the constant pressure to outmaneuver an enemy that seemed infinitely impossible each day. Frustrations simmered beneath your skin. All from the same purpose. The bureaucratic red from Coruscant that delayed reinforcements, the moral quandaries of sending good men to their deaths, the isolation of command where every decision rested solely on you.
Your head throbbed from staring at holographic star maps, your muscles ached from standing rigid on the bridge for hours, and there were moments—fleeting, dangerous ones—when you wondered if you could keep it all together. A single crack in your composure could ripple through the ranks, eroding morale faster than a hull breach.
However, you refused to let it show.
In the eyes of your crew, you were untouchable.
Crisp uniform buttoned to the collar, posture straight as a durasteel beam, voice steady even when delivering grim news.
“We press on.”
You'd say to your men, masking the exhaustion with a nod of encouragement.
“Good hunting.”
You'd wish your pilots, watching them embark on another chase amongst the stars.
“Fall back.”
You'd surrender through gritted teeth, once you knew the lives of others were more important than finishing a mission.
Plo Koon often commended your resilience, his mask hiding any hint of concern, but you knew better than to confide in anyone. Admirals didn't break, they commanded. So you buried the stress deep, channeling it into sharper tactics, longer shifts, anything to maintain the image of invincibility. After all, in this war, weakness was a luxury you couldn't afford.
Until, it was offered to you.
It was on one evening, after a grueling skirmish with a Separatist blockade, that you finally allowed yourself the small reprieve of retreating to your quarters.
The corridors of the Triumphant were dimly lit, the hum of the engines a constant companion as you walked alone, your boots clicking softly against the deck plating. The day's frustrations lingered like smoke. Another batch of clone troopers lost, supply lines stretched thin, and the gnawing doubt that tomorrow would bring more of the same.
You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake off the tension, but it clung stubbornly. A knot between your shoulder blades that no amount of deep breathing could loosen.
That's when you heard the footsteps behind you—deliberate, armored, unmistakably clone-issue.
You turned, expecting a late report or some minor crisis, but it was Commander Wolffe.
The leader of the Wolfpack stood there, the distinctive gray markings etched like scars across his helmet and armor.
The sight always took you back every time. Even though you've seen him countless of times, you were always surprised to see him so… daunting. However, you tried not to let it show then. Especially now, standing five feet away from each other, to let him know how much his presence affected you.
You and Wolffe had always shared a professional respect, forged in the fires of shared battles. He admired your tactical acumen, and you trusted his unyielding cause to the mission. But interactions were rare—brief nods on the bridge, curt exchanges during briefings, post reports after missions alongside his general. He wasn't one for small talk, and neither were you. Though, you always noticed how much he lingered every time.
Of course he would, he was an officer performing his duty. But sometimes, it didn't feel like that was the reason. On some days, he'd stand closer to you. Far too close while you direct an assault on a holomap, feeling him peer over your shoulder. Then, there were those days where you felt watched even when you didn't see anyone directly looking at you—only to catch his gaze seconds away before he averted them.
His praises were reserved, though the weight they carried was much more significant.
“Great work, Admiral.”
“Thanks for getting us out of there.”
“Couldn't have done it without you.”
“Well done again.”
You shouldn't see him in any other way than a fellow commanding officer. You shouldn't even think about him. What it would be like to get closer. To know him better. To strip him off of his armor and sink your nails beneath the layers. You wanted to know more about him, the fierce and infamous Commander of the 104th battalion.
But you knew there was a line you shouldn't cross.
So you kept your attraction concealed under the pretense of admiration and respect. But deep down, you itched to dance around the line and see if he would do the same.
Wolffe finally removed his helmet with a hiss, revealing his scarred face, the cybernetic eye glinting in the low light.
“Admiral,” He greeted, his voice gruff but not unkind, falling into step beside you without invitation. “Long day.”
You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Aren't they always? Something I can assist with, Commander?”
He glanced sideways at you, his good eye narrowing slightly. “You've been pushing hard. Harder than usual. The men notice. I noticed.”
A flicker of surprise cut through your fatigue, but you masked it quickly. “Appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. Just heading to finish up more reports.”
“This late at night?”
“Yes, my job isn't finished until—”
“With all due respect, Admiral. You need a breather.”
You paused at the door to your quarters, inputting your access code while processing his words.
A breather?
It sounded vague, almost out of character for the stoic commander.
But there was something in his tone—earnest, almost protective—that made you curious. The stress was a heavy cloak tonight, and the idea of any relief, even undefined, was tempting.
The exhaustion, the pent-up frustration, the rare spark of connection with someone who understood the burden.
You trusted him, as a comrade and as a respected officer. Your relationship has always been based on mutual understanding. The weight of your positions, the expectations from your subordinates, the image of an unshakable leader. You two had more similarities than you would've thought. And perhaps, that was the reason why you were considering his suggestion. Maybe he knew a way to forget the responsibilities even for a night.
You hesitated in the doorway of your quarters, choosing your next words carefully.
“I'm not sure what you mean,” You admitted, watching him closely. “I can rest once I'm done.”
Wolffe grunted, a sound that could mean agreement or skepticism. “You don't just need rest. You need to let go. I can show you how if you'd let me.”
His offer of a “breather” had sounded too vague for your liking. Though, you knew he didn't mean any harm by it. Perhaps a quiet conversation over a mug of caf, or sharing war stories to vent the day's frustrations.
For a moment, the two of you only stared at one another. Neither moving, nor breaking. For all the years you've known him, you knew him to be like an immovable stone wall. It was one of the many things you've come to admire about him. He might've been feared for his stony facade, but you saw past it all and recognized something deeper.
He cared for others, especially his brothers and his general, more than other people thought.
You saw it numerous times how he'd risk his life to defend them. To fight for them. He was arguably a perfect example to lead a battalion. Of course, there were notable commanding officers from other legions. Like Captain Rex from the 501st or Commander Cody from the 212th.
But Commander Wolffe led not with directness or strategy.
He led with unwavering loyalty.
To the Republic. To his brothers. To his general.
You trusted him with your life, and maybe you could trust him with this too.
Finally, you released a breath.
“Very well,” You pressed on the panel, feeling his stare stuck on your back. “Come inside, Commander.’
The door sealed shut with a soft whoosh, enclosing the two of you in the dim glow of your private space. The room felt smaller with him in it, his armored form a solid presence amid the sparse furnishings. Your bunk, a small table, the viewport streaked with hyperspace stars. Nothing special. Just a standard design similar to all the other quarters with minimal personal belongings and decorations.
"Make yourself comfortable," You waved a hand, trying to sound casual as you shrugged off your uniform jacket, folding it neatly over the chair. Underneath it, a simple black tank that barely protected you from the cold. And unbeknownst to you, from Wolffe's sharpening gaze.
Meanwhile, your mind raced at the possible scenarios.
What did he mean by letting go?
A deep conversation?
Some meditation technique?
While you pondered over the situation, you didn't notice the way his eyes tracked you.
Wolffe watched you with that piercing stare, his cybernetic eye glinting faintly as he unclasped sections of his armor, setting them aside with methodical precision. The plastoid clattered softly, revealing the black bodysuit beneath, taut over his battle-hardened frame.
You faced him again, blinking in shock to see him in the state of undress. Somehow, without his armor in the way, he appeared even broader and more commanding. The black fabric hugged his arms and thighs perfectly, his shoulders almost touched the sides of your door, and when he rolled them back—you almost cowered at how taller he looked.
Perhaps you were just more exhausted than you thought that you were imagining him looking larger than usual, or perhaps you were simply too deprived that you were admiring his physique in inappropriate ways.
But when did he—
No, why did he remove his armor?
You cleared your throat, catching yourself from staring. It was too late, he noticed it.
“Commander?”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Is there a reason why you… removed your armor?”
“Yes, there is.”
He stepped closer, his hands—now ungloved—reaching for yours.
“No more orders from you tonight,” He murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. “I'm taking charge for now.”
Before you could process or protest, he guided you backward until the edge of the bunk pressed against your calves. His touch was firm, authoritative, mirroring the command you wielded on the bridge.
He sat first, pulling you down with him, his hands sliding to your waist, unbuckling your belt with surprising deftness. Without warning, he hooked his fingers into your waistband and commanded.
“Take them off.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want them off. Now.”
That time sent shivers down your spine, hearing the domineering control laced with the roughness of something else. Rarely did he speak to you with it, but you've heard him use it to others. You'd be lying if you said you haven't thought of it before, how it would feel to be on that end of his order, hearing his growl and gravelly bark as he spoke low in your ear.
“Do you trust me?” His fingers traced your side, grazing your hip up to waist. “We can stop if you want to, Admiral. Make me leave this instant.”
No, you didn't want him to leave.
He promised you a breather, and you were going to get it.
Against your better judgement, you chucked off your boots and proceeded to remove your pants—along with your standard issue underwear after he muttered that one too—leaving you bare from the waist down.
You paused, unsure what to do next. Until he suddenly moved, pulling your tank top off from your body in one swift tug. Then, you were finally bare. The cold nipped your skin, though the heat you felt within your veins refrained you from shivering. Still, you wrapped your arms around your chest as you looked away.
What is happening?
You clamped your thighs together, confused and flustered at the rapt intensity of his gaze.
“Commander, what are you—” Your words cut off as he lifted you effortlessly, positioning you above him as he lay back.
One moment you were straddling his lap, confusion mingling with a spark of curiosity. The next, he was shifting you higher, your knees bracketing his shoulders, thighs pressing against the sides of his face.
Your hands shot out instinctively, palms flattening against the cool durasteel wall for balance as you hovered there, heart pounding.
This wasn't caf. This wasn't conversation.
What in the Sith hells is he doing?
His hands gripped your hips, steadying you, pulling you down until you felt the heat of his breath against your core.
“Relax, Admiral,” He smirked at you, his tone commanding yet reassuring, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Let me take care of you.”
And then his mouth was on you, tongue delving with purposeful strokes—exploring, teasing, unrelenting.
The shock of it arched your back, a gasp escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you like a hyperspace jump. You hadn't expected this, not from the stoic commander whose face was usually hidden behind a helmet, whose words were sparse and tactical. But here he was, devouring you with a hunger that matched the intensity of his battlefield prowess.
His fingers joined in tandem, calloused from years of gripping blasters, now slipping inside you with expert precision—curling, thrusting in rhythm with his tongue.
The “breather” he'd promised unfolded in waves of sensation, each lap and suck pulling the stress from your body like venom from a wound. The knot of tension in your shoulders unraveled, the frustrations of command dissolving into moans you couldn't suppress. Your thighs trembled around him, muscles clenching as he worked you higher, his good eye locked on yours when you dared to glance down, a silent challenge.
Surrender.
The wall was your anchor, fingers digging into the unyielding metal as you rocked against him, chasing the release he coaxed from you.
“Wolffe,” You whimpered, jolting at a sharp suck on your clit. “Wolffe, wait—we shouldn't—”
Wolffe didn't falter, his grip ironclad, tongue flicking over that sensitive bundle of nerves until stars burst behind your eyelids—not the cold void of space, but something warm, explosive. Slowly, the heat coiled low in your stomach. Every ravenous lick, every depraved suck, every obscene groan that reverberated below shook your core until your mind blanked.
He said you needed a breather.
But you really can't breathe right now.
You came undone above him, body shuddering, a cry tearing from your throat that echoed in the confined space. He didn't stop immediately, easing you through it with gentler licks, fingers slowing until you slumped forward, breathless and spent. For one last measure, he bit on the inside of your thigh to leave a mark. Something you'd see every time you stepped into the sonic shower, something that would always remind you of this night.
Only then did he guide you down, settling you beside him on the bunk.
His face glistened, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Better?” He asked again, echoing his earlier question, but this time with a hint of smugness.
You nodded, still catching your breath, a laugh bubbling up unexpectedly. “That… wasn't what I expected.”
But it looked like the night was far from over.
Your breaths came in shallow pants as you tried to reassemble the fragments of your composure.
The commander shifted beside you, his weight dipping the bunk, and you felt the heat of his body as he propped himself up on one elbow. His cybernetic eye caught the faint light from the viewport, giving him an almost predatory gleam.
“Not done yet,” He rumbled, his voice rough with lingering desire.
He moved with the fluid grace of a soldier, his hands—strong and unyielding—grasped your hips and flipped you over in one smooth motion.
A surprised yelp escaped you as you found yourself on your stomach, the cool sheets pressing against your heated skin.
Wolffe settled between your legs, his thighs bracketing yours, the solid warmth of him a stark contrast to the vulnerability of your position.
“Gonna thank you properly now,” He murmured, leaning over you, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. “For everything you've done. Holding this ship together, keeping us alive.”
His gaze met yours over your shoulder, glinting with something dangerous, a promise that twisted “thanks” into something far more carnal.
You swallowed, a mix of anticipation and lingering confusion swirling in your chest. But before you could voice it, his hands were on you again.
He maneuvered you with deliberate care, propping your knees up beneath you, guiding your back into a deep arch. One large hand splayed across your spine, pressing just enough to hold you in place, while the other trailed lower, teasing. You felt the blunt head of him nudge against your folds, slick from your earlier release, and a gasp tore from your lips as realization hit. This was his idea of gratitude—raw, unfiltered, claiming.
“Wolffe,” You called out, the word a half-protest, half-plea, intending to remind him of the lines you shouldn't cross.
The professionalism that defined your roles.
But he didn't give you the chance.
With a guttural growl that vibrated through his chest and into yours, he pushed forward, entering you in one slow, torturous thrust.
The stretch was exquisite, bordering on overwhelming, filling you completely and scattering every coherent thought like debris in an asteroid field. Your fingers clutched at the sheets, knuckles whitening, as he buried himself deeper, his hips meeting yours with a rhythm that built like an incoming storm.
Then, just when you thought that was enough, he surprised you even more.
“I've been thinking about this since the day you stepped aboard as our Admiral,” He confessed, his voice strained but steady, punctuating each word with a deliberate roll of his hips. "Watching you on the bridge. Hearing your voice in comm channels. Mid-briefing, during drills, meetings. I'd imagine you like this, under me, letting go."
His hand on your spine slid up to tangle in your hair, gentle yet possessive, as he thrusted harder, deeper, the confession spilling out like long-held secrets.
“Fantasized about breaking that perfect composure, hearing you moan my name instead of barking commands.”
You tried to focus on his words, to process the vulnerability in his admissions—the way this stoic clone commander had harbored desires that mirrored your own hidden cracks.
But it was impossible.
Each drive of his body into yours sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, erasing everything but the sensation of him, the fullness, the friction.
Your breaths came in ragged gasps, syncing with his growls, the room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, the creak of the bunk, the distant sounds of the ship that faded into oblivion. As he picked up the pace, his free hand slipping around to tease where you were joined, you arched further into him, lost in the sensation.
Wolffe's rhythm was relentless, each thrust driving deeper, claiming more of you with every measured stroke.
The stretch of him inside you was all-consuming, a delicious burn that blurred the edges of reality, making the confines of your quarters feel like the only world that mattered. His hand on your spine kept you arched, vulnerable and open, while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging in with a possessiveness that sent sparks racing up your nerves.
You buried your face in the sheets, muffling a moan as he confessed those hidden thoughts, his voice a gravelly whisper amid the symphony of your shared breaths and the slick sounds of your bodies meeting.
"Since the day I stepped aboard?" You managed to gasp out, disbelief threading through the haze of pleasure. “You've been thinking about– about this? About me? For that long?”
It was hard to form words, let alone process them. Not when he was burying himself to the hilt, pulling back only to surge forward again, hitting spots that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you where your bodies connected, a rare glimpse of humor from the battle-scarred commander. But there was no mockery in it—only raw honesty, laced with the strain of holding back. He slowed his pace just enough to lean over you fully, his chest pressing against your back, the weight of him grounding and overwhelming all at once.
His lips brushed your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin as he nipped at the lobe.
“Yeah, Admiral. Every damn day. You walk onto that bridge like you own it, issuing orders that save our hides, and all I can think about is what it'd be like to see you unravel. Not the composed leader. You. The woman under the uniform.”
Your mind reeled, trying to latch onto his words even as another deep thrust scattered your focus, drawing another whimper from your lips.
“But why didn't you say anything? We've stood side by side for years, and I thought—kriff. I thought it was just respect.”
"Respect?" He growled, punctuating the word with a sharper snap of his hips that made you arch deeper, toes curling.
His hand slid from your hip to trail down your side, fingers ghosting over your skin before dipping between your legs again, circling that sensitive nub with teasing precision.
The dual assault had you trembling, pleasure coiling tight in your core.
“It's more than that. First time I saw you chew out that incompetent naval officer from Coruscant. Stars, the fire in your eyes. All I could picture was pinning you against the holotable, stripping you away layer by layer. Had to adjust my armor more than once to hide it.”
The confession hit like a blaster bolt, heat flooding your cheeks even as your body responded to him, pushing back to meet his thrusts. You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze over your shoulder. His good eye dark with desire, the cybernetic one glowing faintly.
“During briefings? Wolffe, that's– Stars. I thought you were always so professional.”
He smirked, but it softened into something almost tender as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his pace building again, steady and unwavering.
“Professional? Sure, on the outside. But in my bunk, I'd replay your voice in my head and imagine turning them into pleas. Fantasized about your hands on me so many times I could get court martialed.”
His fingers worked faster between your thighs, matching the urgency of his hips, and you felt the edge approaching that sweet precipice.
“Even in the thick of battle, there'd be a split second where I'd think of you safe on the bridge, and it'd hit me. I wanted to protect you, yeah, but I wanted this too. To make you forget the war, even if just for a night.”
The vulnerability in his voice, stripped bare amid the intimacy, pushed you closer.
You reached back, your hand finding his thigh, nails digging in as encouragement.
“Tell me more,” You breathed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.
Wolffe obliged, his thrusts growing erratic, signaling he was close too.
“That time on Felucia, after the ambush– you pulled us out with that flanking maneuver. I was covered in mud, adrenaline pumping, and back on the ship, in the sonic shower… all I could think about was dragging you in with me. Washing away the grime, tasting every inch of you, hearing you say my name like an order I couldn't refuse.”
He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he drove deeper. "And the quiet moments, staring at star charts with you—kriff, I'd wonder what you'd feel like, sound like, coming apart. Kept it locked down, because duty first. But tonight? No more holding back."
The thin thread finally snapped again.
His words, raw and unfiltered, tipped you over. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, your body clenching around him, pulling a guttural moan from his lips as he followed, spilling inside you with a final, shuddering thrust. He held you through it, arms wrapping around your waist, collapsing together onto the bunk in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin.
“I never knew,” You murmured, a soft laugh escaping. “All this time…”
Wolffe pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice muffled but content. “Now you do. And if you need another breather, you know where to find me.”
You smiled, rolling your eyes weakly. “And I suppose this will become a normal occurrence now?”
“If you want it to be.”
“But do you?”
“After spilling all my secrets like that? What do you think, Admiral?”
“Just wanted to know we're on the same boat. Or ship.”
He huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes in return.
The quiet settled over your quarters like a soft blanket, broken only by the steady hum of the ship and the slow, even rhythm of your breathing. For a while, every worry and exhaustion seeped out of your body through every exhale you released. Underneath your ear, you heard his heart slow into a steady pace.
Wolffe laid beneath you, one arm draped loosely across your waist, his body warm and solid—a rare moment of stillness for a man who lived in constant motion. His confessions still echoed in your mind, raw and unguarded, peeling back layers you hadn’t known existed beneath the commander’s armor. The vulnerability he’d offered made something shift inside you.
Gratitude, but also a quiet hunger to give back what he’d so freely taken. He had made the effort to give you a breather and thank you after noticing how much weight had started to weigh on your shoulders. Perhaps you could return the same favor. After all, he has been serving and fighting for the Republic since the start of the war.
You moved before the impulse could fade.
With a gentle push against his chest, you rolled, guiding him onto his back.
He let you, surprise flickering briefly in his good eye before it melted into something darker, more curious.
The shift in position pressed your still-sensitive core against the stiffening hardness of him, drawing a low hiss from between his teeth.
You settled astride his hips, knees beside his waist, palms flat against the hard planes of his chest. Still covered by his top. All it took was a single tug from the hem and a pointed look cast down on him, and he was pulling his top off before throwing it on the floor. Now, he was completely bare too. You marveled at the gorgeous sight of him, the firmness of his torso, the golden complexion of his skin, and the litany of scars—both old and new—branding his body like trophies of war.
He grunted, voice rough, hands instinctively settling on your thighs. “Admiral—”
You silenced him with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, grinding down in a languid circle that made his fingers tighten, nails biting faintly into your skin.
Heat flared anew between you, slick and insistent.
You leaned forward, hair falling around your face like a curtain, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“I need to thank you as well,” You murmured, sighing in pleasure when he slid perfectly between your folds. “In case no one has told you yet.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“Didn’t realize I was due thanks.”
“You are,” You straightened, sitting up fully so he had a clear view of you above him. “For every time you pulled the Wolfpack through impossible odds. For every briefing where your tactical read saved lives. For standing at our side when the galaxy felt like it was collapsing.”
Another slow grind, harder this time, dragging a ragged sound from his throat.
His hands slid up your thighs, but he didn’t try to take control. He watched you instead, silver cybernetic eye glinting, while the golden brown hue darkened with heat and something softer.
You reached between your bodies, fingers wrapping around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. His head tipped back against the pillow, a low curse slipping free in Mando’a.
You aligned yourself, teasing the head at your entrance. Then sank down slowly, deliberately, taking him inch by inch until your hips met his. The stretch was different this time—deeper, fuller, with you setting the pace.
You stayed there a moment, simply feeling him seated inside you, walls fluttering around the thick length of him. In this position, you truly felt how massive he was. You've never felt so full in your entire life, and you knew there would be an insatiable ache within you once this was over. An ache only he can fill over and over again.
You caught the clench of his jaw, the vein at his temple, and how his throat moved as he swallowed.
He was visibly restraining himself, and you had to commend him for his self-control.
So, you began to move.
Rising and falling in measured strokes, rolling your hips in experimental circles that made his breath hitch every time your clit grazed the base of him. His hands flexed on your thighs, before they started to roam. Gripping your waist, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples until you arched into the touch with a quiet moan.
“Kriff,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me like this.”
“Good,” You smiled, picking up speed, riding him with the same focused intensity you brought to every command decision. “Then we’ll go down together.”
You leaned forward again, bracing your hands on either side of his head, hair spilling over his shoulders as you rocked faster, harder. The angle let him hit deeper with every downward motion, sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. His hands found your ass, guiding your movement, letting you take what you needed.
“You’ve been carrying this ship too,” You whispered between gasps, forehead resting against his. “Every casualty report you sign off on. Every brother you lose. You never flinch. Never let it show.”
A particularly sharp roll of your hips pulled another guttural sound from him. “But I see it. I’ve always seen it.”
His grip tightened, hips beginning to meet yours in shallow, desperate thrusts from below.
“Careful, Admiral.” The growl he let out was a warning with no heat. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last.”
“Then don’t,” You straightened once more, staring down at him. “Let go for me, Commander. The way you let me go earlier.”
Jaw clenched, muscles pulled taut, breath coming in harsh pants. He looked so kriffing good when he's at the brink of his pleasure. You always thought he was handsome, all of his brothers were, even before you became close acquaintances. But something about him reeled you in like an invisible magnet, he always caught your eye even when he wasn't doing anything.
You felt him swell inside you, and the telltale twitch of him told you enough. So, you rode him faster, grinding harder, chasing your own peak while pushing him toward his.
You tightened around him again, drawing another sharp curse from him. “Let go, Wolffe.”
A broken growl tore from his throat as he bucked up into you, hands clamping on your hips hard enough to bruise, spilling hot and deep. The sensation—his release, the way he pulsed inside you—spurred you over the edge at the same time. Pleasure snapped through you like a live wire, thighs trembling, vision whiting out as you clenched around him, riding out the aftershocks with stuttered rolls of your hips.
All you could think about was him.
His hands. His voice. Those subtle canines that peeked through his sharp grin. You'd wake up the next day and see the imprints of his hands on your hips. You'd hear the low growl of his voice whenever you stood on the command bridge again. And you see the shape of those canines on your thigh every time you change out of your uniform until it fades.
“That's it,” He pulled you back from cloud nine, gently rolling his hips underneath you. “You took me so well, Admiral. So kriffing good.”
Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dazed look of approval.
When the world steadied again, you collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat and sex, hearts hammering in tandem. His arms came around you automatically, one hand stroking slow circles over your back.
So uncharacteristic of him, yet you found yourself smiling at the surprising tenderness.
You pressed yourself closer to him, savoring his warmth and the wall of his body firm against you.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then, quietly, against your hair. “Thank you.”
You smiled into the crook of his neck. “You’re welcome, Commander.”
The weight of the day felt distant now, replaced by a languid warmth. But as you lay there, his arm draping over you, you knew this breather had shifted something between you. Trust deepened, barriers cracked, and lines crossed. Tomorrow, on the bridge, you'd be the admiral again, and he'd be the commander on the front lines.
But tonight, in the privacy of your quarters, you both shared the same breath as one.
Jump Then Fall by @jedipoodoo
Borrowed Time by @dindjarindiaries
Wounds Unseen by @dindjarindiaries
Rush by @dindjarindiaries
Tech
Totally Not Crushing by @vekreng
Teasing Tech by @stellarbit
*I Told You So by @cc--2224
*How fast...? by @nahoney22
Perfectly Plucked by @nahoney22
Darling by yours truly
*(Not) Broken by @motherroam-rs
Crosshair
*Between Us by @nahoney22
Sniper by @justaparsec94
*Reunion by @justaparsec94
Enclosed Intentions by @crosshairlovebot
Echo
Kiss Me Quick by @nahoney22
Fives
*Unattached by @motherroam-rs
Captain Rex
Where Trust Falls Apart by @captn-trex
Wolffe
First Kiss part 1 & *2 by @tanobatcher
Howzer
*Domination by @merlincmgirl
Cal Kestis
*Balance by @multi-fan-dom-madness
Din Djarin
Stormy Skies by @deakyjoe
^*Bloodlust by @dindjarindiaries
definitely more to add, i've just been on a tbb kick, din will be next and you'll see like 30 more added (most will unsurprisingly probably by @dindjarindiaries)
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 :)
“Wolfpack Gossip”
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.
“Spit it out, trooper.”
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.
“Oh no, he’s proud!”
“He likes it!”
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.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wolffe sighed, rubbed at the back of his neck again, and finally just grunted. “Get it out of your systems now.”
“What, the teasing?”
“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.”
A pause.
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.”
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.
Summary: After a tense morning after, you're certain that your night with Wolffe was a one-time thing. But the Commander doesn't back away that easily when he wants something... or someone.
Word count: 8.3k
Tags/Warnings: NSFW 18+; semi-public sexual activity; fingering; D/s dynamics; dom!Wolffe; named!Reader; introducing a clone oc and a togruta oc; slight exhibitionism sort of
A/n: I am so sorry this took me ten years to write 🫣 no idea when the next part will be out 😬
I want to remind everyone that Tessa is sort of an oc and her name will appear from time to time where I feel it's necessary. I was trying smth when I wrote the first part and I've decided to keep going like I started
Part 1 | Taglist
An insistent buzzing reaches your ears, slowly dissipating the haze of sleep. You feel a shift beside you, as if someone is quickly getting out of bed. Your drowsy mind must be playing tricks on you – your boyfriend isn’t your boyfriend anymore. There’s no one he–
The memories of last night flood your brain so violently that your eyes snap open.
Oh, you actually did it.
You brought a stranger home.
And not just any stranger.
A clone.
A Commander.
A superior officer.
And you let him tear you apart.
Suddenly you become aware of a gruff voice speaking, but it’s so quiet you barely make out what he’s saying, as if he doesn’t want to wake you. Granted, he does believe you’re still sleeping – your back’s turned to him, and you’re lying completely still, frozen in shock as you try to comprehend the impulsiveness of last night.
You’re not usually like that. You don’t ‘go with the flow’. You don’t jump into situations without overthinking them at least five times. You’re never this spontaneous.
Maker, how much did you have to drink?
Although… any trace of alcohol was burnt out of your system long before you invited him into your apartment.
You simply can’t explain it.
The sound of a drawer being open snaps you to reality, and you sit up, turning to see Wolffe hunched over your desk, quickly scribbling something on a piece of flimsi. And Maker have mercy if he isn’t a sight.
He’s pulled his boxers back on, but otherwise stands in full, almost-naked glory in your bedroom. The dim morning light filters through your window, kissing his tan skin and highlights the tense muscles in his back. There’s a long tribal-style tattoo etched all over his left arm like a sleeve, and on his back, some faint, red scratches are visible. You blush, recalling the heat of passion that made you sink your nails into his skin.
He looks perfect. Gorgeous.
…Tense
He looks tense.
Did something happen?
“H-Hi,” you weakly say as he begins slipping back into his blacks.
“Morning,” he grunts, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
He seems… different from last night. Sure, he wasn’t exactly the warmest person, but now he’s grumpier. If that’s possible.
“You’re leaving.” The words are more of an observation than a question.
“Deployment’s moved up,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. He’s already pulling on his thigh plates and greaves, his movements quick and automatic. Then he jerks his head to your desk. “I’ve left you my frequency.”
“Deployment… but that was supposed to be tomorrow,” you say, your mind already kicking back into gear.
Wolffe pauses. Has he told you that last night? He can’t remember. Maybe he did. Or maybe you heard it at the 79s before the blaster incident. He’d noticed you at the bar – watched you for a while. First with a Togruta woman, then alone. If he almost had a mind to go talk to you, he can definitely imagine one of his men did.
Either way, it’s unimportant. So he brushes it off.
“Disappointed too,” he grumbles. “Had… plans for you today.”
The words push you off-balance for a second. And his tone of voice… determined, hungry. It makes your heart tumble in your chest.
But your mind is buzzing with urgency as you remember all the intelligence reports you studied. It makes your stomach drop.
Deployment… That wasn’t supposed to happen yet. You hesitate, then take a breath.
“That uhm… that means intel changed,” you say nervously and a bit too quickly. “They must’ve confirmed the Separatist reinforcements on the southern ridge. First two assault strategies are compromised. If you push in as planned, you’ll walk right into a bottleneck and lose your forward units.”
Wolffe stops mid-movement. His eyes snap to you – sharp, focused. Evaluating.
“…What did you just say?”
You swallow. His gaze is burning with mistrust. But you need to warn him. “You’ll need to switch to the third plan. The fallback entry, northeast basin. And adjust your evac corridors to compensate for potential cave-ins. I assume you’ve seen the terrain scans – it’s unstable.”
Silence settles oppressively over the room. His brow furrows, the scepticism rolling off him in waves.
“How the hell do you know any of that?”
“I uhh… I wrote the strategies,” you admit quietly.
He stares at you – hard. You can almost see him processing. Then he barks, “Full name and rank!”
You flinch at the steel in his voice, then hurriedly fumble for your nightshirt which you remember you’ve discarded by the bed a few mornings ago. You throw it on and stand, nearly at attention. Habit. And well, his imposing – and quite threatening – presence.
“Lieutenant Tessa Hart,” you say in a practiced tone. “Strategic Command. I’m– I work logistics and tactical planning. I oversee ops in quadrants Q7 through 10.”
Wolffe’s jaw ticks. And the shift in the air between you is immediate. Actually… it doesn’t feel like there’s any air left in the room – his cold glare has stifled it all.
“Funny,” he says, voice clipped. “You didn’t think to mention that at any point last night?”
You look down at your feet. “I… I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just… didn’t think it mattered.”
He half-sighs, half-growls, and you look up. He looks irritated, but underneath all that, there’s something else. Something you can’t place.
“It mattered,” he snubs. “I don’t get involved with co-workers.” The words are quiet. Flat. Like he’s reminding himself more than you.
You nod and look away, trying to hide the hurt and the disappointment that hits you in the gut like a punch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the way he shakes his head, before putting on his belt and kama. Then, he walks to the door.
But just as he steps into the hallway, he stops.
“The third assault plan?” he asks over his shoulder, without looking at you.
You glance up, cautiously. “Yes, Sir.”
“Exit plans still stand?”
“All the but the fourth one,” you reply after a second of running them over in your mind.
“Alright.”
And then he’s gone.
The moment you hear your apartment door slide open, then closed, you slump down on the bed, exhaling the long breath you were holding.
You’re not sure how to feel.
It was one night. Just one. It shouldn’t have affected you like this.
But you can’t get his words out of your mind.
And if I have my way, you’ll be mine long after that.
You wanted it. Maker, you wanted it.
But it’s definitely not going to happen now. He looked… almost offended when you said your rank. When you said you were GAR. And he was clear: he doesn’t get involved with co-workers.
A sharp pang strikes through your chest. It shouldn’t even count! You’ve never met before. Never interacted. But yes, technically you are co-workers. There’s rules against that. Harsher for him than for you, if you remember correctly.
And yet…
You stand and walk to your desk. His frequency is still there, neatly written on a pink flimsi post-it. It’s staring at you. Taunting you. He left it there… does he still want you to contact him?
He probably just forgot about it when you blindsided him.
He was clear.
He doesn’t get involved with co-workers.
You snatch it from the desk and stuff it in the drawer.
A low sigh escapes your lips as you try to push away all the memories of last night. You can still feel him. Really – you can. Your muscles are sore all over. And then you catch it in the mirror – the deep red mark he left right under your collarbone, already starting to turn purple. Your fingers gently brush over it – still stings. You’ll be feeling it for days unless you put some bacta on it.
But you don’t go into the fresher for your home medkit. Instead you grab your comm.
And curse as you see all the unread messages.
Shit. You forgot to tell Saskia you left. Or got home alright. Or didn’t die.
02:27
Saskia: Hey, girly. Sorry I got distracted. Hope you’re alright.
02:45
Saskia: You did get home, yes?
03:12
Saskia: I’m really sorry. I know tonight was supposed to be about you moving on. Say the word and I’ll ditch this guy and come to yours.
03:37
Saskia: I checked your location. I’m glad you’re home safe. Message me when you see these.
You immediately start typing.
Tessa: I am so, sooo sorry. I uhm got distracted too last night. Can you come over?
About an hour later, Saskia is at your door, typing in the code and letting herself into your apartment.
“In here,” you call from the kitchen.
The Togruta quickly strides in, placing a bag from your favourite bakery on the table.
She looks a bit uncertain, like she’s approaching a wounded animal. But then you turn to hand her a cup of caf – and she spots the hickey.
“What is that?” she asks with eyes wide and a disbelieving laugh.
“I uhh… listened to your advice,” you reply sheepishly.
Her mouth falls open. “You did not have a one-night stand!”
You chuckle nervously and nod, trying to hide your face behind your ‘Best plant mom’ mug that Saskia gifted you on Life Day four years ago.
“Tell me everything!” she exclaims as she pulls two plates from the kitchen cupboard, then divides the pastries between the two of you.
“Maker, I-I don’t even know where to start, I– This is your fault,” you accuse. “You-You influenced me or cursed me, or something.”
“Stars forbid you have a little fun,” she rolls her eyes.
“A little… Saskia I–” You plop down on a chair, setting your mug on the table so abruptly, some caf spills out. “I dragged a clone commander into my apartment at 3 am and I let him… I gave him all the control.”
“A commander?” Saskia gasps. “Look at you, punching up the ranks.” You shoot her a death glare. “Come on, it’s fine. And of course you gave him some control, those guys are intense,” she adds.
“N-No, not some.”You run your hand through your hair. “I don't think you understand, I-I folded instantly. I was like 'take me armor daddy I'm yours.' I-I don't even… how I could obey like that?!”
“Armor daddy?” she repeats with a laugh.
You freeze. “I did not just say that…” You reach for your pastry, shoving the food down your throat like it might soak up the embarrassment from your stomach. “Maker what's wrong with me?”
“So,” Saskia starts, with a wide, shit-eating grin. “Tell me more about armor daddy.”
“Please don't call him that,” you groan.
“Too late. That's his name now,” she beams, way too cheerfully. “Unless you want to give me his real one?”
“I... I don't think I should...” you say weakly. “He doesn't seem like the kind of person who likes to be advertised.”
Then you tell her everything – except his name. The Balosar girl, the thugs, the tension you could’ve cut with a vibroblade, the way he walked you home like it meant something. You gloss over the finer details – Saskia’s usually the one who gives step-by-step replays complete with dramatics and hand gestures – but you give her enough to make her jaw drop.
And then you get to this morning.
And how pissed off he looked once he found out you’re in the GAR.
“You need to comm him!” Saskia proclaims.
“He said he doesn’t date co-workers,” you object.
“Oh come on. It’s not like you’re in the trenches with him,” Saskia argues. “You never interact with the commanders, it barely counts.”
“I think it counts for him…” You stand and take the empty caf cups to the dishwasher, groaning loudly when you open it and it’s full of clean dishes you forgot to put away. You really need to tidy up a bit. “And I shouldn’t anyway. I shouldn’t just jump right into another man’s arms. I don’t think I’ve even processed–”
“Screw that asshole!” Saskia interjects. “Armor daddy sounds like he treated you better in one night than he did in two years.”
You snort a laugh. “I think you’re a little biased. You never liked Jaxan.”
“Damn right I never did. He’s a piece of shit,” she echoes, crossing her arms over her chest.
You lean against the counter. “He really is, isn’t he?”
Saskia gives you a look that says finally – like she’s been waiting for you to say that for a year.
You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay. So I made a bad call… Or several.”
“And now you’re gonna make better ones,” she replies, already walking to the dishwasher to unload it. “Starting with a comm to armor daddy.”
“Please stop calling him that,” you groan.
“Never,” she chirps, passing you the clean cutlery.
Despite your friend’s instance, you decide not to comm him.
Even though you can’t stop thinking about him.
For an entire week, he’s the only person on your mind.
At first, you tell yourself it’s professional. The 104th is deployed in one of your quadrants. He’s out there, following your strategies. You’re responsible for their success. For their survival.
You check every update. Skim mission logs. Linger on anything that mentions him.
Purely professional curiosity.
Until it’s not.
Until you’re home again, standing in front of the mirror at night, staring at the fading mark beneath your collarbone. It should’ve healed by now. But you didn’t use bacta. You left it untouched. A quiet reminder that you were his.
And you keep being his in your dreams and fantasies. In the quiet hours, when your hand slips beneath the covers and finds your core. It’s his eyes that fuel the fire. His commanding voice that tips you over the edge.
After a week you tell yourself enough is enough. You’re being ridiculous.
You force yourself to focus on your other assignments. You stop checking for the 104th in the logs. Which, in hindsight, was not the best approach...
Because you didn’t hear about their return on Coruscant.
And, inevitably, you’re totally blindsided when you run into him.
You’re heading down the corridor at HQ, a stack of flimsi files and a datapad balanced wearily in your arms, on your way back from yet another soul-draining meeting with your captain and other senior officers. Once again, he nit-picked every fleet position you proposed for the Tennuutta sector – in front of everyone – like you’re a damn cadet still learning how a map works.
You round the corner toward the lifts–
And freeze.
Your stomach drops and panic takes over – spreading slowly like a drop of ink in the water.
Wolffe is there.
Right there. Just a few meters ahead. Full armor, arms crossed over his chest, cybernetic eye gleaming under the flickering fluorescent lights. He’s turned slightly away, deep in conversation with a trooper in yellow-marked armor.
He hasn’t seen you yet.
You can still escape.
You spin on your heels fast. Too fast. And slam straight into another clone.
Your entire stack of files goes flying, and the datapad hits the floor with a tragic-sounding crunch.
“Shit! I’m so sorry!” you blurt out, already dropping to your knees to scramble for the chaos. “I-I didn’t see you.”
The trooper grunts something resembling “don’t worry” as he crouches to help.
Why did this have to happen to you? You start praying – silently, frantically – to every god you’ve ever heard of that he won’t notice. That he’ll turn back into the briefing room. Get called away. Walk in the opposite direction. Anything.
But the longer it takes to gathers the mess, the less likely you are to escape unnoticed.
Your heart’s ramming against your ribcage, your hands visibly trembling as you grab the last flimsi sheet. Then you stand – and against your better judgment, you glance over.
And immediately regret it.
Wolffe is looking straight at you. And it’s not a glance or a casual, disinterested flicker of awareness.
He's watching you. Just watching. His expression infuriatingly unreadable.
He doesn't seem shocked. Or bored. Or pleased. He's just... watching.
And his intense, steady gaze has you caught in a vice.
It’s almost… magnetic. You almost take a step towards him–
But reality comes crashing through. He was clear when he left your apartment. This can’t go any further. Anything you say now – anything you do – will only embarrass you.
More than you already have…
You mutter another sorry to the poor clone trooper you collided with, then turn and bolt towards the stairs.
You ran.
You saw him – and ran.
The echoes of your footsteps still ring in Wolffe’s mind as he stares at the now-empty corridor. But those echoes are drowned out by the fear he saw in your eyes.
And he saw it clearly. His cybernetic eye had adjusted automatically, focusing in on the tremble in your hands. The urgency in your movements. The panic on your face.
Did you regret it? Regret him?
He’d moved too fast. You were too vulnerable. He should’ve stayed in control – shouldn’t have given in to your melodic pleading.
But the way you asked him to stay. The way you begged to be seen. To be wanted.
And Maker, he wanted you.
From the second you shouted for his blaster. From the fire in your eyes, the determination to help someone in need.
No. Earlier than that.
It was when he saw you at the bar. A little out of place. Eyes downcast. Still smiling for your friend’s sake. Still showing up and trying to enjoy a night out. All in spite of the melancholy you were carrying.
You intrigued him.
And he bent his rules so he could pull you apart and figure you out.
But now you’d just looked at him like he was a threat. And Maker help him, it rattled him more than he liked.
“You okay?” Bly’s voice cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Wolffe grunts. He’d nearly forgotten his vod was still there. He tries to tune back into the conversation, but you won’t leave his mind. Your face, your eyes, the way you hesitated.
You hesitated.
You didn’t run right away. Some part of you had wanted to stay. And he decides right then and there that he’s going to figure out which part.
“Where are you going?” Bly asks as Wolffe turns and walks past him.
“To track someone down,” he mutters.
You return to your station in the Intelligence Hub as if nothing happened, dropping the flimsi files on the desk with a defeated sigh. Well, you did spend about ten minutes with your back pressed against the wall in the staircase, focusing on your breathing – but no one needs to know that.
The chair scrapes when you pull it, just enough to slip in the seat. Once settled, you turn your attention to your poor datapad, grimacing at the large zigzag crack that takes up half the screen.
“Please,” you whisper as you attempt to turn the device on.
But no matter how many time you furiously press the power button, the datapad refuses to cooperate. Yeah… it’s dead. You figured.
“That is tragic,” Tully remarks, appearing behind you, fresh cup of caf in hand. “What d’you do, throw it at Zadir’s head?”
You lean back in the chair to glare at the clone. “Funny. Although I was tempted.”
“Let me guess,” he drawls, sitting down at his terminal, which is right by yours, “he redlined all your suggestions. Again.”
“My blockade proposal requires ‘too many resources’,” you complain, tone mocking as you quote you Captain’s words. “Which we could’ve easily rerouted from Kashyyyk.”
“But that’s not in your Area of Responsibility and he made sure to remind you of that, correct?” Tully says.
“You know it,” you murmur, lowering your voice when noticing Captain Zadir enter through the durasteel doors.
The Iktotchi doesn’t even glance your way as he walks past yours and Tully’s terminals, heading straight for the permaglass-walled office sitting in the back of the bullpen. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he resumes his usual position behind his desk. Always observing all of you. Scrutinising your every move. Judging your efficiency.
Maker, it’s exhausting.
“I’d offer to help figure out resource distribution,” Tully continues, pulling up a star chart on his terminal screen. “But I have my own mess to clean up in Q12.”
You drag your chair closer to his in order to better see the screen. “Stars, that is bad.”
“That’s what happens when you have the 501st in one of your quadrants,” he grumbles.
“I’ve somehow been spared so far,” you say, pushing away from his terminal and turning your attention back to the dead datapad.
You try everything you can think of you get it to work, dreading having to go up to Technical Support for a new one. With the 104th just returned on Coruscant, there’s a risk of running into Wolffe again on the Logistics level – a risk you’re not willing to take.
The only thing you manage to do it take the back of the device off, leaving you staring at a jumble of wires and circuits you have no chance of understanding. That doesn’t stop you from trying however, and you become so engrossed in the task, you don’t even realise when the ever-present hum of chatter abruptly fades, and an unusual quiet settles over the room. Not until Tully’s question reaches you.
“Kriff, what’s a commander doing here?”
“W-What?” you ask, head snapping up.
You swear your heart stops when you see Wolffe looming in the doorway, his piercing gaze scanning the room until it lands on you. Just like earlier in the corridor, you simply cannot look away – and the Commander holds the steady, intense eye contact as he crosses the space, coming to a stop right in front of your terminal.
“Lieutenant Hart. A word.” His voice is low and steady, but holding that edge of authority that instantly lets you know you have no choice but do as he says.
Tully shoots you a quick, very confused and worried glance. You gulp, placing the broken datapad on the table before standing to follow, fiddling with the hem of your uniform coat.
He moves, not even bothering to check that you are following – he knows you are. He knows you’ll obey. All the eyes in the room track you and the Commander during the short walk to the captain’s private office. Zadir’s already standing in the doorway, clearly nervous despite attempting to appear composed and unconcerned.
“Commander, to what do we–”
“Out,” Wolffe orders.
“E-Excuse me?”
“I need your office for a private conversation with the lieutenant here,” Wolffe says, tone clearly irritated at having to explain himself. “Do I need to repeat the order, Captain?”
“No, Sir,” Zadir mutters.
If you weren’t dreading the prospect of being alone with Wolffe in such a confined space, you might’ve really enjoyed the way he chewed up your overbearing captain.
Who are you kidding? You did enjoy it, and cannot wait to make fun of it with Tully later. If you survive whatever confrontation awaits you next, that is.
The Iktotchi steps aside, his face a darker shade of brown than normal. Once again, Wolffe marches on ahead, no glance spared behind to make sure you’re still with him.
“Close the door,” he instructs.
Naturally, you obey without question. Wolffe heads to Zadir’s desk, engaging the Privacy Shield that turns the permaglass opaque, blocking any prying eyes from observing your conversation.
The space around you instantly constricts as the windows become walls, almost as if they were never transparent to begin with. You can no longer see the rows of terminals, nor hear your colleagues’ whispers or the ever-present typing and beeping that makes up the soundtrack of your work life. It almost feels like the office isn’t properly ventilated now that the door is closed – but that’s probably due to the fact that your heart is beating so fast, you cannot catch your breath.
Wolffe turns and leisurely leans against the desk, his eyes slowly dragging up your uniform, starting at the polished boots and pausing when reaching the lieutenant bars on your chest, before finally settling on your face.
He crosses his arms and arches one brow, waiting. But your brain is no longer cooperating with the rest of your body.
“Explain yourself,” he prompts.
“…Explain?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Wolffe warns, his controlled cadence lowering the temperature in the room.
You wrap your arms around yourself. “I panicked… I guess.”
Another beat of silence. He sighs; it actually sounds a little frustrated.
“Is that all you have to say?”
Suddenly, your brain remembers where you are – and more importantly who you are and who you are standing in front of. A commander. A superior officer.
Your arms drop as you straighten at attention. “I apologise, Sir. My behaviour was unprofessional.”
“I’m not here in a professional capacity, sweetheart,” Wolffe scoffs.
The pet name catches you off-guard. Even though his tone is anything but affectionate, a hopeful warmth still spreads through your chest, and your shoulders unconsciously relax. Not by much, but just enough to make you realise that the urge to bolt out the door is starting to melt away.
“I’m here to find out why you ran,” he continues. “And why I bothered leaving you my frequency since you seem to have forgotten how a comm works.”
“I thought…” you start, brows furrowed in deep confusion. Slowly, however, the confusion turns into indignation – you replayed that moment in your mind countless times. He was clear, you’re sure of it. Or, you were anyway. “But you said you don’t get involved with co-workers.”
A muscle ticks in Wolffe’s clenched jaw. “I stated that as a fact. I avoid getting involved with co-workers because it’s messy and risky.” He straightens from the desk, levelling you with a pointed glare. “But I told you before we even got to the bedroom that I was making an exception for you. And I left my private frequency on your desk even after you gave me your rank. What – did you think I just forgot it there?”
You bite your lip and stare down at the floor, absently rocking back on your heels. That was, in fact, exactly what you believed – and the thought of having to admit that and look like a kriffing idiot in front of him makes your stomach twist. Because this is a ruthlessly efficient and highly decorated clone commander you’re talking about. And yet, somehow, you thought he could ever be carelessly forgetful.
“I… I guess I got stuck on the co-worker part and made a flawed assumption,” you quietly confess, managing, with some difficulty, to meet his gaze again. “I’m sorry.”
Wolffe swipes a hand over his face, letting out a loud, irritated exhale.
“Alright,” he huffs. “I can understand why you came to the wrong conclusion, and how I share some of the blame. I should’ve been clearer. But what I still do not understand is what happened earlier in the corridor.”
“You and me both…” you mumble, retreating back into yourself. Today truly hasn’t been your day, and right now, you’re starting to feel small. Maybe you should just ask to be dismissed.
Wolffe catches the way you subtly inch back toward the closed door.
“Come closer,” he says, voice calm but firm.
Once again, you obey without thinking, your body simply overriding all the self-doubt floating around your mind and taking a couple unsure steps until you’re stood right in front of him.
“Good girl,” he rasps.
Maker, your breath instantly catches in your throat.
“Why did you run, Tessa?”
You shake your head. “I don’t know.”
“You do,” he insists firmly. “Why did you run?”
“I… I didn’t expect to see you. I was worried you didn’t want to see me. I–”
You abruptly stop. The words are there, on the tip of your tongue. They've been there the entire time. But should you say them out loud? Should you make them real?
“Go on,” he encourages.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“And that scares you.” It's not a question – it's a statement. He can read you like an open book.
You nod and look away.
“If you want to pretend it didn't happen, I'll let you. The door is unlocked – you can walk away right now.” He steps closer and places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up. “But I have a feeling that's not what you want.”
His touch sends an electrical current throughout your body, instantly awakening a deep burning desire. Something you’ve been trying so hard to bury, thinking there was no point in holding on to any hope. The need to be his.
“No, Sir,” you answer, suddenly breathless.
A faint smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. “Then what do you want? Tell me.” He leans in slightly, his thumb slowly tracing your jawline. “Or show me if that's easier.”
It is easier. So you lift on your tiptoes and kiss him, your hands bracing against his chestplate.
The moment your lips touch, Wolffe takes over. Honestly, what else did you expect? One strong arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you flush against him, while the hand on your jaw moves until it anchors on the back of your neck. You feel his fingers slide into the hair at the base of your skull, but he holds himself back, careful not to unravel your snug regulation bun. He’d love noting more than to tangle his hands in the soft strands of your hair, but you are not in a place he can freely do so.
But it’s no issue.
He can tear you apart while still maintaining appearances.
Wolffe claims your mouth just as confidently as the last time you were together, filling it with that familiar, peppery taste of tabac once his tongue pushes in past your lips. You whimper and slide your hands around his neck, meeting him with the enthusiasm of two weeks of pent-up longing.
The kiss deepens, and, to your surprise, he allows you to change the pace. Not that you realise what you’re doing exactly – you just get lost in the taste of him, the smell, the feel of his slick tongue taking what he wants. What belongs to him. So you kiss him back frantically, fingernails raking through his short hair and body pressed impossibly tight against his armor, as if you’re trying to melt into it.
Your desperation actually seems to spur Wolffe on. He grunts when your teeth catch his bottom lip, letting his hand fall from your back to your ass. When he gives it a harsh squeeze, you actually gasp, and Wolffe takes advantage of your parted lips to shove his tongue back into your mouth. He’s devouring you, inundating all your senses until the only thing you’re sure of is the solidity of him.
Suddenly the room spins, and you find your backside pressed against a hard surface. At first you don’t even register it, completely lost in the daze of the mind-numbing kiss. But the gears of your strategist mind keep turning, reminding you of your surroundings.
The surface you’re leaning on is your captain’s desk.
You’re in the captain’s office.
The realisation hits you like a splash of cold water. You break the kiss, almost heaving from its intensity as your eyes hurry to inspect the permaglass walls. Despite all your worries, they haven’t suddenly gone back to transparent and you sigh out a breath of relief.
Wolffe chuckles at your reaction. The sound is low and smooth, and somehow makes you imagine resting your head on a silk pillow. His hands come to rest on the edge of the desk on either side of your body, effectively caging you in.
“Do you really think your captain would dare interrupt a Commander’s private conversation?” he challenges, tone a little mocking.
“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “But it’s… a rather long conversation. People might start wondering…”
“You’re right,” he agrees. And yet, he doesn’t move. His voice drops an octave when he next speaks, “But you don’t really expect me to just let you walk away with zero consequences, do you?”
You stare up at him, completely mesmerised by the shift in his tone and the shadow of hunger that darkens his eyes.
“I asked a question,” he scolds.
“N-No, Sir,” you manage to croak.
“I will look past the comm incident this time – and only this time – since it was a misunderstanding,” Wolffe continues, his intense gaze burning into you. “But what you did earlier, mesh'la? Running away from me? That's not behaviour I tolerate.” He leans in closer, his large frame completely filling your field of vision. “And I'm going to correct it, right now.”
All you can do is give a weak nod, signalling that you’re still with him. But how could you not be? The rough edges in his voice scratch something in your brain, keeping you hanging on his every word.
Wolffe watches the small movement of your head, a dangerous smirk returning to his lips. “Agreeing so quickly? You don’t even know what I have in mind.”
“I want it!” The rushed confession leaves your lips before you’ve even processed the words. Your face is burning, but you don’t care anymore. All you care about is the man standing in front of you. “W-Whatever it is I… I want it.”
His entire body tenses as he takes in a long, controlled breath. The plastoid of his armor silently clatters when he shifts closer, his chest nearly touching yours. He’s so close now, you can easily see how blown the pupil in his natural eye is, the honey-brown of the iris only a thin ring around it.
“Keep talking like that, little strategist,” he warns, voice dropping to a low growl, “and I’m gonna take you fully, right here on this desk.”
You do have an effect on him, and that fact sends a surge of pride throughout your body. You bite your lip; his gaze briefly drop to the movement before returning to your eyes.
“This is how it’s gonna work,” Wolffe says, suddenly gripping your hips harshly in order to wipe that self-satisfied look from your face. “I'm gonna make you come on my fingers. Do you want that?”
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
His eyes soften for just a brief moment. “Still so polite. But I have one condition. You are not allowed to make a single sound. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” you agree.
“Good girl,” he rumbles.
The praise goes straight to your core, and you whine without meaning to.
Wolffe gives you a stern look. “What did I just say?”
“I'm sorry Sir. I wasn't ready to start. I won't make a sound,” you promise, the words coming out breathlessly.
“You better not.” He leans down, his nose brushing along your cheek before he brings his lips right by your ear. “Cause if you do, all those people outside this office will hear. And you don’t want that, do you?”
You almost respond, but immediately close your mouth and shake your head instead. Wolffe seems pleased with your quick learning – you feel a huff of hot air on the shell of your ear as he silently chuckles.
He pulls back, just enough to find your eyes again as he swiftly removes his right glove. Before you can even process the seductive image, his fingers are already unbuttoning your trousers, slipping in to drag over your panties. It’s a tight fit, but he makes it work.
Your hands brace behind you, grabbing the edge of the desk for support; the surface is still warm from where his own hands have been just a moment ago. A soft gasp leaves your lips at the careful pressure Wolffe applies to your clit, and with an automatic movement, you rut your hips into his palm, hoping to encourage him to press harder.
His eyes darken, and with his free hand, he grips your hip harshly, pushing you back into the desk. There’ll probably be five round bruises on your skin tomorrow.
“You will take what I give you, mesh’la,” he growls. “Understood?”
Shame and embarrassment burn your cheeks, but you manage to respond to his question with a series of quick nods.
His fingers slowly drag along your sex, parting your folds through the thin fabric. All your focus is currently poured into keeping your mouth closed and willing your body not to chase the pleasure it desperately wants.
Your eyes dart over his shoulder to the opaque windows of the office. Your colleagues are on the other side. Your captain, who already doesn't like you, is on the other side. If anyone were to walk in they'd find you in a decisively compromising position. But as mortifying as the thought is, you cannot lie that it's not also extraordinarily arousing.
Wolffe lets out a displeased grunt, and suddenly a sharp sting stabs through your core as he pinches your clit between his thumb and forefinger. Your hands lock tighter on the desk edge and you look up at him in a mixture of shock and outrage, but all you're met with is that dark glare of twisted satisfaction. He did say this was a correction. And he sure is enjoying tormenting you.
“Eyes on me!” he orders.
Your jaw is clenched shut to keep the cry at bay, but a chocked half-whimper still sounds in your throat. It’s quiet enough not to anger him further, and Wolffe releases your clit, trailing his fingertips down to your entrance.
How he can look so completely calm and collected in this situation is simply impossible for your brain to comprehend. If you were allowed to speak, this would be the part where you'd start begging to be touched properly, and you channel all that pleading into your facial expression as your breathing gets heavier.
Either by mercy or because he is also aware of the time pressure, Wolffe pushes your underwear to the side, and hums a low note of approval, satisfied to find how wet you already are for him.
The feeling of his fingers sliding through your folds unrestricted by a barrier of fabric sends your reeling. You bite your lip, struggling to keep your eyes open. Wolffe thoroughly coats his fingers with your slick, before one digit starts teasing your entrance, ever so slightly dipping in.
He tilts his head, pausing just enough to check that the desperate look in your eyes holds no trace of hesitancy. Then he thrusts the finger deep inside of you.
Your jaw drops at the intrusion, a huff of surprise and pleasure driven out of your lungs.
He doesn’t ease you into it – Wolffe sets a quick, rough pace, pumping in and out of you with striking determination. Sharp tingles of pleasure burst in your core every time his fingertip reaches your sweet spot. You try to centre yourself in an effort to keep still; the urge to grind down and meet his thrusts is buzzing in your mind like a bad idea disguised in the armor of a dream. You draw in a long breath – he’s already warned you once and you shouldn’t push his buttons. Not if you want to finish anytime soon. The breath stays trapped in your lungs a few seconds, before you release it in a shaky exhale.
The Commander has the nerve to chuckle, watching you desperately trying to be good for him. The sound is low and dark, and you almost want to throw the whole silent obedience out the window and curse him.
But all thoughts are driven out of your mind when he inserts a second finger into you, stretching you open even wider. The pleasure is doubled in an instant, especially with the heel of his palm brushing your clit with every stroke, and you lean back into the desk, your knees suddenly trembling just as badly as your lower lip.
When he starts working you in a scissoring motion you nearly moan out loud, and your grip on the plasteel surface tightens almost painfully. Everything about what’s going on is intoxicating in the best way possible. The semi-public place you’re in, the wet squelch coming from between your legs and your ragged breathing being the only sounds filling the space, and the look in his eyes – Maker, his predatory gaze is everything you’ve been dreaming about for days. And paired with the way he’s finger fucking you into oblivion? You can feel the climax swiftly approaching.
Your face is probably twisted, lips parted, brows knitted together. You want to scream – Maker, you want to scream – or moan or whimper or anything. But nothing except a blissed-out exhales leave you.
He's watching you. Closely. There's a smirk on his face that tells you exactly how much he's enjoying this, having you fall apart on his hand. The pistoning of his fingers is relentless, and the building pressure is too much. Despite your best efforts, your eyelids fall shut, squeezed together tightly.
Suddenly, his fingers stop their movement, pressing together harshly on your front wall, while the heel of his palm presses on your clit.
“I said eyes on me,” he growls.
You manage to pry them open just as his gravelly voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your mouth opens wider in a silent scream as a shockwave of pleasure ripples through your body. Wolffe resumes the steady drag of his fingers, working you through the very intense orgasm until your breath is fast and shallow as the euphoria reaches its peak.
Only then does Wolffe slows down, and you double over, forehead falling onto his chestplate. The cool plastoid on your heated skin is a welcome relief.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” he commands.
You feel the chestplate vibrate more than hear the actual words, every sound still drowned out by your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. The breath you draw in is urgent, and it burns your overworked lungs. His free hand slowly starts rubbing your back, helping you come down from your high.
“You did very well,” he praises, carefully pulling his fingers out of you.
The intention to thank him is there – you swear it is. But as you straighten to meet his gaze, you nearly come again, walls clenching around nothing just from watching Wolffe raise his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of the evidence of your pleasure.
“I knew you’d taste perfect,” he rasps.
This time, there’s no stopping a small whine from escaping.
“Make yourself presentable,” Wolffe orders, any trace of awe in his voice instantly gone.
With shaky hands, you button up your trousers and straighten your uniform, while the Commander pulls his glove back on. Then, he holds out the hand in front of you.
“Comlink.”
You rummage through your pockets, nearly dropping the device before managing to place it in his open palm. Wolffe pulls his own from a belt pouch – he must not trust that you’ll use it this time, deciding to take matters into his own hands and get your frequency himself.
“I’m going to send you some research about what I want from you,” he tells you, passing your comm back. His eyes are locked on yours, gaze steady and serious. “You have seventy-two hours to read through everything and make up your mind. If you’re not interested in what I’m proposing, you send a comm and tell me – no hard feelings, you can just walk away. But if I don’t hear from you, I will assume you want to move forward and I’ll come by your apartment to discuss terms and begin drafting the contract.”
“Contract?” you ask, brows pinched and voice embarrassingly small.
Wolffe grabs your chin firmly, making sure your eyes stay on him. “I told you, mesh’la, I want you to be mine.” He leans forward, his hot breath fanning on your face. “But I’m a very… particular man, and I want things done a certain way.”
You gulp, but manage to give a weak nod of agreement, as much as his grip allows your head to move. Wolffe releases you and steps back; the absence of his warm touch echoes like a cold scream inside your mind. He then gives you a quick once-over, making sure you look ready to step outside.
“If anyone asks,” he starts, his voice returned to the durasteel tone of the Commander, “I spent the last forty minutes walking you through how I applied your strategy in the field. And the reason you’re flustered is because I lectured you on failing to predict the tectonic shifts that–”
“Tectonic shifts?” you interrupt. You know by now that talking over him is a bad idea, but this is your work he’s criticising, and you will defend it no matter what. “There was a 0.5% chance of a tectonic shift, that is a completely acceptable margin of error.”
Wolffe takes a step right into your space, a dark, sharp glint in his natural eye. “For anyone in the GAR, yes. But not for the unreasonable commander of the 104th. The tectonic shifts did happen, and they knocked the targeting sensors on the canons off by five centimetres. No one could’ve predicted it and it was an easy fix. It’s a cover story, sweetheart, not a reprimand.”
“So you’re not… upset I missed a small detail?” you ask. Maybe it’s pathetic, but right now, you crave his approval more than air.
Wolffe cups your cheek, his gloved thumb brushing your skin in a surprisingly gentle way. “You did very well, mesh’la. Your strategy saved a lot of my men. But when you walk back out there, I need everyone to have a reason to pity you, not wonder what happened in this office.”
The logic is sound, so you give a small nod, your heart soaring from his praise. Wolffe’s thumb lingers on your cheek a moment longer than necessary, then, unexpectedly, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, but firm kiss. It’s no longer a challenge or a claim – it feels more like a promise.
“Seventy-two hours,” he says, voice a rough whisper. “I hope you’re a fast reader.”
He lets go of your face and turns to the door, his posture back to that picture-perfect military rigidity. With a sharp hiss, the door slides open, allowing the cool, bright light of the Intelligence Hub to slip inside.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant!” he barks, stepping out the office and crossing the entire room without a glance spared back at you.
If the ghost of his kiss wasn’t still lingering on your lips, you might actually believe he was angry. But he was generous enough to give you the reassurance you craved, and your heart is certain he meant it.
You take a deep breath, then walk back to your terminal, head hung low, all too aware of your colleagues’ curious eyes and whispers following you the entire way.
Tully barely waits for Zadir to head back into his office before pulling his chair closer to you, his voice hushed and full of concern.
“What happened?”
“Uh… debrief,” you mutter.
“Debrief?” the clone repeats, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. “You have to give me more than that.”
“He was…” you start, trying your hardest to focus on your cover story and not on the dampness you can still feel between your legs as you shift in your chair. Some of your other colleagues are trying to eavesdrop – you can tell – so you make sure to talk loud enough for them to hear. “Commander Wolffe and the 104th used my strategies on their latest campaign. He wasn’t happy I didn’t account for the 0.5% chance of tectonic shifts.”
Tully leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “I heard the guy’s unreasonable, but Maker, 0.5? He’s not gonna write you up for this, is he?”
“Uh… no, I don’t think so,” you say, turning your attention back to the terminal. "He just... tore me a new one."
The clone seems satisfied with your explanation, and returns to his work on the Q12 clean-up. You try to do the same, try to focus on your own work – but when your comm buzzes a few minutes later and you steal a glance and see a new chat with “W”, you just know you’re not getting anything more done the rest of the day.
You use your broken datapad as an excuse to leave, and once in the privacy of a turbolift, you open one of the many HoloNet links that Wolffe has sent.
The already compact space of the lift seems to constrict even more, and you gulp as you skim through the article. The words ‘BDSM’ and ‘Power Exchange’ make your heart race – but you’re not sure if in fear of excitement.
Maybe a combination of both.
What you are sure of is that you cannot handle all the research on your own. Your fingers bring up your chat with Saskia almost automatically, and you type and send one quick message.
Tessa: Mine after work? Need your help with something. Also you will not believe the day I had…
