I saw that your requests are open! I was wondering if i could ask for a Hunter x fem reader fic?
Iâve been struggling with mental health recently (seasonal depression is no joke and experiencing major burnout/ been laying in bed for the past few days đ)â so Iâd LOVE a fic thatâs fluffy and comforting! I like to think that with his enhanced senses, Hunter can quite literally pick up on how anyone is feeling in the way they are breathing/ heartbeats.
Would love interactions with all the squad! I think itâd be genuinely healing to be comforted by all of them lol
So yeah! I love your writing so much! No pressure to write this one! Thanks!!
.â Ëââ§âË â One Day at a Time .â Ëââ§âË â
Plot Summary: Hunter notices through his enhanced senses that you've been struggling with depression and burnout for days. With the help of the Bad Batch, he gently pulls you out of isolation and reminds you that you don't have to face the heavy days alone.
Warnings: reader is depressed/burnt out, descriptions of depression/burnout, light mentions of food and eating, light tears, mental health, hurt/comfort, the boys comfort her, can be read as platonic or romantic
Author's Note: Ahhh Jac!! Thank you so much for submitting this request! I am SO sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy it. I struggle to write characters being a little upset, so I hope it reads well enough to you. Thank you for all the support, this was so fun to write!! <3
Hunter noticed it before anyone else did.
He always did.
It started three rotations ago, with a slight irregularity in your breathing pattern. The rhythm was off, shallow and slow, like your lungs had forgotten why they needed to fill all the way. Your heartbeat told a similar story, sluggish and heavy, each beat requiring more effort than it should.
Now, standing outside what could be called your quarters on the Marauder, he pressed his palm flat against the cold metal door. The ship hummed beneath his feet, that familiar vibration heâd learned to tune out years ago, but he focused past it. Through the door, he could hear you. The rustle of sheets. A long, shaky exhale. The quiet that followed felt heavy, oppressive, like the air pressure had shifted in that small space.
Heâd tried giving you distance. Three rotations of it. Three rotations of watching you retreat further into yourself, your smiles not quite reaching your eyes, your voice a little too flat when you spoke. Tech had asked you about the datapad modifications yesterday, and Hunter had tracked the way you moved slower than usual, how your fingers fumbled with the tools like they weighed too much. Youâd laughed it off. Made some joke about needing caf.
But your laugh sounded wrong. Empty.
Hunter knocked, two gentle raps of his knuckles.
âYeah?â Your voice came muffled through the door, and he heard the scrape of movement, like you were trying to sit up.
âItâs me. Can I come in?â
A pause. He could sense your heartbeat, that same slow, heavy rhythm. âSure.â
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and he took in the scene with quiet concern. The bunk was a mess of tangled blankets, and you were half buried in them, propped against the wall. The lighting was dim, just the faint emergency strips along the floor, and in that low amber glow, he could see the exhaustion carved into your features. Dark circles shadowed your eyes. Your hair was disheveled. When you looked at him, there was a brittleness in your expression, like a leaf curling in on itself at the end of autumn, brown at the edges and barely clinging to the branch.
âHey.â You tried for casual, but your voice cracked on the single syllable.
Hunter stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He could sense everything in the cramped quarters. The stale air that meant you hadnât left this room in hours. The faint salt scent of tears, old ones, dried on your skin. The weight in your limbs when he moved closer, like gravity had doubled and you were too tired to fight it.
He didnât ask if you were okay. That wouldâve been pointless. Instead, he crossed to the bunk and sat on the edge, careful not to crowd you but close enough that his presence couldnât be ignored.
âYou havenât been sleeping.â It wasnât a question.
Your laugh came out tired, threadbare. âThat obvious?â
âYour heartbeatâs been off. Slower.â He kept his tone soft, non-judgmental. âHas been for days.â
Something flickered across your face, surprise maybe, or embarrassment, and you looked away. Your fingers twisted in the blanket draped over your lap, worrying at a loose thread, the movement automatic and listless. âIâm fine, Hunter. Just tired.â
âYouâre not fine.â
The words hung between you, simple and irrefutable, and he watched your shoulders sag. The fight drained out of you all at once, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable. Your breathing stayed shallow, deliberate, like each inhale was something you had to remember to do.
âI donât know whatâs wrong with me.â
Hunterâs chest ached. Heâd felt helpless before, plenty of times, usually when someone was bleeding out and the medkit was nowhere to be found. But this was different. This wasnât something he could stitch up or cauterize.
âNothingâs wrong with you,â he said firmly.
"Then why can't I just push through it?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. "You and your brothers⊠you just keep going. No matter what gets thrown at you, you adapt, you survive, you take on more. And I'm over here falling apart over nothing. I don't have a right to feel like this when you've all been through so much worse."
"Hey." Hunter's voice was firm but gentle. He shifted closer, and when you didn't pull away, he carefully wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Don't do that."
You went still for a moment, then slowly let yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his chest plate. The coolness of the armor pressed into your skin, grounding. Real.
"We keep going because we have to," he continued quietly. "Because if we stop, we don't survive. But that doesn't mean it doesn't cost us. And it doesn't mean what you're feeling isn't valid."
Comforted by the privacy of his stature, you few quiet tears slipped free, dampening the fabric near his collar. For a few moments, you simply existed there in his hold, too tired to argue, too worn down to keep pretending.
Your fingers rested against his armor and Hunter kept his hold steady, patient. He'd learned a long time ago that sometimes people didn't need him to fix things or say the right words. Sometimes they just needed someone willing to sit in the heaviness with them, to not flinch away from the weight of it.
He didn't know how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other in the dim quiet of your quarters. Long enough for his knees to start protesting the angle. Long enough for your breathing to even out, for the tension to slowly bleed from your frame. When you finally pulled back, your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, your cheeks blotchy, and Hunter thought you'd never looked more human.
"Sorry," you rasped.
He reached up, using his thumb to gently wipe away the remaining tears from your cheeks. "Don't apologize."
"I got your armor all wet."
"It'll dry." His mouth quirked, almost a smile. "Not the first time. Won't be the last."
That got a watery laugh out of you, small but genuine, and something in his chest loosened. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair back from your face with careful fingers. His hand lingered there, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, and your eyes fluttered closed at the contact.
"When's the last time you ate something?" he asked.
You were quiet for a beat too long.
"Right." He stood, already moving toward the door. "Come on."
"Hunter, I can'tâ"
"You can." He turned back, extending a hand.
Your gaze dropped to his outstretched palm, and he could see the war playing out behind your eyes. The urge to retreat, to hide, battling against something else. Something that wanted to reach out. Wanted to accept the lifeline he was offering.
Slowly, shakily, you placed your hand in his.
The main hold was empty when you arrived, but Hunter had commed ahead. By the time he got you settled on one of the supply crates, the others started filtering in. Wrecker first, his massive frame taking up most of the narrow space, and Hunter didn't miss the way the big guy's expression softened when he saw you.
"Hey!" Wrecker's voice boomed, but he tempered it, gentler than usual. "There you are! We've been missin' ya."
You managed a small smile, though it wavered at the edges. "Hi, Wrecker."
Before you could react, he crossed the hold and pulled you into a hug, lifting you clean off the crate. Your spine popped in three places, and when he set you back down, there was the ghost of relief in your posture.
"There ya go," Wrecker said proudly, like he'd just solved all your problems. He dropped down beside you, the crate groaning under his weight, and dug into his pack. "Here, I saved ya some of those dried meiloorun slices from our last supply run. The good ones, not the chewy ones Tech keeps buyin'."
Before you could thank him, Tech appeared, datapad in hand as always. He adjusted his goggles, a tell Hunter recognized as concern, and took a spot near the wall since the crates were filling up.
"I have been reviewing the sleep cycle data from the ship's environmental controls," Tech announced, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation starter. "Your quarters have been experiencing a point three degree fluctuation in temperature during the night cycle. Suboptimal conditions for rest. I will recalibrate the system."
Hunter caught the way your expression shifted, something warm breaking through the exhaustion. Tech's way of showing he cared was rarely conventional, but it was always sincere.
"Thank you, Tech," you said quietly.
"It is a simple matter of environmental regulation." He adjusted his goggles again, already pulling up the ship's schematics on his datapad. "I will have it corrected within the hour."
Omega bounded in alongside Echo, her energy infectious as always, and Echo's thoughtful as he took in the scene. He didn't say anything at first, just settled on your other side with the careful deliberation of someone who understood what it meant to have dark days. The pair watched as Omega bounded between Wrecker, eyed the dried fruit on the supply crate, and immediately grabbed a piece.
"Hey! Those are for 'er!" Wrecker protested, reaching out and snagging Omega by the ankle. She squealed, laughing as he gently tugged her off balance.
"Wrecker! Let go!"
"Not until you put it back!" But he was grinning, and Tech sighed dramatically.
"The resulting caloric loss from a single piece of fruit is negligible," Tech announced, which somehow turned into Crosshair muttering something about Tech's definition of negligible, and suddenly the three of them were bickering.
The noise created a pocket of space, and Echo used it. His scomp link rested against his knee, and after a moment, he spoke, his voice low enough that only you and Hunter could hear.
"You know, after Skako Minor, there were days I couldn't get out of my rack." His voice was quiet, matter of fact. "Felt like I was still in that stasis chamber sometimes. Like I'd forgotten how to be a person."
Hunter watched you turn toward Echo, really look at him, and saw recognition flicker in your eyes. Someone who understood.
"What did you do?" you asked.
"Learned it was okay to have those days. That they didn't make me broken." Echo's organic hand came to rest on your shoulder, a solid, grounding weight. "And I let these idiots help, even when I didn't want to."
A scoff came from the shadows near the weapons rack, and Hunter's jaw tightened as Crosshair stepped into the dim light, a toothpick rolling between his lips. The sniper had been lingering there the whole time, Hunter realized, listening but keeping his distance.
"You gonna lecture her about feelings now?" Crosshair drawled, but there was no real bite to it.
"Cross," Hunter warned.
But you surprised them both by letting out a weak laugh. "It's okay."
Crosshair studied you for a long moment, his keen eyes picking apart details the way he'd scan a battlefield. Then he moved, fluid and precise, dropping something into your lap. A small toolkit, the one you'd been looking for two rotations ago when you'd mentioned your datapad acting up.
"Found it in the cargo hold," he said with a shrug, like it was nothing. Like he hadn't spent time searching for it because he'd noticed you needed it. "Figured you'd want it back."
Your fingers closed around the toolkit, and Hunter tracked the shift in your pulse. Steadier now. Calmer.
"Thank you," you whispered.
Crosshair's expression didn't change, but he gave a short nod before retreating back to his corner.
The conversation around you continued, Wrecker now trying to convince Omega that she owed you two pieces of fruit for stealing one, her protest dissolving into giggles. In the midst of the chaos, she wiggled free and plopped down near you, still clutching her contraband.
"Will you help me with my studies later?" she asked, bumping her shoulder against yours. "There's this navigation problem I can't figure out. You're way better at explaining than Tech."
"I am right here," Tech said without looking up from his datapad.
"You use too many big words," Omega replied simply, popping the fruit into her mouth with a satisfied grin.
You huffed a laugh, and Hunter felt it like a victory. He moved to the small galley counter, pulling together something simple. Ration bars weren't exactly gourmet, but he warmed them up, added some of the preserved fruit they'd bartered for on their last supply run, and poured a cup of caf that he deliberately made weaker than you usually took it. You needed rest more than stimulants.
"I'm not really hungry," you started, but he cut you off with a look.
"Try anyway."
Hunter set the plate within reach, then settled onto the crate beside you. His shoulder pressed against yours, a steady point of contact.
The conversation flowed around you, Wrecker recounting some ridiculous story about a mission gone sideways, Omega interjecting with her own commentary, Tech fact-checking every third sentence. It was noise, familiar and comforting, and Hunter kept his attention split between the banter and you. Monitoring. Making sure you didn't fade away.
At some point, you picked at the food. Not much, but it did taste a lot better than regular ration bars.
After the food was cleared, Omega tugged on your sleeve. "Come on, I wanna show you something."
You let her pull you to your feet, and Hunter watched as she led you toward the bunks, chattering about a new holonovel she'd found. Tech followed, still lecturing about proper narrative structure, and Wrecker clapped a massive hand on your shoulder as he passed, gentle despite his strength.
Hunter stayed in the galley, giving you space but keeping his senses attuned. He could track your movement through the ship, could hear Omega's bright voice and your softer responses. The knot that had been sitting in his gut for three days was finally starting to unravel.
Later, after Omega had fallen asleep mid-sentence and Tech had retreated to his data analysis, Hunter found you standing in the corridor outside your "quarters." You were staring at the door like it was some kind of insurmountable obstacle, your arms wrapped around yourself.
He approached slowly, deliberately making noise so he wouldn't startle you. "Need company?"
You turned, and in the low light, your eyes were overly bright. "I don't want to be alone," you admitted, the words so quiet he almost missed them. "But I don't want to be a burden either."
"You're not." He moved closer, closing the distance until he was right in front of you. "You could never be."
"Hunter..."
You were quiet for a long moment, staring at the door like it took too much energy to look at him. "I don't know how to make it stop."
"You don't have to fix it tonight." Hunter shifted closer, his presence solid and unhurried. "Just get through tonight. Then we'll handle tomorrow when it comes."
"One day at a time?"
"One day at a time," he confirmed. "And you're not doing it alone."
Your breath shuddered out, something loosening in your chest. "Thank you. For... for checking on me. For bringing everyone together like that." You glanced back toward where the main hold was, where you could still hear the muffled sounds of the squad settling in for the night. "I know I've been useless lately, but you all... you didn't have to do any of this."
"You're not useless," Hunter said firmly. "And we wanted to. All of us."
Your breath hitched, and then you were surging forward, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried against his chest again. Hunter held you close, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your shoulders. He could feel your heartbeat against his, no longer stalling nor racing, but settling into a rhythm that matched his own.
"Stay," you mumbled against his armor. "Please."
"He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, soft and lingering. "Okay."
He guided you back into your quarters, and this time the space didn't feel oppressive. He shed his armor, piece by piece, setting it carefully aside until he was down to his blacks. You watched him with something fragile and hopeful in your expression, and when he climbed into the bunk beside you, you didn't hesitate. You curled into his side, head on his chest, one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt.
Hunter wrapped his arms around you, feeling the way you slowly relaxed against him. Your breathing deepened, evened out, and he focused on that. On the steady rise and fall of your chest. On the warmth of you pressed against him. On the fact that you were here, you were safe, and you were letting him help.
"Hunter?" Your voice was drowsy, already half asleep.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He tightened his hold, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Always."
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âtheir reactions to when someone is staring at you.â
a/n: saw @tanobatcherâs 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!
Youâre 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.
Codyâs smile doesnât even falter, but he shifts his stance ever so slightlyâshoulders 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 donât notice.
But Cody sees everything.
He leans in, voice low, teasing, warm against your ear,
âLook at you⊠collecting fans wherever you go.â
You laugh, nudging him.
âFans? Please. Heâs probably staring at the menu behind me.â
Cody snorts, soft but incredulous.
âOh no, cyare. Trust me.. heâs definitely here for you.â
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.
âHeâs harmless,â you shrug.
âMm,â Cody hums, smiling, but it doesnât reach his eyes.
Inside, his thoughts are a different story.
Stop staring at her. She didnât 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 youâcalm, polite, charming.
But while you wait, the staring continues, and Cody feels every muscle in his body coil tighter.
He doesnât confront.
Not yet.
Instead, he slides closer, arm brushing yours, claiming you without making a scene.
âCareful,â you tease him. âPeople might think you like me.â
Cody gives you that tiny, sideways smirk that always melts you.
âOh, they already know,â he murmurs. And I want them to.
When you run to grab napkins, Codyâs eyes flick back to the man.
One single lookâsharp, commander-level, utterly lethal.
Stop. Now.
And like magic, the guyâs gaze drops to his drink, shoulders stiffening, suddenly reconsidering every life choice heâs ever made.
Cody exhales slowly, controlled, tension draining from his posture.
Not because he doubted himself, he just didnât 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.
âPossessive much?â
He chuckles, brushing a playful but honest kiss to your temple.
âWell, what can I say? My girlfriendâs famous.â
You laugh, leaning into him, and Cody decides, yep, worth it.
Heâll joke, heâll tease, heâll 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.
â¶â.Ë REX - CT-7567
The 79âs cantina is unusually calm tonightâsoft 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.
Heâs smiling because you just said something that made him forget thereâs a war outside.
And then he sees it.
Across the room, a manâcivilian, slouched at the barâeyes locked on you.
Not accidental, not passing curiosity.
Lingering. Bold. Disrespectful.
Rexâs smile fades, jaw tightening just a fraction. He forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose.
Benefit of the doubt, he tells himself. Maybe heâs looking past her. Maybe heâs not actually staring.
Youâre 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 strangerâs gaze dropsâslowly, lingering, crawlingâand returns to your face with a smirk.
Rexâs patience snaps like a blaster bolt through glass.
His arm moves from behind you to rest firmly on the tableâprotective, groundingâas he turns his head just enough to confirm what he already knows.
Yeah. The guyâs 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.
âRex?â you ask softly, confused.
He doesnât 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 doesnât yell.
He doesnât have to.
He leans in slightly, voice dangerously even.
âYou wanna tell me what youâre lookinâ at?â
The man startles, eyes wide. âIâI wasnâtââ
Rex lets out a humorless and sharp laugh.
âOh, you were. And now youâre gonna stop.â
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.
Rexâs posture is relaxed, hands loose at his sides, but every fiber of him radiates do not test me.
The man swallows hard. âS-sorry.â
Rex nods, like this was a polite conversation about the weather.
âThatâs what I thought.â
He steps backânot breaking eye contactâuntil heâs 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.
âYou okay?â you whisper.
Rex shrugs, arm returning behind you, this time brushing your shoulder deliberately.
âFine. Just didnât like how he was looking at you.â
You smirk. âJealous?â
He scoffs, but his ears turn the faintest shade of pink.
âProtective,â he corrects, voice quieter. âThereâs a difference.â
You lean into him.
âWell⊠thank you.â
Rex pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was gentle and grounding, everything he wishes the galaxy was.
âIâll always look out for you, cyare. Always.â
Across the room, the man suddenly finds the floor very interesting.
And Rex?
He goes right back to smiling, because as far as heâs concerned, problem handled.
â¶â.Ë WOLFFE - CC-3636
Itâs supposed to be a peaceful nightâjust 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.
Heâs in full armor, helmet tucked under his arm, hair slightly mussed from hours of command.
He looks tired, but content.
Youâre pointing out a vendor selling tiny holo figurines when Wolffe feels itâthe weight of someoneâs stare.
Sharp. Intentional. Unwelcome.
His expression doesnât 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. âWolffe?â
He doesnât look at youâheâs too busy tracking the man across the walkway, gaze narrowed to a sniperâs focus.
âNothinâ to worry about,â 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 staringâpretending heâs not, but failing miserably.
Wolffeâs jaw flexes once. Twice.
He wonât 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 manâs line of sight completely.
Then the stranger decides to walk past you bothâslowly, deliberatelyâeyes still lingering.
Wolffe doesnât speak.
Doesnât warn.
Doesnât 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.
âOh. Sorry,â Wolffe says flatly, tone so insincere itâs 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 heâs gone.
Only then does he soften, hand returning to your waist, pulling you gently back against him.
âYou good?â he asks quietly.
You turn, confused but smiling, completely oblivious. âYeah, why wouldnât I be?â
Wolffe exhales through his nose, relief slipping into something warm, almost fond.
âNo reason,â he lies, thumb rubbing absent circles into your hip.
You loop your arm around his middle, leaning into him.
âYouâre in a cuddly mood today.â
He huffs. âDonât tell anyone. Iâve got a reputation.â
You laugh and start walking again, and Wolffe followsâclose, attentive, protectiveâeyes still scanning the area, just in case.
Because if anyone else even thinks about staring?
Theyâre getting shoulder checked too.
â¶â.Ë 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.
Youâre talking about your day, your voice was soft yet excited, and Fox canât stop staring at you.
Not in the way others do.
His gaze is reverent. Protective. Home.
Then he notices it.
A man at the barâleaned back in his stool, drink forgottenâeyes glued to you.
Tracking every movement. Undressing you with his stare.
Foxâs pleasant mood dissolves instantly, replaced with a cold, razor-sharp alertness.
You donât notice since youâre too busy looking through the dessert menu.
Fox does, though. He always does.
He leans slightly toward you, voice calm but edged with steel,
âStay here a moment, meshâla.â
You blink. âEverything okay?â
âOh, absolutely,â he says with a reassuring smile. âJust handling a little⊠administrative matter.â
You donât even have time to ask before heâs already striding across the roomâpurposeful, predatory, commander mode activated.
The man doesnât look up until Foxâs shadow falls over him.
Fox crosses his armsâbiceps straining against plastoid, posture perfect and terrifying.
âEnjoying the view?â he asks pleasantly.
The guy stutters. âWh-what?â
Fox smiles dangerously under his helmet. âI said, were you enjoying staring at the woman Iâm with?â
The manâs mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.
âI-I wasnât staringââ
Fox taps the Coruscant Guard emblem on his shoulder plate.
âRight. Because if you were, that would qualify as harassment. Which, fortunately for you, falls under my jurisdiction.â
The man pales, looking around for help. There is none.
Fox leans closer, lowering his voice so only the man can hear.
âHereâs how this goes. Youâre going to stop looking at her, finish your drink, and leave. Or I will drag you out of here in binders, and you wonât see daylight again without clearance codes.â
He pauses, letting it sink in.
âDo we understand each other?â
The man nods so aggressively Fox worries heâll sprain something.
âGood,â Fox says, clapping him on the shoulder. âIâll be keeping an eye on you.â
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.
âSorry about that. What did you decide on?â
You narrow your eyes.
âWhat did you do?â
Fox shrugs innocently.
âPublic safety is my responsibility.â
You give him a look. ââŠFox.â
He sighs, reaching for your hand.
âAlright, alright. Maybe I reminded him I outrank literally everyone in this district.â
You snort. âYou love pulling the rank card.â
Fox smirks, kiss-creases forming at the corners of his eyes.
âWhy have power if you canât weaponize it in defense of your beautiful partner?â
You laugh, shaking your head, until your datapad pings.
You glance at the screen.
âUm⊠Fox? Did you just add him to a watchlist?â
Fox removes his helmet as he pops a bite of bread into his mouth, casual as ever.
âOf course. Canât be too careful.â
âFoxââ
âWhat? Saves time later.â
You stare at him in disbelief, and maybe a little awe.
He softens, thumb brushing your knuckles.
âIâm never letting someone make you feel unsafe. Not on my planet.â
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.
â¶â.Ë GREGOR - CC-5576-39
The hideout was busy todayâmore civilians than usual had come to drop off supplies: food, medical stock, blankets, spare tools.
You were helping organize itâclipboard 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 grinâlike you were the most entertaining thing heâd ever seen.
Then he noticed it.
One of the civilian volunteersâa young guy carrying a crateâkept staring at you.
Not quick glances.
Not accidental looks.
Full-on, wide-eyed, wow who is she staring.
Gregor didnât tense.
Didnât get jealous.
Didnât even frown.
He just let out a quiet, amused little laugh.
You looked over, brows furrowing. âWhat?â
He tilted his head toward the civilian, smirking.
âYouâve got an admirer.â
You blinked, confused, until you caught the guy doing that lingering stare again.
Your face warmed instantly.
âOh Maker,â you muttered, pretending to check your clipboard. âHeâs being obvious.â
Gregor shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.
âWell, of course heâs staring. Look at you.â He waved a hand at you dramatically. âAnyone with functioning eyesight would.â
You swatted his arm lightly. âBe serious.â
He leaned in, voice rich with playful innocence.
âI am being serious. Youâre hot. Itâs practically a public hazard.â
You opened your mouth to protest, but Gregor cut you offâeyes sparkling, grin widening.
âHonestly?â he mused, nodding toward the guy, âMaybe you should give him a chance. Poor kid looks like heâs about to faint.â
Your jaw dropped. âGregor!â
He held both hands up like he was being reasonable.
âWhat? Iâm just saying, good for him. Look at his taste! Impeccable!â
You stared at him, scandalized and flustered.
He leaned closer, dropping his voice into something softer, warmerâmeant only for you.
âButâŠâ his fingers brushed yours, just barely, âyouâre already taken.â
Your heartbeat stuttered.
His grin shiftedâstill playful, but undeniably possessiveâlike he enjoyed reminding you as much as saying it.
Across the hideout, the staring civilian suddenly found something else to carryâquickly, awkwardly, and in the opposite direction.
Gregor chuckled, satisfied, bumping your shoulder with his.
âSee? No need to scare him off. Just had to remind the room who you belong to.â
You squinted at him. âYou are insufferable.â
He winked, picking up a crate like he finally intended to help.
âYeah, but Iâm your problem.â
And as he walked past you, he addedâjust loud enough for you to hear.
Howzerâs shift ended an hour ago, but heâs still in his armorâminus the helmetâarms crossed loosely over his chest, hair slightly tousled, expression relaxed.
Heâs listening to you talk about your day, nodding along, eyes warm and focused, because when you speak, he always listens.
Youâre mid-sentence when he notices someone a few tables over staring.
Not a curious glance.
Not a passing look.
A lingering, territorial stare.
Howzerâs smile fades just a touch, shoulders straightening.
He doesnât interrupt youâhe never wouldâbut his attention shifts, eyes narrowing slightly.
He watches for a moment, giving the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe the guy will look away. Maybe heâll realize heâs being weird.
He doesnât.
In fact, he stares harderâeyes dragging over you slowly, disrespectfully.
Howzerâs 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 forwardâsmooth, controlled, radiating authorityâand positions himself slightly in front of you, blocking the manâs view.
You pause. âHowzer?â
He offers you a gentle smile. âOne sec, meshâla.â
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.
âCan I help youâŠ?â
Not friendly.
Not genuine.
A warning wrapped in manners.
The man blinks. âWhat? Noâ I wasnâtââ
Howzer raises a brow, unimpressed.
âOh, really? Because youâve been starinâ for a while. Thought maybe you needed something.â
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.
âN-no, sir. Sorry.â
Howzer holds his gaze for a momentâlong enough to make sure it sinks inâthen gives a curt nod.
âGood. Then keep your eyes to yourself.â
His voice is calm, quiet, but devastatingly firm.
He doesnât wait for a response, he just turns on his heel and walks back to you.
Youâre staring at him, wide-eyed.
âEverything⊠okay?â you ask slowly.
Howzerâs expression softens immediately as he reaches you, placing a gentle hand on the small of your backâguiding you forward in line again.
âYeah,â he says, voice warm now, almost playful. âJust helped someone remember their manners.â
You snort. âYou didnât have to do that.â
He leans down, lips brushing your temple.
âI know. But Iâll never let someone disrespect you, not while Iâm around.â
Your heart flips, cheeks warming.
You loop your arm through his, and he pulls you a little closerâprotective, but tender.
Behind you, the man hurriedly pays and leaves, head down.
Howzer watches him go for half a secondâsatisfiedâthen returns his full attention to you like nothing ever happened.
âNow,â he says, smiling gently, âyou were telling me about the part with the flowers?â
And just like that, your night continuesâsafe, comfortable, yours.
â¶â.Ë MAYDAY - CC-????
The outpost is quiet for onceâsnow drifting lazily outside, heater humming, you and Mayday sharing a rare moment of peace at his cluttered desk.
Heâs half in armorâpauldrons off, chestplate unbuckled, gloves tossed asideâhair 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 roomâpretending to review paperworkâeyes glued to you.
Not subtle.
Not respectful.
Just staring like youâre a warm fireplace in the middle of a frozen wasteland.
Mayday doesnât tense, doesnât posture, he just⊠laughs.
A low, amused, is this guy serious? kind of laugh.
You glance up. âWhat?â
Mayday tilts his head toward the man, voice dripping with smug amusement.
âYouâve got an admirer.â
You roll your eyes, dismissing it. âHeâs just looking around.â
Mayday arches a brow, no he isnât, and leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest like heâs settling in for entertainment.
But his gaze stays soft on youânever threatening, never demandingâjust quietly claiming.
Then the staring continues.
Longer.
Harder.
Bolder.
Mayday exhales through his noseâstill amused, still dangerous.
He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, leaning in close enough that his breath brushes your ear, voice low and wicked.
âWanna give him a show?â
You freeze, pulse tripping. âMaydayââ
He chuckles again, hand sliding to your thighânot squeezing, just resting there like it belongs.
His eyes never leave yours.
âIâm just saying,â he murmurs, tone playful but possessive, âa kiss would send a very clear message.â
You turn slightly, meeting his gazeâdark, confident, inviting.
âAnd what message is that?â you ask, breath softer than intended.
His smirk deepensâdangerously slow, smug, sure.
âThat youâre mine.â
Not up for debate. Not a question.
A fact.
Before you can respond, he gently cups your jawâthumb sweeping across your cheek, touch both reverent and territorialâleans in, and kisses you.
Unhurried and certain. Completely unapologetic.
The kind of kiss that says Iâve 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 yeahâhe knew you would.
When he finally pulls back, he doesnât glance at the staring officer.
He doesnât need to.
Instead, he keeps his forehead resting against yours, voice soft but laced with smug satisfaction.
âStill looking?â
You peek over his shoulder.
The man is suddenly very invested in a blank datapad.
Mayday laughsâlow, satisfiedâand presses one more kiss to your temple, thumb brushing your chin.
âThought so.â
Then he sits back, arm draped over the back of your chair, posture relaxed, claiming you without touching.
âNow,â he says casually, âwhere were we?â
Like he didnât just ruin someoneâs self-esteem and mark you as his in one breathtaking move.
Plot Summary: On the rare morning snow falls over Pabu, Tech is already awake and documenting the phenomenon when she steps outside and turns the moment into something far more meaningful than data. Drawn to her warmth and quiet wonder, he rambles through scientific explanations to hide the feelings he canât quite quantify, only to realize she genuinely enjoys every part of him. Especially the parts he worries are too much.
Tech had been awake for three hours, twelve minutes, and forty-seven seconds when he heard the hatch of the Marauder open.
He knew it was her before he even looked up from his datapad. He had memorized the particular rhythm of her footsteps weeks ago, though he would never admit to such an illogical use of his observational skills. There were far more practical things to catalog than the soft cadence of someone's gait.
And yet.
Tech adjusted his goggles and pretended to be absorbed in his precipitation data. In reality, every shred of attention he had was directed to the woman now standing on Pabu's walkway, her face tilted up toward the falling snow with an expression of such pure wonder that his throat tightened.
Beautiful.
The thought arrived unbidden. Inconvenient. But, accurate.
He had been waiting for this weather event for months. He had tracked the atmospheric patterns, calculated the probability windows, set alerts on his datapad. But now that it was finally here, now that snow was actually falling on Pabu for the first time in years, Tech found he could not focus on the meteorological data at all.
Because she was here. And she was smiling.
"I see you noticed the precipitation."
Smooth, Tech. Very smooth. As if she had climbed out of the Marauder specifically to observe atmospheric water crystals and not because the world looked like something out of a holovid romance.
She turned toward him, and Tech's brain temporarily forgot how to regulate his respiratory system.
"Good morning, Tech," she said, her smile widening. "You are up early."
I have been waiting for you to wake up, his mind supplied helpfully. I have been standing out here for twenty-three minutes hoping you would notice the snow and come outside so I could share this with you because everything is better when you are present and I am completely hopeless.
"I have been awake for three hours," he said instead, lifting his datapad like a shield. "I was collecting data."
"About the snow."
"Yes."
It was not entirely a lie. He had been collecting data. He simply had not been processing any of it with his usual efficiency because he kept glancing at the Marauder's hatch every forty-seven seconds.
Not that he had been counting.
Tech stepped closer. She had snowflakes clinging to her sleeves, each one a tiny architectural marvel, and he wanted to examine them. He wanted to examine everything about this moment and commit it to memory with the kind of detail he usually reserved for starship schematics.
"This is remarkable," he murmured, studying the crystalline structures on her sleeve while trying very hard not to think about how close he was standing. "These flakes are highly symmetrical. Six-sided crystalline structures. As they should be. Though the temperature is slightly higher than expected, which suggests that the water vapors condensed under very stable conditions."
He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. But if he stopped talking about snow formation, he might accidentally say something catastrophic like you look absolutely radiant right now or I have been hoping you would wake up for the past hour or I think about you approximately seventy percent of my waking hours and it is becoming a problem.
"Are you about to give me a full lecture on the physics of snowflakes?"
Tech's mind short-circuited.
She was amused. Not annoyed. Not bored. Amused. There was affection in her voice, warm and genuine, and it made something in his chest feel entirely too tight.
"Only if you want one," he managed.
Please want one. Please let me talk about snow science because it is the only thing keeping me from confessing that I find your presence more fascinating than any meteorological phenomenon.
She laughedâactually laughedâand brushed snow off his shoulder.
Tech forgot how to breathe.
Her hand had touched him. Casually. Easily. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she had not just sent every neuron in his body into complete disarray.
"I would not mind," she said softly.
Tech's heart performed what could only be described as an unauthorized acrobatic maneuver.
She wanted to hear him talk about snowflakes. She was choosing to spend time with him. She was looking at him with those eyes that made him forget whether he was supposed to be exhaling or inhaling, and she wanted to hear him ramble about ice crystals.
He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, attempting to regain some measure of composure. This was fine. He could do this. He gave lectures all the time. Admittedly, most of his lectures were delivered to his brothers who openly ignored him, but this was essentially the same thing.
Except it was not the same thing at all.
Because she was watching him with genuine interest, and Tech found himself wanting to make this good. Wanting to be interesting. Wanting her to keep looking at him exactly like that.
"The formation of snowflakes begins when water vapor in the atmosphere freezes into ice crystals," he began, his voice steadier than he felt. "These crystals then accumulate additional vapors which attach themselves in specific molecular patterns. This results in the branching structures that form unique shapes. Because the atmospheric conditions shift constantly during formation, each snowflake acquires distinct features."
He watched her face as he spoke, cataloging every micro-expression. The way her eyes brightened with curiosity. The small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. The way she leaned in slightly, as if she did not want to miss a single word.
She was listening. Actually listening.
Tech's chest ached with something he could not quite categorize.
"How long have you been waiting to explain that?" she asked, her tone teasing but gentle.
Since the moment I met you. Since I first realized that you actually pay attention when I talk. Since I started having thoughts that include the word 'us' instead of just 'me.'
"A while," he admitted.
Her expression softened, and Tech felt his carefully constructed defenses crumble like poorly engineered architecture.
The snow continued to fall, transforming Pabu into something out of a storybook. But Tech barely noticed the boats in the harbor or the peaceful crunch of snow beneath his boots. He was too busy trying not to stare at the way snowflakes caught in her hair, turning her into something even more ethereal than usual.
A snowflake landed on her eyelash. Tech's fingers twitched with the wholly inappropriate urge to brush it away.
He shoved his hand into a pocket on his tool belt.
"Want to walk around a bit?" she asked. "It is pretty out here."
Tech's entire nervous system went on high alert.
She wanted to walk with him. She wanted to spend more time with him. This was good. This was very good. This was also terrifying because Tech had been thinking about asking her to walk with him for the past twenty minutes and had been composing and discarding approximately forty-seven different approaches.
"I was going to ask you that," he blurted.
Smooth, Tech. Very smooth.
"Really?"
"Yes." He pushed his goggles up, flustered, needing something to do with his hands that was not reaching for her. "I had planned to phrase it more efficiently. Something like... would you be interested in taking a short observational stroll."
Why did he sound like a particularly awkward protocol droid?
"That is one way to say it."
"Is it an ineffective approach?"
Please say no. Please tell me I have not completely ruined this.
"No. It is very... you."
Tech's heart did something complicated and wholly unauthorized.
She liked that it was very him. She was not asking him to be someone else. She was not rolling her eyes or walking away or suggesting he try being "more normal" like Hunter sometimes gently implied.
She liked him as he was.
Tech opened his mouth, closed it again, and desperately attempted to regain some semblance of composure. His hands were sweating. Why were his hands sweating? It was literally snowing.
She extended her hand slightly.
Tech's brain stopped functioning entirely.
That was her hand. Extended toward him. In a gesture that was universally recognized as an invitation for physical contact. She wanted him to take her hand. She wanted to hold his hand while they walked through the snow like people did in those romantic holofilms Omega sometimes watched.
Oh.
Oh no.
Tech stared at her outstretched hand like it was a complex equation he desperately wanted to solve but was terrified of getting wrong. His analytical mind supplied approximately sixty-three reasons why this was a bad idea.
His heart supplied exactly one reason why it was not:Â Because it is her.
Carefully, reverently, like he was handling the most delicate piece of machinery in the galaxy, Tech lifted his hand and placed it in hers.
Her fingers closed around his.
Tech forgot how to think.
Her hand was warm. Soft. Perfect. It fit against his like it had been designed specifically for this purpose, and Tech had to actively resist the urge to run a detailed analysis on the statistical probability of such a thing.
He looked at their joined hands with something approaching wonder.
This is happening. This is actually happening.
They began walking through the snowy streets of Pabu, leaving two sets of footprints behind. Tech's entire awareness had narrowed to the feeling of her hand in his, the gentle pressure of her fingers, the way she did not let go even when he stopped to record the increasing flake density.
"The flake density is increasing," he noted, lifting his datapad with his free hand. "Fascinating."
He was absolutely not letting go of her hand to use both hands for his datapad. His data collection could be slightly less precise for once.
"You really like snow," she observed, watching him with fond amusement.
I like you, his brain supplied helpfully. I like the way you smile at me when I talk about atmospheric phenomena. I like how you listen when everyone else tunes me out. I like how you make me feel like being exactly who I am is not just acceptable but somehow... enough.
"I am interested in uncommon meteorological phenomena," he corrected, defaulting to technical precision because feelings were complicated and snow science was not.
Then, because apparently his mouth had decided to bypass his brain entirely: "But yes. I like it... significantly more when you are present."
Tech's face heated approximately three degrees.
He had just said that. Out loud. To her. Where she could hear it.
There was a pause, and Tech braced himself for awkwardness or gentle rejection or that particular expression people got when he said something that revealed too much.
Instead, she smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not an uncomfortable smile. A genuine, warm, absolutely devastating smile that made Tech's heart perform what could only be described as a barrel roll.
They continued walking until they reached a small open area overlooking the ocean. Snow collected on the stone wall like nature itself was setting the scene for something significant. Waves crashed below, their usual roar muted by the gentle hush of falling flakes.
Tech exhaled softly, his breath misting in the cold air.
"This is ideal."
"It is beautiful," she agreed.
Tech glanced at her, then looked away quickly, his face heating again.
She thought the view was beautiful. Tech thought she was beautiful, standing there with snowflakes in her hair and the ocean behind her and that soft smile on her face that made him want to recalculate every life decision that had led him to this exact moment.
His ears burned. Definitely from embarrassment this time, not the cold.
"That is not exactly what I meant," he admitted.
She tilted her head, curious and patient and entirely too perfect. "What did you mean?"
Tech's mouth went dry.
I meant that having you here is ideal. I meant that I have been alone for most of my life and I never minded until I met you. I meant that atmospheric conditions are fascinating but your presence is essential.
"I meant that the conditions are ideal," he said carefully. "For collecting data." He hesitated, then added in a quieter voice: "And for... other things."
"What other things?"
Tech avoided her eyes, focusing very intently on the snow-covered wall.
For falling hopelessly for someone. For realizing that hand-holding is significantly more pleasant than any technical manual suggested. For wanting to kiss you so badly that I have run approximately one thousand scenarios in my head about how to ask.
"For companionship," he said finally. "Specifically yours."
There. He had said it. It was out there now, hovering between them like the snowflakes drifting through the air.
"Are you saying you like spending time with me?"
Tech frowned, genuinely confused. "I assumed that was obvious."
Had he not been clear? Had he not spent weeks finding excuses to work near her? Had he not memorized her schedule and her favorite foods and the particular way she laughed when something genuinely delighted her?
Apparently not.
Tech's brows pulled together in thought. If his feelings were not obvious, then he needed to make them obvious. Clarity was important. Precision was important.
She was important.
"Then I will make it clearer," he said, meeting her eyes with an effort that felt like courage. "I enjoy your company. Significantly. More than I initially expected, though the trend has been increasingly apparent for weeks now. You listen when I talk about things others find boring. You ask questions that indicate genuine interest rather than polite tolerance. You make me feel..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
Seen. Valued. Like maybe I am not too much or too different or too everything that people usually find exhausting.
"...like myself is sufficient," he finished quietly.
Her breath caught, soft and audible, and Tech's heart hammered against his ribs.
"Well," she said, her voice equally quiet. "I enjoy yours too."
Tech's entire world tilted sideways.
She enjoyed his company. She had just said it. Out loud. Where he could hear it and record it and replay it in his mind approximately seven thousand times.
He shifted closer. Only by an inch, but for Techâwho carefully calculated personal space and rarely breached itâthat inch felt like a leap across a chasm.
More snow settled in his hair. He did not care.
She reached up and brushed the flakes away, her fingers grazing his temple.
Tech froze like every circuit in his body had simultaneously overloaded.
"Does that bother you?" she asked softly, her hand still hovering near his face.
Bother me? BOTHER ME? You could reprogram my entire operating system and I would thank you.
"No," he responded immediately, his voice slightly strangled. "No. It does not bother me."
He needed her to know. Needed her to understand that her touch was not unwelcome, that it was in fact the opposite of unwelcome, that it was possibly the best thing that had happened to him in recent memory.
"It is... pleasant," he added, which was possibly the understatement of the century.
Pleasant. Like atmospheric pressure was "interesting" and hyperspace was "fast" and she was "acceptable."
Tech looked out over the ocean, then back at her, then down at the snow, trying to organize his thoughts into something coherent. His thumb moved without permission, lightly brushing across her knuckle.
He was still holding her hand.
He had been holding her hand this entire time.
Somehow that felt more significant than any technical achievement he had ever accomplished.
She touched his arm gently, grounding him. "Tech, what is going on in that head of yours?"
Everything. Nothing. You. Mostly you. The fact that I have been trying to find the courage to tell you how I feel for weeks and now that the moment is here I am terrified of saying the wrong thing or saying it wrong or somehow ruining this perfect moment with my complete inability to process emotions like a normal human being.
Tech inhaled slowly, gathering his courage like ammunition.
"I was trying to determine the appropriate moment to ask you a question," he admitted. "I wanted the moment to be... memorable. For you."
"What question?"
Tech looked at her finally, really looked at her, taking in the snowflakes on her eyelashes and the gentle curiosity in her expression and the way she was watching him like what he had to say actually mattered.
His heart felt too large for his chest.
Here goes everything.
"I would like to know if you would consider walking with me again another day," he said, each word carefully selected. "Not for research. Not for data collection. Simply because I enjoy being near you. Because I find your presence... necessary. In a way I did not anticipate but cannot seem to quantify or diminish or ignore."
There. He had said it. All of it. Or at least as much of it as he could manage without completely short-circuiting.
Her face transformed, softening into an expression so warm that Tech felt it like physical heat.
"Yes," she said simply. "I would like that."
Tech's shoulders dropped with relief so profound it was almost painful.
"I am very pleased to hear it," he said, which was possibly the calmest way he had ever expressed the sensation of wanting to reprogram himself into someone who knew how to properly celebrate good news.
She laughed, bright and genuine, and Tech wanted to record that sound and play it on loop.
"Tech. You could have asked me that without all the snow science."
He tilted his head, genuinely confused. "But the snow science is important."
The snow science provided context. Structure. A framework for this interaction that made sense when his feelings decidedly did not.
"I know," she said, and her smile was so fond it made his chest ache. "And I love hearing it."
Tech stared at her.
Love.
She had said love.
"You do?" he asked, because apparently he needed confirmation. Needed to hear it again. Needed to be absolutely certain he had not misheard or misinterpreted or invented that particular word in his desperation.
"I do."
Tech's hand twitched with the overwhelming urge to reach for her again, to close the small distance between them, to do something that expressed the magnitude of what he was feeling.
But his restraint held. Barely.
She took the initiative instead, slipping her fingers between his with an ease that suggested she had been thinking about it too.
Tech let out a quiet breath he had not realized he was holding.
They continued walking, hand in hand, while Tech occasionally rambled about ice crystal growth patterns and atmospheric pressure. But for once, he was only partially focused on the science.
The rest of his attention was dedicated to memorizing this: the feeling of her hand in his, the sound of her laugh when he got particularly enthusiastic about dendrite formation, the way she leaned into him slightly when the wind picked up.
After a while, they reached a small lookout near the upper walkways. Snow dusted the rooftops below like powdered sugar, turning Pabu into something from a storybook.
Tech reluctantly released her hand only long enough to collect a snow sample in a small container. He lifted it up with the kind of pride usually reserved for significant tactical victories.
"I will be able to analyze the composition later."
She smiled at his excitement, and Tech felt it like sunlight.
"I like seeing you happy," she said softly.
Tech's datapad nearly slipped from his fingers.
"I am..." Tech paused, trying to find words adequate for the feeling expanding in his chest. "I am frequently happy around you. It is a variable I did not anticipate, yet it is welcome. Very welcome."
You make me happy. You make everything better just by existing in the same space. I have been lonely for so long and I did not even realize it until you showed me what it felt like to be anything else.
Her expression softened further, impossibly tender. "I am glad."
Tech stepped closer.
He was not entirely sure what he was doing. His body seemed to be operating on some kind of autopilot, driven by feelings too large to contain and too powerful to ignore.
His heart hammered. His palms sweated. His mind supplied approximately seventy-three reasons why this was a terrible idea.
He ignored all of them.
"I would like to kiss you," he said quietly, because if there was one thing Tech believed in, it was informed consent and clear communication. "But I am aware that doing so without asking would be inappropriate. So I am clarifying. Would that be acceptable?"
He held his breath.
This was it. The moment where she would either reciprocate or gently explain that he had misread the situation entirely and they should probably return to being just friends who occasionally held hands during meteorological events.
"Yes," she said softly, her eyes bright. "It would."
Tech's brain blanked entirely.
Yes. She said yes. She wants me to kiss her. Me. Specifically me.
He nodded once, confirming parameters more for his own benefit than hers, then very gently lifted his hand to her cheek.
She was so warm.
His touch was careful, reverent, like he was handling something infinitely precious. Because he was. He was holding something precious and perfect and somehow, inexplicably interested in him.
Tech leaned in with soft determination, his heart racing faster than any ship he had ever piloted.
Their lips met.
Soft. Warm. Perfect.
Tech's entire world narrowed to this: the gentle pressure of her mouth against his, the way she leaned into him slightly, the small sound of contentment she made that sent electricity down his spine.
He relaxed against her, letting out a quiet sigh that carried approximately six weeks of pining and hoping and wanting.
This. This is what all those holofilms were trying to explain. This is why people write poetry and songs and ridiculous romantic nonsense that I always found illogical.
This makes perfect sense.
When he pulled back, his face was burning, his heart was racing, and his brain was attempting to process sensory data that far exceeded any predictive models.
"That was far more agreeable than my calculations predicted," he said, because apparently his mouth defaulted to technical terminology when overwhelmed. He reached up to adjust his goggles, needing something familiar to ground himself. "Exponentially so."
She laughed, breathless and beautiful, and Tech wanted to kiss her again immediately.
"I liked it too," she said.
Tech's heart performed another unauthorized acrobatic maneuver.
She liked it. She wanted to do it again. This was not a one-time experiment or a moment of temporary insanity.
This was mutual.
"Good," he said, attempting to sound calm and collected despite feeling anything but. "Then I believe it would be reasonable to do that again. Later. That is, if you desire to do so."
Please desire to do so. Please let this be the first of many. Please let me keep this.
"I agree," she said, grinning.
Tech felt like he could reprogram a Star Destroyer with his bare hands.
Snow continued to fall around them, transforming the world into something magical. Tech shifted closer until their shoulders touched, needing the contact, needing the confirmation that this was real.
For a long moment, they simply stood together on the snowy lookout, watching flakes drift down and dissolve on the warm stone.
Tech's mind was uncharacteristically quiet. No calculations. No analysis. Just this: her warmth beside him, her hand in his, the peaceful silence of snowfall.
"Would you like to resume our walk?" he asked eventually.
"Yes," she said. "With you. Always."
Always.
Tech looked at her like she had just solved an impossible equation. Like she had given him something he had not known he desperately needed. Like she had taken every lonely moment of his life and rewritten them into something bearable because they had led him here.
To her.
To this.
To always.
He gently took her hand once more, marveling at how natural it felt. How right.
"I am very glad you came outside today," he whispered, his voice raw with honesty. "I find these moments with you... irreplaceable."
She squeezed his hand, her smile soft and sure. "So am I."
Together, they walked through the quiet snowfall, leaving two sets of footprints side by side.
Tech cataloged every detail: the crunch of snow, the warmth of her hand, the way their steps naturally synchronized. He stored it all in his memory with meticulous care, knowing that years from now, he would want to remember this exactly as it was.
The day it snowed on Pabu.
The day he stopped calculating and started feeling.
hi Iâve loved your stuff for years and never got round to sending a request in when they were open so hopefully hereâs my chance
Can I have some fluff with female or gender neutral reader with Crosshair? Whatever the prompt is up to you! Thank you so much if you decide to do this đ
A Brush of Love
Pairings: Crosshair X Gender Neutral Reader
Word count: 2.6k
Plot: During a rare bit of downtime, you accidentally paint Crosshairâs helmet instead of your own. Expecting him to be furious, youâre shocked when he not only keeps the doodlesâbut âgets evenâ by painting something on your helmet that changes everything.
Warnings: safe for work, light teasing, mild language, oblivious pining, soft Crosshair, fluff, reader(gn) is an artist, a little embarrassment.
These days, downtime is pretty rare.Â
But when it is available, your favourite way to spend it is with a canvas or your sketchbookâpencil, charcoal, or even paint and a brush. Paint was hard to come by out here, so youâd defaulted to oils, which took a bit of convincing for the boys to accept the smell of.
Still, you woke one morning to find a small boxed paint kit tucked under your bunk, wrapped in a scrap of old cloth as if someone didnât want the others to see. Nobody ever stepped forward to take credit. You didnât push it. It warmed you a little too much to wonder who it mightâve been.
Art kept your nerves together, and the others understood that by now.
Wrecker always checked his giant hands before even hovering near your work, muttering, âNo smudges, no smudges.â Echo would lean over your shoulder when you squinted too long, gently offering, âDo you need lighting?â Tech, who insisted your sketch of him needed âmore accurate proportioning,â hovered anyway.Â
Crosshair never said anything.
He watched, though.
Always from a distance. Always with that unreadable slant to his eyes, pretending he wasnât studying the way your fingers moved.Â
Today, the Marauder was blissfully still. Youâd already filled a page with quick figure sketches: Hunter twirling his viroblade, Tech hunched over a datapad like a gargoyle and Wrecker lifting Gonky with one hand.Â
Your helmet sat on the weapons rack behind you. Blank. Scuffed. Boring. Begging for personality. For weeks the idea had bounced around your head that maybe you would add some little doodles.
You set your pencil down, brushed the graphite from your fingertips, and reached for it.
Your fingers just grazed plastoid when Hunter called out across the hold, urgency clipping the edge of his voice. âHey, can I get a hand with something?â
âYeah, coming!â
A whole stack of crates had been arranged in the exact wrong order and it took all of you longer than you liked to sort out. By the time you wiped sweat from your brow and stretched your back, dusk light was slipping through the Marauderâs ramp.
You headed back to the rack, grabbed your helmet without even thinking, scooped up your paint kit, and slipped outside before nightfall swallowed the light.
The air was cool, dust brushing around your boots as you settled on an overturned crate. You hummed to yourself, flipping open the little paint tins, dipping your brush into the first colour.
You toyed with ideas such as patterns, symbols, tiny flowers or maybe a loth-cat but after a moment you finally decided on something easy. Cute spirals that blended into small, petal-like shapes.Â
Youâd only been working for five minutes when you turned the bucket to get a better angle.
And froze.
This was NOT your helmet.
Your stomach dropped so fast you nearly choked on the breath you sucked in.
This wasâ
âWhat are you doing?â
You snapped upright so fast your brush nearly flew out your hand. Crosshair stood ten paces away, his expression blank. He marched toward you, long strides kicking up dust.
âHeck, Crosshairââ You scrambled to your feet, holding his helmet between slightly shaking hands. âIâm so sorry, I didnât realiseâ I thought it was mine. I can clean it off, I swearââ
He stopped right in front of you. Close enough for you to see the slow shift of his jaw as he rolled the toothpick between his teeth. His eyes dropped to the helmetâcovered in delicate spirals and tiny flowersâand then slowly lifted to yours.
He didnât say a word.
You swallowed hard. âIâll get something to wipe itââ
âNo.â
He yanked the helmet from your hands in one swift motion and tucked it under his arm.
âNo?â you repeat, startled. âCrosshair, seriously. Iâm really sorââ
âI said no.âÂ
His tone wasnât angry. Abrupt, yes, but not sharp.
He exhaled through his nose, pinched the bridge of it briefly, then muttered, âIâll deal with it.â
He was being weirdly calm. You blinked. âAre you sure? I really didnât meanââ
He raised a hand, silencing you with barely a flick of his fingers. âIâll deal with it,â he repeated, eyes lingering on you for a long, unreadable second before he turned and strode back up the ramp of the Marauder.
You stood there, rooted to the spot, guilt clawing at your ribs.
âIdiot,â you muttered, tapping your knuckles against your forehead. âForce-damned idiot.â
Of all the helmets to grab, you had to take his. Wrecker would tease him for cycles, and Crosshair already had a short fuse on good days.
You waited outside a few minutes, working up the nerve to follow, then climbed the ramp.
âWeâve just received a transmission from Captain Rex.â Tech called the moment he saw you.
You barely heard him at first, scanning the hold for Crosshair, searching for a glimpse of dark armour with fresh flowers. Nothing.Â
Tech repeated himself, a little more pointedly, and you jolted out of your thoughts long enough to nod and sink into a seat.
You assumed Crosshair was in the cockpit.
Possibly sulking.
Possibly simmering.
Probably hiding the evidence of your accidental vandalism before anyone else noticed.
You stared down at your hands, the faint stain of paint still clinging to the pads of your fingers.
Maker, you hoped he wouldnât stay mad.
The next evening youâre back on Kamino and the endless storm thundered against the white walls of the barracks as sheets of rain streaked down the windows
You sat alone inside the squadâs quarters, perched at Techâs messy workbench. The only clear space being the part you had tidied for your sketchbook. Loose wires, open datapads, stripped comlink parts and scribbled diagrams were shoved aside so you could finish an old drawing: a twisting Felucian tree with luminous leaves youâd seen months ago.
Your pencil moved in soft strokes, lost in memory and oblivious to the rest of the galaxy. Just how you liked it.
Meanwhile, across the training complex, the other five were gearing up for a battle droid simulation.
Training hadnât even started yet when Wreckerâs voice boomed through the prep area.
âCrosshairâs got FLOWERS on his helmet!â
Crosshair stilled before answering with a snarl as if to say, âshut upâ.
âWrecker,â Hunter warned without even looking up from tightening his vambrace, âdrop it.â
But Wrecker didnât seem to want to.
âIâm just sayinâ,â he laughed, clapping Crosshairâs shoulder (which Crosshair immediately shrugged off), âif he didnât want people to notice, maybe he shouldnâtâve kept the paint! He didnât even wipe one lilâ petal off!â
Crosshairâs shoulders tensed and the toothpick in his mouth almost snapped and pierced his lip.
âMaybe,â Wrecker continued cheerfully, âhe kept it âcause someone special painted it. Yâknow⊠maybe he liââ
âWrecker.â Echo interrupted, annoyed already even when he wasnât the source of the conversation. âStop. Youâre winding him up.â
Tech, busy checking the simulation parameters, added dryly, âIf he becomes distracted during the exercise, I will be holding you responsible for every missed shot.â
Wrecker went silent. Though a giant grin still plastered his face as he held up a heart shape in the shape of his hands directly to Cross.
He said nothing. Just clenched his jaw, helmet tucked under his arm, spirals and flowers still fully intact and marched away. He would train on his own for now.
Back in the barracks, you were still lost in the swirls of Feluciaâs bark, completely unaware of the chaos your artwork had caused.
You only looked up when the sliding door hissed open and Crosshair strode inside. His annoyance was obvious.
âThat was quick,â you said automatically, glancing at the chrono on the wall with a small frown as training shouldnât have been finished yet.
He didnât answer immediately.
Your gaze drifted from his face and then to the helmet tucked beneath his arm.
It was still adorned with your doodles from yesterday evening. Something screamed in your mind that he might have been teased about it. You swallowed, unsure whether to feel guilty or amused.
You dropped your pencil, letting it roll onto the workbench with a soft clink, and leaned your arms against the surface. âUh⊠are you sure you donât want me toâŠ?â
âTo what?â Crosshair retorted, sliding onto the edge of his bunk. The helmet rested beside him while he began tending to his rifle, wiping the barrel with precision.
You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly aware he was being difficult on purpose. âClean it off. Obviously.â
His hand rubbed the cloth over the metal, but he paused mid-stroke, fingers lingering over the barrel as if deep in thought.
You couldnât help itâyour stomach fluttered. He wasnât jumping at the chance to get rid of your doodles. He actually seemed okay with them. The absurd thought that maybe he liked what youâd done made your face heat up. Ridiculous. Completely ludicrous. You shook it off, telling yourself he couldnât possibly feel that way.
Crosshair finally broke the silence. âWhereâs your helmet?â
You raised a brow, tilting your head toward your make-shift hammock in the corner. âUnder there,â you reply but kind of regretting it the moment he moved.
Without a word, he stood and retrieved it, moving back toward you. You stared up at him, jaw slack, trying to process what the heck he was doing.
âBudge up,â he demanded, not harshly, but with the sort of quiet authority that left no room for argument.
You scooted a little to the left, giving him space to settle beside you.
âWhat are you doing?â you asked slowly, cautious, eyeing the way he started flipping through your paintbrushes, selecting one and opening a small pot of paint.
âVandalising your helmet,â he stated simply.
Your stomach dropped. Well⊠maybe you deserved this. But still, it was a mistake! âD-do you have to? It was an acciââ
âDo you have a blue colour?â he interrupted, completely uninterested in your pitiful plea. His tone was calm and dangerously focused, as if your protests were background noise.
You blinked, then caught the faintest glint of something in his expression; calm, yes, but also⊠deliberate. Like he was testing you, or maybe just daring you to say no. You swallowed hard as you handed him the small pot of paint..
Your hand brushed against his as you passed him the pot. You froze, heat crawling up your neck, and quickly snatched your hand back, pretending to fuss with a loose pencil.
Crosshair didnât flinch. He merely dipped his brush into the paint, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he looked down at the helmet and began his act of purposeful vandalism. All the while you sat stiffly beside him.
âPlease donât draw anything rude on itâŠâ you muttered, âI do have to have a uniform of some sort.â
A faint smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.
Your eyes widened. âCrosshairââ
Before you could crane your neck to peek, he tskâd sharply and angled the helmet farther from you, elbow coming up like a shield.
âDonât even think about it,â he drawled.
You huffed, dramatic and miserable, and slumped forward, chin dropping into your palm. Your other hand idly nudged your abandoned drawing, sliding the flimsi back and forth without actually looking at it.Â
Despite trying not to look, you felt his gaze flick toward you.
Not long, just a second or two. Long enough to make your pulse skip.
Every time your eyes started drifting his way, he snapped his attention back to the helmet with suspicious urgency, as if youâd caught him doing something he shouldnât.Â
Your fingers began tapping on the worktop, fidgety and impatient, creating tiny tremors across Techâs mess of tools.
Crosshair groaned. âFor kriffâs sake sit still.â
You scoffed. âSorry. Didnât realise you needed complete silence for your⊠masterpiece.â
âIf you want it neat, stop shaking the table,â he shot back, not even looking at you.
ââŠIf Iâm getting a lewd painting, it can at least be tidy,â you muttered to yourself.
His smirk returned but he didnât deny it which did nothing to help your nerves.
Finally, he sat back, dropped the brush into a jar of water. âAll done, have a look.â
You didnât look. If heâd drawn something mortifying, youâd rather die later than right now.
âI said,â Crosshair tilted his head, voice lightly mocking, âtake a look.â
âIâll look when youâre gone.â You stretched your arms above your head in a weak imitation of a yawn. âI need to emotionally prepare, you know.â
He didnât argue and didnât taunt.
He simply stood and slid the helmet across the table toward you, turning it just enough that the paint faced you.
You sighed, defeated, and let your eyes flick to the surface
It wasnât some crude joke or anything embarrassing. It wasnât even messy.
It was one clean word: meshâla
You blinked. Twice. Three times.
Then looked up at him, facing his back.
Crosshair was already halfway back to his bunk. âI donât understand,â you called, âWhat does this even mean?â
He stopped mid-step, shoulders shifting as if debating whether to even answer. Finally, he turned just enough for you to see his gaze.
âItâs a word,â he said, low and simple, âthat describes you.â
You stared. âGreat. Typical.â
He watched irritation settle across your face, and the faintest, driest sigh escaped himâYou donât know what it means.â
âWell, I canât see it being anything pleasant,â you shot back. âProbably means idiot. Or âdickhead.ââ
Crosshair hummed, almost amused sound, and slung his rifle over one shoulder. âMaybe,â he starts, âyou should check what it means before assuming.â
You grumbled under your breath something incoherent and something probably impolite.
Crosshairâs quiet hum echoed in your ears as you began digging through the clutter on Techâs desk as you look for a datapad.
ââMaybe you should check what it means,ââ you mimicked under your breath as you finally found a datapad buried under a heap of wiring. Victory.
You shot Crosshair a glare. He was leaning in the barracks doorway, arms folded across his chest, one boot crossed over the other, all coiled in smugness. The faint tilt of his head told you he was enjoying this far too much.
You scowled and typed the word into the translator with quick, irritated jabs: Meshâla.
The results popped up. You blinked. Then blinked again to make sure your eyes don't pop out of your skull.
Beautiful.
Your jaw slackened and heat shot up your throat so fast you almost choked.
âThatââ you stuttered, staring at the screen in disbelief. âThat canât be⊠I mustâveââ
You typed it again. And again. Each result came back the same.
Very slowly, you lifted your gaze.
Crosshair hadnât moved from the doorway. His expression was almost blank, carefully controlled⊠but there was something in the slight raise of his chin, the faintest flex at the corner of his mouth, that gave him away.
Satisfaction.
âW-whatâŠâ you breathed, barely managing to get the words out. âWhy?â
You were filled with just genuine, overwhelmed confusion as your fingers curled around the datapad to keep them from trembling.Â
Crosshair didnât answer. He simply shifted his rifle higher on his shoulder, gave the smallest nod and pushed off the doorframe.
âSee you later,â he murmured.
And then he was gone. Boots echoing down the hall and leaving you sitting in the mess of Techâs half-disassembled gadgets, clutching a helmet with âbeautifulâ painted on it.Â
Your face was on fire. Hot. Burning. You pressed your palms against it, trying to think, trying to breathe. Crosshair. Crosshair.
He⊠he actually liked you. And you were pretty certain you liked him too.
(A/N, this fic is purely for my own amusement, enjoy it if you must. I simply wanted to create the most random, somewhat unhinged, love triangle I could think of)
The Jedi Temple stood still that morning.
Even with the war breathing down the galaxyâs neck, even with whispers of clones and Kamino and Separatist strongholds, the Temple had not forgotten how to hold its silence.
A rare breeze swept through the Pillars of the hall, rustling the gold-edged tapestries that hung like memories between the columns. The high, vaulted ceiling glowed dimly from the skylights overheadâno harsh illumination today. Just solemn sun and shadow.
You knelt at the center of it all, the marble cool beneath your knees, the hem of your robes curled slightly from movement. Your hands, for once, were still.
Before you stood Master Windu.
And as always, he was a wall.
A composed, unmoving force of principle and powerâyet even now, in his rigid stance and unreadable expression, you could feel it. That slight shift in his presence. That guarded warmth he never allowed the others to see. His version of pride was like his version of affection: precise. Controlled. But real.
âYouâve grown into a warrior the Council did not expect,â he said quietly. His voice echoed through the chamber, flat but grounded. âThat is both your strength⊠and your warning.â
A wry smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. âThat sounds like you, Master.â
âFormer Master,â Mace corrected, though the corner of his mouth almost twitched. âAs of today.â
You glanced sideways, just enough to catch a glimpse of Master Yoda seated beside the ceremonial flame, nodding with quiet approval. A few other Masters flanked the hallâPlo Koon, Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan. Anakin was here too, arms crossed, a smirk barely hidden. Of course he would be. Heâd want to see someone else screw with the rules for once.
Mace raised his amethyst saber.
The room fell into breathless quiet, save for the snap-hiss of energy igniting.
âFor your skill in battle,â he said. âFor your persistence in training. For your commitment to the Forceâdespite your unorthodox methods.â
You heard the faintest beat of amusement in his voice, even as the blade hovered above your right shoulder.
âI name you Jedi Knight.â
The saber passed over your left shoulder, then extinguished in a smooth hiss. The light faded.
So did the weight.
You rose to your feet, your chest oddly tight.
Youâd imagined this moment a thousand times. You thought youâd grin. You thought youâd make a joke. Maybe wink at Anakin, toss your braid in celebration.
But instead, you looked at Mace.
And for the first time since youâd been a reckless thirteen-year-old hurling training sabers at his back in the practice ring⊠you saw the crack in his armor.
Pride.
Not spoken. Never spoken.
But it was there.
He stepped forward and quietly handed you your old braid, cut clean through and wrapped carefully in cloth. His gloved hand lingered a second too long as you took it.
âYouâll never be like me,â he said, low enough for only you to hear.
You looked up at him, caught off-guard.
âAnd that is the greatest relief Iâve known in some time.â
Your throat tightened, emotion flashing hot behind your eyes, but you swallowed it.
âI learned from the best,â you managed, voice rough.
He didnât smile. But he gave you a look that you would remember when the sky fellâwhen the war bled through every part of your soul. A look that said: I see who you are. I will always see it.
And then the moment passed.
Yoda called the next words.
The crowd shifted. Masters murmured. A few clones, newly commissioned, stood near the archway in pristine armor. The air already smelled like smoke. War was coming, and peace was being written into the margins of your life.
You were a Jedi Knight now.
And you were already being sent to assist the Galactic Marines on Mygeeto.
âž»
The Venator-class cruiser was silent in the way warships always were before deploymentâtense, mechanical, full of breath held in systems and lungs alike.
You stepped onto the hangar deck with your boots echoing, the hem of your new robes catching the gust from a passing LAAT. The smell of oil and ozone hit like a punch. The air was cooler than the Temple. Less forgiving.
The Galactic Marines didnât look your way when you passed.
They didnât need to.
Their reputation had preceded themâshock troopers bred for winter warfare and brutal sieges, trained under a commander who was as known for his silence as he was for his kill count.
Commander Bacara.
You spotted him almost immediately near the forward transport: broad frame, maroon-striped armor, helmet on. He didnât salute. Didnât approach. Just stood, arms crossed over his DC-15, as if sizing you up from thirty paces.
You let the moment hang before making your way to him, slow and purposeful.
âCommander Bacara,â you greeted, offering a nod. âIâm [Y/N], attached to this campaign per Council orders.â
Silence.
Not a word. Not even a hum of acknowledgment.
You arched a brow.
âRight. Strong, silent type. Got it.â
Still nothing. His visor remained locked on you, unreadable.
âDid the clones get assigned vocal cords or are you just allergic to Jedi in general?â
That got a reactionâa tilt of the helmet, ever so slight. Then, at last, a gravel-thick voice rumbled from the vocoder:
âOnly the loud ones.â
Your mouth quirked into something halfway between irritation and amusement. âGuess itâs your lucky day.â
Before he could replyâor walk off, which you sensed he very much wanted to doâa voice cut in behind you.
â[Last Name].â
You turned, spine stiffening.
Ki-Adi-Mundi stood at the foot of the boarding ramp, flanked by two clone officers. His long fingers were clasped behind his back, face pinched in that constant mix of detachment and disdain.
You bowed, briefly.
âMaster Mundi.â
âIâve been reviewing the battle plan for Mygeeto,â he said, skipping any preamble. âWeâll be launching a three-pronged assault on the main Separatist refinery. Bacara will lead the frontal push with his battalion, supported by armor units and orbital fire.â
Your jaw clenched.
âWith all due respect, Master, a frontal push against entrenched droid cannons is going to get a lot of men killed.â
Ki-Adi blinked at you, calmly. âThat is war. They are soldiers. They understand the risks.â
âThey understand orders. Not suicidal tactics.â Your voice rose just slightly, heat creeping in. âIf we reroute half the armor for flanking and force the droids to split, we could avoid heavy losses and push them off the ridge before nightfall.â
âI did not ask for a tactical critique,â Mundi said, tone sharpening. âAnd I trust Commander Bacaraâs ability to execute the current plan.â
You glanced at Bacara. He hadnât moved. Hadnât spoken. Just stared.
Of course he agreed with Mundi. They were cut from the same ice.
âI didnât realize Jedi Master meant immune to input.â
Silence fell over the deck. The clones nearby tensed. Bacaraâs helmet shifted an inch toward you.
Mundi stepped closer, lowering his voice. âYou are newly knighted, [Last Name]. This war will demand obedience, not bravado.â
You took a slow breath.
Then offered the barest, tightest smile. âThen itâs a good thing I never had much of either.â
Mundi turned and strode up the ramp without another word.
You exhaled once he was gone, rolling your shoulders like you could shrug off the frustration. You could feel Bacara still watching.
âWhat?â you snapped without looking at him.
There was a beat of silence.
âYou better be half as good as you think you are.â
You turned. âOr what?â
âIâll be requesting a reassignment.â
Your laugh came out bitter. âBetter men have tried.â
He paused. Then, with a tilt of his head, said lowly: âIâm not a better man. Iâm a soldier.â
Then he turned and walked away.
You stood there a moment longer, heat buzzing under your skin. You werenât sure if it was from angerâor something worse.
âž»
The descent onto Mygeeto was chaos.
Even through the LAATâs thick hull, you could feel the stormâicy wind slicing across the cityâs skeletal towers, artillery screaming through clouds of smoke and crystalline ash. The Separatists had fortified every corner of the industrial sector, their cannon fire lighting up the skyline like a cursed sunrise.
As the dropship pitched, the clones inside with you braced without a word. Focused. Ready. Not afraidâjust used to dying.
Your hand gripped the support bar as the doors peeled open mid-hover, revealing a battlefield straight from a nightmare. Turbolaser fire scorched the skyline. Glimmering bridges of ice and shattered durasteel crumbled beneath the weight of battle tanks. Somewhere far below, you saw a battalion caught in a choke pointâblaster bolts raining down from enemy artillery nested in a half-collapsed tower.
Your stomach turned.
âIs that Bacaraâs forward unit?â you shouted over the roar.
âYes, sir!â one of the clone gunners confirmed. âPinned since the last push!â
You turned to the pilot. âDrop me there. Now.â
The pilot hesitated. âBut ordersââ
âNow.â
The gunship banked sharply, the icy wind slamming into you as you leapt onto the fractured platform below, lightsaber already blazing to life.
It took less than ten minutes.
Droids fell in pieces, turrets melted under redirected blaster bolts, and you pushed your way to the trapped Marines like a blade through frost. You helped them retreat behind makeshift cover, shielding them with the Force and your saber, yelling for them to move. Not all of them made it.
But more than would have.
When the smoke cleared, and the men were medevaced out, you stood amid the wreckage, panting, cut along one shoulder and streaked with soot.
And Bacara was waiting for you.
He stormed toward you from the north ridge, visor locked onto yours, stride like a thunderhead.
You straightened, chin high, refusing to flinch.
âYou disobeyed direct chain-of-command,â he growled, voice deep and cold. âThat was my operation.â
âYour men were dying,â you snapped. âI made a call.â
âIt wasnât your call to make. I had them.â
âThey were pinned with zero cover, Bacara! If you had a plan, it was to bury them in ice!â
His helmet came off in one sharp motion.
You hadnât seen his face until now.
Shaved head. Sharp scar across the side of his cheekbone. And a scowl that looked carved from stone.
âDonât pretend you know my men better than I do, Jedi.â
You stepped forward. âAnd donât pretend that your silence is strategy. You may be good at war, but youâre not the only one fighting it.â
Before he could reply, another voice cut through the comms.
âCommander Bacara. Young [Last Name]. Report to the north command post immediately.â
It was Mundi.
The command post was a hollowed-out transport, half-frozen and lit by dim tactical screens. Ki-Adi-Mundi stood in the center, flanked by officers.
He didnât look at you when he spoke.
âYou endangered the mission with your reckless disobedience.â
âI saved your troopers.â
âYou undermined your commander. You undermined me.â
You stared at him, jaw locked.
Mundi finally turned, his tone colder than the planet itself. âYou may carry a lightsaber, but you are not exempt from consequence. Effective immediately, you are being reassigned.â
âWhat?â you breathed. âYou canât be serious.â
âYou will report to General Skywalker and the 501st at once. Theyâve requested Jedi support. Youâre clearly more suited to their methods.â
You laughed once, bitter. âYou mean chaos? No rules? Youâd get rid of me in an instant?â
âIf it will keep you from sabotaging another campaign, then yes.â
You looked to Bacara.
He said nothing. Didnât even look at you.
It stung more than it should have.
Mundi turned away, already dismissing you. âDismissed.â
You stood there a moment longer, anger a low drum in your ribs.
Then you turned sharply and leftâyour boots loud, your breath hot, and the ice of Mygeeto clinging to your back like regret.
âž»
The drop onto Christophis was smoother than Mygeeto.
No bitter wind. No ice underfoot. Just the blue-tinged glass of a besieged city glowing beneath your boots, and the hum of LAAT engines fading into the dusk.
You exhaled slowly.
For once, it didnât fog the air.
The 501st was already dug inâhalf-built barricades, mounted cannons, troopers weaving through lines of duracrete rubble and smoldering droid parts. The camp smelled like burned plastoid and caf. And somehow⊠it didnât feel like death.
Not yet.
You adjusted your gear and crossed into the center of the forward line, where a knot of officers stood around a portable holo table. A tall familiar figure turned toward you before you could announce yourself.
âGeneral [Last Name], I presume?â the man asked with a bright smirk and a heavy Core accent. âYouâre just in time. Dinnerâs still warmâif you like ration bricks and bad company.â
General Anakin Skywalker. He grinned at you like an old friend.
You blinked. âI⊠wasnât expecting a warm welcome.â
âYouâre not coming from the High Council,â Anakin replied, clearly picking up on your edge. âYouâre here to fight. Thatâs more than enough for us.â
A few troopers nearby chuckled. One even offered a small wave before returning to repairs on a nearby speeder. You werenât used to clones acting so⊠relaxed.
Anakin slung an arm across the shoulders of the nearest officer, a clone with a blond buzz cut, blue markings on his pauldron, and eyes sharp with experience.
âThis is Captain Rex,â Anakin said. âHe keeps me alive and makes sure I donât get court-martialed.â
Rex offered his hand. âItâs good to have another General on the line. The men could use someone steady. Master Skywalker tends to⊠improvise.â
âI prefer the term creative solutionist.â
You shook Rexâs hand firmly. âIâve been assigned to assist for the duration of this campaign. Support, field command, and lightsaber damage control, apparently.â
âDonât let the last bit worry you,â Rex said, voice warm but measured. âMost of us like having a Jedi around. Just donât get yourself shot trying to do everything alone.â
You hesitated. Thatâs the only way Iâve ever done it.
But instead, you said, âCopy that, Captain.â
Anakin returned with two ration packs and tossed one at you.
âCome on,â he said. âBriefing starts in ten. Might as well eat something before the next artillery barrage.â
You caught the ration and followed him into the makeshift war room. The 501st felt⊠alive. Not like a machine, or a tool. Like people. Clones joked with each other between shifts. Someone was fixing a vibro-guitar in a corner. Laughter drifted through the halls of war like smoke.
He studied you for a moment while chewing a bite of compressed stew.
âSo,â he said, grinning. âYouâre Winduâs kid.â
You blinked. âIâm not his kid.â
âPlease,â Anakin scoffed. âYou practically are. He used to lecture me about setting a better example because you were watching.â
You smirked despite yourself. âHe does that with everyone. Itâs how he shows affection. Judgement equals love.â
âI donât think heâs capable of affection,â Anakin said, half-muttering into his rations. âBut you? Youâre the exception.â
You leaned back against the wall, tone softening. âHe trained me to be better. Sharper. Not just strong with a saber, but⊠clear. Even when I didnât want to be.â
Anakin tilted his head. âHe proud of you?â
âYeah,â you said. âNot that he says it, but⊠yeah. I think so.â
He grinned. âBet he didnât love you getting assigned to me.â
You laughed under your breath. âNot exactly. He said, âSkywalker needs someone with both instinct and control. Be that someone.â Then he stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.â
Anakin chuckled. âYep. That sounds like Mace.â
You took another bite of your ration and glanced around the lively campâclones talking, techs laughing, life humming even in the lull before battle.
âFeels different here,â you said.
Anakin raised an eyebrow. âGood different?â
You nodded. âYeah. It feels like⊠theyâre not just soldiers.â
He offered a quiet smile. âTheyâre not. Youâll see.â
And you would.
But not before the war reached its cold fingers toward you once again.
You ate in silence while Skywalker outlined the next assaultâtight push through Separatist-occupied towers, with limited casualties expected. He spoke quickly, clearly, and didnât interrupt you when you pointed out structural weak points or alternate flanking positions. In fact, he nodded along, visibly impressed.
Anakin raised a brow. âDid you and Mace ever clash?â
You hesitated. âHe sees obedience as strength. Iâve always⊠leaned more toward instinct.â
Skywalker grinned. âGood. Youâll fit in just fine here.â
And for the first time in weeksâsince the icy silence of Bacaraâs helmet and Mundiâs cold dismissalâyou felt the tension in your chest loosen. Just a little.
âž»
The Separatists had fortified the western spires overnight, turning crystalline towers into sniper nests and droid chokepoints. A slow siege was no longer an option. The 501st was going inâfast, loud, and all in.
âYour unitâs with me,â Rex said, voice clipped as he secured his helmet. âSkywalker and Torrent Squad are flanking left. We punch through the center, collapse the staging platform, and pull back before reinforcements converge.â
You adjusted the grip on your lightsaber hilt, watching the blue blade snap to life with a hum. âYou lead. I follow.â
Rex gave a short nod, visor glinting in the low light. He didnât say much. He didnât need to. He moved with the weight of trust already earnedâhis men mirrored his focus, his readiness.
You hadnât seen command like this on Mygeeto. Not from Ki-Adi-Mundi. And definitely not from Bacara.
The gunships roared over the skyline.
âDrop in ten!â a trooper shouted, clinging to the side rail of the LAAT. You stood beside Rex as the bay doors opened, revealing the shimmering battlefield belowâglass and stone, fire and blue lightning crashing from tower to tower.
The LAAT banked hard and you leapt, landing in the center of a collapsing avenue as blaster fire rained down from the towers above. Rex hit the ground a second later, blasters up, already shouting to his men.
âPush forward! Second squadâcover the left lane!â
You spun your saber, deflecting bolts as the first wave of droids charged. The 501st advanced in perfect coordinationâlike flowing water, shifting and reforming around obstacles as if theyâd rehearsed it a hundred times.
You slipped into the rhythm with them, striking hard through advancing B1s, clearing the rooftops with mid-air leaps, redirecting sniper fire with narrow, deliberate swings. The clones covered you, trusted you, fell into sync with you like youâd been fighting beside them for years.
No hesitation. No resistance.
Just trust.
You didnât know what that felt like until now.
At the front of the charge, Rex cleared the last of the droid forces on the platform with brutal efficiency. You landed beside him, both of you breathing hard but steady, the wind howling through broken towers.
You looked at him.
He looked at you.
âGood work,â he said, like it was fact, not flattery.
âYou too,â you replied, meeting his gaze.
A pause stretched between you. Not silence, not in the middle of warâbut something else. A mutual understanding. The beginning of something⊠not yet defined.
The comm crackled.
â501stâfall back to Rally Point Aurek. Enemy movement on the east ridge.â
âCopy,â Rex said, turning away. âLetâs move.â
You followed without hesitation, eyes scanning the horizon.
War didnât allow time for reflection. But as you fell into step with Rexâside by sideâyou couldnât help but think:
This felt different.
âž»
The sky over Christophis had finally quieted.
The battle was wonâfor now. The towers no longer pulsed with enemy fire, the droids had retreated deeper into the cityâs core, and the crystals that jutted from the landscape reflected nothing but the dull orange haze of a weary sunrise.
You walked side-by-side with Rex, the only sound between you the soft crunch of shattered glass beneath boots and armor. This was your fourth perimeter sweep since the offensive. He didnât talk much. You didnât either.
Still, it wasnât silence. It was⊠companionable.
âI thought Jedi preferred peace,â Rex said after a while, his voice muffled through his helmet.
âI do,â you replied, stepping over a cracked durasteel beam. âBut Iâm good at war.â
Rex turned slightly to look at you. âYou donât sound proud of that.â
You shrugged. âIâm not.â
Another beat passed. You slowed your pace, scanning an alley where the shadows felt too thick. Just scavengers. Nothing moved.
âYou were better in battle than I expected,â Rex added. âThe way you covered the west flankâthat was clean. Calculated.â
You snorted. âI thought Jedi werenât supposed to be calculating.â
He paused at the edge of a shattered courtyard. âYouâre not like the others Iâve seen.â
You tilted your head. âThat a compliment?â
Rex didnât answer right away. He just looked out over the city, where blue light still shimmered in the air like a war that refused to die completely.
âI donât think you care whether it is or not,â he said eventually.
That earned a quiet laugh from you. âNow that sounds like a compliment.â
The moment stretched a little longer this time. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just a thread of something starting to pull taut between you, quiet and unspoken.
Then the comms chirped.
:: This is General Kenobi. 212th battalion has entered the theater. Coordinates sent. ::
Rex exhaled through his nose. âGreat. The cavalry.â
You smirked. âNot a fan of the beard?â
âHeâs fine. His men are loud.â
From the high ridge, you could already see themâyellow-marked troops of the 212th fanning out like wildfire, Obi-Wan walking ahead with the patient authority of someone used to saving the galaxy before breakfast.
âGeneral Kenobi,â you called as you approached. âYouâre late.â
Kenobi raised a brow. âFashionably. Youâre holding up well, Padawan.â
âKnight, actually,â you said, quirking a brow. âBut thanks for the demotion.â
Rex nodded politely as Cody jogged up beside him. The two commanders exchanged a quick, wordless handshakeâthe kind only shared between soldiers whoâd bled on similar soil.
âLooks like things just got louder,â you murmured.
Rex glanced sideways at you. âYou sure thatâs a bad thing?â
Warnings: Kidnapping/held hostage⊠a reigniting love for Benedict Cumberbatch. Iâm obsessed with keeping writing true to character, hopefully this is accurate
DID YOU KNOW THEY TOOK SHERLOCK OFF NETFLIX - those bastards
Request: This is just from my own head đ
A/N: Sherlock seems indifferent to the hired housekeeper, but when she goes missing his life is thrown upside down
She straightened out the chaos. She was very good at that. Making whatever disaster was in the flat a controlled chaos.
Hi Frost! Congrats on the 200 followers đ if you're up for it I'd love a little fic with one of the Bad Batch boys (your pick) and meeting someone online? Can be canon or modern au, but developing a crush before they've ever met in person. Fem or GN is fine. Details can be up to you!
Congrats again đ§Ą
Cyber Crush [Wrecker x Fem!Reader]
Story Summary: When a hot new dating site hits the Holonet dedicated to the soldiers of the Grand Army appears practically overnight, it becomes all the rage for many a hopeful romantic living in Republic space. No oneâs admitting to who created it, or why, but youâre simply too curious to not check it out for yourself. You get lucky and end up hitting it off very well with the first soldier you match to, Wrecker of Clone Force 99. A mutual crush leads into a small handful of âdigital datesâ before thereâs finally an opportunity for the real deal.
Warnings & Information: Second Person POV; undescribed, unnamed Fem!Reader living on Coruscant. Clone Dating Service AU. All dating profiles have little clues to various Clones [some are my OCs; most are Canon!]. Minor amount of Star Wars and real-world swearing. Some use of Mandoâa. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.Â
Word count: 6,630
The old proverb âCuriosity killed the Loth-cat, but satisfaction brought it back.â had never been more true than tonight as you opened a new browser on your home terminal and pecked in the URL scribbled upon a strip of flimsiplast taken from a tear-off flyer.Â
You had just gotten home after a long day of running errands, making the very last just before the evening rush-hour was initiated by Coruscantâs diverse nightlife. Itâd been a hurried grocery run; grabbing only missing essentials for dinner. You were probably in and out in less than five minutes. Seven tops. There was nothing out of the ordinary when you ducked into the store. Ducking out, howeverâŠ
Well it was impossible to miss. Fliers had been stuck to every conceivable surface â probably a hundred more at the average eye-level alone. There must have been a huge group of people working together to hang up this many in such a short time. Nothing really remarkable about them from a distance, either.Â
A closer inspection showed all of them bore the Republicâs eight-spoke Galactic Roundel along with a tantalizing offer.Â
âWishing the nice night you had at 79âs was EVERY night? Take one to find out how!âÂ
You couldnât really resist discovering what this was for yourself. Pocketing one of the strips, you hurried home and threw anything temperature-sensitive into the conservator first, thinking this would only be a quick peek.Â
Dinner could afford to wait a few minutes. You just have to see for yourself what was being teased about a popular hangout in the Entertainment District from such an otherwise nondescript flyer. Which⊠maybe you should have used the incognito feature for. The welcome message on the landing page is ambiguous enough to cause uncertainty of the âserviceâ being advertised, but the growing allure proves more powerful than your caution.Â
"WELCOME TO THE #1 HOTTEST SITE ON THE HOLONET â GUYS OF THE GAR!
"Looking for a sensitive, sweet or strong soldier to steal your heart? Please sign in or create an account to make use of our services!"
Curiosity nips at your heels. The cursor hovers thoughtfully over âSign Up!â for a quiet moment. A dating service? For the Grand Army of the Republic? To hell with it, you decide. Thereâs no harm in looking!Â
Clicking in, youâre presented with a small pop-up window after creating a username and password.Â
âThank you for showing interest in the newly-developed and secretly-run Clone Dating Service (CDS). Be advised that our site is closely monitored at all times and in spite of our last âfumigationâ before the site went live, there may still be a few stubborn bugs. They will be squashed shortly. - CDS SysadminâÂ
Dismissing the pop-up opens the profile editor for you. (Rather convenient.) In the bottom left corner of the page sits an animated, digital âmascotâ of sorts. It, or rather he, looks mostly like a standard Clone - granted one whoâs been stylized in such a way to appear more âcutesyâ. The helmet is slightly oversized, lending to a bobble-headed image, and the visor is very⊠shiny.Â
Inclusion of a digital mascot is unexpected; that kind of quirk is rare these days now that the practice has largely lost its charm. Relievingly, this one is not immediately annoying. He salutes, informs you of his purpose through a small speech bubble, then falls silent and assumes a parade rest position.Â
âClicks, reporting for duty! Iâve been assigned to cover your six in case you run into trouble setting up your CDS profile!âÂ
For a site that went live very recently, youâre impressed by how many options have been provided. There was a matchmaking service run by âin-houseâ analysts, or the option to self-match with profiles that fit within selected parameters. Additionally, you could opt for in-person dates, long distance relationships, keep it strictly online, or, curiously, even be pen pals.Â
That option creates some pause. Why would a dating service offer a pen pal program? You do a little digging around the site before editing anything.Â
Was this something new cooked up by the Commision for the Protection of the Republic - some clever bit of COMPOR propaganda to drum up more support for their literal poster boys? Were they the ones behind this?Â
Strangely enough, you canât find anything that smells like their usual influence. You continue to look around, even trawl through other parts of the Holonet to find an answer while making dinner. (No sense doing detective work on an empty stomach.) There are many varying schools of thought muddying the waters, but nothing that puts a bad taste in your mouth about the Guys of The GAR CDS at the same time.Â
Profiles promise to be âpretty painlessâ to create and deactivate. Militaristic lingo had two possible explanations: the CDS was made by the Clones themselves or it was part of the theming. Naysayers casting doubt on whether or not these profiles actually belonged to GAR soldiers were quieting as the mountain of evidence only grew. Incredibly, there were already multiple reports of dates set to meet at 79âs tonight - of which was rumored to involve one of the Corries.Â
And admittedly, those reports looked pretty damn legitimate. Okay, the pen pal thing is still a little odd, but you decide to proceed as planned.Â
Beginning with the basics, a few tiny embellishments are added to your lists of interests, hobbies, and personality traits. Not so much that it becomes dishonest, but enough to add intrigue. Then came the oft-dreaded photo selection process. Call it a stroke of luck that finding something high-quality and you liked well enough didnât take too terribly long. And finally, an optional ice breaker question.Â
This you opt to skip for the time being. Youâre far too eager to get right into the heart of it and waste no time selecting your preference of services.Â
Clicks âspeaksâ for the second time after you hit âSubmit and Saveâ, breaking from parade rest to offer two thumbs up. âYouâll have your boots on the ground in no time! Please just give the CDS a moment to finish filling out the roster. It should be available shortly.â True to the digital mascotâs words, the site offers a batch of eight profiles to start with, labeled RO for Roster One.Â
âGood luck!â he adds before assuming formation once again.Â
Looking over RO, you feel your heart quickening with excitement. You have a promising listing full of very intriguing prospects. It provides a two word moniker, tagline of sorts, detachment, and the chosen services for every Clone - his likes and dislikes included in the expanded view of his particular listing. A small taste of who he is as an individual person.Â
What truthfully grabs your attention the most is a promise of getting the trooperâs name on one fair condition: a successful match.Â
The rest of your evening was free and there were no pressing responsibilities to take care of tomorrow. This gave you the freedom to spend however much time youâd like on the CDS tonight with the rest of the galaxyâs hopeful romantics.Â
So what were you waiting for?
ROSTER ONEÂ
Blue HawkÂ
Very experienced.Â
Deployment: Legion
Preference: MatchmakingÂ
Gentle GiantÂ
Date me, and I GUARANTEE you'll have a blast!Â
Deployment: Specialty/Commandos
Preference: Self Match, In-Person, Long Distance
Glorious DaylightÂ
If you think my scar looks bad, you should see the other guy.
Deployment: Battalion
Preference: Other/Hidden
Last DominoÂ
ARC troopers do it better.
Deployment: Specialty/Commandos
Preference: In-Person, Pen Pals
Lost EyebrowsÂ
Enough heart and soul to go around!Â
Deployment: Specialty/Commandos
Preference: Other/Hidden
Missing Paintbrush
Made a profile because I lost a bet to my brothers. (Thanks, guysâŠ)
Deployment: Legion
Preference: Pen Pals, Self Match
Silver MoonÂ
Only here to keep my one good eye on my men. Sorry in advance about âFilthy Flowerâ.
Deployment: BattalionÂ
Preference: Other/HiddenÂ
Young King
Iâll be as loyal to you as I am to the Republic.Â
Deployment: Legion
Preference: Long Distance, Matchmaking
Taking a moment to peruse this small wealth of choices here within Roster One, you gradually gain a better understanding of the site mechanics available. There are no pictures to look at â conceivably, by design. Maybe the idea is once you match with a trooper, you get more than just his name, but some idea of his physical image. Mildly ingenious.Â
Your given options are âLikeâ, âDismissâ and âMaybeâ. Results will refine themselves accordingly, steadily supplying the best possible prospects for subsequent rosters. You wonder how large the CDS dating pool is at this very moment. Hundreds, maybe thousands of live profiles? How many more were well on their way - set to join the database by the end of the week? Hopefully the Clone Dating Service had a plan (or two) to accommodate the sheer number of civilians making profiles and the influx of digital foot-traffic they were likely to see...Â
Could get hairier than a Wookie for their servers if everyone and their tooka created a profile on Coruscant, alone. A trillion or so people lived here. Turn the scope out to the entire rest of the galaxy and it was nigh impossible to get an accurate sense of the populace. Youâd sooner find a way to reintroduce nature to the Jewel of the Core Worlds than acquire such records.Â
How long will this âGuys of The GARâ be sticking around, anyway?Â
How likely would it be that you, competing with trillions of other sentient lifeforms, find someone who could end being right for you?Â
You look again at Roster One. Unsure of what ârightâ looks like to begin with, you read what little information is provided again and again. Maybe youâre looking for casual, laidback experiences. Or yearning for depth and devotion. Putting what it is you hope for into words is not as simple as you thought.Â
Something about the second from the top speaks to you over all the others. It starts first as a whisper. Before long it grew louder. Clearer. What could it be about this soldier who dubbed himself âGentle Giantâ that you return to his profile more than the rest? His non-specific promise of a good time? And in the midst of a war, no less.Â
He identified himself as some variation of SpecOps; such a service might come with elevated privileges whenever heâs granted leave (or leisure or liberty or whatever they call it). Could it be that Gentle Giant has special connections and/or favors to collect on â something he hopes to make use of with slightly more select company?Â
With another tooka for your curiosity to threaten, you take one final opportunity to consider.Â
The bait set on this hook was mighty tempting. Youâre willing to take a chance with it. Test your luck. You select âLikeâ, knowing that all you can do now is wait. Hope. Keep your search going. Requesting the next roster, your examination only takes you as far as the third profile before the digital mascot is vying for your attention.Â
âIncoming transmission!â Clicks exclaims, his shiny blue-black visor now blinking green. âThis is straight from command: youâve received your first successful match! Shall I patch you through now?âÂ
For a beat, you do nothing, surprised. Hadnât been very long at all and you already had an eager bite of your own.Â
Curious, you open the notification presented to you by Clicks. The portal for direct messaging opens to some rather sunny correspondence from Gentle Giant - evidence of a social and friendly disposition.Â
Giant: Hi miss! Thanks for matching with me. Love your pictures!
You type out a partial reply, half hoping thereâs no indicator for Giant to watch. It might show him when you stop to open his CDS profile in another tab and have a look at the expanded information. At the uploaded pictures with⊠Are those hand-written notes? Aside from the commentary left on each of them, and perhaps the fact he wore (a majority of) his armor in most, there is a more immediate theme throughout all of these images.Â
Gentle Giant wore his helmet in every last shot.Â
That, you donât entirely think too much of. He had been upfront about his classification as some variety of specialty soldier; which the unique shape and ominous rancor-inspired design would be very befitting of. Youâre more focused (and perhaps even impressed) by the thorough attention to detail everything has been given.Â
Safety measures, you would guess, that the helmet is an extension of. Reflective surfaces are covered by large drop cloths. Data screens in the background are set to display little bits of trivia, playful messages or jokes. Anyone in the frame had their face obscured by helmets, hoods, or strategically positioned items such as datapads. (And a whole GNK-series power droid, in one case.) Thatâs the sort of thoroughness Gentle Giant, and the squad with him, by the look of it, had put into everything.Â
You wonât get to see his face or really anything that isnât carefully curated. Maybe not for a while yet, depending on how the first exchange plays out. That doesnât mean there isnât already plenty about him that you can see.Â
Showing off for the camera, the black undersuit has been rolled up past his elbows to show off well-muscled forearms in the third image out of the collection. Basked in the light of some midday sun, the familiar warmly tanned and rich brown skin many knew the Clones for almost appeared to glow. You canât tell what planet heâs on. Nor what heâs holding up to the picture-taker with a pair of firm, dexterous hands. Some kind of quad-eyed fish, perhaps?
From the fourth picture you can infer that he must be strong. This, like the picture before, is also posed. Gentle Giant stands in a typical bodybuilderâs pose against a brushed-metal wall; his legs shoulder-width apart, elbows raised high. With a pair of troopers sitting on each arm youâll have to settle for imagining the biceps firmly flexing beneath them. No clues come from the small-print annotations about who they are, only that they wear the same set of armor labeled with the following.Â
âK-Class armor, 20kg; not that wimpy 6kg stuff!âÂ
A second annotation states the soldiers stand 1.83m tall, Giant at 1.96m. Damn, wouldnât that put him at six-foot-five or six-foot-six? Now you see where the âGiantâ in his moniker comes from.Â
That sets him apart from COMPORâs typical poster boys. A fairly reasonable assumption to make is he may or may not stand apart from them in other ways as well. But so long as he continued to be pleasant and friendly, what did that matter?
You: Thanks for matching with me too. Didnât mean to take so long to reply! Got a little distracted taking a look at your pictures as well. Kinda liked the one with the fish-thing, haha.Â
Giant hardly seems perturbed by the delay. It appears he expected it, if anything. Given that you had listed your location as âOn/Near Coruscantâ he had assumed you must be having dinner or taking care of some daily task.Â
Giant: No need to worry! If you have stuff you need to do, take all the time you need! I was catching breakfast for my squad after saying hello - more of those fish since thereâs a LOT of them here. (And weâre all pretty sick of rations, haha!)
You: Thatâs very nice of you, but I already took care of the most important stuff so Iâll be free to talk for a while. Very kind of you to do that for them, too! Variety once in a while must be extremely nice and/or rare.Â
Giant: HAH, you have no idea!!Â
He signs off the reply with a smiley face. A little thing that lends further credibility to your earlier impression about his friendliness. Makes it easier to talk to him throughout the evening and late into the night.Â
Time manages to seriously get away from you. Before you know it, youâve stayed up entirely too late. The dull burn behind each tired eye seems to flare when you glance at the first available chronometer. Ah, poodoo⊠You really should have gone to bed long before now.Â
But you had been having a pleasant and easy-going chat with Gentle Giant for hours on end. Doing so was almost effortless; taking notice of less-immediate needs became less of a priority as a result. In the natural course of conversation he had shown incredible kindness and genuine interest over everything that was discussed.Â
That made it easy to speak a little more playfully and jokingly at times, even when it came to asking one another the usual questions.Â
Favorite colors, foods and beverages, what hobbies you had. Learn if you have any in common. Compare the list of planets the two of you know of â where youâve been, and where you hope to go someday. Determine the farthest youâve ever been from your respective homeworlds. Then the longest youâve been away after that. And if it was too long, or not long enough.Â
Long before belatedly bunking down and asking your final question of the night â when would he like to talk again? â you had learned his name.Â
Wrecker.Â
The line between get-to-know-you questions and first-date-together questions blurred somewhere very early on.Â
Far sooner than either of you might have expected. Maybe even as soon as the night you had mutually matched on the Guys of The GAR webpage.Â
It helped that Wrecker was an incredibly attentive and curious guy. Possessed a well of intelligence tempered by a humble streak. Left no room for doubts pertaining to whether he genuinely cared whenever he got a chance to hear from you. Peppering in little follow-up questions. Reaching out for recommendations regarding more mundane things.Â
It hardly mattered what the subject was, either. You could, and often did, talk for hours together.Â
Endlessly. Easily. Flirtatiously.Â
Wrecker only wished it were more often, were it not for the nature of his detachment. He and his brothers do a fair number of the âdirty jobsâ the GAR might require. Getting more specific than that wasnât something he believed would be wholly necessary. Not at this stage where there were healthy embers between you, to be certain, but no steady flame.Â
Not just yet.Â
The first dozen or so conversations were strictly text-based. A way of testing the waters before committing to the idea of taking a swim in the shallows. If the temperature between you was too chilly for someoneâs liking, then no harm done! Just wade back to shore, acclimate, and try again. Your time in the shallows carried on for a good few weeks, paddling about in the current with cautious optimism. Only once there was more confidence did Wrecker think of proposing the transition.Â
Audio only; no visuals to start. That way you could both be in the otherâs ear while going about your lives, so to speak. Going to bed with the suns. Rising for a new day with the moons. Catching speedercabs and lunch. Putting away provisions and groceries. Cleaning. Killing time.Â
Giddy giggles.Â
Boyish laughs.Â
Hearts racing, racing, racing.Â
Elation, frequent. Excitement, boundless. Crushing all the while.Â
Falling for one another. Steadily. Deeply.Â
And subject to much teasing. By far, the vast majority of it was dedicated to Wrecker â given the source was his brothers. You often caught snippets of passing remarks and fragments of conversation from them when he tried finding the most private spaces on their small ship to chat with you. Hardly anything cutting. Nor relentless and cruel. Nothing more than standard sibling smack-talk.Â
âDonât forget to get some sleep, loverboy.âÂ
âOhh, shaddup. Iâm not gonna forget!âÂ
âUh-huhâŠâÂ
Things were a little different once you graduated to video feeds and hologram projections over the same secured lines. These adjustments were far more intimate. More personal. More real. You were engaged in an exercise of trust and vulnerability by adding another sense - sight - to these real-time interactions previously limited to sound.Â
Wrecker would return to the dedicated practice of wearing his helmet facing this change. Assumingly, it was just one of the precautionary measures that would be stubbornly holding on longer than the rest. He had been talking with you for well over two months, at this point.Â
You could honestly say these last fourteen weeks or more had truly flown by. In that time, you had grown so incredibly fond of him. So you had asked Wrecker during one of these calls. Once. And not for him to shuck the helmet from off his head. Just about it.Â
âI would imagine youâre largely used to your helmet Wrecker, but does wearing it ever get uncomfortable?â
He tugged on the neckline of his undersuit, offering only a guarded chuckle at first.Â
âUh⊠Yeah. Sometimes, anyway!âÂ
The careful way he had admitted this to you gave off the impression he would have been avoiding eye-contact had he not been wearing the black, gray and white bucket. The one you sometimes find yourself staring at the red double nines painted over the brow rather than the visor directly below. The aurebesh 99, perhaps unintentionally, functioned like an eyespot or ocellus. Difficult not to feel like the numbers were almost watching you.Â
You wouldnât press the question any further on that particular occasion.Â
But it wouldnât be long until it was brought up again, this time by one of Wreckerâs brothers.Â
It was a rare instance where everyone was in the same galactic time zone. No chance of his squad making a âfriendly pitstopâ on Coruscant, however. They were duty-bound, and it was late into the night. You and Wrecker were on yet another video call in spite of that.Â
Heâs midway through an animated retelling of a prior operation when the sound of someone yawning as they shuffle closer gets picked up by the audio transceiver. Wreckerâs brother stops just out of frame, voice full of unmistakable fatigue.
âWrecker. Move alreadyâŠâ he orders tersely, âYouâre in my bunk.â
Asking you to give him a second, Wrecker obliges. âSorry. Iâll move to the hold. Wonât be much longer.âÂ
âApologies if my desire to sleep is getting in the way of your little virtual dates⊠Only, itâs not much of a date if your cyber crush has never seen your face, now is it?â
He had already gotten up from his brotherâs bunk by that point, intending to do exactly as he said. But something about his brotherâs words provokes Wrecker to stop and protest. âHey. We all came up with the idea about our helmets. I was-â Perhaps thinking better of whatever he had been about to say, Wrecker stops abruptly. âForget it,â he says, âweâll talk about this in the morning.â He bids his brother goodnight before disappearing into the hold.Â
A quiet unease sits on Wreckerâs shoulders once heâs alone again. Settled on the floor of their shuttleâs tiny, tiny hold, back propped by a stack of secured crates, he lets out a tense sigh.Â
âSorry âbout that, meshâlaâŠâÂ
Frowning, you ask if heâs alright. You understand Wrecker couldnât have anticipated one of his brothers saying something like that, so the thing heâs likely sorry about is you overhearing it. But your more immediate concern is whether or not heâs upset. This is not a candid or thoughtful kind of silence.Â
âWrecker? Iâll understand if you want to cut tonight shor-â
Please, wait, Wrecker insists. Before you say anything else, there is something he should say. His brother is right. That isnât what upsets him. He should have been the one to bring it up. This was his conversation to have with you, when he was ready. And it wouldâve been the next time the two of you talked â would swear to that on his blaster, if you wanted him to.Â
Now Wrecker feels like it should be tonight instead. Because, truthfully, he has some really strong feelings for you. Had for some time now, as a matter of fact⊠Thinking of getting a little more serious, Wrecker might argue youâve had a few long-distance dates at this point. (Without necessarily calling them that.) Something he would certainly like to continue, but not without taking care of a couple things, first.Â
âYouâre a nice lady. Real nice, even. Been real understandinâ of my anonymity this entire time,â Wrecker explains. His dexterous fingers nervously fiddle with a short length of spare wire, tying and then untying it. Each loop is roughly the size of his wrist. âI think itâs only fair I show ya what I look like before askinâ ya what you think of⊠Movinâ to the next step or somethinâ.âÂ
After haphazardly stuffing the wire into a pocket, Wrecker adjusts the datapad heâs propped on the crate opposite from him to make sure heâs in focus and in frame.Â
âWelp. Here goes nothing.âÂ
Wrecker wastes no time after his declaration. Reaching up, the helmet is unsealed before then carefully removed from his head. Wrecker offers you a boyish, charming smile before his helmet is even so much as level with his chest. He grips it tightly in his hands, giving himself something to direct all of his nervous energy into so he has an easier time maintaining eye contact.Â
And it would be dishonest to say one could overlook the obvious. His left eye is a pale, blueish white; a stark contrast to the brown eye opposite it. A noticeable smattering of scar tissue sits on the left side of his face. It is a firework frozen in time - wrapping over his ear, spread across his temple and a portion of his hairless head. Several trails cut across his left cheek, even slashing through a healthy five oâ clock shadow. One disconnected band sits over the sloped bridge of his nose. It appears to be an older injury based on the color. An aged souvenir of battle, maybe a crash.Â
With a palpable undercurrent of anxiety, Wrecker bravely breaks the silence once he figures youâve had a good look at him.Â
âS-sorry,â he says with a lopsided grin, âI, uh⊠I havenât had time to shave this week! Hopefully my beard doesnât look terrible.âÂ
You shake your head, telling Wrecker it looks just fine. He sighs in relief.Â
âWhew! Was honestly pretty worried about that, haha!âÂ
âReally? Iâm⊠surprised.â you admit carefully.Â
There are implications obvious enough here to avoid putting both feet in your mouth and bring up those features more indirectly without being incredibly insensitive, even by accident. That certainly might sour⊠whatever it was you wanted to call these little video chats youâve been having with Wrecker lately. Dates?Â
Pre-dates?
They were happening pretty frequently, to be perfectly honest, with more than a few being less, shall we say, âcadet-friendlyâ.Â
âSorry,â Wrecker apologizes again. âI thought about telling you sooner. Honest. Even asked my brothers how I should do it, but, uh⊠I-I couldn't figure out how to make it sound like me, heh.âÂ
He knew showing you his face would be a big step. Huge, even. But⊠there was always a dash of worry that it wouldnât go well. A blind eye and a large scar arenât exactly âlittleâ features he can hide all the time, so Wrecker has developed a strong sense of self-confidence and self-assurance in the time following what he only refers to as âthe incidentâ. And if he wanted to ask you to meet him at 79âs next week or the week following, thenâŠ
âT-thatâs if you want to, that is!âÂ
Great galaxies.Â
How could you refuse? Wrecker had yet to fail to deliver on his punny promise advertised on the CDS; he truly was an expert not just in explosive ordnance, but in having a great time, all the time. His knack for seeing the silver lining in everything, perhaps with exception regarding his âproblem with gravityâ (as he liked to explain his fear of heights), had been a great comfort on several occasions when you mightâve otherwise felt glum. He was not shy about being excitable, or sweet, or even vulnerable with you.Â
You had been shown Lula, a black-and-red tooka doll he occasionally brought aboard the Havoc Marauder (typically when their assignments were shorter, as he preferred to keep her safe on Kamino), on your very first video call together. And she was a well-loved doll, too. Lulaâs fabric was clean and her belly plump with stuffing for âmore effective cuddlesâ, but you could see it was just beginning to thin from constant use.Â
Seeing how Wrecker clearly cared for little Lula only further endeared you to him. So no: his eye, his scar, were not going to be a dealbreaker for you. You would love to meet up at 79âs.Â
Setting down your own device, you rifle around in search of where youâve written down important deadlines and appointments for the upcoming weeks.Â
âSounds like fun, Wrecker. Count me in! Did you have a day in mind?â
Middle of the week three hours after a majority of Coruscant has completed their nine-to-fives.Â
Itâs a date!
You hitch a ride to the Entertainment District via speedercab forty-five minutes ahead of the agreed-upon time, knowing after years of living on Coruscant that there is no such thing as a âlull in trafficâ here.Â
Not even in the middle of the week. Not with many establishments offering discounts and buy-one-get-one-s on their services. Something to entice people to abandon the hustle and bustle of the megacity and lighten their pockets of a few credits. Indulge themselves in the spoken and unspoken âDistrict Dornsâ.Â
Wrecker had thoughtfully informed you that 79âsâwhich already ran a little warm as an establishmentâhad reported a shift in temperature ever since the Clone Dating Service hit the Holonet.Â
âShould see the way this place GLOWS on the heat sensors, cyarâika!â Â
You chose something to wear accordingly, wanting to keep comfortable as much as possible to enjoy as much of your date as possible. An outfit you believed was equal parts flattering, cute, and stylish without sacrificing anything that wasnât unapologetically you. A suitable bag was also taken with a few small necessities for personal grooming and styling, including a decent fistful of credits, just in case. Fresh packs of breath mints and bubble-chew were tossed in as well. For the hell of it. But also just in case.Â
The cabbie pulls up to the platform in front of 79âs ten minutes early, hesitating to throw the air taxi doorâs release because theyâre too busy staring at the main entrance in bewilderment. âHuh! Thought this place was just a Clone bar⊠but Iâm seeing more than just soldiersâŠâ they murmur to themselves, a free appendage scratching one of two heads in thought. âDid I take you to the right joint, maâam?âÂ
âYes, Iâm meeting a date here,â you answer with a smile.Â
Your heart flutters just hearing yourself say it. A date. With a man you had first connected with on the Holonet through a curious dating service. You haven't been able to think of much else all week. Only willing time to move faster. To please hurry up and be Taungsday, already! And now tonight was the night.Â
Paying via surface pass, you bid the cabbie goodbye and hurry into the bar.Â
Itâs already a packed house. Clones and civilians alike are bustinâ it down on the electronic dance floor to energetic remixes of popular jizz-wailers at the moment. A static viewscreen over the long oval bar advises patrons there will be genre changes at every half-hour.Â
Special requests can be made for two credits per song. The special tonight is something called the âbuddy bucketâ; five credits for the bucket, seven with the inclusion of two (non-alcoholic) drinks.Â
You look around, hoping Wrecker is already here or not far behind. You consider asking the soldier wearing a volunteerâs name sticker on his chestplate and manning the CDS event booth. While briefly wondering what the story behind his âSqueaky Cleanâ moniker is, you pay more attention to the scrap of flimsiplast taped below the badge. âCheck-in assistantâ, it reads.Â
Oh good. Less need for guessing games. Presenting your name and profile code, you inform Squeaky who youâre here to meet. Information heâll likely need to cross-reference any lists of RSVPs, meet-ups and the like.Â
âIs Wreck- er, Gentle Giant here tonight?âÂ
Squeaky sets down the datapad in his hand in order to rifle through a small file box of reservations. Before he can locate it, a boisterous voice calls out your name across the bar. You were early, but it sounds like Wrecker beat you here.Â
âIs that you?!â
He calls your name again. You turn to look in his direction.Â
And you make eye contact.Â
And you know. You know that face. The face thatâs not a typical COMPOR poster boyâs. That smile. The gleeful and boyishâyet so charmingâsmile that drives your stomach wild with butterflies. And finally that laugh. That exuberant, resounding laugh as he carefully makes his way through a sea of partying patrons to greet you.Â
In the flesh, at last.
Your greetings overlap once Wrecker has safely made it through the crowd, finding yourself wrapped up in a friendly hug. One long enough for him to say âIt is you!â before promptly letting you go. He steps an armâs length away to stand back and admire your attire, grin never dropping.Â
âYou look great!âÂ
You return the flattery. âSo do you, Wrecker. Blast, you look good in civvie clothes!âÂ
He had cleaned himself up rather nicely for tonight. His facial hair had been trimmed, to start. A rather woodsy sort of aftershave was a nice touch too; complimenting the simple, heathered gray button-down and black slacks bought just for the occasion, judging by the slight stiffness of the fabric. Care had been taken to steam out the most egregious of the wrinkles. The manner in which the long sleeves had been tucked and rolled perfectly level with each other suggested assistance.Â
The name on the reservation Squeaky Clean locates at long last confirms it.Â
âI have a⊠corner booth set aside for Gentle Giant and the lovely lady; the request was made by Bookish Spectacles. That sound right to you, vod?â
âOh, yeah,â Wrecker replies, taking the small square of flimsiplast with the corresponding number, âheâs one of my squad mates.âÂ
âYouâre all set then. Hope you both enjoy your evening!âÂ
The booth is found in no time at all.Â
Being slightly more removed from the dancefloor, thereâs less need to talk quite as loud as you had near the entrance. A very thoughtful bit of placement on Spectaclesâ part. Wrecker explains this where he and his brothers like to sit whenever they have leave close to Coruscant and crave whateverâs greasiest from 79âs. He kindly offers to hold your bag for you while you slide into the booth, being extra careful not to drop it on the sticky floor when handing it back. Â
Scarcely a moment after Wrecker has gotten in the opposite side of the booth, an unhelmeted soldier steps up to the table with a wry smile. He sports a neural brace, his right arm is held behind his back at an unusual angle. Obviously trying to hide something.Â
âYou kids behaving yourselves?â he asks somewhat playfully, not quite sarcastic.Â
You recognize the voice from various bits of brotherly background chatter over all the different calls youâve had with Wrecker, but youâre not sure of his name.Â
âWe havenât even gotten started, Ec- Domino.â Wrecker pointedly informs him. He almost slips up. Until it was safe to say that you and Wrecker were looking like a confirmed item, sticking to calling his brothers by their CDS aliases was a more neutral course of action. âYou guys promised youâd leave us alone.âÂ
âIâm only messing with you, Wreck,â his brother chuckles. Moving his right armâwhich is mostly cybernetic, to a small amount of surpriseâfrom behind his back, Domino puts a red foil gift bag down on the table. âWe fully intend to keep that promise. Just came to give you this like you asked.â
Wrecker grins sheepishly.Â
âOh, right. I did ask that. Uh⊠thanks, Domino.âÂ
Limiting his reply to âAnytime, Wrecker,â and some encouragement to have fun, Domino takes his leave.Â
Now you know what one of his brothers looked like under the helmet. You watch him for a moment, thinking Domino might go back to the others who made up Clone Force 99. No luck. He finds a group of troopers sporting cobalt blue paint and decides to brush his shoulders with them for a while. Wrecker mentioned once upon a time that even after joining CF99, Domino has good rapport with his previous detachment, still.Â
A legion. Five-oh-something. Itâll come to you in a moment.Â
Youâre distracted by the butterflies now that you and Wrecker have the booth to yourselves. There are matching, giddy smiles as he briefly pulls the bag to his side of the table. Just to make a quick check of the contents. âSorry âbout that, cyarâika,â is all Wrecker will say about the interaction with Domino. No sense dedicating further thought to it when youâre here for a date tonight.Â
Your first in-person date.Â
So once heâs satisfied thereâs no damage and everything is accounted for, Wrecker carefully slides the gift bag back across the table. This is for you, he explains. And you can open it whenever. Now. After something to eat and a few drinks. When itâs time to leave. Itâs entirely up to you.Â
Curiosity gets the better of you once again. Â
And it gives you a tooka.Â
A tooka doll, to be exact.Â
Carefully swaddled in a bundle of gift-paper, you find yourself face-to-felt with your very own âLulaâ doll. The gifted plush looks just like Wreckerâs â key difference being it was made using your favorite colors. All the way down to the thread used to stitch the toy together.Â
âOh, I love themâŠ!â you coo, squeezing the cloth tooka to your chest. âIt was really sweet of you to find one in my favorite color.â Oh, you canât wait to take them home, you add.Â
Wrecker is soon wearing another of his boyish grins, saying heâs glad you like it. But⊠would you believe him if he said he didnât find the doll? (And before you ask: no, it wasnât one of his brothers who found it, either.) He had made it. Often spent a large amount of time while his squad had been in hyperspace working on it, lately.Â
Youâre honestly blown away. âBy hand? Thatâs incredible!â How long did it take him to make the doll? And when did he start?Â
Thatâs easy.Â
Wrecker started working on them when he realized he had a crush on you. Luckily, he already had all the material he needed on the Marauder. A lot of soldiers in the GAR had learned basic sewing skills that might come in handy in the event of an emergency, so, if he had to guess how longâŠ? Itâd probably taken him three weeks, at most, to finish the toy.Â
He sews a lot. It keeps his fine motor skills sharp. Something he needs when it comes to dismantling (or building) bombs. Or, sayâŠÂ
Adding a little message to a tag on the dollâs back following the night he had shown you his face.Â
summary: as queen you can handle many things (like the assassination attempts threatening your life) but the alluring mandalorian hired to protect you might be your heartâs biggest threat
word count: 9.2k (iâm sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. post season 3, royal & bodyguard AU, use of gendered language, threats & moments of violence, reader wears makeup/gowns/headpieces but has no physical description, hidden identity, protective!Din, discussions of marriage, forced proximity, the starfighter can fit two people in the cockpit no matter the size (canon can fight me), competency kink, major yearning, spicy themes, good sweet fluff
a/n: this is my entry for the WIRED4YOU challenge [Din + Butterflies by Kacey Mushraves] huge thanks to @chaotic-mystery for hosting & letting me join! This is also a mini love letter to âthe phantom menaceâ & âattack of the clonesâ because I believe we deserve our queen moment too lol, dividers thanks & credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics
Assassination attempts on your life are, unfortunately, not new. In this final year of your reign, the threats have recently doubled though, which surprises you.
But finding out a mandalorian is now assigned to your personal guard surprises you even more.
While sitting in the throne room surveying him, you admire the striking warrior. Sleek in his ancestor armor, unwavering in his presence, you stay composed as possible butâŠ
Curiosity blooms fast, already wondering about this new guard.
âCaptain Teva highly recommended this bounty hunter.â Your head advisor, Hildegard, explains dutifully.
A bounty hunter? Thatâs even more interesting.
âWe are glad to have you here, mandalorian.â Senator Trystan adds brightly. He starts rambling like the politician he is, and you tune him out, especially as your focus remains on the mandalorian.
âYour majesty,â the timbre of his voice is striking like a steady river. âI vow to keep you safe until the assassin is caught.â
Hiding your voice within the composed steady tone the Queen of Naboo is known for, you thank him.
With a final nod, the warrior departs.
You notice a brown satchel slung at his hip half hidden under his cloak. You swear the minute the mandalorian leaves the room, a small tiny green clawed hand crawls out from the bag.
â
âI bet heâs uglyâ
âNo, Iâm sure heâs handsome.â You and your handmaidens have discussed the new mandalorian guard for weeks now.
Heâs a rather elusive figure. Silently moving around the castle, he reminds you of a sleek phantom just out of reach. When the mandalorian does accompany you anywhere, he remains silent. You simply amount it to the warrior doing his job diligently, which you greatly appreciate.
His presence alone seems to deter any more attempts. The tension in the palace already has eased greatly. So much you now roam without any supervision along the grand lakeside today.
The glory of Naboo is one you take pride in, from the illustrious buildings, to the underwater depths of the Gungan city. You savor these moments when you can freely walk among the splendor of your planet.
Thereâs a secluded, normally untouched, lake villa near this area you enjoy visiting from time to time.
Until you discover itâs no longer abandoned.
The sight stops you frozen in your tracks. By the edge of the lake, under the soft shade of the looming trees, stands the mandalorian. But he is not alone.
A wonderfully tiny and precious green creature waddles around through the grass.
Both of them turn towards you. It feels like youâve just stumbled upon an ancient secret.
âHandmaiden.â The mandalorian greets you steady, cautious.
For a split moment, you had forgotten youâre in these robes.
âMandalorian.â You greet back, thankful you donât have to hide your voice.
Being under the guise of a handmaid offers you this freedom.
âAnd may I ask, who is this little one?â You smile and kneel down to the height of the small creature staring up with starry curious eyes.
A moment passes.
âHeâŠis my son.â His words hit you like a blaster shot.
âYour son?â The monarch mentality leaks out momentarily as your voice jumps. You never wouldâve hired this hunter knowing he has a child who could be put in harm's way.
âYes.â The mandalorian nods.
âIâve never seen him around before.â His little hand must have been the one you saw that first day in the throne room.
The mandalorianâs son curiously shuffles to you. You donât miss his fatherâs fists clenching tense, hesitant and cautious, worried about this interaction.
âIâŠwas not sure the queen would allow him to accompany me. So I keep him hidden.â
The baby is adorable with shimmering eager eyes. He rests his tiny hands against your robes. You can hear all your advisors screaming at you to consider releasing this hunter from your duty.
But you canât now. Not when you tickle his sonâs chin and the little one giggles sweet like a bell.
âDonât worry,â you tell the mandalorian confidently. âYour secret is safe with me.â
âAnd besides,â you add casually. âBetween you and meâŠThe Queen wonât mind. She has a soft spot for little ones.â
You smile as the baby, now deeming you worthy, starts climbing onto your knee.
âWhatâs his name?â You ask.
ââŠGrogu.â The mandalorian answers.
As if on cue, Grogu chirps hearing his name and you laugh.
âWell itâs nice to meet you Grogu.â You nod then gently poke his tiny nose.
Infectious giggles greet you.
You then officially introduce yourself to the youngling, and in turn his father, freely giving your name.
Again you can almost hear all your advisors' horrified screams. Of all the things sacred and needed to be hidden, your name is the most important.
Even though the crown keeps you protected under an alias, it doesnât mean your true identity is forever safe.
But you believe you can trust this warrior.
Or you hope so.
The Universityâs belltower rings off in the distance. You didnât realize how late it got. Youâd need to head back soon.
Grogu chirps confused when you softly place him back on the grass. His bright moon eyes almost make you stay longer.
âIt was wonderful meeting you Grogu. I hope I can see you again soon.â You truthfully tell the little one.
Then you glance at his father.
You knew enough about mandalorian culture to understand how precious children are to them and how protective they are of their own.
Grateful for this moment, you thank the mandalorian for allowing you to meet his son.
Without another word, the warrior silently nods.
This strong hunter with the most adorable son plagues your mind the rest of the day. So much that you rearrange your calendar so youâre available to walk along the lake again.
You continue sneaking back to the lake home as much as you can.
The moments here away from the palace, from the politics and headache, are a precious respite. Currently Grogu watches enraptured by the butterflies fluttering in the air.
You glance back at the lake house secluded in the lush countryside and how it perfectly fits a mandalorian.
âIs this where youâre staying?â You ask.
âYes. Unless Iâm needed at the palace.â The mandalorian answers.
âThankfully itâs been rather quiet again since youâve arrived. So Iâm grateful for that.â You speak as both handmaid and queen.
âIâŠâ the warrior begins then stops, as if realizing he shouldnât be saying much.
âYou can talk freely. Trust me, whatever you say the queen probably already knows.â You almost dryly laugh at your own joke.
The hunter nods.
âI believe the threat is still at large. Simply hiding and waiting for the right time.â He admits strained.
You agree. Itâs what everyone close to you believes as well.
There have been whispers, rumors, of a darkness looming among the edges of space. Now it seems to be slithering into your home.
But for now, you simply hold onto these glimmers of peace - like watching Grogu chase after the butterflies among the field.
His little claws reach for the soft colored creatures, and you think of your own childhood days where you chased after them too. You remember the trick your old tutor taught you when you were little.
So holding out your finger, you wait. Patience pays off. A lone butterfly flutters to land on your finger believing it to be a branch.
Grogu instantly notices, makes a noise of surprise, and scurries over.
But his fast movement scares the butterfly, and it rapidly flies away. The sad confused noise Grogu gives breaks your heart.
âItâs alright, they just get frightened easily.â You explain.
So again you hold your finger out, a welcoming rest spot. This time you place it closer to the baby.
Another butterfly thankfully floats down on your finger.
âBweh!â Grogu shrieks giddy.
Very steadily, you move your finger closer to Grogu trying not to scare the bug.
âHere⊠can I see your hand, little one?â You softly ask.
The mandalorian helps his son out, raising Groguâs little claw besides yours.
The butterfly gently wanders from your finger to Groguâs hand, and the sweet baby giggles in pure joy.
The bug of course doesnât stay long and flutters away. But it brings enough excitement to Grougu. Heâs completely taken over by twinkling giggles the rest of the time, eagerly chasing after more butterflies.
âAre you often away from the queen for this long?â The mandalorianâs sudden curious question takes you by surprise.
âAs long as one handmaiden is with the queen, no protocol is broken.â You effortlessly recite the mandate.
âBesides, we all deserve a bit of fresh air and some time alone.â You add.
From the corner of your eye, the mandalorian nods.
Then, the belltower rings signaling your return.
Grogu, now in his fathers arms, waves at you goodbye then yawns.
Wishing the little one good night you, you then bid the same goodbye to his father.
âTake care, mandalorian.â
ââŠDin...â
The phrase stills you.
âMy name is Din.â He reveals. âSeems only fair since you gave me yours.â
Din, it fits him beautifully.
âUntil next time, Din.â A grateful glow swirls in you knowing his name.
You vow to keep it sealed safe in your heart. You wouldnât be able to use his name while wearing the crown anyway. Faintly, it reminds you how in the same way the mandalorian, Din, would never know your true name as queen.
That realization digs a hollow hole into your heart.
â
Peace doesnât last long.
The assassin fires shots from one of the high towers near the capitol. Chaos erupts wild and dizzying, sending everyone into a panic.
Except the mandalorian, Din.
Effortlessly he jumps in front of you blocking the second blaster shot with his armor, a literal shield before you.
Once youâre secured safely, your eyes widen witnessing Din in action, flying up to the tower.
Even with the distance, you catch glimpses of the mandalorian fighting before youâre escorted away.
And heâs marvelous.
Thereâs a swift deadly power to him, a legend of myth right before your eyes.
Then heâs by your side again.
âAre you alright?â He immediately asks returning to you breathless.
You want to ask if heâs the one alright, if Grogu is with him. Instead all you can do is nod, earnestly thanking him.
âHeâs doing his job, mâlady.â Hildegard jokes.
But itâs true.
Youâre getting tangled in a web of emotions over a man who will vanish from your life once the threats are eradicated.
Yet it still doesnât stop you from visiting him again. It takes more convincing this time to sneak away, but youâre thankful you still can.
Worried youâll miss seeing Din and his son, you rush to the lakeside. But you forget how hot the handmaiden robes can get, and exhaustion hits.
Your heart drops seeing the field vacant.
Guess you were too late.
Exhausted and annoyed at yourself, you rip back the robeâs hood allowing yourself a relief of air before you dejectedly walk back to the palace.
Someone says your name, your true name.
Din steps out from the villa, a sleek beautiful hunter emerging from the shadows.
Soon he stands frozen, his sleek helmet focused on you. A moment passes, an awkward stand off of you and him simply staring at each other.
Petrified, you suddenly realize youâre facing the mandalorian without any cover or protection of the robeâs hood.
âSorry, you must be busy.â You blurt, ready to turn around and scurry away.
Din again says your name.
âItâs fine. I was just gathering my things.â He explains.
âOh?â The confusion in your voice or on your face must be embarrassingly blatant for him to explain.
âIâll be staying at the palace full time after today.â
Oh⊠so youâll be seeing him more.
âYou were amazing today.â Admiration flows from you.
He thanks you with a hesitant mumble, vaguely shy.
âAre you alright? Is Grogu okay?â You immediately ask, knowing those questions have been bothering you since this morning.
âWeâre both fine. You should be worried about the Queen.â Din replies firm.
âThe queenâs fine.â You snort, hoping he doesnât notice your dryly amused tone.
âThere was an amazing mandalorian that made sure everyone was safe after all.â You mean those words.
Din stays quiet keeping his helmet directed on you. A dread sets in, worried if youâve overstepped or said something you shouldnât have.
The sun has just set over the horizon casting an illuminating glow on the planet. It paints the mandalorian a shining warrior bathed in golden glory.
You wonder if youâre staring at him too much.
A familiar coo arrives, and soon after Grogu waddles out of the villa. Witnessing this armored warrior move to cradle his son, who snuggles into his fatherâs arms, unfolds a warm wave in you.
âIâll let you two get back to your evening,â you smile gentle as Grogu yawns adorably in agreement.
âAnd I guess Iâll be seeing you around more.â You half joke with Din.
He dryly chuckles, and the sound is a gift.
âIf youâre heading back to the palace I can return with you. So that youâre not walking alone.â He offers and your eyes go wide.
You immediately accept his offer.
With a nudge of his helmet you follow him inside the cabin. The layout is similar to all the other lake homes, except a cluster of weapons sit on the table. Youâre in awe knowing he knows how to handle so many of these.
Grogu now wiggles fussy in Dinâs hold.
âHere, I can take him.â You offer.
Hearing your words immediately Grogu lifts his little arms towards you ready to be carried.
âKid,â Din dully sighs.
You reassure Din and happily scoop the baby up. Feeling him snuggle against your shoulder is a precious thing
Din goes silent and returns to gathering his belongings.
Now the night sky casts a blanket of midnight blue over the lake.
Out of the villa, a gleam of silver draws your attention. You inhale sharp but try staying quiet with Grogu sleeping peacefully in your arms.
âIs that a N-1 Starfighter?â Your voice, even whispering, jumps shocked. The familiar bright yellow coating has been stripped, but you could recognize that ship anywhere.
Din chuckles beside you.
âYou know your ships.â He sounds impressed.
You didnât. You just know that one.
You remember seeing the starfighters in your history lessons. They looked like beautiful sea creatures soaring among the clouds. You were heartbroken finding out they were retired.
You even tell all of this to Din.
A humorous thought emerges. You wonder if one dramatic last act as Queen could be you reinstating the starfighters.
âHow does it fly?â You ask Din curiously.
âLike a dream.â His wistful voice lets your mind soar into a daydream wondering what it would be like to witness the N1.
âMaybe one day youâll see it fly.â Din offers and you turn to him, grinning.
âNow that would be a dream.â You warmly mirror his phrase.
If you manage to make it through your final days as Queen, maybe you could beg the mandalorian to let you see the ship in action.
The walk to the palace is peaceful among the lake. You treasure Grogu snoring soundly in your arms, and youâre thankful Din allows you to hold his son.
But approaching the palace, you return the baby back to his father to hide him, just in case.
Your instincts are right. At the very edge of the palace steps, all your advisors, along with the senator and his aids, wait anxiously.
You stayed out too late.
Immediately they spot you with the mandalorian, and the reactions are mixed. Youâre however more worried when Din reacts.
âSeems you were needed.â He comments.
âI stayed out later than planned, thatâs all.â You half lie.
âGuess Iâll see you tomorrow.â You joke again, and he nods.
Even though you made the joke, you do end up seeing Din much more.
Except as the Queen of Naboo.
He stays in your personal guard close to the head captain. Even when you return to your private study, youâre surprised Din stays, truly acting as a loyal personal guard.
While overlooking legislation orders, a rustling comes. Off to the side, the mandalorian fidgets with his satchel.
Grogu.
âMandalorian,â you speak in your composed tone. âAre you alright?â
âYes.â He huffs, trying to sound calm himself.
But itâs too late. One of Groguâs adorable ears pops out from the satchel. And despite his fatherâs best attempts to settle him, the baby pokes his entire head out.
Two of your handmaidens gasp excited.
âI apologize.â Din quickly stammers.
You donât even hide the grin on your face seeing the baby.
âNo need to apologize. Iâm quite fond of little ones.â You assure Din, remembering what you told him previously.
âMweh.â Grogu squeaks glancing around at the new room with sparkling curious eyes.
Your handmaidens are already smitten, trying not to rush over to him.
âIs it a pet?â One asks eager.
âNo.â Din bluntly answers, and you even feel a bit insulted for him.
Ever the trouble maker, Grogu climbs out of the bag and starts waddling around exploring with ease.
âKid.â Din sighs, a frustrated parent, and your handmaidens giggle amused.
âItâs fine, mandalorian.â You again reassure him.
Grogu turns to blink curiously up at you. Under the thick ceremonial makeup, wearing your ornate headpiece, you understand how strange you must look to a child.
Instantly he scurries towards you, little clawed hands grabbing the air signaling he wants to be picked up.
Panic seizes your breath.
Thereâs no way Grogu could recognize you. You rationalize that this is simply him finding your Queen persona interesting.
Din moves to snag Grogu, even saying his name sharp and reprimanding.
But you chuckle swooping down to the little creature first. Your gown today weighs heavier, yet you donât mind knowing Grogu gets to settle in your arms.
His sweet eyes search your face. You smile politely and gentle. Then his tiny hands press against your cheeks, and a bright smile lights up his face.
And you canât help it, you smile back.
The curious eyes of your handmaidens burn holes into your face. They whisper like a pack of loth cats plotting their next attack. So diverting their attention you place Grogu back down on the ground letting him roam.
Immediately your handmaids rush kneeling at the babyâs level, completely captivated by the new arrival.
âHe seems to enjoy the attention.â You tell Din.
The mandalorian simply hums, an agreeing sound.
You wonder if heâs upset or possibly nervous about all of this.
âPlease know he is safe here and free to roam.â You say encouraging, hoping to soothe the tension.
âThank youâŠmâlady.â Din replies low, and your heart trips over itself.
Itâs the first time heâs ever addressed you by the proper title, and his voice sparks a wildfire.
After this introduction, Grogu happily now enjoys being carried in the arms of your handmaidens or resting openly in Dinâs satchel. A little wave of jealousy rises when the baby plays with one of your handmaids during a council meeting. You ache to trade places with her more than ever.
Seeing his son giggle freely unhidden relaxed Din more. He starts walking besides the captain of your guard and chatting with her, the two of them now easy comrades.
Now Din steps in pace right behind you, a beskar coated shadow you think of often.
During a particularly rainy day, you accidentally slip among the sleek stair tiles.
Immediately Din grabs you fast, steadying you from falling. His hand, unwavering and strong, holds you. Your heart thrashes furiously hearing his magnetic voice so close asking if youâre alright.
This unfortunate infatuation towards the mandalorian blooms a wicked weed digging its roots into your heart, and itâs become more unbearable.
Thankfully, your final months as Queen help keep your mind mostly occupied.
After meeting with the current Gungan Boss, you sigh exhausted.
Glancing at the wall, the portraits of monarchs past loom watching you, waiting to see what you do next.
âMany of the queens seem⊠younger than you.â Din suddenly comments observing the previous rulers.
âAre you calling me old, mandalorian?â You tease as much as your steeled composed tone allows.
âIâŠâ heâs stunned, taken off guard for a minute. Itâs adorable. For a split moment you smirk, keeping a laugh firmly locked away.
âI jest.â You recover quickly.
You explain how customarily many of the previous rulers were chosen at a young age, some even children. The belief was that those who possessed a child like wonder and wisdom should rule. Of course, that slowly faded away over time.
âAnd when the empire arrived?â Din asks.
When the Moff assigned to Naboo arrived, dark days followed. Terror seemed to choke your planet. You quietly tell Din of this.
âIâŠunderstand. Iâve seen the damage that can be done because of a Moffâs rule.â An ancient sorrow hangs within his voice.
Your eyes flicker to the shining warrior besides you. Din is striking, incredibly so. A selfish desire grows wishing to know him more, to know the face of the man taking residence in your heart.
Until another asassination attempt reminds you danger persistently lurks ready to steal your peace.
One of the food testers in the kitchen has a dangerous reaction to your meal. Thankfully she is tended to in time and will make it. But these threats grow deadlier.
âThis might be ⊠when we should start considering you going into hiding, mâlady.â One of your advisors suggests.
Those words hang over you an ominous storm.
After the recent attempt, you hide in handmaiden robes more.
You shouldnât be wandering around this late in the night among the hallways, but you canât sleep.
Turning the corner, you stumble upon Din standing by the hallwayâs edge. He focuses on his transmitter, reading a holo message.
Ever a warrior, his keen senses notice someone else is here and he looks up. Not wanting to startle him, you pull back the robeâs hood to reveal yourself.
He exhales your name, and it flutters into your heart.
âItâs been a while.â You sleepily grin.
âIndeed.â He nods, and his voice sounds warmer.
âBeen a bit busy around here.â You joke, but a somberness hangs.
âIt has.â Even his reply mirrors the underlying tension.
âItâs also been difficult trying to figure out which handmaiden you are.â Din says, as if trying to break the thick tense clouds.
You laugh, and itâs freeing.
âThat means itâs working.â You snicker. âNo one should know who a handmaid is, much less what they look like.â
Each handmaiden was handpicked because of how similarly they fit your height and vaguely your appearance.
Handmaids are the silent heroes of the crown, quiet protectors ready to step in and surround you any given moment. Guilt festers in you knowing their lives are at risk too.
âAnd yet⊠you let me see you.â Din curiously notes, and your chest tightens.
âWell, I trust you.â You tell him simply. And you do, completely and irrevocably.
âBesides, if you decide to do anything suspicious the Queen would be the first to know.â You jest, enjoying the double meaning.
âNever.â He shakes his head earnest.
Under the lowlights of the hallway, Din steps closer. Your fingers itch to touch his beskar, to run the cool armor beneath your touch.
You wonder every night what color his eyes are.
The sound of glass shattering erupts, and suddenly the world blurs. Youâre in Dinâs arms falling to the floor.
His hand cradles your head from colliding on the hard marble floor. But you donât have time to process that. Instantly you reach for the small blade hidden in your robes.
âAre you alright?â Din rapidly asks, and you nod stunned.
Someone shot at you through the window.
Someone knows who you are.
â
âYou must go into hiding,â Hildegard, ever your most trusted and wise advisor, urges begging now.
Stubborn, feeling raw, exposed, you sit in angered silence. No makeup on, no crown, just a simple soul at the mercy of fate.
âMaybe we should keep the queen here?â Senator Trystan suggests.
âBecauseâŠto me, it seems like the Mandalorian isnât quite living up to the legends told of his people.â He adds dangerously untrusting.
A blazing fury bursts in you.
âIâm alive because of him.â You snap glaring at the senator.
âAnd he is the only one Iâll trust accompanying me if I must go into hiding.â Your declaration rings absolute, the voice of a ruler.
Yet that night you canât sleep. Neither can your handmaidens, especially with how curious they are.
âSoâŠare you going to tell us what you were doing with Mando in the hallway?â One of them asks curiously.
Partially lying, you say how you couldnât sleep and simply ran into him.
âAre you having secret rendezvous meetings with the mandalorian and havenât been telling us?!â Another handmaiden shrieks giddy, and you rapidly deny.
But itâs hard when the fluttering feelings in your stomach now thrash wanting to fully take flight and escape, revealing your truth.
As playfully pestering as they are, this time with your handmaidens lightens your spirits immensely.
Because you know the looming decision.
The spring equinox here on Naboo will be your official final outing as ruler. That day, youâll give your final address to the planet, sign your final law into action at the gala, then step down in the eyes of the New Republic.
It will be a momentous day.
For one month until then⊠youâll be in hiding.
One moon cycle away from Naboo.
But as declared, youâll be departing alone with the mandalorian.
A war rages in your heart as you clutch your small pack.
You wish to stay and fight, stand your ground. Yet you understand the danger that will come if you stay.
So walking into the darkness alone, you find a gleaming warrior among it.
A curt nod is how he greets you.
Din has been quiet since your identity was revealed. You wonder if heâs disappointed or angry knowing who you are.
But all the emotions get shoved aside when you see your mode of transportation.
The starfighter gleams glorious under the moonlight.
âWill we fit?â You wonder aloud a bit hesitant.
âMight be a tight squeeze, but weâll make it. The trip is not too far.â Din answers and his voice again does strange things to your heart.
He wasnât lying about the tight fit.
Youâre practically slotted between his legs in the compact pilotâs seat. His arms reach around you effortlessly readying the systems. Your mind goes over boring litigations and mandates trying not to let it wander into dangerous territory.
Then, the ship bolts to life airborne.
Immediately your gaze flickers back to your home planet watching it drift further away in the night sky.
âDonât worry,â Din suddenly mutters, comforting. âEveryone will be fine.â
You swallow hard and nod.
The atmosphere dissipates all around until youâre among a sea of stars.
âSoâŠyouâre Queen of Naboo.â Din speaks first. It feels like a peace offering.
Your lips twitch back a laugh.
âApparently.â You joke.
His chuckle lightens the ache trying to consume you.
The trip, as promised, isnât far.
Nevarro resides in the outer rim. Even though Naboo is considered mid-rim, its bordering location is close to the outer rim, so you know of Nevarro. The planetâs growth and evolution has been admirable to witness.
You find itâs easy to settle in and embrace the planet wholeheartedly.
Or⊠you embrace Dinâs world wholeheartedly.
His home sits peaceful at the edge of the lava flats. You begged him to let you stay at an inn in town so you wouldnât be a bother. He adamantly shut that option down.
âBeing here means I can keep you safe.â He explained.
So now you take the spare room in Dinâs abode. The spartan walls, bare minimum furniture, they all strangely perfectly reflect Din. But you enjoy spotting the various stuffed toys littering the floors.
Grogu enjoys being back at home, showing you the pond he loves chasing creatures around.
Suddenly he magically lifts a small frog into the air and you gasp. These abilitiesâŠ
In secret, you briefly had studied the Jedi, the ways of the force, and knew of the strange abilities that came with it.
âHe can use the force?!â You squak, turning to Din.
The mandalorian simply tells you itâs complicated. You donât press the topic. Yet it makes sense now remembering how Grogu was able to notice you single you out even in your makeup.
He really is a special star. His giggles brighten the home, a joyous little light.
Currently he sleeps peacefully in your arms, bully full from the dinner you cooked.
âA queen who knows how to cook?â Din had joked earlier when went into the market to grab supplies.
âI havenât always been queen.â You huffed back.
You had a life before your crown, but now you wonder how it will look after.
âWhat was it like before you were queen?â Sitting besides you outside on the porch, youâre surprised Din is this curious.
This spot here is quickly becoming a favorite of yours. The warm Nevarro air floats thicker than Naboo, yet thereâs a gentle comfort to it.
You tell Din of your early university days, secretly holding a dream of abandoning everything to become a rebel spy.
âA spy?â His voice curls amused, and you wish you could see his face.
âI read too many adventure romance tales.â You shrug.
You used to dream of meeting a handsome rebel pilot while fighting for your home planet and then falling in love.
Now your dreams only contain a warrior clad in beskar.
âWere you always a bounty hunter?â You now question Din about his life as much as you can.
You treasure all he gives you, telling you about days hunting bounties across the galaxy until he stumbled upon a certain little green creature.
The mudhorn, the empire hunting Grogu, the days they spent apart from each other⊠It all led to Din gaining a son. And itâs all because of that single bounty.
âYour job led you to a wonderful gift.â You fondly praise while Grogu snores peacefully against your shoulder.
âYes...â Din agrees, yet his voice seems to trail off.
âAfter you step down, what will happen to you?â He softly changes the subject, pressing another question.
One that strikes deep.
âThere are two recommended optionsâŠâ you mutter.
The first choice is to marry a noble and stay within the royal sphere.
The other option is becoming a senator.
For some reason, your heart doesnât feel compelled thinking of either option.
You arenât attracted to any of the nobles trying to court you. And the role of a senator is demanding. You already feel frustrated with the state of politics and after being around it for this longâŠyou wish for quieter days.
âWhat if you donât want either?â Din sounds somber, yet inquisitive.
You suppose you could simply walk away from everything, slip into the galaxy to become another soul simply passing through.
Youâve never given that option much thought.
âYou could stay here.â Din says, and a burst of light crashes into your chest.
Here? With him?
âNevarro has good housing options. You would always be welcomed here.â
Then his second comment, more formal in tone, becomes a splash of water immediately diminishing any hope wanting to ignite you. You weakly grin.
âYou just want me nearby for the free babysitting services.â You joke hoping to quell the heartbreak trying to leak in.
He chuckles amused.
You still earnestly thank him for the offer. But now, the future looms more nebulous than ever.
â
Through secret comlinks and encrypted messages, you discover another assassin tried striking the palace.
âYou think itâs a group at work?â You ask Din, sounding more like the concerned ruler you are.
âNo, it feels too planned, like the culprit is trying to mislead us or lure you back.â And he sounds like the sharp skilled hunter he is.
âMay I ask⊠why does someone want you dead?â He questions hesitant.
You sigh.
The last law you want to sign into action would undo a final decree the Moff put into order. You want all traces of that evil gone.
âIt could be an old sympathizer wanting to stop you.â Din immediately concludes.
That doesnât narrow down any choices. But you suspect the assassin is connected to someone within your circle since they knew when to attack you even as a handmaid.
Paranoia has you restless, on edge. Itâs why you return to your blade.
The familiar self defense moves flow through you. Simple, effective, enough to strike before you can try making an escape.
âYour arms need to move faster.â
You swore Din had been working on the starfighter and with Grogu down for the night, you took the alone time to practice among the fading twilight.
Now he saunters to you eased.
âYour arms have the right motion. They just arenât steady.â He instructs.
âWell it would be different if someone was attacking me.â You scoff.
âAlright then,â something excited sparks in Dinâs voice. âSpar with me.â
You think you misheard him. Then Din pulls out a seasoned, rather deadly looking, vibroblade and stands at the ready.
You stammer out excuses. Thereâs no way you can fight a mandalorian.
Suddenly he strikes first. Din rushes fast, darting forward and swinging his blade to swipe at you.
It becomes a fast dance, evading and dodging as Din attacks unrelentlessly.
âYou havenât tried striking me.â He doesnât even sound tired while youâre barely hanging on.
âBecause I have a mandalorian after me!â You wheeze frantic, and he chuckles.
Din stops his offensive and places his blade away.
âThe way I moved is how you should.â
âIâm not a trained warrior.â You huff catching your breath. Even without seeing his eyes, the way his helmet tilts you know heâs rolling his eyes.
Gently, his gloved hands slide to your arms, and you freeze. Your mind momentarily shutting down. He touches you gingerly, delicate. Then he begins maneuvering you into the same stance he was in.
In a steady patient voice, Din explains every move and guides you through them. The close position, feeling his sturdy build pressing against you, the way his voice oozes with a gentle dominance, it overwhelms you.
Din makes you go through the motions repeatedly, a patient teacher.
âYour stance is good. You were taught well.â He admires, and you shakily thank him.
âHad to be ready as both queen and handmaid just in case.â You say lighthearted trying to battle the raging emotions swirling like a dangerous riptide.
âAt first I didnât understand your guard system or the handmaidens.â Din explains.
âNow I see why you go to great lengths to hide your identity. It reminds me of mandalorian tradition and why we hide our faces.â Dinâs voice floats out kind and gentle.
The realization unfurls in you quietly that you almost miss it. You and him have run parallel in different ways, wearing masks to protect yourself and your people.
Youâre grateful the force brought you to this man, one you will always hold in your heart even when fate decides to take him away.
You and him practice late into the night. He even lets you spar with his blade. Surprisingly, you take to it well, and Din even notices.
âKeep it.â
You gawk, stunned at his words. Immediately panicking, you tell Din you could never take a weapon from a mandalorian.
âI have another. And trust me, it will be useful ifâŠIâm not around.â
His somber words dig into you, another sharpened knife, one you wish he could take back.
â
Your final week on Nevarro approaches and sorrow tangles itself around you constricting. Youâve grown attached to this planet. Youâve made friends with the floral shop keeper. The merchant who sells your favorite dried fruits now jokes with Din wondering how a grumpy mandalorian snagged someone as lovely as you.
You laugh weakly at the jokes, yet Din stays silent.
The silence has multiplied between you and Din, creating a terrifying canyon separating you from him.
Grogu senses it. Whimpering, he stubbornly tries hanging onto both you and Din more.
You shove away tears at night.
This dream, this carved out home youâve started settling intoâŠyou knew it was going to end eventually. You just became so foolish hoping it wouldnât.
Slowly, you start packing, childishly dragging your feet as if it will prolong your stay.
A knock arrives at your door, and it slides open.
âCan I show you something?â Dinâs voice, hesitant and cautious, snaps your spine straight.
You agree without hesitation.
With Grogu currently enjoying a play date with one of the children in town, itâs just you and Din together for the day.
But you regret your choice of not accompanying the baby when you realize youâll be jumping back into the starfighter.
Having Dinâs arms enclosed around you, his strong chest pressing against your back, all the close proximity heats your skin, a reminder of what youâll be losing in just a few days.
âYou said you wanted to one day see how she flies.â Din says soft.
You technically had seen her fly when Din brought you here. Unfortunately your mind was so foggy you honestly couldnât savor the journey.
âYou didnât get to see much last time. SoâŠLetâs stretch out her legs.â Dinâs voice holds a proud smile.
Your eyes widen. He remembered. Before you can say anything else, you become one with the wind.
Din was right. The N1 soars like a dream. She glides gracefully among the craters and canyons, dipping low among the lava flats and zooming with ease past the town.
But you also realize, Din is an amazing pilot. He effortlessly maneuvers the ship with a fluid flow and striking awareness. As if you couldnât be anymore attracted to him, knowing heâs not just an amazing warrior but an incredible pilot makes your blood hum.
âYouâre amazing.â You tell him earnest and true.
You swear his arms curl around you tighter.
âReady to see the best part.â He purrs, sounding eager.
âWait, best part?â You canât imagine whatâs next.
He points to a switch and when he hits it, you fly out of your body reaching a speed you never expected.
And itâs dazzling.
You laugh bright and alive. The weightless sensation overflows into your bones.
The atmosphere melts away as Din pushes the ship to the very edges of the planet.
The stars float just out of your reach, twinkling with knowing eyes.
Suddenly, Din lets the ship drop. The N1 plummets into a free fall that has your stomach jumping into your mouth. You almost scream.
In the descent, Din quickly spins the starfighter swiftly, a dramatic turn that sends it flying fast in a new direction. The move is a trick, one he seems to be showing off proudly.
You laugh breathlessly relieved.
âYou know Iâm still queen. I can punish you for that!â You wheeze.
âIâd like to see you try, mâlady.â He challenges back amused. You grin wild and greedy hearing the title.
The flight, the exhilaration, it dissipates the tension of this week, almost purifying you. Because now you notice⊠youâve fully melted against Dinâs chest.
Your head even leans back to rest against his helmet.
Yet Din hasnât moved you.
The silence thickens as he flies the ship back towards town.
âThank you for showing me this.â You mutter, barely able to get those words out.
Dinâs helmet nods moving against the side of your head. One of his hands leaves the control panel and gently rests against your thigh.
You and him remain this close the rest of the flight.
The next time youâre in the N1 -
Youâre flying home to Naboo.
The entire flight is silent.
You sit as furthest away from him as physically possible within the cramped space. Din maneuvers the controls and trying to keep yourself steeled, composed, your eyes focus on his movements.
Thatâs when you catch it.
His gloves shift and a sliver of his skin is exposed.
Sun kissed and beautiful, you think you just imagined it. Until you notice it again when Din steers the ship out of the atmosphere.
Countless nights you thought about what he looked like under his helmet, wondering how his lips would feel against yours. Now youâre allowed this one small peek at the man beneath the armor, and a dangerous greed immediately slithers in.
Your lips ache to kiss that spot, that glimmer of Din unmasked.
Greed morphs into a deadly lust. You imagine yourself, if you were braver, grabbing his wrist and lifting it to your lips to kiss him, taste him, at least once.
How would he react if you did that? Embrace you? Reprimand you?
Punish you in a way that turns filthyâŠ
You wonder how extra tight l this cramped space would be trying to ride him in, to feel the heat between you and him build into a blazing cloud. Even now, if you concentrate hard enough in this terrifyingly quiet flight, you can hear his soft breathing, his gentle exhales modulated through the helmet.
Your mind melts thinking of him whispering deep against your ear as he thrusts up into you-
Instantly your mouth goes dry at the erotic thought and you close your eyes, trying to reset yourself.
When you open your eyes, Naboo approaches fast, a gorgeous gemstone among the stars. Your dreams and lustful wishes shatter like broken titles leaving you feeling empty to pick up the pieces.
â
Your final gown as Queen gleams stitched with a final goodbye. Itâs glorious, dripping in grandeur and beauty. Wearing it, clusters of emotions clash with each other. Youâve allowed yourself a minute alone just to compose yourself. Giving one final glance at a mirror, you silently bid farewell to this piece of you.
A knock comes, and one of your handmaid's pops her head into the room.
âSenator Trystan wishes to speak with you.â
Of course you let him in.
The familiar face beams at you proud.
âYou look splendid, mâlady.â The senator bows his head, and you thank him.
He updates you on the various monarchs and other planetary senators who have arrived. Your mind unfortunately only thinks of one beskar wearing guest.
Tonight is your last night with Din. Once the grand event finishes and if you remain safe, he would receive his hefty sum. Your paths will seperate.
He hasnât spoken more than five words to you since youâve returned. Youâve barely seen Grogu either.
You understand the rush of trying to prepare for everything has kept you busy. But you catch the looks your handmaidens give you of heartbroken understanding as though they can sense the turmoil in you.
Your mind, even now, feels like it could burst holding so many thoughts.
Then footsteps stamped forward.
The senator, blade in hand, lunges at you.
A surprised scream escapes you before you swiftly move, jumping into action.
Pulling out your vibroblade, Dinâs blade, you swipe at the traitor.
The moves Din taught, his weapon, they become your saving grace.
You keep the attacker on his toes. But Senator Trystan acts fast stepping on your gown causing you to trip before you can run to the door.
You fall hard onto the floor. Hissing in pain, your eyes close.
Move, a voice in your head sounding intensely like Din, urges you to react.
Then a thundering collision crashes into your chambers, and your eyes snap open.
One moment the senator stands poised above you, blade in hand ready to attack. The next heâs gone.
Scrambling up, you discover Din wrestling Senator Trystan onto the floor.
âThe Moff was right!â The traitor screams in anger trying hard to thrash against Dinâs hold.
âYouâre pathetic!â You snarl back.
âYou are ruining our world!â Sentaro Trystan screeches staring you down. âLong live the empire-â
Din aggressively knocks the raging senator unconscious.
Immediately your handmaidens and a few healers rush to your side tending to you, trying to calm you down.
A thick haze swirls in your mind. Senator Trystan was the one behind the assassinations. Why hadnât you noticed it?
Suddenly a warm gloved hand grabs yours and squeezes. Blinking out of the mental haze, Din now kneels before you. The stark black visor of his helmet stares unwavering.
He whispers your name.
Tiny little hands climb their way up your gown. Glancing down, you find Grogu staring up and whimpering worried. You stroke his soft head and it eases you and him both.
âAre you alright, mâlady?â Din asks cautious, concerned.
You nod still slightly overwhelmed.
âI owe you my life, mandalorian.â You tell him through a shaking voice.
Din doesn't reply, instead squeezes your hand tighter. The exhaustion slowly creeping into your body begs you to lean forward, to rest against Dinâs shoulder. But you donât know how heâll react.
And even if you did try to lean on him, you noticed your grand headpiece wouldâve gotten in the way of you moving closer to Din, a literal barrier reminding you of the truth.
New Republic officers along with the rest of your advisors and guards storm in.
Youâre grateful the threat is over, eternally in debt to Din. But the truth settles in cold and bleak. Your time is up. The mandalorian will be leaving you.
âYour reward will be doubled.â Hildegard says grateful through tears patting Din on the shoulder.
âI was justâŠdoing my job.â He nods curt.
A job, thatâs all you are.
You eventually hand Grogu to one of your handmaidens. This night will be busy. Din however refuses to leave your side.
âShe needs to rest.â Din orders sharp after realizing youâre still attending the gala.
âI can rest once this is all over.â Your monarch's voice, the voice of a queen, slips in.
Din remains silent.
Even though you feel caught in the waves of a turbulent sea, a queen must bottle all those things and store them away.
So wearing your crown proudly, you sign your final law into motion and hold your head high.
The previous queens still alive arrive at your side. You kneel, and their hands lift the weight of a planet from you.
Queen no more.
Among the roar of applause, among the illustrious crowd, your eyes only seek out one guest.
Din leans against a column, hands crossed over his chest sticking out a sore thumb. And heâs beautiful.
âI suppose you want this back.â You hold out his blade waiting for him to take it.
His helmet shakes an adamant no.
âI told you, itâs yours now. Knowing it kept you safe is even more reason for you to keep it.â
A thick sorrow and adoration, the strangest mixture, shred your heart wide open. But under the glimmering lights, along the magnificent marble ballroom, you have to seal everything away tight.
The Gala is a gorgeous celebration, the triumph of Naboo slowly returning to its beauty. The Gungan Boss teases how his nephew would make a fine match now that youâre available for marriage. He isnât the only one making suggestions.
Many suitors from noble families blatantly make their courting intentions known. You smile with as much grace as you can.
One of the noblemen, a man you vaguely remember from your university days, even gets bold and places a kiss on your hand when he bids you farewell.
âIt seems royal marriage is what everyone wants for you.â Din comments stiffly.
You stay quiet, numb.
âWhat do you want?â He asks.
Your eyes return to him, his glorious helmet, and you wish more than ever to know his eyes.
âWhat I want doesnât matter.â You reply just as stiff.
âBut it does. You deserve to make that decision.â He argues low, deadly, reminding you of the bounty hunter he is.
âMaybe who I want doesnât want me back.â Your words strike sharp under your breath.
âWhoâŠwho do you want?â
Terror barrels in hearing Dinâs question. You didnât even realize you had said who.
Dinâs stare, even without seeing his eyes, is unflinching.
An overwhelming panic overtakes you like a feral rancor.
So you flee, scurrying away fast.
Immediately you tell your advisors and handmaidens you need to be excused, saying how the rush of the night has finally caught up to you.
Understanding, everyone allows you to slip away from the galaâs ballroom towards the palace.
But ever the persistent shadow, Din stays close behind.
âI donât need your services anymore, mandalorian.â You snap, refusing to turn around to him.
âIâm your guard until the night ends.â He growls back.
âI thought our agreement was fulfilled when the threat was discovered. Besides, my crown is gone. You can leave Din Djarin.â Your voice bounces off the empty hallways like an angered ghost.
Earlier, the new republic officers had scanned his chaincode and when you heard his full name, it felt like a final goodbye.
âIs that what you want? For me to leave?â Dinâs tone cuts deadly, stopping you in the middle of the hallway.
You donât want him to go. You never want to leave him.
Din says your name, pleading.
âIt doesnât matter what I want. Leave.â You robotically order, except your voice cracks, and you regret speaking.
You force yourself to move forward.
He doesnât follow, and your footsteps echo alone in the hallway.
Arriving at your chambers, your hands shake as you wipe away tears.
Queen no more, now all alone.
A solid knock arrives at your door making you jump out of your skin.
Still worried from earlier, you cautiously open the door, holding Dinâs blade at the ready.
Then you slide it open fully and let the weapon drop instantly.
Din stands in the doorway.
âTell me what you want, who it is you want. And then you will never see me again.â A plea aches in the mandalorianâs voice.
âItâs you, DinâŠâ you sob, unable to hold it in anymore. âI want you, you ridiculously stubborn man-â
His warmth is engulfing. His strong arms wrap around you tight with the promise of never letting go. Beskar presses hard and unyielding, but you welcome it.
Your arms wrap around him just as tight.
âWhen I thought you were just a handmaid, I searched for you every time and I felt guilty. I knew my loyalty needed to be with the queen, when all I wanted to do was protect you.â His voice whispers soft, tender, soaking into your bones.
âIt was only until I realized⊠Iâve been protecting you this entire time.â He squeezes you tighter.
Gravity shifts. Your orbit now becomes tied to this warrior.
Gently, you lean out of his embrace to stare at him. Placing your hand against his helmet, imagining his cheek below your palm, you reverently stroke the sacred beskar.
âMy future is with you, whatever it is. I want it to be with you, Din.â You tell him through watery croaks.
A gloved hand now holds your face. Din exhales your name, delicate and reverent. Then he moves forward.
His helmet leans against your forehead, a holy act that makes your eyes close. The cool beskar against your skin feels like a sealed vow, the promise of a kiss and the hope of many to come.
Now, no crown keeps you from him.
â
Sunlight gently wakes you.
Your mind groggily starts thinking over the things you have to do today. An exasperated sigh escapes you.
The bed is cozy. You donât want to leave, but you need to. So wearily you wiggle to slip out from the covers.
Until a solid sturdy arm drags you back into the blankets, pulling you against a warm broad bare chest.
âYou canât keep me in bed all day.â You mutter half asleep, half amused.
âWeâre on our honeymoon. Weâre allowed to stay in bed all day.â Dinâs voice, unmodulated and thick with sleep, drips with pure delicious decadence.
Soft kisses pepper your bare shoulder. The soft scrape of his facial hair, the tickle of his mustache, feel glorious.
âWe did that yesterday. And the day before that.â You remind him amused.
âThen today should be our final time.â Din smirks, nipping at your shoulder while his hands map out your skin.
âThereâs still things I need to do for the coronation.â You try sounding determined, but your voice instead is a dreamy sigh, blissed in pure newlywed reverie.
âA queenâs job is never finished.â He teases letting his lips kiss across your jaw lazyly.
âNot a queen anymore.â You cheekily remind him, and your hand reaches back to run into his soft curls.
Youâre a wife now, a title you cherish just as much as Queen.
âAlways will be a queen to me⊠mâlady.â He mutters into your skin.
Immediately his words make you twist in his arms. You take a quick glance at your husband - your incredible husband with the most gorgeous rich soil soulful eyes. Then you lean forward to kiss him fierce.
Din meets your frenzy passion with a steadiness that disarms you. He kisses you slowly, unworried, like he plans to savor every moment, and you become a cloud ready to float into his atmosphere.
Then a small crash comes from the living room. An amused little giggle reveals the culprit.
You and Din now sigh for another reason.
âWe should have let your handmaids keep him another day.â Din mumbles.
You laugh swatting at his shoulder.
With a final playful kiss, you grab your robe and slip out of bed.
Grogu squeals excitedly seeing you. Scooping him up into your arms, you kiss his sweet adorable cheeks.
âYou adorable little trouble maker.â You snicker ticking his tummy.
You donât even mind that Grogu knocked over the lovely congratulations bouquet the gungan boss sent. Your sonâs giggles are worth it.
The morning sun dances beautifully across the grand Naboo lake. Sitting among the lush grass, you now watch Grogu once again chase after the fluttering butterflies.
Heavy boots crunch approaching. Then Din presses against you. You snuggle closer to lean against his paladin covered shoulder. His arm slides to curl you even closer into his side.
âAlways hoped we would get to come back here.â Din admits.
You did too. Itâs why when the coronation for the next Queen of Naboo arrived, coincidentally taking place just a month after your wedding, you eagerly convinced Din to take a break from Nevarro to return to this special place.
âThank you for bringing us back.â You tell him grateful, pressing a kiss to his beskar.
âNo, thank you for suggesting this.â You knew Din was kind hearted before. But now, as your husband, he shows you a pure adoration that doesnât feel real at times.
âThey will need you at the palace soon.â Your mandalorian reminds you gently.
Heâs right of course. So many events, things to plan, all wait for you.
But for a few more moments, you stay within the golden glow of your little familyâŠsimply letting the butterflies dance all around.
Chapter masterlist for The Matter of Stars, a Poe Dameron x F!Reader fic.
Operating radio communications on a Resistance base is precisely the kind of thankless job that you feel you deserve after escaping the ghosts of your past⊠Until the night that the mundanity is disrupted by an untraceable incoming call: the last testament of a dying stranger, stranded somewhere across the stars.
Through quick thinking and a bit of luck, youâre able to send rescue to the mysterious man on the other end of the lineâbut when he turns out to be none other than Poe Dameron, poster boy of the Resistance, your life on DâQar is about to be thrown into chaos.
Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.
18+ mdni
do you like kitschy, campy romance novels? if you're reading this, I hope so.
behind the scenes & chapter notes + other extras (spoilers) :
chapters 1-5
chapter 6-15
spotify playlists
Lysa & Elaine information
the bks screen adaption
bks q&a
bks what if's
reader is generally not described past being picked up a few times, and having hair long enough to be put up
That is the only word that comes to mind as you stare at yourself in the mirror. âHis favorite color is blue.â ]
chapter two : silent treatment (7.4k words)
[ Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. ]
[ Youâre starting to think the planet isnât the reason youâre so hot all the time.
You had woken up this morning feeling a bit better than you thought youâd be, your stomach is full of butterflies but you're still standing and considering the night you had youâre gonna take that as a win. ]
chapter four : sarad'ika (6.8k words)
[ Sarad'ika.Â
You wonât forget it this time, you canât. So you write it in your book, just under Mandoâs favorite color you write the two little words that have been keeping you up at night. ]
[ Maker it feels like itâs been an hour and youâre both just laying here. He was just inside of you; it shouldn't be so hard to find something to talk about at this point. ]
chapter eight : solar markets (5.3k words)
[ Itâs nice to wake up excited again.Â
You wish you could say that it happened more often but hopefully it will from now on. Itâs going to be your first time leaving the castle grounds since you got here. ]
Normally you would be satisfied for quite some time after getting off but for some reason with Mando it was different. But itâs only been two days and you need more. ]
[ Heâs grateful for the break from you, even if brief.Â
Thatâs not to say that he doesnât enjoy every moment he gets to be in your presence but the more time he spends with you the harder it gets to remember that this isnât real. ]
chapter eleven : he loves me not (4.6k words)
[ Something is wrong.Â
All day itâs been wrong.Â
Heâs different. Distant. ]
chapter twelve : pretend (4.4k words )
[ Two days.
Thatâs what youâre willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. ]
You have no problem falling asleep, itâs mostly staying asleep. Thereâs a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. ]
chapter fifteen : two tea parties (5.4k words)
[ âWhat did you do to her?â
Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly.Â
âExcuse me?â ]
chapter sixteen : absolution (4.6k words)
[ Thereâs a visceral sense of dread when you wake up, for several reasons.Â
The glaring obvious culprit of your discomfort would be the fact that todayâs your husband's birthday. ]
chapter seventeen : the apostateâs cabin (3.5k words)
[ Just Din.Â
Itâs sinking in as you walk in silence, holding his hand tightly as he pulls you towards his home. ]
chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (5.4k words)
[ Itâs deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline. ]
How could he possibly be deserving of you? Yet somehow you make him feel as if he is. With your soft touch and the way your eyes get just a little bigger when you see him. ]
[ Youâd spent the better half of the day trying to get on top of him.Â
Every time you managed to get close heâd simply set you down on the nearest surface with a kiss on the cheek and go back to doing whatever he was working on. ]
chapter twenty nine : the best kept secret (epilogue) (6.1k words)
[ The morning sun is warm against your face, you bask in it, unmoving and only half awake until you feel a tiny hand slapping your cheek. The illusion of tranquility is immediately shattered as you softly laugh. ]
summary: Things donât go as expected when Captain Teva sets you up on a solo mission with his newly recruited Mandalorian mercenary, for better or for worse.
You blinked a few times in shock at Captain Teva. You were still struggling to find your voice, no matter how loud the words you wanted to say were inside your own head. Questions and frustrations threatened to surface, but instead, all you could do was echo what heâd just said. âYou want me to work with a Mandalorian on this?â
Captain Teva took a nervous glance around and held his hand up, a warning to stay quiet. He set his hand on your shoulder and urged the two of you to a more private corner of the outpostâs cantina. âIâm asking you because I trust you the most out of anyone here.â You set your shoulders with a deep breath and crossed your arms. Captain Teva nodded before he went on. âThis isnât just any Mandalorian. Heâs the one who killed Moff Gideon.â
You raised your brow. âYou mean, the one who was complicit in the death of Lieutenant Davan and sprung a prisoner from that same ship?â
Captain Teva exhaled a tight sigh. âYou saw that footage. You know he was the only one who tried to save the lieutenant.â He gave you a knowing look. âLast I checked, your record isnât crystal clear, either.â
Your gaze fell at that. His words were stern, but not harsh. It was the slap of reality you needed. Each mission you got recruited with was a gift, not an expectation, no matter how damn good you were at flying. âFair enough.â You loosened your jaw and lifted your brow. âBut why so secretive?â
Captain Teva shifted his weight. âCoruscant doesnât know about the Mandalorian helping us.â He set both his hands on your shoulders. âAnd they wonât know.â
âBecause youâve recruited a mercenary into our ranks, and youâre asking me to work directly with him?â
Captain Tevaâs lips started to curl up in a teasing smile. âIt shouldnât be a problem unless youâve got a bounty on you.â He patted your shoulder and started to walk off towards the bar. âIâll brief you when Mando gets here.â
You followed him and set your hands on your hips, the upper half of your orange jumpsuit still hanging at your waist. âHow long is that gonna take?â
The door slid open as if on cue, revealing the silhouette of the Mandalorian with one of the smallest creatures youâd ever seen at his side. Captain Teva gestured to them with his head and accepted the drink he was handed by the bartender. âNot long.â
He sipped his drink while you held back yet another sigh. You rested your elbow upon the bar and kept your other hand propped up on your hip, your expression hardened as the Mandalorian joined the two of you where you stood. His small accomplice took the liberty of hopping onto the bar all on his own and made himself comfortable in front of a bowl of tip-yip.
âI wasnât expecting to hear from you so soon.â The black void of the Mandalorianâs T-shaped visor was facing Captain Teva, and his position at the bar mirrored your own.
âItâs important.â Captain Teva nodded as he drew a sip from his drink. âI need my strongest people on it.â He turned and gestured to you. âThatâs why Iâm sending you with my best pilot.â
You raised your brow at him, unimpressed. Flattery wasnât going to make you any more optimistic about this mission. Your gaze shifted to the Mandalorianâs visor as you continued to remain silent. He tilted his helmet at you, and you had to ignore the way it made you want to shift your position.
âThis is the part where you introduce yourself, Lieutenant.â Captain Teva let his voice go low in warning.
You stood up straight from the bar and fell in line without much effort applied. You introduced yourself to the Mandalorian, who then reached out his gloved hand for a handshake and returned the favor. âDin Djarin.â
You shook his hand and pasted on a fake smile. âA pleasure, Djarin. Truly.â
Captain Teva watched you with careful eyes as you returned your hand to your side. âAs I said before, the lieutenant is one of my very finest,â he paused and raised his glass to you, âand will have no problem assisting you in any way you need on this mission.â
Your jaw dropped at his words. To be placed under the Mandalorianâs command on this mission felt like a stab in the back. âCaptainâŠâ
âI know youâre eager to get going, but this briefing wonât take long.â Captain Teva gave you a sharp look. You crossed your arms in a vain effort to suppress your growing frustration. âThereâve been sightings of a squadron of TIE fighters near Agreon.â Captain Teva pulled up a map of the surrounding area on his holoprojector. âWeâve gotten some intel that the planet may be housing one of our most sought-out warlords yet.â
Din shifted his weight to one hip, setting a gloved hand on his belt near one of his two blaster pistols. âWhatâs the name?â
Captain Teva glanced around the room and reached into a pocket on his belt, handing off the datacard to Din. âEverything you need to know is in here.â Din nodded and secured the datacard on his person. âIf we get this warlord, we could finally get Agreon, a planetary asset we havenât had since before the Clone Wars.â
âIf their people will let us.â You scoffed, earning both Captainâs and Dinâs attention. âThey havenât exactly been keen on the idea of the Republic.â
âThe Empire didnât give them a choice.â Captain Tevaâs brow rose. âItâs likely the Imperial influence changed things for them.â
âRegardless, weâll make the job quick.â Din stood up straighter and reached for his tiny accomplice. âWouldnât want them to cycle the charts if they find out youâre getting suspicious.â
âGood call.â Captain Teva nodded before accepting the hand that Din had reached out to him to shake. âThank you.â
Din returned the nod. âWeâll be in touch.â The Mandalorian, satisfied with Captainâs short briefing, turned and walked off without once looking to see if you followed.
You scoffed and faced Captain Teva, who spoke before you had the chance to. âTake it easy on him, Lieutenant.â Captain Tevaâs words were a plea. âYou have no idea how important of an ally he is.â
You offered him a tight-lipped smile. âSure.â
With that, you followed Dinâs path, entering the daylight of Adelphi with a heavy sigh. The Mandalorianâs ship was already close to your own and, despite your feelings about the bounty hunter, you were impressed with his vessel. It was an N-1 starfighter from Nabooâs Royal Fleet, dating back to the years before the Clone Wars. Its silver finish was sleek, and several customizations made themselves known on its exterior hull.
âSo,â you began loud enough for Din to hear, approaching him as he set his tiny accomplice within his ship, âwhatâs the plan?â
Din didnât turn around to face you as he responded. âWe destroy the fleet, take the warlord, and get the hell out of there.â
You huffed and crossed your arms. âAnd how do you plan on doing that?â Din turned to face you as you shook your head at him. âAs soon as they see my X-wing, theyâre gonna know whatâs going on.â
Din tilted his helmet at you. âThatâs why youâll pretend youâre pursuing me before I lead you into the firefight.â His visor returned to the little one as he spoke with slight amusement. âIt wouldnât be my first time getting chased down by an X-wing.â
âWere you planning on sharing that with me, partner, or was I supposed to read your mind?â
Din remained unshaken, his visor finding your gaze again. âCaptain Teva said youâre the finest he has.â He nodded at you. âI figured youâd catch on.â
You forced yourself to take a deep breath and directed your attention elsewhere for a moment. The little one in the Mandalorianâs ship served as the perfect distraction. âWhat is that?â You pointed at the cockpit.
Din looked between you and the cooing little one. âThis is my apprentice.â
Your brow furrowed in confusion. âThat thing is a Mandalorian?â
The hand at Dinâs side pulled into a tight fist. âHeâs also my son.â His voice was a warning. âAnd his name is Grogu.â
You raised both hands in surrender. âApologies.â
Din began to climb his way into his ship. âIâll transmit the information to you.â He lowered himself into the cockpit, Grogu soon appearing on his lap. âTry to keep up.â
The revving of his ship made you jump back as Din started it up. You cursed under your breath and jogged to where your X-wing was docked, already crafting your list of complaints about the Mandalorian for Captain Teva to listen to upon your return. The list was almost too long to remember by the time you secured your jumpsuit over your shoulders and climbed inside the cockpit.
Din didnât wait a single moment, and his N-1 was in the air before you had even slid your helmet on. You grumbled to yourself as you fumbled with your helmet and strapped yourself in, starting up the X-wing and taking off as soon as it was ready. You applied extra power to the reverse thrusters just to catch up to the N-1 before it left the atmosphere.
âLieutenant?â Dinâs voice spoke through your comms.
You almost failed to hold back your sigh. âAt your service.â
Dinâs amused huff was audible through the comms. âGood to know.â You raised your brow before he went on. âTransmitting you the coordinates.â
You waited and saw the coordinates uploaded to your navicomputer. âAll set over here.â
âGreat. Making the jump now.â
You followed suit, watching as Dinâs N-1 flew into the stars just as you did. Your X-wing was just behind his ship in the hyperspace lane, the blue flashes of light illuminating the space in a way that had always brought you peace.
Still, even hyperspace couldnât soothe you. Din had sent the encrypted plans over to you, and in reading them, you realized just how big of a score it would be if you pulled this off. You couldnât mess it up, and yet Captain Teva had given you a stranger to work with, and no other pilots. It was like he was setting you up to fail.
You took a deep breath and spoke to Din over the comms. âHow do you want this to go?â
Dinâs response was instantaneous. âYou tell me.â
You scoffed. âYouâre the one who made the plan, Djarin.â
âAll I have to do is run. Youâre the one whoâs in control of the rest.â
You shook your head in disbelief of his words. The lack of detailed planning would have gotten him kicked out of the fleet, if he was actually a part of it. It was reckless. âSo, you make the plan, and then you make me responsible for its success?â
âDonât worry, Lieutenant. Iâll take full responsibility if something goes sideways.â The honesty in Dinâs tone made you even more frustrated. âBut it wonât, because youâre Captain Tevaâs best.â You rolled your eyes to yourself and crossed your arms. âSo, whatâs your play?â
You fought the urge to be somewhat rational and spoke on your first thoughts. âI donât think I should hold back. If I were really pursuing a criminal, I would be close on their tail with the weapons ready.â
âI agree.â Dinâs words shocked you more than you thought possible. âOnce we enter the atmosphere, you should start firing.â
âYou want me to miss on purpose?â
âNo.â Your eyes doubled in size. âYou said it yourself. You shouldnât hold back. Fire at me like you would a runner.â
You hated the wave of concern that rushed through you. âHow would that work? Iâd just shoot you down.â
Dinâs tone was confident but not arrogant as he responded. âI wouldnât be so sure.â Before you could respond with the contrary, he continued. âLook alive, weâre dropping out of hyperspace momentarily.â
You had forgotten how close Agreon was to the outpost. You readied yourself on the joystick for the drop, steadying yourself with a breath before you dared to speak. âGood luck, Djarin.â
You couldâve sworn there was a smile in Dinâs voice when he responded. âLikewise, Lieutenant.â
As soon as your two ships dropped out of hyperspace, your chase began. You stayed close on Dinâs tail as he wove his N-1 around invisible obstacles, much like criminals on the run would. He would know, after all. You tried to shake the nagging thought from your head as you took a quick glance around, though there werenât any TIEs that you could spot just yet. âSee anything?â you asked Din over the comms.
âNot yet.â Your ships started to enter Agreonâs atmosphere. âIâm gonna fly towards the main city to get a better view.â
Din dove his N-1 down to the surface and you gritted your teeth as you began to fire. He spun and wove through the clouds as if your accurate shots were nonexistent, something that somehow both relieved and frustrated you. Din kept the chase far enough above ground that it wouldnât alert the unsuspecting citizens within the main city, but could catch the attention of any nearby Imperials.
âNothing here.â Dinâs voice was unfazed, as if you werenât mere inches from shooting him down every second. âLetâs head to the bay.â
You couldnât hold back your scoff. âThe bay? Why would they be there?â
âIt has the same appeal as the city with a lot less security.â Din paused as he dodged a series of shots from your X-wing. âSounds like the perfect place for an Imperial warlord to be hiding.â
You wanted to disagree with Din, but he was right. Instead, you let out your frustration into your attacks, though the way he dodged them with ease only made the feeling worse.
The high speed of your chase got you to the bay in just a few minutes. The waterside city came into view and immediately, Din was alerting you over the comms. âThere, off your port side.â
You glanced to the left and widened your eyes at the array of TIE fighters docked just outside the city. There was also a Lambda shuttle among them, completing what could be considered a small fleet. âThis is a lot more than a âsquadronâ of TIE fighters.â
âThen we should move in while theyâre still docked.â Din veered his N-1 to the left, heading straight towards the Imperial docking bay. âKeep aiming at me and follow my lead.â
You gripped your joystick tighter and obeyed his orders. As you aimed for Din, he spun and dodged in strategic ways to make your shots instead hit the docked TIE fighters. One by one, they began to burst into hot flames and thick smoke. âThis is really giving us away!â
âIt was inevitable.â Din pulled up hard enough to make your series of shots hit three TIEs back-to-back. âWe need to cut off their air support first to keep them here, then we can go in on foot.â
The Lambda shuttle was destroyed and only a few more TIEs remained, but they went airborne before you could loop back around to them. The three TIE fighters fell into formation behind you, firing with your X-wing as their sole target. âIâve got the last three on me!â
âI see them. Split left, Iâll go right.â
The danger was too imminent for you to argue. You pulled your joystick to the left and watched as all three TIE fighters followed you rather than Dinâs N-1. Part of you wondered if Din was hoping youâd get shot down so he could take the credit for himself. The thought was fleeting as you soon watched Din maneuver his starfighter behind the trio and shoot down two of them in seconds. The third split off, cycling themselves back around to get a better angle on Din.
âThe last oneâs all yours.â
You couldnât help smiling as you turned your ship to gain on the TIE fighter. âIâve got them.â All it took was one shot to take them down, the TIE screeching as it crashed to the surface. You let out a cheer to yourself; it was the quickest you had ever taken out a fleet of that size, and with less than half the help you had before. You exhaled and shook your head in amazement. âThat was some real good work, Djarin.â
âNot too bad yourself, Lieutenant. Your shots were hard to miss.â You beamed to yourself at his words. âBut weâre not done yet. We need to land outsideâ.â
Dinâs comms had cut out when the rest of your shipâs power did. One blast from what could have only been an ion cannon on the surface made your X-wing dead in the air. Agreonâs gravity took over the ship as you frantically pressed around the controls. âDjarin?â You tried the comms in a futile effort. âDjarin, can you hear me? Iâm dead in the air!â
As the surface came closer and closer to the dead weight of your ship, you gritted your teeth. You tried pulling up, but it was no use. Your last effort was attempting to eject from the cockpit, but it wouldnât give way in time, and the impact was the last thing you remembered before everything went dark.
You werenât sure how long you were out, but when you woke, it was with a gasp and a burst of energy. Din had torn open the transparisteel of the cockpit and was knelt just outside of it. His gloved hand tossed the casing of an adrenaline stim to the side as he instead took a hold of your shoulders.
âItâs okay, Lieutenant. Youâre all right.â Dinâs tone was sincere and urgent. âIâm sorry, I had to wake you up to help you out of here.â
You nodded at him, still numb to the event as well as any pain it mightâve brought you. The motion at least made you aware that he had taken your helmet off for you. âDonât worry about it.â Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you let Din guide you.
âCan you move at all?â
You had tried to push yourself up, but cried out involuntarily when your leg remained trapped. Din stopped you by taking a firmer grasp on your shoulders. âItâs my leg.â
Dinâs visor inspected the area and he nodded. âOkay. I have an idea, but we have to work quickly.â He glanced over his shoulder as he drew his cape from his shoulders. âImps could be on their way any minute.â
Din took the cape and laid it over as much of your trapped leg as he could manage, though his touch was delicate to avoid hurting you further. You raised your brow at him. âWhat are you doing?â
Din tilted his helmet. âBurning the metal.â He raised his fist and engaged his flamethrower, causing the metal that trapped your leg to groan as it became more flexible. His cape was flame resistant and kept you from getting burned, as intimidating as it was to see the flames so close to you.
After a few more seconds, Din stopped and gave the heated metal a solid kick. It created a small dent in the metal, but it wasnât enough to free you. Din cursed and knelt back down to where he was before.
Before Din could even try to burn the metal again, it suddenly began to crush itself back, as if some invisible force was pressing upon it. You looked at Din with a bewildered crease in your brow, but his visor was already fixed on the little one at his side. The apprentice, Grogu, had his eyes closed and his tiny hand extended towards your ship. You watched him with your jaw dropped in awe as he worked until you had more than enough room to move your leg.
You pushed yourself up again and released a tight-lipped groan at the pain in your leg. Din paused for consent to throw your arm over his shoulders and your nod granted him permission. He took a strong grip on you and lifted you onto the ground outside the ship, keeping you propped up alongside him as his visor assessed you for more wounds. âCan you walk?â
âI can manage.â You gave him a reassuring nod, though a quick glance down at your leg revealed just how badly cut-up it was. Your mind was too stuck on something else to care. âWhat the hell was that?â You gestured with your head to Grogu, who had climbed back into a metal floating pod at Dinâs other side.
Din sighed and glanced at his apprentice. âItâs a long story.â His visor found your gaze again as he nodded. âIâll tell you once weâre safe.â Din raised his free hand to his helmet and spoke through his comms. âR5, can you transmit the coordinates to the N-1?â He paused and looked at his gauntlet as he waited. It chimed and Din lifted his hand back to his helmet again. âThanks, buddy. Weâre on our way.â
For the first few steps, Din kept his visor on you, watching you struggle to put weight on your injured leg. The more you went on, the more you forced yourself to become numb to the pain, and soon you and Din were moving at a much better pace. You werenât far from the nearby surrounding wood, and thankfully you reached its cover before any Imperials had the chance of finding you.
Din lifted his gauntlet to double-check the coordinates. âWeâre almost there.â
You nodded, weary from the effort it had taken you in your injured state to maintain his quick pace. There were at least a dozen questions you wanted to ask him about what would come next, but all you could conceive of doing was putting one foot in front of the other. With each step, the adrenaline faded more and more, causing you to lean further onto Din. He took your extra weight with both ease and grace.
By the time you saw the sleek silver design of the N-1, Din was practically dragging you along with him. Grogu released a worried coo from inside his pod, and the heat of Dinâs gaze through his helmet followed. You muscled up all the strength you had left to stand up straighter and nod at him.
âIâm fine.â You swallowed back another pained groan as you lifted your arm from Dinâs shoulders and leaned against the wing of his N-1. Balancing on your good leg, you set your hands over the edge of the cool metal and furrowed your brow at the Mandalorian. âWhat now?â
Dinâs visor didnât look away from you as he swung his helmet towards the N-1âs cockpit. âItâll be a tight fit, but we can manage.â
You blinked at him, your mouth falling open. âYour plan is to leave?â
Din didnât move an inch. âYour X-wingâs out of commission, Lieutenant, and your injury needs serious medical attention.â Only then did he set his gloved hands on his hips. âWhat else are we supposed to do?â
You tightened your grasp on the N-1âs wing and looked to the side as you pondered his words. You gave your head an aimless shake. âAgreon is too high-value to walk away from, especially now that weâve already moved in and cut off their means of escape.â
Din sighed. âI know that. But I canât do it alone, and youâre in no shape to help me right now.â
Your focus snapped back to him, your brow shooting up. âI told you, Djarin, Iâm fine.â You forced yourself to take a deep breath. âIf we can just⊠lay low for a few standard hours, maybe even for the night, I can heal enough to join you on foot.â
Din tilted his helmet at you. âThat gives them too much time to call in reinforcements.â
âReinforcements?â You scoffed. âPlease. This isnât the all-powerful Empire weâre talking about, Djarin. This is the Remnant. Resources are scarce, and theyâre not gonna send more ships and forces over here after what looks like an unfortunate accident.â You nodded at him. âWe have at least a full dayâs margin to get this done.â
Din exhaled, shifting his weight before turning his head over his shoulder. His visor found the path you had just taken to get back to the ship, and after another momentâs contemplation, he nodded and faced you again. âFine.â He gestured to where heâd just been looking. âBut weâre not staying here. Itâll be easier to hide inside the main city. Iâll fly us to the hangar, and weâll find an inn there.â
You nodded, your gaze dropping to your bloodied leg as you bit your cheek. âHow are we getting there?â
âLike I said before, itâll be a tight fit, but we can manage.â
You glanced up just in time to catch Dinâs gloved hand tapping the canopy that covered the N-1âs cockpit. Your eyes widened when you realized just how small it was. âThereâs no way we can all fit in there.â
Dinâs hand on the canopy tightened into a fist. âDo we have a choice?â
Your jaw tightened. You wanted to argue, but you had no points to make. He was right.
You winced as you pushed yourself off the wing and limped closer to the cockpit, letting yourself observe the singular seat. There would be only one way for you all to fit, and the thought of it threatened to make your entire face and neck burn the hottest they ever have. âI guess you have to get in first.â
Din nodded, sliding open the canopy and settling himself inside. âItâs not a long trip.â You were distracted for a moment by Grogu directing his pod underneath the starfighter, which somehow led to him popping up with his father inside the cockpit. âItâll only be a few minutes of discomfort.â
âThatâs long enough.â You gritted your teeth and pushed yourself up, a whimper escaping as your injured leg protested at the movement.
âUse your strong leg first.â Din offered a hand for you to steady yourself with. âIâll support you.â
You nodded, focusing on the logistics rather than the consequences as you sat upon the edge of the raised cockpit and lowered your good leg. Din helped to guide it towards whatever room was left on the floor just below the seat. He waited until you were steady to help you lower yourself to the same seat he was in himselfâthough you were definitely sitting more on him than you were the actual seat.
Great. As if crashing your X-wing and injuring your leg wasnât already bad enough.
âComfortable?â Dinâs voice was an annoyingly attractive mixture of amusement and genuine concern. Grogu, who was tucked under one of Dinâs arms, also cooed as if he was asking the very same question.
âIf thatâs what you wanna call it, then sure.â
You kept your focus on the closing canopy above your head rather than the armored chest your back was currently pressed up against. It rose and fell in steady breaths, taking you with each movement. You resorted to humor to deflect the embarrassment that burned hot on the tips of your ears.
âYou know, Djarin, if you wanted me to sit on your lap, you couldâve just asked.â
Din huffed. He waited until he had the N-1 in the air to respond. âAs if you wouldâve ever said yes.â
Your eyes doubled in size, and you were suddenly even more grateful that he could only see the back of your head. âBut youâre not denying that itâs what you wanted?â
Din let out a fuller yet lower chuckle this time. You watched as his grasp on the two controls in front of you pulsated. âYou mustâve hit your head in the crash, Lieutenant.â
His words drew a genuine yet curt laugh from your lips. You shook your head and watched Agreonâs terrestrial landscape pass you by, focusing on anything except the warmth of Dinâs body behind and underneath you. It was distracting, and even worse, it was comfortingâintoxicating even.
Youâd been there before, and never again would you repeat such a mistake. It wasnât worth risking everything you had built for yourself over mercenaries like him.
It wasnât a long trip, just as Din had assured you before, and he was soon making contact with the main cityâs hangar to land the N-1 inside its designated bay. You mused upon the next steps in your head, and the first obstacle you ran into was the bright orange of your jumpsuit reflected in the transparisteel of the N-1âs canopy.
Din had just finished landing the N-1 when you unzipped your jumpsuit and began to pull your arms out of it. He took his gloved hands and set them on Groguâs ears, folding them over. âSitting on my lap is one thing, Lieutenant.â He tilted his helmet, evidently amused. âBut undressing in front of my son is another.â
You rolled your eyes before looking down to make sure your white, sleeveless undershirt was in place. âWould you rather I walk around in my full X-wing getup so we can be swiftly identified?â
Din hummed, an unexpected sound that crackled through his modulator and shivered down your spin. âNo, youâre right.â His gloved hands found your waist. âI like this look better, anyway.â Before you could even think of leveling him with your own retort, Din continued. âPush off your uninjured leg.â
Your face grew even hotter as you nodded, realizing he couldnât get up until you did first. You obeyed his command and pushed off your leg while he used his hands on your waist to help you up. You sat upon the cockpitâs raised edge and spun yourself around, easing yourself down using mostly your uninjured leg. You bit back a whimper when the injured one hit the ground.
Din was right behind you, with Grogu appearing back in his pod at his fatherâs side. One of Dinâs gloved hands found your shoulder as his visor looked pointedly at your bloodied jumpsuit. âCan you make it into the city?â
You repeated his words from before. âDo we have a choice?â
Din gave his helmet a quick tilt. âI can try to find a speeder to rent.â
Though oddly touched by his offer, you shook your head. âIâll be fine, Djarin. Iâm sure they have an inn relatively close to the landing bay, anyway.â
Din nodded, remaining close to your side as your small group began to walk forward. Din broke off to greet the worker and pay the necessary fee. He spoke with the man for a few extra moments before nodding and joining you and Grogu again. You fixed him with a quizzical look.Â
âI asked where the nearest inn is.â
You furrowed your brow. âSo that he can know exactly where to find us if people come looking?â
Din swung his helmet towards you. âThis manâs shift will be over long before anyone manages to find my ship here.â He pointed at your leg. âBut if it makes you feel better, we can wander aimlessly around the city for hours looking for somewhere else to stay.â
You tightened your jaw and looked straight ahead. âIâd rather not.â
âI figured as much.â
You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. Your jumpsuit hung at your waist the way you usually kept it when you were hanging around the outpost, and hopefully that would be enough to keep anyone from getting suspicious. You didnât see any eyes catching the three of you in particular, and that was all that mattered. Din had been right; the main city was much easier to hide within.
It had only taken a few blocks to get to the inn, which was indicated by the Aurebesh on its signage. Din continued to lead the way inside and bartered for a last-minute room while you stood with Grogu off to the side. It was all you could do not to focus on the stinging pain in your leg. It was only getting worse the longer you went without treating it.
After using the turbolift to get to your floor, Din stepped ahead and unlocked your door. It slid open to reveal a room that was barely big enough for two people, much less threeâeven if Dinâs tiny apprentice barely took up any room.
In fact, this room wasnât just made for two ordinary people. It was made for two people who intended on sharing a bed.
The pain in your leg didnât allow you to dwell on any disapproving thoughts for very long. You trudged inside and practically collapsed onto the bed, gingerly pulling at the material of your jumpsuit to check on your wound. You pressed your lips together in a vain attempt to suppress a groan as the fabric brushed over the sensitive gash.
âWe shouldâve wrapped that back at the N-1.â You glanced up from the wound to see that Din was already kneeling in front of your leg. âItâs worse than you made it out to be.â
You let out a light scoff. âAre you blaming me for that?â
Dinâs visor rose to meet your stare. âNo.â He tilted his helmet. âIâm saying youâre strong as hell.â
You looked away from him when warmth began to creep up your neck again. He began rustling around for something, and when you gained the faith to look at him again, you noticed he had already dismantled a medpac from his belt. You shook your head and started to lean forward. âYou donât have to do that. I can take care of it.â
Din continued prepping his materials. âItâs all right, Lieutenant. Iâm already down here.â He paused, his visor once again rising to your gaze as he continued. âUnless youâd be more comfortable doing it yourself.â
You hesitated. Letting Din see you so vulnerable wasnât something you were keen on, but the state of your wound was already threatening to make your head spin. âNo, uh⊠go ahead.â Your lips spread in a small smile. âThank you.â
Din nodded and went back to what he was doing. âThis is the Way.â
Your brow rose at that. You considered his words for a few moments and watched him work until the crimson stains became enough. Your gaze snapped up towards the door across from you as you broke your brief silence. âWhere does that saying come from?â
The warmth of Dinâs gaze burned over you before he answered. âThe Mandalorian Creed.â His tone was coated in newfound reverence. âItâs called the Way of the Mandalore. When we want to acknowledge that something either we ourselves or someone else has said or done is reflective of our Creed, thatâs what we respond with.â
You nodded in understanding. âSo, helping me patch up my leg is a part of your Creed?â
Din chuckled softly at that. You tightened the grasp you had taken on the bedsheets underneath your palms. âHelping others in general is a core part of the Way. It goes hand-in-hand with saving others.â His modulated voice lowered. âEspecially children.â
Your gaze flickered over to Grogu, who was already fast asleep inside his pod. Your cheeks began to hurt from your ever-present yet small smile as you spoke in a much softer voice. âYou saved Grogu, didnât you?â
Din froze for a moment. You glanced down at him, an icy chill of dread prickling inside your chest at the idea of saying the wrong thing. Instead, however, Din considered the bacta container inside his gloved palm and let out an affectionate huff. âI like to think he saved me.â
Your tense expression softened. You wanted to ask for more, but you didnât have to. Din continued his story as he resumed his work on your injury.
âHe was learning to be a Jedi a long time ago.â Your eyes doubled in size at that. âThatâs why he has those powers, like the one he used to get your leg free.â
You blinked a few times in surprise. You had heard rumblings of a Jedi, maybe even two or three, within the Alliance itself, but you werenât sure if those stories were true. âHow old is he?â
âFifty-three.â Your eyes doubled in size. âApparently, his species ages a lot slower than most.â
You looked at Grogu again and let out a curt chuckle. âApparently.â
âI found him because⊠he was a bounty I was after.â The shame in his tone caused sympathy to blossom within your chest, but you kept it suppressed and let him go on. âI didnât know he was a child until I actually saw him. He used his powers to save me from a mudhorn on that same job.â
You pointed at his right pauldron. âIs that why you have one on your armor?â
Din paused as he looked up at his shoulder and nodded. âYeah.â He turned back to his work. âIt was given to me as a signet when we were officially made a clan of two.â
You smiled at the warmth in his voice. You were so engrossed by his story that you barely felt the stinging pain of his work on your wound. âWhat did you do after he saved you?â
Din sighed. He shook his helmet, and his tone reflected his self-deprecation. âI turned him in. Thatâs how I got all this beskar.â He tightened one of his fists as the other stayed busy with your wound. âBut I couldnât handle it for long. I only made it a few standard hours before I went back to where I had left him and took him back.â
Your brow furrowed. âWho was after him?â
âThe Empire.â Din practically spit out the words with furious fire as your own blood went hot inside your veins. âMoff Gideon, to be exact. He took the kidâs blood and experimented with it.â
You frowned, sparing another glance at Groguâs peaceful form. âHearing about the Empireâs atrocities shouldnât shock me anymore, yet it still does.â
You relaxed when you remembered what Captain Teva had told you earlier. Din was one of the Mandalorians directly responsible for Moff Gideonâs death on Mandalore, which meant that Grogu was safe. You began to smile again as you turned your head back to face the Mandalorian who was just finishing with your woundâs bandaging.
âIâm glad Grogu had you.â Dinâs visor rose to meet your gaze as you corrected yourself. âThat he still has you. That fact that youâve taken him in as your own speaks volumes.â
Dinâs helmet lowered back to your freshly-wrapped leg as he checked over his work. âItâs what the Mandalorians did for me when I was a child. And like I said beforeâŠâ he looked at Grogu over his armored shoulder, âhe saved me, too.â
You swallowed hard at what he had insinuated. âThe Mandalorians also took you in?â
Din nodded, clearly distracting himself with the task of cleaning up his medical supplies. âI was a child when my world was attacked. The Mandalorians came to help, but they were too late.â His voice lowered so much you could barely hear it as he exhaled a deep breath. âI was the only survivor.â
Your chest tightened so much that it hurt. You set a hand over it as if that would help, watching helplessly as Din nonchalantly packed up his medpac and rose to his full height. Being a part of the Alliance and then the New Republic led to you hearing stories like these before, but that never made them easier to processânor imagine. âIâm so sorry, Din.â
Dinâs helmet straightened before he managed a nod. âThis is the Way.â Both his voice and his stature returned to normal as he went on. âYour leg should be good for the night. We can check to see if it needs to be redone in the morning before we set out.â
You nodded, taking his change in subject in stride. âThank you.â
âDonât thank me yet.â He gestured with a gloved hand to your face. âYou still have some more cuts from the crash. I can take a quick look at those, if you want.â Din offered his medpac to you. âBut I understand if you prefer to do that yourself.â
You shrugged. âYouâre already in the groove. Might as well keep going, right?â
Din huffed with amusement and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. âSure.â
As he began to get his materials out again, you mulled over a thought that was nagging at the front of your mind. It was something that didnât seem to fit in with the heartfelt story Din had just told, but given how vulnerable he was being with you, you didnât want to insult him by asking about it.
Still, knowing yourself, it would come out eventually. It would be best to get it over with.
âSo,â you swallowed hard as Dinâs visor gave you an attentive glance, âdid everything with Grogu happen before or after the prison ship incident?â
You tensed, anticipating Din to harden himself to you once again. Instead, Din let out an amused breath, making your brow shoot up as his visor began to scan your face. âLooks like you did your research.â
You rolled your lips together. âI trained with Lieutenant Davan back when I first joined the Alliance.â You took a deep breath to steady yourself. âSo, yeah. I did my research.â
Din sighed, though it was far from a sound of annoyance. âThat was when Grogu and I were still on the run from the Empire and their bounty hunters. I was trying to find my footing, and I obviously couldnât do any bounty hunting work, but we still needed credits for fuel and food.â
Din paused, looking down as he selected something from his pile of supplies and began his work on one of your cuts.
âSomeone I used to work for a long time ago reached out, and since I was low on credits, I agreed. I was told before we left that only droids worked on the prison ship.â Dinâs voice lowered as he went on. âIâm sorry about Lieutenant Davan.â
You gave him a small nod, your gaze cutting away from the intensity of his visor as he started to clean a cut near your temple. âWhat did you do with the prisoner you took?â
Din remained unfazed as he provided his answer. âI brought him back to my old contactâs space station with a tracking beacon on him.â His voice was coated in amusement. âYour people got him after that.â
âAnd you locked up the other people you were with?â
âI did.â
You pressed your lips into a firm line. Dinâs patience for fielding your questions was both shocking and admirable, but it would have to run out eventually, and you were certainly testing that boundary. âWhy?â
Din paused his work for a moment, his visor finding your gaze. âFirst of all, they committed a crime. They were complicit in the murder of a New Republic officer who couldâve, and shouldâve, been left alive. Second of allâŠâ Din let out a soft breath and continued his work on your face, âthey tried to turn against me. Had me locked inside a cell and everything.â
Your eyes widened at that. âWhat about Grogu?â
âHe was in my ship. I have no idea if they knew about him and intended on turning him in, butâŠâ Din shrugged. âDoesnât matter now.â
You furrowed your brow at him. âIf they werenât betraying you for Grogu, then why were they doing it?â
Din finished with the cut on your temple and focused his visor on his supplies as he reset them. âWhen I said earlier that Grogu saved me, I meant that he saved me from myself. From the path I was on and had been on for a long time.â Din finally picked something up and began working again. âMy path used to include most of this group, and their betrayal was the consequence of my past actions.â
You considered his words for a long moment. It was a lot to process. After hearing about Davanâs murder, you had fostered a lot of bitterness towards those involved. Captain Teva catching up to Din on Maldo Kreis had only rubbed salt in the wound when he returned to Adelphi and told you everything.
But Captain Teva had reassured you that Din had only been complacent in springing the prisoner, and now Din was telling you he hadnât even let the prisoner get away, either. Not only that, but Din was also taking accountability for his actions.
Maybe he was right. Maybe Grogu really did change himâbecause he sure as hell wasnât acting like the other mercenaries you had known.
âThatâs⊠really honorable.â The corners of your mouth tugged up in a small smile as you nodded at him. âThanks for answering all my questions. I know it was a lot.â
Din shrugged. âI donât mind.â He pulled away from your second bandaged cut and looked to be preparing for one more. âWhat happened on that prison ship directly affected you, and you deserve to get some clarity. As for the restâŠâ Din chuckled, âwell, I figured you could use a distraction from all the stinging.â
You laughed and nodded. âDefinitely.â
Your stare stayed on Din as he finished his prep for your last cut. You mindlessly adjusted the left strap of your shirt just as Din looked up, causing his visor to catch on the action. You didnât have to look down to know what he had seen.
The long scar just over your heart had accidentally been exposed to him.
Rather than speaking up about it, Din refocused himself on your cut, remaining silent as he did so. You let out a light exhale and closed your eyes. He had just offered his vulnerability to you in exchange for satisfying your curiosity, and it was time for you to return the favor.
âItâs from a mercenary.â
Din froze. You reopened your eyes, watching his visor lower to your gaze as you spoke. You offered him a reassuring smile and went on.
âDuring the war, there were a few instances where the Alliance had to rely on mercenaries for help. Supplies, transport⊠you know how it was.â You looked down as your hand began to pick at the material of your jumpsuit over your thigh. âCaptain Teva made me the liaison for one of them, and we were in direct contact for a long time.â
You cleared your throat, fighting the embarrassment that attempted to crawl up through it. Din waited patiently, his silence proving his rapt attention even as he continued with your last cut.
âI⊠let myself get closer to him than I shouldâve.â You huffed and shook your head. âA lot closer. It was against protocol, but I thought I could manage it. At least, I thought I was smart enough to.â
You closed your eyes for a moment and pictured his face. Even all these years later, it still mocked you. No matter how many beds you had shared since, he was ever-present in your troubled memory, like the scarred marking above your heart.
âBut he got a better deal from the other side. He tried to kill me in my sleep and take my intel.â You reopened your eyes and noticed that Din had since gone rigid. His visor was focused on your eyes, which gladly sought the empty void of the black slit across his silver helmet in return. âThankfully, I woke up just in time to fight him off. Only the tip of his knife caught me.â Your fingertips grazed over the scar.
Din was silent for a few more beats, causing you to swallow hard. When he spoke, his voice was low again, though the anger that strained it wasnât directed towards you. âYouâre telling this story like itâs your fault.â
You scoffed. âIt was. I broke protocol and tried to have a romantic relationship with him. Captain Teva shouldâve dismissed me completely, but he gave me a second chance.â
Din shook his helmet. âNo.â His grasp on the supplies in his gloved hands tightened. âYou should never have to worry about being betrayed by someone youâre sharing a bed with.â His visor lowered to your scar again. âEspecially not in a way that leads to you being physically harmed.â
You shrugged, looking away to avoid the heat of his gaze behind his visor. âUnfortunately, Djarin, thatâs not how the galaxy works.â You exhaled a steady breath. âThatâs why Iâll never put myself in that position ever again.â
Din finished with your cut and began to put his supplies away. âSo, the doorâs closed on mercenaries?â His tone was playful, and you were grateful for the change in pace.Â
You huffed and lifted your brow. âAre you disappointed by that?â
Din chuckled and shook his helmet. He finished with the medpac and hung it back on his belt. âWeâll want to get moving early in the morning, catch them when theyâre sluggish.â
âI agree.â
You emptied your weapons out onto the side table, which were only a blaster and a blade in this case. As you did so, you watched Din in your periphery, your brow furrowing as he stopped by the extra blanket that laid across the end of the bed. You chuckled and swung both legs onto the bed to face him, your arms crossing as you laid against the headboard.
âGot something to ask me, Djarin?â
Dinâs gloved hands gently patted the blanket. âJust wanted to know if youâre okay with me taking this.â
You blinked at him. âFor what?â
Din tilted his helmet at you. âSleeping.â The word was almost a question as it crackled through his modulator, one of his gloved hands gesturing to the portion of the floor near Groguâs sealed pod.
âOn the floor?â
Din nodded.
You couldnât help but laugh. His gloved hands rose to his hips as he let out a sigh. âSo,â you chuckled, âI can sit on your lap, but sharing a bed is where you draw the line?â
Dinâs helmet straightened. For a moment, you thought him to be panicked, but his tone was solely amused when he spoke again. âIf Iâm not mistaken, it sounds like you want me to share that bed with you, Lieutenant.â
You rolled your eyes. âAll I want is for my partner to not have any back pain when we fight for our lives against a bunch of Imperials tomorrow.â
Din hesitated, tapping his fingers against his hips. âAnd youâre sure youâre comfortable with that?â
You shrugged. âUnless thereâs a reason why I shouldnât be.â
Din shook his helmet. âNo. Just⊠after your story, I wasnât sure.â
A small smile stretched across your lips as Din began to make his way to the empty side of the bed. âI appreciate that, but itâs been years. Donât worry about it.â You cleared your throat and made yourself busy with getting more comfortable as you went on. âIâve shared beds since then.â You chuckled to yourself and spared a glance at Din. âBut Iâll bet this is your first time, isnât it?â
Din snickered, his back facing you as he sat and removed his boots. His helmet turned over his armored shoulder as he answered. âThe helmet doesnât stop me.â Your brow shot up at that, though he paid attention to what he was doing again as he continued. âAt least, it didnât used to.â
You hummed, your tone still playful as you laid back on your pillow. âGot tired of breaking hearts?â
Din was silent for more than a few heartbeats. You turned your head to look at him, seeing him staring at a small weapon he had just set on his side table. When he spoke, his voice was lower than before. âGot tired of breaking my own.â
You mulled over his words as you let silence sit between you. It was hard to imagine what it must have been like, sharing every vulnerable part of yourself with someone while knowing you couldnât ever give them all of youânot with a helmet to hide behind. Unless the helmet really wasnât the problem, and it wasnât the physical armor he had trouble shedding.
That was something you could relate to all too well.
As Din laid beside you, he made a move to turn off the lights, but paused. You watched him in your periphery, waiting for whatever words he was clearly intending on saying. âLieutenant?â
âYeah?â
A pause. âI meant what I said before.â His helmet briefly glanced in your direction. âYou should never have to worry about being hurt by the person youâre sharing a bed with.â
That got a smile out of you, a real, genuine one that hurt your cheeks. âThanks, Din.â You rolled on your side as your face started to burn. âGoodnight.â
The lights flickered off just before Din responded. âSweet dreams.â
You huffed, shaking your head as you closed your eyes and chased slumber the best you could.
When you woke again, it was because of a very light snoring sound. You blinked a few times into the darkness, huffing when you realized why it was such a delicate noise. Grogu had gone from his pod to his father, and he was tucked into the Mandalorianâs neck with his tiny, three-fingered hands clinging to the fabric around his neck. Din had a hand supporting his sonâs back, keeping him pressed upon his chest.
The sight was enough to melt anyoneâs heart, even yours. What made that heat in your chest spike into an uncontrollable temperature, however, was the realization that there wasnât shiny metal concealing Dinâs face anymore.
It was hard to see in the darkness, but the outline of his profile was unmistakable. His jaw and upper lip were untrimmed, and his nose was long and curved. His hair was just a bit longer than you thought it would be, and if you werenât mistaken, there was a slight wave to it, though the dark made it difficult to determine that for sure.
You blinked a few more times. It was only then that you realized you werenât supposed to be looking at him.
You turned on your side away from him and stared petrified into the darkness as you tried to burn the image of him out of your memory. You had only heard the stories of the Mandalorians who never removed their helmets, and they never included what would happen to those Mandalorians if their faces were actually seen. Would he have to kill you? Would he have to be killed?
Regardless, you had to tell him what you had seen. It was only right, and as hard as the right thing was to do many times, you had spent your entire lifetime fightingâand losing everythingâunder that same principle.
part two coming soon...
main masterlist âą din djarin masterlist
din djarin tag list: @yorksgirl @zenrobbins0021 @cyaredindjarin @cw80831 @maddiedrmr @pigeonmama @violetlilly2020
Working in communications at the Resistance had itâs ups and downsâ
Ups; it was quiet, secluded, dark, just how you liked it to be. Away from prying eyes and boisterous pilots who relished in one too many drinks and jokes after a shift.
Downs; you were assigned to Poe fucking Dameron. Every other day, for hours on end, he was the only person you were wired in to talk to, navigate, provide intel for. The only thing worse was what happened off-shift, whenever you ended up face to face with the pilotâ
Because Dameron still has no fucking clue that itâs you on the other end of the headset.Â
This one shot is dedicated to @pinkotterâ, who won my 500 follower giveaway and picked the prompt for this baby!
Notes: I feel like Iâve been sitting on this for an age. Anyway, here we go. Not beta read. I reread it like 18 times but Iâm sure Iâll spot 28 typos and tense-shifts the second I post.
Length: 11.9K
Warnings: Angst, cursing, death of a parent, mentions of homelessness and hunger, fluff
Summary: When you landed at the Resistance base on DâQar, you had nothing but the clothes on your back, your motherâs heart pendant, and fifteen credits in your pocket.Â
Growing up on a remote and impoverished homeworld meant that you were raised with very little. You and your mother worked hard for the scraps that you managed. When she presented you with a grey heart-shaped pendant, you knew that she mustâve scraped and scrimped to save for it. She swore to you that sheâd save enough for you to have a chain to wear it on one day.
But when the First Order swept through your corner of the galaxy, they took everything that youâd ever known: your home, your school, your friendsâyour mother.
All that you had left of her was your memories, and your grief, and the heart-shaped pendant that you carried with you every day.
Chapter Summary: You work in the Archive Room at the Jedi temple under Jocasta Nu. You have a tendency to lose yourself in your work, and don't give yourself enough free time for yourself or to see friends, so it's only natural for her to step in when Commander Cody pays the Archive Room a visit.
Warnings: Alcohol mentions and Jocasta being a menace (affectionate), tiny bit of miscommunication but it gets resolved like immediately
Notes: This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, I've been working on it for almost an entire year and still not done lmaoo I have a few chapters done here and there but please be patient with updates :)
Word Count: ~4.6k
Taglist: Complete this form to be added
Masterlist
1 |
The day started out easy, simple, just as every day before it. You woke up to artificial light streaming in the window, the daily signal it was time to start getting ready. It wasnât hard to pull yourself out of bed, it meant you would be heading to a job you enjoyed. Not many people on Coruscant could say that.Â
It was a little strange, working for the Jedi when you werenât one yourself, but with the ongoing war stretching their resources thin, Jocasta Nu had requested help from outside the Order in the Archive Room. The rest of the Jedi were a bit hesitant about it, while they had employed many people at the temple who werenât part of the Order, those employees had all been tenured before the war had even started, not to mention most of them being in charge of things like maintenance and transportation, rather than something like the Jedi Archive Room, so there wasnât the same issue of trust. Even after you had gone through all the testing and interviews to even get a chance at working there, there was still some hesitation. Lucky for you, Jocasta was a good judge of character, and the council trusted her, although it wasnât unusual for them to make the trip to the Archive Room to see how it was going whenever they could.Â
Once you had gotten to know them, they began to trust you, and you them. You werenât necessarily their friends, it would take a while for the more serious members of the council like Ki Adi Mundi or Mace Windu to see you as anything less than a threat, but for those like Obi-Wan Kenobi or even Yoda who already frequented the Archive Room, you were at least on amicable terms.Â
You enjoyed learning about the Jedi and their history, there were some areas that were off limits to you, which you could understand, but overall, you found your job relaxing. It was easy enough work, you primarily organized the holobooks or helped people find things they were looking for, in truth a droid could have easily done your work for you, but you enjoyed it and Jocasta seemed to like having company while the Jedi were gone. You often found yourself getting lost in everything you did. There were many times where Jocasta had to remind you that you didn't need to stay there all night when you lost track of time.Â
You liked being surrounded by the people who typically ventured to the Archive Room, meeting all the younglings who were excited to start their training and padawans who were running errands for their masters. You probably spent more time at the temple than you did at home, but you didnât see any issue with that. Jocasta made a few comments about how often you were there, but you had always assured her that you were happy to spend so much time there.Â
If there was one complaint you had, it was that it didnât pay enough for an apartment topside, but you figured youâd have to be a senator to make nearly enough for that. So instead, you made your little shoebox, which was only a couple levels down, seem like home, ignoring the noisiness of the neighbours and the railspeeders that rattled the walls. The only real grievance for you was that you had to leave early in the day to arrive on time.
It was quiet in the temple when you arrived there that day. You went straight to the Archive Room and greeted Jocasta before returning to the holobooks you had left to reorganize the previous day.Â
You had heard someone enter and speak to Jocasta, you didn't hear what they had asked for, but based on how their voice sounded, it was a clone.Â
The clones were still somewhat of a mystery to you, you understood why the Jedi relied on them, but you hadn't really gotten to know them well enough to know what they were really like. If they all were truly the same or if they just looked the same. You could admit that there was a part of you that was slightly intimidated by them, all you had really known about them was that they were created to provide aid in the war, so you had assumed from that small piece of information that they must have all been stoic soldiers. You knew it wasnât a fair generalization, but you had never been in a situation where you could get to know any of them. As much as you had wanted to get to know them, to change the idea of them that had been planted in your head, your paths had never crossed before.
You had been so lost in your thoughts about them that you didn't even notice the same clone standing beside you until he cleared his throat to get your attention, causing you to jolt slightly.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." he said, a slight smirk on his face.
You looked up at him and smiled in return, he was handsome, his armour was clean though scuffed and scratched from wear. He wasnât wearing his helmet when he approached you, so you could see that he didnât really have any features to distinguish himself from the other clones, except for an interesting scar that wrapped around his left eye. You realized you had just been staring at him without actually answering, so you quickly remedied that, "No, not at all, I was just lost in thought, I didn't notice you. Can I help you?"
"I hope so," He showed you a datapad with a list of different titles on it, all holobooks covering different topics, "General Kenobi sent me to retrieve these. I don't even know where to start."Â
You found it odd that Master Kenobi would send someone else to the Archive Room for him, normally he wouldn't hesitate to browse the archives himself. You figured that he must have his hands tied with everything going on.
You read over the list again, "These shouldn't be too hard to find."Â
You led him all over the Archive Room pulling the different holobooks out and placing them on a hover cart, you almost had to laugh at how many Master Kenobi wanted.Â
âI donât think Iâve seen you around here before.â You pointed out as you took the first book from the list off the shelf, placing it on a hovercart that followed you as you walked.
âNo, this is my first time here, but Iâd like to fix that. Theyâve got a library like this in Tipoca City, where Iâm from, that I spend some time in when Iâm there, but this one is probably double the size.â
You smiled when you glanced over to see him taking everything in, but you then went back to your search. âThe Jedi Archives can definitely be overwhelming if you donât know where youâre looking.â
As you walked, you got to talking, as much as you could without disturbing the others there. He was kind, funny, not at all what you were expecting, but you weren't complaining. You learned he was a commander of his battalion; you didn't really know what all that entailed but you knew it was important. You had stolen a few glances at him as he spoke, there definitely was something that stood out about him that you couldn't really place, but talking to him did seem to alleviate the intimidation you felt.
There were at least fifteen books on the cart by the time you got through the list, and two that were missing, after a quick search, you figured out they had already been taken out.
"Well, I'm sure this will tide him over for now." The clone said as you brought him over to the desk.
You logged each of the books into the computer, then looked over at him.
"Will Master Kenobi be the one returning these? I just need to put the order under someone's name."
"You can put it under my name. Cody, or CC-2224, whichever you need."Â
"Cody's fine." You told him. "As for the other two books, I can bring them to you when they're returned."
"Sure, that would be helpful, thank you."Â
You nodded at him and finished inputting all the information, "You're all set."
"Perfect." He picked up all the holos, then looked at you again, "Thanks again, for all your help, uh-"
You told him your name and gave him a smile. "I guess I'll see you soon, then."
He nodded then walked toward the exit as you returned to the shelf you had been working on.Â
Jocasta strolled over to you after you had returned to your pile of books.
"Did he find everything Obi-Wan was looking for?"
"Almost, there were a couple books that had been borrowed already, but I'll deliver them to him when they're back."
"Odd that Obi-Wan wouldn't have come himself."Â
"I thought the same, but I guess he must be pretty busy right now."
She nodded, "I suppose you're right. All the same, itâs rare to see any of the clones visit us, Iâve never seen Commander Cody here before, I wonder if we'll be seeing him more." You noticed Jocasta had a somewhat amused look on her face, but you ignored it.
She began walking away after that, and you looked toward her for a moment, then returned your gaze back to the books thinking about what she said. He did say heâd like to fix his absence here, and it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he decided to visit more, you thought to yourself with a smile.
But of course, that wasn't the case, much to your disappointment. The remaining holobooks arrived back in the Archive Room a few days after his initial visit, but when you had asked one of the Jedi where you might find Obi-Wan or Cody, you learned they were currently off-world and werenât likely to return any time soon. You decided to put the two books back on the shelf, but secretly hoped you would hear of their return before anyone else could take them out.
The next few weeks, you found you were often on your toes. Watching each patron as they entered the Archive Room. If you took a break, you found yourself observing any clones you saw, checking if any of them were Cody. Your defence was only that you wanted to make sure he received his books, but there was a part of you that just wanted to see him again.Â
It wasnât until around another month later that Jocasta approached you when you arrived for work in the morning.
âI have just received word that Master Kenobi and his clone troopers have arrived on Coruscant.âÂ
All of your energy was spent on not allowing your face to light up. âThatâs great news.â
âYes, and I believe those holobooks he asked for have been back for some time, would you mind delivering them? Normally I would just have a droid do it, but Iâm afraid they have their scheduled maintenance this morning.â
There was some kind of expression on her face that you couldnât place. It almost looked mischievous. Like she knew too much. But you ignored it and nodded at her request. âOf course, Iâll go find them now.â
You put your small rucksack in a secure space and pulled the holobooks that had long been requested from the shelf, setting out to deliver them.
In truth, you didn't fully know where you were going. The temple wasnât unfamiliar to you, but there was still much you had never seen, and you didnât know where Obi-Wan or Cody would be if they werenât on a mission. You knew the Jedi Council Room would have been off-limits to you, but you figured it was a good place to at least look for Obi-Wan.Â
As luck would have it, as soon as you neared the Council Room, you saw Obi-Wan exiting followed by a few of the other Jedi. You quickened your pace to try and catch them.
"Excuse me, Master Kenobi?" You called out, getting his attention.
He and the others paused so you could catch up.Â
"What can I do for you?" He asked.
"I have the last two holobooks you had asked for."
He raised an eyebrow, "Cody brought me all the books I requested some time ago."
You were equally confused, "But he... the list he brought me had two books on it that we didn't have available."
You looked at the two holos in your hands then spoke again, "Well, maybe I was mistaken. I'm sorry to bother you."Â
"It's no bother," He said, "Though I'd hate to think you were waiting all this time to deliver those books only to bring them back. Why don't we go find Cody and we'll sort this out?"
You thought about protesting, but eventually agreed.Â
Obi-Wan excused himself from the other Jedi, and the two of you began to walk toward one of the briefing rooms.
In the distance, you spotted what you recognized to be Cody's armour walking into one of the side rooms.
Something churned in your stomach, nerves? You didn't consider yourself to be a nervous person, but for some reason the idea of seeing Cody again left you with butterflies.Â
Obi-Wan typed something into the keypad next to the door and it opened, he took a step in and gestured for you to follow.
"Commander Cody, I believe our friend has something of yours."
He stood at the projector table in the middle of the room, looking at Obi-Wan then glancing at you.
"I have those last two holobooks you requested." You said with as much of a smile as you could muster through the confusion.
His eyes widened slightly, realizing you must have already tried giving them to Obi-Wan. "May I speak with you? Outside?"
You heard Obi-Wan chuckle beside you as Cody practically dragged you out of the room.
"So, these aren't for Master Kenobi?" You asked, already knowing the answer.
"Well, no." He answered, bringing his hand up to rest on the back of his neck.
"So why did you tell me they were?" You weren't angry, you honestly just wanted to know what was going on.
His relief showed when he realized you weren't upset.
"It's... kind of an interesting story."
You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
"I originally had only intended to get the books that General Kenobi requested, but when I spoke to Mistress Nu, she suggested I ask for these books too, to be honest, I've already read them."
Your eyebrows furrowed; his explanation left you with even more confusion.
"Why would Jocasta suggest books she knew were checked out?"
His tone lowered as if he was worried what he said next was going to offend you, "From what she told me, she thought it'd be a chance for you to talk to someone other than her and the other Jedi. And she figured you'd deliver them yourself, so it gets you out of the Archive Room for a bit." He paused, waiting for you to answer, when you didn't, he continued. "You can ask her, but I wouldn't lie to you."
"N-No I believe you. That's the worst part." You could feel yourself blushing slightly. Jocasta had set you up, and suddenly all her amused and mischievous glances made sense. She had done this only once before and it never got this far, so you assumed this was her telling you that she wanted you to branch out, or to put it more bluntly â to get a life. You sighed quietly.
"Well, I'm sorry she dragged you into this. I won't bother you again." You began to walk away, feeling completely embarrassed.Â
"Wait, I... wasn't finished."
You stopped and looked back at him.
"It's just, well, she thought we should get to know each other so, maybe we could. Do you have any plans this evening?"
"After I'm finished here, I usually just go right home."
"I have some free time later, the boys and I usually go out for a few drinks in our off time, you could come with us if you'd like."
You could swear you could see the tips of his ears turn pink.
"Sure, that sounds fun." You smiled.
"Great, it's a date. Why donât you meet me out front when youâre done here, weâll go together."
Now it was your turn to blush again. You muttered a quiet "okay" before turning and heading back to the Archive Room, ready to give Jocasta an earful.
Jocasta didnât apologize for any of her scheming when you came back to the Archive Room. She knew the jig was up, but all she did was smile and say âIs it really that bad?â
But you made sure to inform her just how embarrassing it was to go through all that.
âIâm sorry I embarrassed you,â She began, âBut really, Commander Cody is such a catch, and I knew the two of you would be fine with getting to know one another. Jedi intuition.â
She seemed overjoyed at the fact that you had agreed to meet Cody for drinks after work, and she told you that you could leave early and start the next day as late as you needed to.
You rolled your eyes, and smiled at her. As embarrassing as it was, it had been a long time since you had been on a date, or even seen a friend. She was just as excited as you were.
Later that day, you had finished up your work and headed out. You were feeling nervous now that the time had come, and you considered bailing all together, but Jocasta absolutely would not have let you stay longer than your designated end time.Â
You took a deep breath and walked out of the Archive Room, and then left the temple. The sun was just beginning to set, the air was clean and cool, and speeders flew past in the sky lanes, full of people who were in a hurry to get home. You waited out by one of the statues at the bottom of the stairs near the landing port, fighting the urge to look for Cody. Although, you didnât even need to wait for him at all, soon enough you could hear footsteps approaching you.
âI hope Mistress Nu didnât have to force you to leave.â He said, smiling at you.
âOnly a little.â You returned the smile.Â
âThanks again, for agreeing to come out tonight, I think itâll be a good time.â
âThank you for inviting me. Iâm sorry again for what Jocasta did⊠I never would have thought that-â
âYou donât need to apologize, I promise.â He reassured you. âNow, shall we get going?â
You nodded and followed him to the landing port and waited as he hailed a taxi.
When you both sat down in the cab, Cody advised the droid driver that you were going to 79âs and it piqued your interest.
âI donât think Iâve heard of that place before.â You told him.
âNot surprising, itâs a clone bar.â He saw your eyes widen slightly and he laughed, âDonât worry, youâre not intruding, lots of folks go there.â
The drive was silent. You felt yourself becoming more nervous, now that you were en route, and when you looked over at Cody, he almost looked nervous too.Â
Soon enough, you had arrived. Cody got out first and held the door for you as you joined him.
There were clusters of men all around the outside of the bar, some in armour, some in Republic uniforms, but all clones. They looked quizzically at you and Cody before returning to their conversations.
âSee? No one minds you being here.â
He smiled at you once more then guided you into the club, keeping his hand hovering over your back ever so slightly, just enough to guide you through the crowds and guide you to his usual table.
There were three men already seated at the table Cody led you to, all wearing blue and white armour.Â
âWhoâs this?â One of them asked when you approached. He had a tattoo of a number five on his temple.
Cody told them your name, âSheâs a friend of mine. Works at the Temple.â
âA friend of yours?â Another asked quizzically with a smirk on his face, he had a blue handprint on his armour.Â
Cody rolled his eyes. âAnywayâŠâ He gestured to the first one that spoke, âThis is Fives,â His hand continued to the one with the handprint, âEcho,â he finished at the third one who hadnât spoken, he had blond hair that was shaved nearly to the scalp. âAnd Captain Rex.â
âNice to meet you all,â you told them with a smile, they smiled back.Â
âIâm going to go get a drink,â Cody announced, then looked at the others sternly, âBe nice.â
You werenât sure what he meant by that, but the moment he turned his back, Fives and Echo leaned forward in perfect unison, you had a vague understanding.
âSo, you're friends with the commander, are you?â Fives asked, now adopting a smirk of his own.
âI mean, I guess so.â You replied, âI havenât really known him that long.â
âWell then you must know he has never brought a girl here before.â Echo stated.
âNo, I didnât know that⊠is that important?â
You were back to questioning if you should be here at all.
âWho knows? It might be.â Fives shrugged. But before either of them could say anything else, Rex had chimed in.
âBoys, enough. Cody wouldnât be impressed if you two scared his friend away.â He turned to you, âSorry about them, they donât know how to mind their own business.â
You laughed quietly, âOh, it was really no problem.â
âYou work at the temple? Are you a Jedi?â Rex asked.
âNo, I just work under Jocasta Nu in the Archive Room. Thatâs where I met Cody.âÂ
Before either of them could continue to grill you, Cody returned with a drink on each hand and set one down in front of you before climbing into the booth next to you.
âI didnât know what youâd like, so this is just the special tonight.â
âThank you, but you didnât have to get me a drink.â
He shrugged and smiled at you, âI figured if these two have already begun to ask you questions, alcohol was needed.â
You took a sip of the colourful drink in front of you, it was sweet and fruity, if you didnât know better, you wouldnât have even known it was alcoholic.Â
As the night went on, you got to know the others a bit better. The questions they had for you didnât seem to go away, but you at least got a few in to ask them.Â
Fives and Echo played off each other, they seemed mischievous, but you could tell by how they spoke about being in the 501st, they were proud and incredibly serious when it came to their duty.
Rex was kind, he seemed more straight-laced than the others, even more than Cody, despite what he had said of the chaos his general liked to unleash. You didnât know Anakin Skywalker well, but you had a hard time believing that someone trained by Master Kenobi could be so rambunctious.
Before you knew it, it had gotten to be later than you intended to stay out. Your vision blurred slightly and you could feel your head buzzing, both attributed to the number of glasses in front of you.
You let out an involuntary yawn. âIâm sorry, guys, I should probably be getting home. Itâs late and I have to work tomorrow, but it was nice meeting you.â
âLikewise,â Rex told you with a smile.
âI hope weâll be seeing you here again soon,â Echo told you, and you didnât notice his glance shift to Cody.
Cody got out of the booth, and helped you out, holding you steady as you wobbled finding your feet.
âI should help you get home.â Cody suggested.
âNo, itâs okay, you stay here and have fun.â You protested.
âIâd feel much more comfortable knowing you got home safely.â
You knew it was pointless to argue further, so you reluctantly agreed. He waved to his brothers and offered you his arm as he led you out of the building.Â
When you got outside, you breathed deeply, letting the cool nighttime air wash over you before walking toward the landing port to hail a cab.Â
âThey really liked you.â Cody told you, breaking the silence.Â
âThey seem fun, I liked them too.â You smiled up at him. âThank you for inviting me.âÂ
âOf course, I hope it helps Mistress Nu get off your case a bit.â
âI have a feeling I still wonât hear the end of it from her. Iâll have to tell her all about it tomorrow, and Iâm sure the second I do, sheâll be asking when the next date is.â
Cody raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. âWill there be a next one?â
Before you could answer, the cab pulled up to the port and Cody helped you inside, before climbing in beside you. Once you told the droid your address, you were silent for the entire trip.
He didnât force an answer from you, but your silence was worrying him that he crossed a line.Â
You watched out the window as the cab made its way toward your apartment complex. You werenât far from the bar, but far enough that you would have likely been uncomfortable getting home alone at this hour.Â
When the cab stopped, you handed a few credits to the driver before getting out with Cody in tow.Â
âCan I walk you to your door?â He asked carefully once you were outside, not wanting to come across as overbearing.
âIâd like that.â You nodded. His relief was imperceptible, and he offered you his arm once again to help with your balance.
The turbolift up to your floor was silent, and whenever you were about to say something, to answer his earlier question, another person got on or off. You noticed a few of them even refused to get on the elevator once they noticed the clone that accompanied you. You knew from when you moved in that some of your neighbours were a bit sketchy, but having Cody with you definitely made you feel a bit safer around the shadier ones.Â
Finally, you arrived at your floor, and with a short walk from the lift, you were at your door. You inhaled when you started typing in the code to your keypad lock, and then turned to Cody.
âIâd like there to be a next one.â You blurted out.
âWhat?â He asked, not sure he heard you right.
âA second date. If you want. Iâd like to see you again.â
He gave you a genuine smile, once again feeling relieved. âI would like that a lot.âÂ
âOkay good.â You felt yourself blush, âIt would have been really embarrassing if you didnât.â
âI wouldnât have asked if I didnât want to. Maybe next time itâll just be me and you, would that be alright?â
You smiled at him and leaned in, standing on your toes slightly to kiss his cheek. âIâd like that.âÂ
His eyes widened slightly for a moment at the contact before he relaxed. âGreat. Iâll come see you in the Archives soon, we can figure something out then. For now, you should get some rest.â
You nodded, âThank you again for a great night.â When he nodded in response, you entered your unit before closing the door behind you.Â
For once, you were thankful for Jocastaâs meddling. Maybe it wasnât really her business, but you knew she did so out of kindness, and this time it actually paid off.
summary: youâre a jedi with a budding attraction toward commander wolffe of the 104th battalion. even though both of you know that crossing any professional boundaries is simply off-limits, tensions arise when you find him with an injury after a long mission in the outer rim.
warnings: not a lot just wolffeâs back muscles.
a/n: tbh i donât really like this and i wrote it instead of updating my fics on ao3 omg lock me up please. but iâve been meaning to post a wolffe one shot for a while now so...yes. thanks.
ââșââ âŸââșââ
Space is terribly, inevitably cold. The soft layers of your robes do little to remedy any warmth along the goosebumps that prickle your skin, leaving your body slightly trembling no matter how closely you stand beside the heating outlet. This current state of being is not obvious to the naked eye, but you feel every excruciating second that passes as your fleet drives deeper into hyperspace. On route to Coruscant, you can only hope that the hour disappears faster than expected. The sooner you get off this desolate venator, the less likely you are to lose your frozen fingers. Still, even with how stiff and tingly your exposed skin feels, youâre grateful that you arenât out there. Realizing this is as safe and sound as youâre going to get, you tuck your hands into your robes and venture through the halls in hopes of finding something to remedy the frigid temperature.
Everything falls to a calm silence as soon as you leave the bridge where most of the chatter and energy can be found aboard this massive ship. The corridors are quiet, only echoing your footsteps until you reach a storage closet a few doors down from the infirmary. You can hear some faint conversations coming from there, muffled through walls and permeating grief. After all, more death than life can be felt after what happened earlier today. There is nothing new about loss, which is merely categorized as casualties in those boring mission reports, but there is also nothing acceptable about it either. Trying to relax your mind with your masterâs emphasized teachings, you release an absentminded exhale that loosens your chest before stepping into the closet. Maybe some heating pads or gloves will doâŠif you can find any.
You lose track of time in the following minutes before the door suddenly slides open behind you with a brisk whooshing sound that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. It isnât the unexpected intrusion that provokes this reaction, though. Itâs the person standing in the corridor, whose presence you recognize before you turn around to look at him. You sense his terse, rigid iciness that somehow warms your skin and accelerates your heartbeat. But when you glance over your shoulder, all that you reveal is a friendly smile you donât expect him to reciprocate.
âHey,â you speak first, âAre you looking for something?â
Wolffeâs body is unmoving at this question, not allowing him to take any step into the closet. But he also hasnât walked away yet, which indicates his current consideration of what to do next. If thereâs anything you know about him from fighting this war together, itâs that heâs a deep thinker. The only times he really opens his mouth to say something is when heâs dishing out an order or an insult. And yet, youâve grown to trust him. Admire him, even. This is certainly not a bridge to cross any further, though. The Council would be terribly disappointed in your inability to control your feelings before they become attachments. Besides, you know that Wolffe is the last soldier youâd expect to break protocol. The loyalty of following orders is weaved into his blood so intricately that you donât even think about attempting to unravel these threads. Itâs hardly your place to do so.
âIâll come back later,â he answers sternly despite the exhaustion you hear in his tone.
Turning your body to face him fully, you arenât surprised to see that his eyebrows are drawn together in that instinctive scowl not necessarily aimed toward you. Such an expression is more natural than intentionalâat least, for him. He meets your eyes for a brief second before casting them downward, leading you to wonder why he seems so uncomfortably stricken. You sense this, just as you sense the pain he is currently trying to mask under his stoic philosophy. Whatâs he doing here, instead of checking into the med bay? You wonder this while remembering the tumble he tookâfor you, technicallyâjust a few hours ago during your mission. The memory of falling from that mountainous peak crosses your mind, immediately followed by the moment when Wolffe cradled your body with his on the way down so that his landing impact was much more painful than yours. You meant to thank him for this sometime after, but things got in the way as they do in war. Now that youâre in a position to bring it up, though, youâre not sure how.
âNo, thatâs okay,â you tell him instead, âI was just about to leave.â
âDid you not find what you were looking for?â He questions, flicking his gaze at your empty hands you rub over each other in an effort to warm them.
âNo. Guess we ran out of warmersâwe should really ration them better.â
âYouâre the only one who uses them.â
You wrinkle your nose at his factual statement, not wanting to concede but also not finding anything to say in rebuttal. So, you ask, âDid you need something?â
He gestures his chin at the crate beside your body. âAre there any medpatches in there?â
âI didnât see any in this oneâŠâ you look down for a moment before reaching toward another crate while asking, âYou might have better luck at the infirmary, to be honest. Itâs pretty empty in here.â
âThe infirmaryâs busy,â is all he responds with a slight impatience to his tone as he takes a few steps further into the closet.
Youâre suddenly hyperaware of his proximity, moving toward the side a bit to make room. Itâs not a large space, cluttered with shelves and boxes somehow devoid of its usual contents. But you have been on the road for a while now, which could explain the reason for this fleetâs depleting resources. Thankfully, Coruscant is only a couple of hours away.
âSorry,â you apologize when your backsides brush against each other. The collision of your soft robes against his hard armor is hardly noticeable, but you still find yourself burning in embarrassment for a reason you can only rule off as stupidity. Reminding yourself that this is Wolffe, and that youâve been in much more compromising situations with him than a mere closet where both of you remain by choice, you swallow hard and exhale quietly.
âItâs fine.â His voice is barely a whisper, low and absentminded like heâs distracted.
You purse your lips, falling silent again until you glimpse a sneaky package of a few medpatches a little deeper into the shelf in front of you. Snatching them up with one hand, you turn around and declare, âFound them.â
Time seems to slow when he turns around to face you, bringing your bodies closer together even though youâre leaning back against the shelf like your life depends on it. His face is shadowed from the dim lighting above your heads, which almost makes his cybernetic eye look like the moon. You perceive the white and silver as an illumination that pauses your breathing and gravitates your gaze toward his scar. Noticing where youâre looking, he frowns and reaches for the box between your fingers in a hasty manner that startles you. Still, quick to adapt, you hold the medpatches closer to your chest and ask, âToo busyâŠeven for you? The infirmary, I mean.â
âDoes it matter?â He carefully pulls the package out of your grasp, not once touching you in the processâeven accidentally.
You let your arms fall to your sides before squeezing the fabric of your robes. âWell, no, butâŠit doesnât not matter.â
âThat doesnât make any sense.â
âYou know what I mean.â
He rolls his eyes at this, but even that familiar gesture feels half-hearted from his obvious fatigue. You peer up at him closely, wondering why neither of you has left the room by now. Itâs already been established that you couldnât find what you needed. Meanwhile, he got what he came for. The question is simple enoughâitâs the answer that you struggle to put your finger on.
âWhat?â He asks roughly, causing you to realize that youâre staring.
Taken aback by your own lack of control rather than his hostility, you clear your throat and drop your gaze to his chest plate. âIf youâre hurt, someone should take a lookââ
âIâm fine. Stop worrying about me all the time,â he dismisses, but youâre not convinced. When it comes to him, youâre never fully convinced.
âIâm not worried,â you clarify, taking the box of medpatches from him to tear it open, âI know what youâre doing. I think itâs honorable, but you should let them take care of you, too.â
His expression is wary as he replies, âAnd what am I doing, exactly? If you care to enlighten me.â
You shrug, setting the opened box on the shelf beside you to free up both of your hands.
âWhat you always do. Putting your brothers firstâŠâ you say quietly while reaching forward toward his armor, âMaking sure theyââ
Your words cut off when he catches your wrists in one hand. âDonât touch me.â
âIâm helping you. Anyway, itâs my fault you need these in the first place,â you explain, trying to tug yourself out of his grip without too much physical force.
He only tightens his hold at this. Even though you canât say for certain, youâre almost convinced that he leans in a bit closer before replying, âThis is inappropriate.â
âOh, please,â you scoff, ignoring the humiliation warming your cheeks, âYouâre being immature. Iâm sorry if youâve never had your armor taken off by a woman before, but this isnât that kind of context.â
Youâre a bit surprised at yourself for these words as soon as they leave your mouth. Unsure if you just crossed a line, you press your lips together and anticipate a reaction. At first, all you receive is a clenched jaw and a burning stare that makes you realize a stomach-dropping truth. Maybe Wolffeâs right. Maybe this whole situation is inappropriate. If thatâs the case, though, the question from earlier still stands. Why are you still here? Why is he still here?
âThe women who take my armor off are none of your concern.â
This feels harsher than it actually sounds, but a stinging embarrassment pricks your eyes for a reason you try to discern without reading too deeply into it. Perhaps itâs his tone or the fact that he still holds onto you as if the thought of letting you touch him is simply unfathomable. Or disgusting. One or the other. Unfortunately, you also begin to think about the subject currently in questionâthe women who have undressed him in less professional settings. Places where you can never even dream of being with him. But you do, and youâre reminded yet again why you shouldnât.
âI didnât say they were,â you scowl, averting your eyes from his.
Heâs quiet instead of responding, so you continue, âIf youâre done proving your point, then let go of me. Iâll get out of your hair.â
A pause that almost feels reluctant passes between the two of you before he releases your wrists. You immediately tuck your hands into your robes, willing away the buzzing heat that strangely combats the cold you felt before this moment. This warmth quickly trickles away, though, diluted by the venatorâs unfortunate temperature. But, just as youâre about to leave, it returns in the form of a softer tone you recognize despite not hearing it often.
âItâs not your fault,â he says in reference to your earlier statement regarding his wounds, âIâm fine. Itâs a bruise at most.â
You glance up at him, surprised both by this reassurance but also the fact that he hasnât put an end to this conversation yet. Pushing your back off from the shelf, you find yourself dangerously face-to-face with him as your feet slide into the gap between his legs. Youâre standing at your full height now, but you donât feel as confident as you might appear. Not when heâs looking at you through heavy eyelids that almost seem lazy even though heâs anything but that particular quality. Despite trying to sense his current feelings in hopes of clarifying this inappropriate situation, youâre only thrust into a hazy fog that confuses you more. Itâs just as your master always tells youâstrong, uncontrolled emotions cloud your judgment. No matter what they are.
âYouâre always saving my ass,â you admit to him, âI donât want that to catch up to you one day.â
His eyebrows raise at this for a brief moment. âYou think it will?â
âNo, but this war doesnât care what any of us think.â
âThatâs pessimistic. Even for you.â
âReally?â you reply sarcastically with a subtle smile, âI wonder where I got that from.â
He doesnât react to this other than a flash of amusement that you catch in his eyes as he stares at you. His quiet intensity is so overwhelming that you plead with yourself to leave before you can embarrass yourself further, but the opposite of this wishful thinking occurs beyond your control. Instead of taking a step away, you take one forward. At this point, youâre even closer to himâbut he does not move. Your hands are now clasped behind your back even though youâre not actively remembering his words from beforeâdonât touch me. Itâs classic Wolffe to tell you what to do, but itâs not every day when you listen. What is every day, though, is your ability to call him out on his bullshit.
âI donât know why you havenât left yet,â you tell him before laughing softly, âOr why you havenât told me to piss offâŠbecause you totally would. If thatâs what you wanted.â
He swallows, leaving you wondering if heâs just as nervous as you are. Taking advantage of his silence, you briefly close your eyes and inhale so as to clear your mind. Youâre now more certain thereâs a way through this conversation rather than around, which will only be proven or denied soon enough.
âI guess what Iâm trying to say isâŠeven though you donât want my helpâŠyouâre still here,â you continue.
âSo are you.â
âBecause you donât have to ask me to stay.â
Another beat of silence consumes the stare both of you hold before he sighs, âStubborn ass.â
But the insult is hardly effective at offending you, even provoking another laugh thatâs louder and sharper this time around.
âYouâre one to talk,â you reply, âThatâs why youâre not at the infirmary right now.â
âItâs busy,â he repeats his answer from earlier, âThe other casualties are more severe. Thereâs only so many medics available.â
âWell, Iâm no medic, but I can tell you that you might have more than a bruise from that fall,â you tell him.
âWell,â he copies your tone, âSince youâre not a medic, I wouldnât believe you.â
You roll your eyes at this but ignore it otherwise because you know every second spent talking is one wasted in easing his pain. Trying one more time for good measure, you say, âWe can just get this over with. Itâll be easier if you let me help you.â
Before he can respond with disagreement or protest, you reach for the top half of his armor again. This time, he doesnât grab onto you. Instead, he squares his shoulders a bit and replies, âI doubt you can figure it out.â
When you glance up with furrowed eyebrows, he clarifies, âHow to take all this shit off, I mean.â
Feeling a bit underestimated, you set your jaw with amusing determination. Of course, this isnât because of his comment about the other women who mightâve done this before. Youâre not even thinking about thatâhow silly to even remember such a trivial implication. Just as youâre about to prove him wrong, you realize you donât even know where to start. At first glance, this kind of task doesnât seem too difficult. But when you lightly tug on his shoulder plate out of curiosity as to whatâll happen (nothing did), you laugh and begin feeling your way around his upper body to find any openings that might make this easier. He sucks in a breath but doesnât stop you, allowing you to figure this out before interfering.
âI donât know,â you giggle quietly, slightly embarrassed but also entertained, âFeel free to step in at any pointâŠâ
âI think Iâm good.â
âYou sure? We might be here all dayâŠâ
Youâre not looking at him as you say this, too far deep into concentrating on the many gimmicks that hold his armor together. Because of this, you miss the brief smile that twitches his lipsâbut you feel it. A sudden rush of energy sparks your senses, one that youâre aware isnât your own. Itâs similar to affection and joy but also hard to define. A little startled, you lift your head and meet his eyes as your laughter subsides into a calmer silence that seems heavier when considering how your hands are rested against his chest. Youâre so close to touching his heartbeat but also so far.
âYouâre enjoying this,â you tease despite your heightening nerves, âWatching me struggle.â
âMaybe a little.â
Before you can respond to this, Wolffe exhales and starts taking his armor off himself while holding your gaze. He begins with his arms, never once letting his eyes falter from yours. Itâs almost too much to bear, leaving your insides a churning mess as your heart rattles faster against your chest, but itâs also worth the risk. You watch him closely, feeling more seen than ever before. Truth be told, a dark closet is the last place you expect to be found with him. Now that youâre here, though, you silently wish that nobody else comes searching. It doesnât take long for the armor around his arms and shoulders to fall away, revealing a sight youâve already seen before from the many missions youâve endured together. But this moment feels different. Youâre not surrounded by other troopers in a crowded medical bay where everyone is either armor-less, shirtless, or somewhere in between. Youâre alone with him. He hasnât even exposed any skin yet, but you know this is already wildly inappropriate. The only problem isâŠyou donât care.
Still quiet, you carefully brace your hands around the complicated parts of his chest plate. He seems to respond to this with his eyes rather than a verbal command, briefly flicking his gaze downward before meeting yours once again. You inhale a soft breath, letting both intuition and his guiding presence lead you toward the last of this barrier. The pieces of his chest plate are heavier than you anticipate, but you hardly struggle with their weight. Regardless, he takes them from you as soon as they unlatch themselves from his body. You canât deny the exhilarated rush that floods your veins when you take in the sight of his upper half, still clothed with a skin-tight fabric that never fails to widen your eyes. The shape of his collarbones and the imprints of his muscles stare straight at you. Or maybe youâre just staring at them.
âTurn around,â you whisper, âAnd take your shirt off.â
His eyes narrow for a split second before he obliges from one order to the next. He turns around first, baring his backside to your perception. You canât help but look away when he sheds his clothing from his top half, thinking this gesture will ease the intimacy of the present moment. But when you look up again, sliding your eyes over his dark and bruised skin, you realize there is nothing easy about this. The tension doesnât just freeze you up, though. Through the dim lighting, you can observe every instance the hard plane of his back flexes and stiffens like itâs both anticipating and rejecting someoneâs touch. Perhaps under different circumstances, you would admire such a broad and disciplined sight clearly bred from more than just favorable genetics. But when he asks, âHow bad is it?â in a hoarse tone that startles you, the real reason for this situation interrupts once again.
You swallow the lump in your throat, unsure why your response is slightly delayed. âNot bad. Just some bruises, like you said.â
He tips his head back a little, supposedly looking up at the ceiling before releasing a breath. This soft sound stutters when you touch his lower back where most of the purplish bruising can be found. His skin is rough, fitting for a man like him. But itâs also warm, contrasting the cold that bites your fingertips.
âDoes it hurt?â You murmur while applying a little pressure, âWhen I do this?â
âNo.â But he sounds as if heâs in pain.
You draw your hand back, reaching for the medpatches off to the side. As soon as you begin placing them over his bruises, gently smoothing your hand down so that they stick, he immediately sighs in apparent relief. It sounds more like a groan from the low depth of his voice, though. Goosebumps prickle your arms, but you keep going until youâve reached a satisfactory point where any remnants of his injury are now encased in this temporary method of healing. Honestly, you still believe he should have gone to the infirmary for a more professional diagnosisâbut you cannot complain about this opportunity, either. Your hands are still on his skin even after youâre all done just because he feels so warm.
Suddenly, he breaks the silence. âAre you done?â
âYeah,â you answer quickly, dropping your hands from his body to rub them against each other as if to savor the heat you absorbed from him. You can already feel it disappearing, reminding you that this moment hardly belongs to you. It shouldnât have even happened. Helping your comrade isnât necessarily against protocol, but this not-so-innocent favor drives a pang of problematic guilt deep into your heart like a blade wedged between two choices. Itâs hard to say what these choices even are, but you already know where your duties lie. No matter how often you dream of another possibility that allows your feelings to truly blossom, you are stuck in the greenhouse where youâve already pledged your loyalty. The sunlight that has nurtured you ever since you were just a youngling cannot be replaced by the moonlight you crave. Because flowers donât grow at night. Only dangerous desires do, whispered like the voice in your head that tells you not to cross the line.
Right now, the most dangerous of them all has you wishing for time to move slower so that you donât reach Coruscant as fast as you initially wanted. The fact is, though, whatâs done is doneâand you answered this yourself. You sealed it into permanence, widening the distance with every step you take away from his slightly quivering body. Heâs shaking so subtly that you almost miss the desperation in his eyes that pierce through yours when he turns his head toward you. Closer to the panel that would open the door now, you pause and stare back at him while wondering if thereâs something either of you should be saying. A quick sentence that can lighten the heavy mood bearing down on your shoulders and squeezing your heart. Or, nothing at all. You straighten your back and turn on your heel before anything can slip out. The corridors are much louder as you walk away from the closet, hardly leaving any traces behind but a lingering confession unspoken and unyielding.
Itâs still chilly in here, you realize. Because space is terribly, inevitably cold.
𫧠Plot: When you meet a so-called clone named Whisky at 79's, you're a bit flustered with the impression he left on you. Little did you know that you were now caught in a web of Commander Foxâs lie.
𫧠Chapter Warnings: Safe for work, alcohol consumption, lying, teasing, flirting, Corrie guard antics, Fox is a little shit, grumpy. AFAB Female reader.
𫧠Authors note: Hi! So this is going to be a short story about reader and Commander Fox. Be prepared for lots of flirting, angst, crying, fun and eventual smutty goodness! Enjoy. I've also posted most parts to my AO3 account (NaHoney).
âYou gonna join us tonight?â
You glance up from your work, eyebrows raised. âAnd that would beâŠ?â
â79âs, of course!â Thire grins, slinging his arm around one of his brothers. âWe need a break.â
âHeâs right. I canât remember the last time I had a night just to relax,â Hound chimes in, leaning casually against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm.Â
They look at you expectantly as you mull it over. You rarely went outâespecially not with the boysâbut the idea of unwinding at 79âs didnât sound half bad. Besides, your friend Pia was working tonight, and catching up with her had been long overdue.
âSure,â you say, nodding as you distribute the last of the data files onto the desks for tomorrowâs shift. âIâll be there.â
The troopers exchange approving smiles. âShould we ask Fox?â Hound wonders aloud, glancing at his brothers before shifting his gaze to you.
âWhy bother?â Stone snorts from the doorway. âHe always says no.â
You roll your eyes but canât deny the truth in Stoneâs words. Youâd overheard Fox turn down countless invitations.Â
Anyway, he didnât seem the type to let loose, especially with how rowdy the boys could get after a few rounds of Corellian ale.Â
âI donât see the harm in asking him again,â you reply, shrugging. âBut yeah, heâll probably say no.â
They leave you with the task. You finish tidying up, making sure everything is prepped for tomorrow. The clock ticks closer to 1900 hours, but Fox still hasnât returned from the Senate. Deciding youâve waited long enough, you gather your things and head for the door.
Just as you hit the button to open it, the door hisses apart, and you nearly collide with the broad red armor of Commander Fox.
âOh!â You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. âThere you are.â
Fox enters, his usual confident stride noticeably subdued. He moves to his desk, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his armor.
âIâve been waiting for you,â you continue, hovering uncertainly near the doorway.
 A weary and almost impatient sigh filters through his modulator. âAnd whyâs that?â
Somethingâs off. Youâre used to his abrupt tone, but tonight thereâs a heaviness to it that makes you hesitate with your answerÂ
âEverything okay, Commander?â Your tone softens, concerned as you ignore his question.
âFine,â he replies curtly, glancing over his shoulder. When he sees the worry etched on your face, he sighs again, this time sounding more human than soldier. âItâs just been a long day.â
You offer a small, sympathetic smile. âYeah, I can imagine. You usually donât finish this late at the Senate.â
He turns fully to face you, leaning back against his desk. His arms cross over his chest. âIâve finished later,â he says dryly. âIs everything sorted for the morning?â He then asks, changing topic swiftly.
âYes, Commander. Everyone has their files, and I put through an order for more supplies.â
âSuch as?â He presses.
You hold your tongue and maintain a neutral expression. Back to his grumpy self, it seems.
âExtra medpacs, ammo, and rations. They should arrive by 0900 hours,â you list off, trying to sound efficient and competent, even though his scrutiny makes your blood simmer.
Fox nods absently, his visor fixed on you. Then he starts rattling off a checklist of additional tasks. Everything from inventory updates, personnel reports, security drills. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, wondering why he insists on making everything harder than it needs to be.
âLike I said, Commander,â you interrupt gently but firmly when he finishes, âIâve taken care of everything. For you.â
The âfor youâ slips out sharper than intended, and you canât help the flicker of satisfaction when you see his posture stiffen slightly. Turning away, you head for the door, masking your irritation with a forced calm. Just before you step out, you hesitate, glancing back.
âI stayed because the boys wanted to see if youâd join us at 79âs tonight. Iâll tell them youâre busy.âÂ
Because âbusyâ always sounds better than âtiredâ.
âThere she is!â Stone cheers the moment he spots you, raising his glass in a mock toast.
You grin as you weave through the packed club, the bass of music thudding in your chest, lights flickering in shades of blue and violet. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Typical 79âs.
As you reach the group, a chorus of nods and smiles greet you. Thire, Hound, and a few other Corrie Guards stand clustered together, already a few drinks in.
âLookinâ good.â Hound nods appreciatively, earning a playful jab from you but accepting the compliment regardless. Itâs not often you dress up, after all and the shirt you bought last month was too cute not to wear.
âSurprised to see you all behaving,â you tease, eyeing Thireâs drink before shifting to the man himself. âEspecially you. No table dancing tonight?â
Thire groans, rubbing his head like the memory physically pains him. âI thought we all agreed not to bring that up.â
âToo hard to forget.â You smirk. âEspecially the part where you fell flat on your face.â
Hound chokes on his drink, while Stone grins over the rim of his own. âI swear, the look on his face right before he went downâpriceless.â
Thire mutters something about betrayal under his breath but smirks anyway.
âSo, I take it the Commander isnât coming?â Hound then asks, shifting the conversation as he leans closer.
You bite back a smart remark, still holding a minor grudge from your last interaction with Fox. Instead, you just shake your head. âNope. He was really busy. Lots of files to go through.â
âSurprise, surprise,â Stone mutters, downing another sip.
You nod along, but despite your irritation, you canât shake the image of Foxâs slumped posture, the exhaustion practically radiating off him. Still, you push the thought aside and excuse yourself, heading toward the bar.
Sliding onto a stool, you drum your fingers against the bartop, scanning the crowd until a familiar voice breaks through the noise.
âThereâs my girl!â Pia grins, practically launching herself over the bar to pull you into a quick hug. âItâs been forever!â
âOh, I know,â you sigh, grateful for the warmth of her presence. âWorkâs been eating up my life. I havenât had time for anything.â
âTell me about it,â Pia groans, throwing a rag over her shoulder. âIâve covered four extra shifts this week. Four! I basically live here.â
âThatâs rough.â
âI wouldnât mind if the pay was half-decent,â she grumbles, before quickly turning to serve an impatient trooper waving a handful of credits. She hands him his drink with a pointed look before spinning back to you. âAnyway, letâs get you a drink.â
As she sets a fruity, colorful concoction in front of you, you instinctively reach for your credits, but Pia swats your hand away with the tiny umbrella meant for your drink.
âAbsolutely not.â She tuts, popping the umbrella in your glass for extra flourish.
You arch a brow. âYou sure?â
âOf course.â Sheâs already dashing off to serve someone else before you can protest, so you just shake your head with a laugh.
âDonât expect a tip, then,â you joke.
âWouldnât expect one from you anyway!â Pia calls over her shoulder, grinning.
You take a sip, humming in satisfaction. Perfect, as always. As the straw hangs lazily from your lips, you scan the bar, looking for any more familiar facesâthough, ironically, in a room full of clones, everyone looks familiar.
Then you spot him.
Across the bar, a clone sits alone, elbow propped up as he rests his head in his hand. He looks⊠tired. Maybe bored. Maybe just hoping no one will bother him. But thereâs something about him that catches your attention.
Salt-and-pepper curls frame his face, the dim light emphasising the lines along his forehead. He wears his blacks, leaving his battalion unclear. But you canât shake the feeling that you should know who he is.
Before you can think too hard about it, Pia appears in your line of sight, snapping you back to reality.
âSo, how is it?â she asks, wiggling her brows.
You blink. âHowâs what?â
âThe drink, duh .â
âOh.â You flush slightly, realising youâd been too busy staring at the mystery trooper. âYeah, itâs great. Thanks.â
Pia beams at the praise before suddenly flipping off a customer whoâs been aggressively clicking his fingers for service. â I said Iâll be with you in a minute!â she snaps, before turning back to you. âSo, whoâs your company tonight?â
âThe Corrie Guards, of course.â
Pia gives you a skeptical look. âUh-huh. Well, do me a favor and make sure Thire stays off the tables this time.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âAlready warned him.â
As Pia busies herself with another round of orders, your gaze naturally drifts back to the clone across the bar. For a split second, you swear he meets your eyes, but Pia keeps unintentionally blocking your view.
âHey! When am I gonna get my drink?â the same customer whines, earning a spectacular eye-roll from Pia.
âWhen Iâm done talking to my friend .â She smiles sweetly, almost menacingly.
âYouâre not even serving her anymore! Youâre just chatting!â
Pia glares at him. He promptly shrinks back in his seat.
You take another sip of your drink before nodding toward the lone clone. âSay, do you know who that is?â
Pia grins knowingly. âObviously. Thatâsââ
âListen, lady, I just wanna get a drink andââ
âKriff, fine ! Fine! â Pia throws her hands up, stomping over to the persistent patron.
You sigh as she gets pulled away, your curiosity about the mystery trooper left frustratingly unanswered.
You try not to keep stealing glances at him, but thereâs just something about him. Itâs distracting.Â
Maybe itâs the salt-and-pepper streaking through his curls, maybe itâs the way his shoulders hunch, like heâs carrying the weight of an entire day on them. Heâs got that whole brooding, donât-talk-to-me aura, whichâironicallyâonly makes you more curious.
And, apparently, more reckless.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab a napkin from the dispenser and fish a pen out of your purse. You hesitate, pen hovering over the flimsy paper. What do you even write? Something casual? Flirty? Mysterious?
You roll your eyes at yourselfâdefinitely overthinking it. Finally, you scribble down:
You look lonely. I can fix that.
As soon as you read it back, you cringe. Too forward? Too suggestive? Maybe you shouldâ
Nope. No time for second-guessing. You fold the napkin before you can change your mind. Pia is still swamped, barely keeping up with the sea of 212th troopers ordering drinks, but thankfully, a server droid hums by.
Perfect.
âHey,â you beckon it over, glancing toward the clone across the bar. âCan you take this to him?â
The droid gives a curt beep. âThat is not my function.â
âOh, come on,â you groan. âItâll take two seconds.â
âThen do it yourself.â
You narrow your eyes. âIâll tell Pia you need rewiring.â
The droid snatches the napkin without another word, wheeling off toward the clone.
Your stomach knots as you watch it place the note in front of him, thenâcompletely unhelpfullyâpoint directly at you. Great. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly regretting everything.
But you still sneak a glance from the corner of your eye.
The clone straightens slightly, unfolds the napkin. Reads it. Pauses. Then, without a flicker of reaction, folds it back up and finishes his drink.
And then⊠he stands.
Your stomach drops. Oh. Thatâs it, then. He doesnât even look your way as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.
You exhale, a mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment washing over you. You swirl the ice in your glass and mutter to yourself, âWell. Wonât be doing that again.â
A voice speaks up behind you.
âIt worked, didnât it?â
You turn on your stool, andâoh.
The clone from across the bar is now standing right in front of you. Tall. Broad. Close.
Heat creeps up your neck. Your mouth suddenly dry.
ââŠYeah,â you manage, a little breathless. âKind of surprised, actually.â
âHow come?â He gestures to the empty stool beside you, waiting for your nod before he sits.
âYou looked like a man who didnât want to be bothered.â You take a sip of your drink, hoping it steadies you.
âAnd yet, you were bold enough to send a note,â he muses, lips curving just slightly. âVery sweet.â
You giggle, shrugging as you set your glass down with a soft clink. âYou donât know if you donât try.â
His amusement lingers. âLooks like it paid off.â He chuckles, then tilts his head. âCan I get you another drink?â
âIâd like that, thank you.â
He signals for another round, ordering one for himself, too.
âSo,â you begin, tilting your head, âI havenât seen you around before. What battalion are you with?â
The clone pauses just a fraction too long before answering, âCoruscant Guard.â
Your brows lift. âOh? Me too! I feel like I wouldâve noticed you⊠whatâs your name?â
Another brief hesitation. Then: âWhisky.â
You arch a brow. âWhisky?â
âThatâs right.â He nods, taking a deeper sip of his drink. Thereâs a flicker of nerves in his expression, but you donât press. âBig whisky fan.â
You chuckle. âFair enough. Cool name.â
âAnd yours?â
You offer your name along with your hand, flashing a bright, playful grin.
For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he places his hand in yours. His palm is warm, his grip firm but careful.
âLovely name,â he murmurs.
His voice is smooth, just a little too low, and it sends a surprising shiver up your spine. Thereâs something about the way he holds your handâlike heâs not sure if he should, but doesnât want to let go, either. The earlier nervousness is gone, replaced by a small, amused smirk.
And you?
Youâre intrigued.
Still, you release his hand before yours can get clammy. âSo, the Corrie Guard?â You lean back slightly, studying him. âI still feel like I shouldâve seen you around.â
He clears his throat, taking another long sip. âIâm not exactly frontline.â
That explains it. âWhat department?â
âMechanic.â
That really explains it. You nod, feeling a little sheepish. âAh, thatâs probably why. I love working with my boys in red, though. Theyâre good to me.â
âGood,â he says, then hesitates. âSo, uh⊠whatâs the Commander like?â
You blink. âFox?â
He nods.
You smirk, turning away slightly as you consider your answer. A hundred words come to mindâmoody, buzzkill, abrasive, miserable, exhaustedâŠ
âGrumpy,â you settle on, swirling your drink. âBig grump.â
He chuckles. âCanât be that bad.â
âOh, but he is.â You huff, thinking back to earlier that night. âBut⊠he works hard, so sometimes the grumpiness is excused.â
âSure,â Whisky nods, idly swiping at the condensation on his glass. He hesitates again. âHe⊠does he treat you okay?â
You arch a brow, amused. âWhy? You planning to put in a word for me?â
The teasing is lighthearted, but Whisky seems oddly stiff about it. You wave it off before he can dwell. âHeâs okay,â you say simply. âHe just gets under my skin sometimes. I donât think he means to.â You sigh, taking another sip before turning back to him. âYou know him?â
He shakes his head, then drinks. âNah. Just heard he can be a little hard on people.â
You hum. âYou got that right.â
You donât notice the way Whisky shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping into his glass. Heâs quiet, thoughtfulâuntil you break the silence again.
âActually,â you say, warmth from the alcohol making you bolder, âI know a secret about him.â
He raises a brow. âYou do?â
You giggle and scoot closer, lowering your voice. âIâll tell you but you have to keep it between us.â You hold up your hand, pinky extended. âAnd all my promises have to be pinky sweared.â
Whisky stares at you for a second, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Then, with a small smirk, he hooks his pinky around yours. âAlright. Spill.â
âSo, about a year ago, I was in the office, sorting files or whatever. I came across one of his, and being the amazing worker I am, I marched right up to him at his desk and dropped it in front of him.â You start grinning, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday.
âAnd you know what he said?â
Whisky watches you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips as you lean in, your voice dropping secretively.Â
Closer, closer, closerâŠ
âNo,â he murmurs.
âNothing.â
His brows draw together. âNothing?â
âNothing,â you repeat, eyes alight with mischief. âBecause he was snoring under his bucket.â
Thereâs a moment of silence followed by laughter. You tip your head back, giggling as you wipe a tear from your eye, and Whisky laughs along with you, shaking his head. Itâs not even that funny, but the irony of it is too good.
âHe always tells us to work harder, no time for rest,â you say, rolling your eyes. âAnd there he was, sleeping on the job. And it wasnât even the first time! He sleeps upright, so it looks like heâs just watching us. But nope. Out cold.â
âSo heâs a slacker?â Whisky smirks.
You shake your head. âNo, not a slacker. He works hard. Really hard.â
âBut you didnât wake him?â He eyes you curiously.
âNah. He barely gets any rest as it is, so I let him sleep.â You glance at Whisky, smirking. âBesides⊠itâs kinda cute.â
Whisky watches you closely, his lips twitching at your laughter, but his eyes seem to linger on you a moment longer than necessary. He swirls his drink idly, then asks, âYou think heâd be mad if he knew you caught him slacking?â
You shrug, still grinning. âMaybe. But whatâs he gonna do? Fire me? I know heâs my boss but those lot wonât function without me.â You laugh. âBesides, I doubt he gets much rest, so I let him sleep. Figured he needed it.â
Thereâs something in Whiskyâs expression that shiftsâjust slightly. His fingers drum against his glass, his posture relaxing, but you catch a flicker of something you canât quite place. Itâs gone as soon as it appears, replaced by that same amused smirk.
âDidnât take you for the sentimental type,â he muses.
You roll your eyes but smile.âItâs not sentimental. Just⊠practical.â
âYou like him,â he says. Itâs not quite a question, more of an observation.
You hum, tilting your head. âI admire him,â you correct, swirling your drink. âFox works harder than anyone I know. He doesnât just give ordersâhe takes the weight of everything on his shoulders. Every mission, every casualty, every prisoner, every mistake. And I donât think anyone really sees that.â
Whisky watches you carefully, listening.
You sigh, resting your elbow on the bar. âI just wish he was⊠a little nicer, sometimes. Heâs got a good squad. I mean, the guys look up to him. I think if he let himself relax, let himself be one of them instead of always keeping himself separate, theyâd follow him even harder. But he never does.â You exhale, shaking your head. âI dunno. Itâs not my business, really. Just somethinâ I think about.â
Whisky is quiet for a second, âMaybe he doesnât know how,â he says finally.
You pause. âYeah,â you murmur. âMaybe.â
A small smirk tugs at his lips, but itâs softer this time. âYouâre a bit of a softie, huh?â
You scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow âShut up.â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âItâs not a bad thing.â He takes a sip of his nearly empty drink, eyes flicking over you. âYou care about your squad.â
âOf course I do,â you say, as if itâs obvious. âI spend all my time with them. Theyâre like family.â
Whisky hums, contemplative. He watches you for a moment longer before he shifts in his seat, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against yours.
âSo,â he says, voice dipping lower, more conspiratorial, âif Fox is the grumpiest, whoâs your favourite?â
You huff a laugh. âOh, come on, I canât answer that.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause if I pick one, Iâll have to deal with the rest of them whining about it for the next month.â You shake your head. âIâm not walking into that trap.â
Whisky grins. âSmart.â
You take a sip of your drink, then tilt your head at him. âWhat about you?â
âWhat about me?â
âYouâre in the Guard, too. Youâve gotta have a favourite.â
He hesitates for a fraction of a secondâso quick you almost miss it. Then, he smirks. âCanât say Iâve thought about it.â
You narrow your eyes playfully. âLiar.â
He chuckles, but doesnât argue. Instead, he taps the side of his glass. âAlright, fine. Who gives you the most trouble?â
You groan dramatically. âThorn . Hands down.â
Whisky raises a brow. âThat bad?â
âHeâs so smug,â you complain, exasperated. âHe knows he can get away with murder because heâs one of Foxâs best. And he loves rubbing it in my face. Iâd also argue Stone because heâs cheeky but Thorn can be devious if he wants to be.â
Whisky chuckles. âSounds like a menace.â
âOh, he is ,â you confirm. âBut I canât even be mad about it, because heâs also stupidly good at his job. So I just have to suffer .â
He leans in close. âPoor thing.â
You narrow your eyes at him. âDonât patronise me.â
âI wouldnât dare.â His voice is smooth, teasing, andâ Maker , his eyes are intense when they settle on you like that.
Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with another sip of your drink. The air between you has shiftedâstill playful, but heavier now, charged with something unspoken.
You clear your throat. âSo, Whisky,â you say, changing the subject. âTell me something about you .â
His smirk lingers, but thereâs a flicker of something else behind it. âWhat do you wanna know?â
You tap your fingers against the bar, pretending to think. âMmm⊠whatâs the most ridiculous thing youâve ever done while on duty?â
Whisky chuckles, shaking his head. âNow thatâs a dangerous question.â
âOh, come on,â you nudge him. âI wonât tell.â
He eyes you for a moment, considering. Then, he leans in slightly, voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up your spine.
âAlright,â he murmurs, âbut if I tell you⊠you owe me another secret in return.â
You grin. âDeal.â
And just like that, the night stretches on and the hours slip away without either of you noticing.
â ââââ±àŒșâŻđŠâŻàŒ»â°ââââ
It starts with secrets, little things at first. Just small confessions that wouldnât ruin you if they got out.Â
You tell him about the time you âaccidentallyâ shredded a report you were supposed to file, and how you spent half the day trying to piece it back together before finally giving up and blaming it on a faulty data pad. Or how you once snuck into the supply room after hours because Thorn had been too busy to eat, and you stole rations for both of you under the pretense of âinventory control.â
Whisky listens with quiet amusement, the occasional smile flickering across his lips as he watches you talk. Heâs not a big sharer. His own stories are vague and kind of always deflecting back to you. But when you mention your upbringing, your life before the Republic and the war, he leans in slightly, genuinely intrigued.
âYou ever think about what comes after?â you ask at one point.
His brow furrows slightly. âAfter?â
You nod. âYeah. Like⊠what happens when the war ends? What do you want to do?â
For the first time, Whisky hesitatesânot the way he had before, when he seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, but like heâs genuinely never considered it.Â
âYou donât have to answer,â you say quickly, suddenly feeling bad for asking as he stares into his drink.
âNo, itâs not that.â His voice is quiet. âI just⊠donât know.â
The admission sits heavy between you, and before you can say anything else, he shifts the conversation.
âWhat about you?â
You exhale, leaning back against the bar. âDunno.â You smile a little, but itâs laced with something soft and wistful. âIâd love to travel. See whatâs out there, you know? Maybe settle somewhere quiet. Own a little shop or something.â
He studies you. âYouâd leave Coruscant?â
You huff a small laugh. âWouldnât you?â
He doesnât answer.
The music has quieted now, the heavy bass that once thrummed beneath your feet nothing more than a distant pulse. The strobe lights have stopped their restless dance, leaving the room bathed in the softer glow of overhead fixtures. Itâs only then that you realise most of the patrons have left.
You turn back to Whisky, surprised to find him watching you. Thereâs something unreadable in his expression, something quiet and intense.
âWhat?â you ask, tilting your head.
âYouâre really beautiful.â
The words catch you off guard. You blink, lips parting slightly before you shake your head, laughing softly. âYou donât know me.â
âDo I have to?â
You frown slightly, not in offense but in confusion. âHow can you find a person beautiful if you donât know them?â
Whisky exhales a small laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. âI⊠you look beautiful,â he says, voice steady but soft. âAnd the way you talk about your family, about your squad⊠itâs nice.â
You watch him before smirking a touch. âYouâre not too bad yourself, handsome.â Your voice is teasing, but thereâs warmth beneath it, something genuine that makes his grip on his glass tighten.
He smirks however, trying to play off your compliment. âThat means you think all my brothers are handsome.â
You hum in mock consideration, swirling the last of your drink. âMaybe soâŠâ You take a slow sip, then let your eyes meet his again. âBut maybe I find you the most attractive.â
Thereâs a shift between you, a flicker of something deeper in the way he looks at youâlike heâs memorising the moment, the words, the way you say them. His lips part slightly, a breath drawn in like heâs about to say something, but thenâ
âKriff.â You sit up straighter, suddenly glancing at the time. âIâve gotta get going! If I donât sleep tonight, Iâll be late, and the last thing I need is to miss one of Foxâs drills.â
He reacts almost instantly, standing when you do, setting his drink down. âS-sure, no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?â
âIâm taking a cab, but thank you.â
Still, he follows you out, insists on making sure you get into one safely. Outside, the night air is crisp, cool enough to make you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, exhaling. âKnew I shouldâve brought a jacket.â
Whisky chuckles, stepping a little closer. âI could warm you up.â
The words hang between you, charged, almost daring. You tilt your head at him, amused. âBold offer.â
He grins. âItâs there if you want it.â
A cab hovers down in front of you, and he opens the door, but you hesitate. Looking up at him, you smile softly. âIt was really nice meeting you, Whisky. I hope to see you again sometime.â
Thereâs a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he nods. âIâm sure we will. Sooner than you think.â
You donât quite understand what he means, but thereâs a thrill in the mystery of it. He holds out his hand, and you roll your eyes playfully, swatting it away. âIâm not shaking your hand goodbye.â
Before he can ask what you mean, you step closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You linger for just a second, enough to feel the way he tenses, the way he barely exhales.
When you pull back, you smirk. âGoodnight, handsome.â
He inhales sharply, watching as you step into the cab. His voice is quiet, soft.
âGoodnight⊠beautiful.â
He stays there as your cab lifts off, watching until itâs out of sight. Then, with a deep breath, he turnsâonly to hear someone calling his name.
His real name.
âFox? Fox! We didnât know you came out tonight! Where have you been?â
Thire stumbles toward him, voice slurred, movements a little too loose. Fox rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. âIâve been busy.â
Thire squints at him, blinking blearily. âBusy, huh?â He lets out a slow, knowing grin. âDidnât take you for the social type, Commander .â
Fox huffs, folding his arms over his chest. âIâm not.â
His brother wobbles slightly, throwing an arm around Foxâs shoulders. âRight. So where were you?â
Fox debates answering honestly for all of two seconds before shaking his head. âNone of your business.â
Thire gasps dramatically, pointing at him. â Oh. So itâs like that ? You sneak off, disappear for hours, come back looking allââ he waves his hand at him vaguely, ââ not miserable⊠You met someone, didnât you?â
Fox sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. âGo back to the barracks, Thire.â
But his brother is relentless. â You did! â He stumbles back a step, laughing. âOh, I gotta know. Who is it?â
Fox shakes his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. âGo. Now.â
Thire groans, rubbing his face. âFine, fine. But I swear , if I see you all giddy at work tomorrow, I will find out.â
Fox rolls his eyes. âGo sleep it off.â
As he stumbles away, still muttering about Fox meeting someone , the Commander exhales slowly. He turns back toward the sky where your cab had disappeared, rubbing his jaw where your lips had touched his skin.
He should feel guilty. He should feel stupid for going along with it, for making up a name, for listening to you talk about him without you even knowing.
But he doesnât. Not yet, anyway.Â
Instead, he just wonders what heâll do when he sees you again.
Part One - 79âs
Part Two - Reflection
Part Three - Sniffed Out
Part Four - Dreams
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