heidnspeak

Latest Posts by heidnspeak

“The time is always right to do what is right.” MLK

Padawan Avery was a bright light in that morgue of mud. Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Aay’han.

Thank you Pina for this deeply felt story and for your brave OC. I hope to read more with her. ❤️

The First Cracks

Summary: Avery Leto, Jedi padawan and healer in training, is sent on a mission to act as field medic during The Clone Wars. What she sees will begin to shape her perspective of the war and the troopers fighting in it.

Warnings: This one’s going to hurt guys. There’s blood, there’s death, there’s Pong Krell being Pong Krell.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Yet another fic that I thought I’d reposted after my blog deletion but I found it tucked away lol. Enjoy hating Pong Krell all over again I guess 😆

She stood there in the aftermath of the battle. The brewing storm whipped her padawan braid across her face while small frigid rain drops beat against her skin. They’d won, or so she’d been told.

“Another victory in the bag!” Master Krell boasted, pushing out his chest in an impossibly arrogant fashion. Pong Krell had come in Master Yoda’s place much to everyone’s dismay.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. So many dead men. Was his victory worth this? The Republic would think so. His impeccable record was held in high regard by the Senate.

“General Krell. Commander Leto. We’ve almost finished securing the injured. We will be ready for departure soon.” Clone Commander Gree sounded exhausted. She stepped forward toward the carnage before her. She had a feeling she had to help at least one more trooper. She wasn’t sure if it was the Force or anxiety but whatever it was compelled her back to the field.

“What are you doing, Padawan Leto? We are shipping out. Get on the transport.”

She paused, squaring her shoulders and looking Krell in the eye, “Master Krell, I am making one more round to ensure all men are accounted for. As the medic assigned to you for this mission I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t.”

Krell huffed, “It’s an awful lot of fuss for some clones.”

She saw Gree flinch as Krell marched back to the transport. She placed her hand on the Commander’s arm, “If any of your brothers are still alive out there, I’ll find them.” He tilted his head toward her, a sad smile hidden by the helmet he wore.

The rain had picked up intensity forcing her to pull her cloak tightly against herself. She felt nauseous as her boots sloshed through a mud composed of dirt, rainwater, and blood. So much blood. Droids don’t bleed, this was from her men. She swept the field with the Force, hoping, praying she could save one more. A fresh faced young padawan, only 20 years of age when the war began; now one year in and she felt older than Master Yoda some days.

Her ruminations were interrupted by the beeping of a lifesigns alert. Her heart lurched. A survivor. She ran, her GAR standard issue medic bag swaying, the weight of it threatening to steal her balance in every hurried step. She ignored the gut wrenching splash of the bloody water being kicked up her legs and the sound of Krell’s voice demanding she come back. Then the screaming began. He was scared, in pain, alone, and screaming for his brothers.

She slid to a stop and fell to her knees next to the clone, “Trooper! Trooper I’m here!” She gently removed his helmet. Her heart broke at the terror in his eyes.

“It hurts! It hurts! Please help me! Help me! Oh by the Force it kriffing hurts!” He was just a shiny.

She shushed him with the gentleness of a mother he never had, “Eyes on me, eyes on me. I’m here now.” She touched him with the Force and wanted to throw up. He wasn’t going to make it. She couldn’t save him. She positioned herself perpendicular to him, gently placing his head on her lap, “I can help with the pain. Would you like that?”

“Please! Yes, please!” His sobs were agonizing. She brushed his head softly, wiping the raindrops away. She breathed and called on the Force, her hands pressed to his temples. She felt him relax and all his fear and pain dissipated.

“Are…are you an Ethereal?” He panted as the wave of relief swept over him.

She laughed, “No, just a lowly padawan and medic.”

He paused as he studied her face, “I’m not going home, am I medic?”

Her smile dropped as she looked away. She couldn’t answer him. He knew and she was too cowardly to confirm the inevitable.

“It’s okay.” He grabbed her wrist, “I’m not scared anymore. I don’t know what you did to me but I’m not scared.”

She stroked his brow, “Good. You’re not alone, trooper. I’m here. I won’t be leaving your side.”

He smiled and managed a weak laugh, “If they’d told me in training I’d be dying in the arms of a beautiful girl I would have told them they were crazy.”

“Commander Leto, General Krell has sent me to retrieve you and bring you back to the transport ship,” Commander Gree’s voice startled her as he knelt next to his brother. She hadn’t heard him approach, she’d have to work on dividing her attention on the battlefield better.

“You can tell General Krell I said he can eat bantha poodoo, Commander. I’m not leaving his side.” She even shocked herself at the harshness of her tone. It wasn’t his fault Krell was a pathetic excuse for a Jedi and an even worse general. “My apologies commander. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

Gree held up his hand, “It’s alright. I understand. But I do have orders to bring you back.” She pondered all of her options. She wasn’t leaving this man to die alone. It was out of the question.

And then she had an idea, “Commander, yell at me.”

“Sir?”

“Yell at me. Demand I go back with you. Krell will hear you. I’ll give you a….gentle…force push. I promise I won’t be rough, but it will be enough for Krell to think you’ve done your job and you won’t be on the receiving end of his temper. The consequences of my actions will fall on me and me alone. I’m not leaving your brother’s side.”

The Commander removed his bucket, and Avery realized it was the first time she’d seen his face. “Thank you. And I am sorry for what I am going to say next. I don’t mean a word of it.”

She nodded, smiling softly silently acknowledging his apology. She glanced and saw Krell watching, arms crossed. Even at that distance she could see the scowl on his face. “Go ahead,” she whispered. And so he did.

Her plan worked, and before she knew it Pong Krell was standing over her screaming, “You’re wasting time you petulant child! Over some clone! There are thousands more to replace him! He won’t be remembered or missed and you’re here wasting precious time on him! Get up and walk to that transport ship or I will have my commander stun you and carry you back!”

Gree snapped his head toward Krell, shocked and horrified at the prospect that he might be forced to stun the padawan who was caring for his brother. Appalled because she was showing him the only act of kindness he’d know outside of the bond with his squad.

Krell’s words stoked a fire of rage within Avery. She knew it was wrong. Jedi should not feel rage. But she was consumed by it instantaneously. She released the trooper’s hand and gingerly lay his head on the ground before she rose to her feet. Her eyes burned and her jaw clenched as she drew her lightsaber, the teal blade reflecting through the pouring rain.

“You will have to carry my cold dead corpse to that transport ship, Master Krell. Don’t be a coward and send your Commander to do your dirty work. I’m just a padawan. I should be an easy victory for you.” She stepped to the side, swinging her saber in idle circles, a challenge to the Master she was staring down. She hoped she looked more brave than she felt.

“The Council and your Master will hear about this!” Krell’s threat rumbled just above the thunder of the storm.

“Good.” Her voice didn’t shake and for that she was grateful.

“Watch her! Don’t let her go anywhere,” Krell growled at Gree as he stormed off. Avery deactivated her saber and immediately dropped back to the ground, returning his head to her lap.

“M-miss m-m-medic, I d-don’t think I h-have ever seen anything q-q-quiet so b-brave or stupid in m-my life,” the trooper huffed a strangled laugh as he began to shake.

“You’re cold, here.” Avery removed her cloak and covered him. “What is your name, by the way?”

“T-thank you. I’m CT 43-0253.” He was shaking less with the warmth of her cloak but his voice was getting weaker.

“No, not your designation. Your name. What do your brothers call you?”

He smiled sadly, “I hadn’t picked one yet. I wanted to…wait. Until after the battle. Guess I don’t get to now. That was stupid of me.” There was a beat of silence before Avery asked, “What about ‘Aay’han’?” She didn’t hesitate, the Mando’a rolled off her tongue as if she’d been a native speaker. The trooper stared at her puzzled.

Gree spoke up, “I think that’s perfect. Have you learned any Mando’a, trooper?”

“No sir. Didn’t get the opportunity.”

“The name our medic has given you is akin to remembering and celebrating, the balance of mourning and joy.”

“Oh. But the General said…”

“Kriff him. We’ll remember you. Always.” Avery firmly interrupted him, brushing the soaked strands of hair from his brow. “Brace yourself boys, our favorite General is coming back.”

Krell looked all the more intimidating as lightning backlit his imposing frame. Avery did her best not to shirk back but he looked like he’d grown exponentially with his rage.

“See this Masters? This insubordinate brat is defying my orders!” Krell tried to sound composed but his rage seeped through his words.

She realized he was holding his portable holoprojector, the hazy blue figures of Master Windu and Master Yoda watching her. She didn’t have time to worry about that though as Aay’han began gasping painfully.

“Masters with all due respect, I am in the middle of something important. When I am done I will happily answer any questions you may have.”

“Very well padawan, but Master Yoda and I prefer to observe you.” Master Windu’s even tone crackled through the projector. Avery nodded sharply and resumed the comfort care she was providing her trooper.

“Miss,” Aay’han choked some before powering through, “what do you think it’s like? Death, I mean.”

She attempted to shield his face from the pounding rain. She felt the three Masters watching her, two curiously and one furiously. “Well, we, Jedi I mean, we believe there is no death. The body is just a vessel. When you die, you return to the Living Force. Never gone. Just…returned to where you came from.”

He chuckled, “Oh. That’s sounds…nice. I hope you’re right, returning to the Force I mean. I’m not keen on staying on Kamino forever.” He huffed another pained laugh before a groan escaped his lips. Speaking was becoming difficult for him. “Thank you. For the name. And for staying.”

“You’re welcome, Aay’han. It’s been an honor knowing you trooper and an honor guiding you back to the Force.” His eyes had already closed, his breathing was becoming labored and irregular. In a silence only broken by the pounding rain and rumbling thunder, Aay’han returned to the Force. She covered his face with her cloak before standing to turn to face the Jedi Masters in the hologram, “My job is done, Masters. I will answer any questions you have for me.”

“Enough, we have seen. To the temple, please return,” Master Yoda ordered.

“With pleasure, Master,” Krell growled and he shut off the projector. “Commander, put her in binders. When we are back on the cruiser I want her detained. I don’t want her getting any other ideas.”

“Sir! She…”

“It’s alright Commander,” Avery extended her wrists to him. “Do as your General says. I’ll be fine.”

“Sir…yes, sir.”

“That’s the first wise choice you’ve made this evening. I’ll see that you’re kicked out of the Order for this.” Krell sounded even more proud of the idea of having Avery removed than of his victory in battle.

Avery didn’t answer him. She stared straight ahead, jaw set with a facade of ambivalence barely held together by her few remaining strands of self control.

**********

The voyage back to the Jedi Temple was arduous, harrowing, and anguishingly long. Krell ensured she’d be transported like a common criminal. In her solitude she replayed the events that landed her in this situation over and over. What could she have done differently? If she’d been more skilled with Force healing could she have saved Aay’han? If she’d trained harder could she have done more? Did she even make the right choice? Should she have just left him and gone back to the transport? Is his death on her hands? The self doubt seeped through her like her favorite tea seeped through the tea bag.

Upon Master Krell’s orders, Avery was marched into the Temple in binders. He’d not even let her change her clothes. She was still heavily caked in mud and blood. Her face was dirty with streaks where her tears traversed her cheeks. She suspected he aimed to humiliate her. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Krell charged in before the Council, all bravado and indignation while Commander Gree gently guided her in behind him. The softness of his hand on her back stood in sharp contrast to the aggressive aura of Krell.

“Master Krell, don’t you think the binders are a little excessive?” Master Windu queried, a hint of agitation nipping at his question.

“I didn’t want her to try to escape. She needed to come before you and answer for what she did!” The accusation was absurd at best and she was grateful the Masters seated before her seemed to know that.

“Commander Gree, remove the binders please. I do not believe she will go anywhere,” Master Plo gently requested as he gave Avery a soft paternal nod.

“Sir, yes sir!” Gree could barely contain his joy and gave her a comforting squeeze of the hand before removing the binders.

“So Avery, what do you have to say?” Master Plo continued. His fingers were interlocked in a posture far too relaxed for the situation, in Avery’s opinion.

She studied the room. She felt a tinge of shame when she saw her own master, Tana Vytuia, sitting amongst the council members who were determining her fate.

Avery lifted her chin and did her best to appear confident in her decision. “Masters, I do not regret my actions. Nor will I ask your forgiveness. You sent me on that mission as a medic. I am training to be a healer. I could not save that trooper, but he deserved to die with dignity. Without pain and fear. In the company of someone who would guide him back to the Living Force. I would do it for any trooper under my care, without hesitation.”

The High Council sat silent for a moment. For how long Avery didn’t know. It felt like ages before anyone spoke.

“Kind and honorable, you are padawan. Strong in the Force, you are. An exceptional healer, you shall be.” Master Yoda smiled at her.

“Master?” The confusion in her voice was heavy but there was a glimmer of hope there too.

“Master Yoda is right. The Council has reviewed the hologram of your actions extensively. You displayed some of the finest qualities of a Jedi. We are proud of you, padawan. Instead of using your Force Healing to fight death, you embraced the peace to come and helped a trooper do the same. It gives us great pleasure to inform you that you have passed the final trial. You are now a Jedi Knight.” Master Windu rose to his feet and tilted his head in a slight bow. Avery stared, eyes like saucers and jaw agape in complete shock. She was convinced she was going to be thrown out, not promoted. She looked around the room at the Masters before her and all but Krell were smiling warmly at her.

It wasn’t until Gree placed a congratulatory hand on her shoulder that she spoke again, “Masters, I can honestly say this was not how I envisioned this going.”

“Neither did I,” she heard Krell grumble as he slowly slunk backward.

“However,” she continued, “I am truly grateful and honored that the Council has deemed me worthy of knighthood. I promise I will uphold the Jedi Code, and humbly request I continue my training to become a Consular and Healer.”

“We look forward to seeing the great things you will achieve. If you wait here, we will discuss your future as a general in the GAR,” Master Windu answered proudly.

A general? In the GAR? Master Windu’s words made her nauseous. She listened as Krell was offered platitudes for his successful mission and small talk was exchanged as they shuffled off to their next assignment. Soon the High Council Chamber had cleared out, leaving Avery standing with Masters Yoda, Windu, and Tana.

“Troubled, your mind is young Jedi,” Master Yoda observed her with compassion.

“Masters. I,” she paused and gathered her courage. “I must ask that you not assign troops to me.”

Master Windu studied her with an air of curiosity, “Alright, why do you not want to lead our troops?”

This was more terrifying than standing up to Krell. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful for what the Council had done, but she couldn’t be a General.

“Masters, I am a healer. I tend wounds, I provide comfort care when those wounds are fatal. I…I fix the damage done to our troops on the battlefield. I provide peace and refuge if only briefly. I can’t be the one responsible for leading them to that fate. It stands in direct contradiction to what I stand for. I humbly request you have me serve in a medical capacity. I’ll be a field medic. I’ll work in the field hospitals. I’ll rotate the hospital frigates. But I can’t be the reason the clones need healing when I am the one who is supposed to do the healing.”

Master Yoda pondered her words, his brow turned in a thoughtful expression, “A compelling argument you make, young one. Agree with you, I do.”

Master Windu smiled, “Very well. You will serve the Republic within the MedCorps.” He turned to her former master, “Now, Tana, will you take Avery to her new quarters? She should get cleaned up and rest before we give her her assignments tomorrow.” Avery dipped into a deep bow, relieved and bubbling with gratitude.

**********

“Avery, something else is on your mind. What is it?” After being her Master for well over 10 years, Avery should have expected she couldn’t hide much from Tana. The wise Jedi had become as close to a mother as possible without having actually birthed her.

Avery didn’t answer immediately, instead listening to their rhythmic footsteps in the empty hallways, wondering how she should vocalize her trepidation. “I’m…worried, Master. About the clones.”

“Worried?”

“I’ve only worked alongside them for a little bit but I’ve gotten to know many of them in that short time. They’re so loyal to a Republic they’ve never even seen. A Republic that doesn’t even consider them citizens or give them rights. They don’t even get names! They name themselves or their brothers name them!” She stopped for a moment remembering Aay’han. She’d chosen his name. He almost died without a name. The thought twisted her stomach. How many unknown troopers were there?

“I used to think the Republic was unquestionably fighting for justice in the galaxy. Now I find myself more and more concerned about the troopers fighting the war. Are we truly fighting for justice when our own soldiers are denied basic rights?”

Her former Master considered her words before answering, “I don’t have those answers for you, I’m afraid. In war things are rarely black and white. You make compelling arguments and, as always, I’m so proud of the compassion and kindness you show to all beings. Convene with the Force, it will provide you the answers you need as you need them.”

“Yes, master,” she sighed. She knew Master Vytuia was right but she wanted her answers now.

The remainder of their walk passed in silence until they arrived at Avery’s new quarters. Tana turned to Avery and hugged her. “Here we are. I am so proud of you Avery. You will continue to learn so much working with Master Vokara Che in the infirmary.”

“Thank you, Master Vytuia.” The thought of no longer being under her Master’s tutelage brought tears to her eyes.

“I think we’ve reached a point where you can just call me Tana, Avery.”

“That will take some getting used to,” Avery mused with a smile. She dipped into one final bow before she walked inside and heaved a heavy sigh. First order of business would be the shedding of her padawan braid. The second would be to climb in the refresher. Third would be meditation. In the silence of her new private room, she thought she could hear a familiar voice call to her through the Force. And so she answered, “I hear you Aay’han. I promise I will help as many of your brothers as I can.”

Ragu List: @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @multi-fan-dom-madness

@msmeredithrose @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz @523rdrebel

@littlemissmanga @the-bad-batch-baroness @dickarchivist @eclec-tech

@dreamie411 @cw80831 @eternal-transcience

@heidnspeak @nahoney22 @tlmtwelve @lonewolflupe

@laspicyfresa @reader6898 @bamfahsoka

@crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf because you drew that lovely art of Tana!

@spooky-daggers just gave us all some hope! 💙💙

#Echo and Fives together again #batch twins

IT'S OK, GUYS! FIVES WAS JUST HIDING IN THE SHINY ARMOR!! 😭😭

The next arc of Doc’s Misadventures! @staycalmandhugaclone continues this masterpiece. Poor Doc, trying to do the right thing in an environment that won’t support it. And being reintroduced to “Jester,” that was so fun! As always, waiting excitedly for more!

#hunter in running shorts! #doc thirsting

Reprocussions

Part (1) of the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Did the first series of cuts to my taglist - you don't reblog or comment, I don't tag - that's how Tumblr works, my dearies.

Warnings: Emotions. That's a warning in itself. Dread, arguing, guilt, regret, feeling overwhelmed. Also a touch of profanity. Also racism style prejudice. Oh, and some Hunter thirst.

WC: 3,874

Mando’a translation

ori’buyce, kih’kovid – all helmet, no head: someone with and overdeveloped sense of authority

Kamino was, at its core, a failed science experiment; what few inhabitants still clinging to life above tumultuous, unforgiving waves doing so purely from a futile denial of the impending ruination already evident in the violence of the oceans that overtook nearly the entirety of the planet’s stormy surface eons prior. That destruction was predestined; a simple consequence of climate, but what befell those inhabitants in the centuries that followed could be blamed on no one but themselves; driven to the edge of extinction not from natural catastrophe but from some ill-conceived need to eliminate traits arbitrarily deemed undesirable, altering the very code of their existence first through selective breeding, and then through artificial splicing until natural reproduction was not only deemed obsolete in their strive toward perfection, but became biologically impossible.

Perfection is the great myth of social naivety, offering aspirations veiled beneath the façade of a motivation that, in truth, results only in the inevitable collapse of will as goals prove eternally beyond reach. This toxic mentality, however, persists far longer than the spark of brilliance crushed beneath its unreachable expectations, but that illusion of perfection is infectious, destined to poison any subjected to its ideals not only with feelings of crippling inadequacy but also in granting false justification for prejudice against those labeled lesser through simple consequence of genetic expression.

I hated how that mentality had seeped into not only so many of the clones they’d created, but into myself as well, tainted by those beliefs not through direct correlation, but from a nearly equally unjust bias toward the clones themselves. Had I never met Hunter and his brothers, I’m not sure I would ever have truly noticed, but, after living with them and witnessing firsthand the cruelty their squad was subjected to because of it, each reg I saw instantly filled me with a distrust that brought with it a bang of guilt. It wasn’t every reg. I knew that. But it was enough to leave me torn between that guilt and the nagging reminder of just how damaging granting them the benefit of the doubt could be.

It was because of that bias that I refused to leave the medbay of the Vigilance for even a moment; not while Hunter was still bedbound and Crosshair needed to make frequent visits to continue monitoring the progress of his eyes. Admittedly, the term ‘bedbound’ was rather fiercely contested… particularly by Hunter, himself.

“No! You’re on med-leave for at least another week!” I was shouting again. “I don’t care if those orders came from the damn Grand Chancellor, himself!”  I’d been doing that a lot lately, whether in response to Hunter’s increasingly frustrated demands to be released or toward the ship’s staff insisting that I let them relieve me for a while. “It’s barely been four kriffing days since you were in hemorrhagic cardiac arrest!” It wasn’t healthy. “You’ve barely even started physical therapy!” I knew it wasn’t healthy.

“Because you won’t let me out of this kriffing bed!” He snarled back.

“Two weeks is the minimum recovery time for an injury like-”

“For a nat-born! Not a clone!” He interrupted. I still couldn’t look at him without seeing how pale his skin had been when I’d found him.

“You died!” The emptiness in those captivating eyes. “I barely managed to bring you back! Any other medic would have given up long before I did!” The terror I felt any time he was out of my sight, that fear that I might miss something critical; I knew it wasn't healthy… but I couldn’t risk seeing him like that again…

“Then get your head out of your shebs before we get do get stuck with some ‘other medic’!” He snapped, and my entire body froze with a sudden chill, muscles locked as the air stilled in my lungs. “You give them reason to think you can’t be objective with us, then there won’t be a damn thing I can say to keep some ori’buyce, kih’kovid from pulling you.” It wasn’t a threat. Despite how his voice dropped into that frightful growl, I knew it wasn’t a threat. He was begging me.

My teeth ground together, nostrils flared with barely controlled, shallow breaths. I said nothing as I turned and left. No words would come to me, nor did I have any confidence in my ability to force them past taut lips even if they did. I told myself it was rage that left my ears ringing, that sent a nauseating tingle dancing beneath my skin and prickling my fingertips, but I knew it was nothing so kind as that, nor so simple.

I thought of that night hidden away with Tech in the cockpit, how he’d teased me for admitting that I had nothing beyond him and his brothers; what that would leave me with if I was ripped away from them. Sick… Maker, I was going to be sick…

Clones did heal faster than nat-borns… but something about forcing them back into a war zone after so little time to recover… It wasn't fair… In so many aspects of life, clones were treated and viewed as lesser; granted fewer rights, spared little consideration for basic needs or comforts, awarded no thought toward self-autonomy… Forcing myself to adhere to those unjust standards ground against the very core of my being… but Hunter was right… If I pushed too far, if I was called out and removed, they'd be subjected to those same rules with far less compassion.

Despite the size of the Star Destroyer, it seemed impossible to find a breath of solitude, constantly dodging patrols or maintenance crew or janitorial workers; so, I walked. I’d barely glanced at the mission brief before lashing out, balking at the departure date looming in a mere three days, but it seemed a shockingly straightforward reconnaissance objective: confirm the presence of a droid factory that had supposedly just begun construction, and, if the reports were correct, plant enough explosives to level it before the thing could become a threat. Simple…

It wasn’t hunger that drew me toward the mess hall. I knew they’d be there, most of them, at least, and, though I wasn’t ready to actually speak with them, emotions still too raw to even feign some appearance of calm, I needed to see them. Tech’s arm no longer needed the support and protection of the sling, a fact he took advantage of before I’d properly cleared him, and he’d assured me that he’d tended both Echo’s shoulder and Wrecker’s knee while my attention was focused on Hunter and Crosshair, a kindness that only deepened my own growing sense of inadequacy even as I’d forced myself to offer my gratitude.

In the sea of nearly identical faces, my men screamed their defiance both through stature and in the striking contrast of their darkened armor amidst the white and gold of the 212th. It was because of that contrast that I was surprised to note an additional figure beside them; beside Wrecker. He dwarfed the man, an illusion that was only further accentuate by Crosshair and Tech's towering frames seated just across from them. Still, I found myself tensing, shoulders drawing back as my teeth ground, lips just hinting at a scowl, but I froze before taking that first step toward them. Smiling… Wrecker was smiling.

While I couldn't see their expressions from where I stood, Crosshair had his chin nestled atop his palm, elbow lazily hiked up on the table, an air of impatience screaming from how his head hung down toward a shoulder, more resigned than annoyed, and Tech appeared to actually be just as engaged with the reg as Wrecker. That guilt returned in force. They were talking; laughing… and I’d been so ready to assume the worst…

I studied them for a moment longer, gaze lingering on the gleeful face of the reg as I absently noted the faint scar bisecting one of his eyebrows. This wasn’t me… This neurotic mess, jumping to respond with violence before even granting a chance to speak… That man was no different than the troopers Emmy gave her life trying to help… His broad grin only twisted that bitter taste of shame and regret deeper into my chest, tightening some unseeable noose. It felt like something was about to snap, muscles locked so taut they threatened to shake.

Air fleeing me in a sharp huff, I turned on my heel and all but fled, boots clicking loudly against the harsh metal below in rushed strides just shy of running. Cody once warned me of how traumatic events could alter the dynamic of a group. I wondered, suddenly, why he knew that. It felt odd to think that the Kaminoans might have chosen to include such concepts in whatever glimpses of psychology they might have included in their training programs, but his words had held none of the hesitation of one speaking only through thin fragments of forced studies, the details of which had long since been forgotten. I wouldn’t doubt that his General was surely well versed in such things, but the Commander’s words held a weight far greater than what might be found through secondhand allusion. Had he seen the consequences of some similar horror? Watched the fallout helpless to stop it? What would he say to this? How might he judge the depth of my connection – my dependency – to these men? How quickly might he replace me?

I knew Hunter was right. There was a balance between what care I was allowed to give and the merciless demands of the GAR, and if I faltered too far in either direction, I’d lose them…

Hunter’s eyes snapped up as I reentered the room, body tensing where he stood just a few careful steps from his bed, and I watched that initial panic of being caught flare into a defensive glare, but I didn’t allow myself to sink back into what fears had fueled my earlier outbursts rebuking his every attempt to push himself; I didn’t allow myself the freedom of even acknowledging that fear, that whisper of doubt that I was still missing something; I couldn’t.

“I’m ordering a stress test.” I stated before he could bark out whatever argument clearly churned behind taut lips. Instantly, that tension fled him, powerful shoulders sinking beneath a hesitation that only further emphasized how apparently unreasonable he’d believed me to be, and I had to let my gaze fall to the now empty bed beside him to keep that realization from breaking me.

 “If the scars hold and you don’t start bleeding out again, I’ll clear you for duty.” I didn’t look at him as I said it, and the silence that followed was anything but kind. I had to keep myself from fidgeting, jaw ground.

“… Doc…” The quiet sympathy in his voice only pulled me nearer to the edge of breaking. Wrenching a quick, deep breath into my lungs, I snatched my datapad and rapidly typed in the order before I could talk myself out of it.

“You deserve better than this…” I barely whispered it, rage and despair twisting through the words. He called my name, and my throat seized against the ball of tears straining to escape.

“I'll get you some clothes.” I said stiffly and, before he could respond, before he could further justify the cruel reasoning behind his rushed return to the battlefield or offer some softly murmured reassurance that I couldn't risk letting myself believe, I turned away, steps once again tapping loudly on the hard floors. Three days… we had only three days before being forced to fight again... It was wrong…

I’d brought him a comfortable shirt along with his shorts for the stress test. He elected not to wear it. Whether that choice stemmed from a hope to flaunt how quickly his wounds were healing or something far less innocent, I wouldn't let myself think too deeply on it - straining to keep my gaze on the datapad in my hand instead than the wealth of power illustrated by his every stride.

Hunter’s hair was tied up in a messy bun rather than loosely held back by that faded bandana, revealing elegant lines of muscle sweeping from his thick neck down to broad shoulders honed to frightful perfection from years of ruthless fighting, from racing across battlefields with heavy weaponry held at the ready, from driving fist and blade alike through enemies made of flesh and metal and every combination in between. He’d gained nearly ten kilograms in the time I’d been with them, and that boon had only added to the lethal effigy of raw power before me; added to the very real danger he represented. That power scared me, once… but that was a long time ago.

“Pain level? Say anything less than three and I’ll throw a damn weight vest on you.” I threatened, speaking as though I wasn’t fighting to keep my gaze from following every drop of sweat as they slid down the valleys carved between abs accentuated by dark, coarse hair that narrowed in such a cruel invitation between the V is his hips before vanishing beneath the waistline of his shorts.

“Three.” I could hear his smirk, jaw tensing against the way my lips threatened to pull into a grin of my own even as I pointedly rolled my eyes at him.

“Any difficulty breathing? Stiffness or pressure or-”

“Pretty sure one of those fancy scanners would have started yelling at me if my lung was collapsing again.” He drawled, turning toward me with a knowing look. He’d been running for nearly an hour, and the man was barely winded… Still, I couldn’t silence that fear… that certainty that there was something…

“Alright…” I finally murmured, hand reluctantly reaching out to flutter over the controls. His attention didn’t waver as he gradually slowed to a stop, chest swelling with barely quickened breaths. There was a sense of defeat sown deeply through that single word that forbade me from meeting his eyes for a long moment, studying the readout of his vitals one last time before making myself look at him. “If anything feels off – if the pain gets worse or you feel short of breath, I swear to the Force, Hunter, you need to tell me.” It was supposed to be an order, but the desperation drowning me left it anything but, and the softness in the way he sighed my name robbed me of even a sliver of denial that he hadn’t noticed as he slowly crossed the room.

“I will.” He could have mocked me; could have dismissed my fears with overly confident boasts and promises, but he didn’t, and that granted a far greater comfort that he could possibly know… Still…

“I don’t like this…” I barely whispered it, finally letting the weight of that terrible dread tug at the corners of my lips, shoulders sinking with a helplessness neither of us had any hope of fixing.

“I know.” He murmured. For just a moment, his shoulder tensed, arm just beginning to move before he forced it still, and I mourned the loss of that touch he hadn't allowed himself to give, the warmth of his hand stolen from me for fear of wandering eyes and over-eager rumors.

My gaze fell, lingering for just a moment on that hand, on the ridges of veins and spiderwebs of scars, on the memory of the dizzying contrast between the roughness of calluses stretching across palm and fingertips alike, and how gentle I knew his touch to be.

“Someone stays with you.” That, at least, carried some hint of authority as I drew a shaky breath before looking back up at him. “I don't care what happens, someone stays with you at all times.” The patches of bare skin where the electrodes had gone refused to let me forget how still he’d been between those horrid moments when his body had seized beneath the flood of electricity meant to restart his heart. The bruising had already begun fading from his chest, but I’d never be able to forget how stark the outline of my palms had looked, how dark the mottled purples and red were in those hours after bringing him back…

He let out a quiet huff at my order, head tilting down slightly to better hold my gaze.

“Yes, ma’am.” My lips pursed slightly at that teasing lilt, and I had to fight back the threat of heat spreading up my neck at the low rumble of his voice.

Drawing a deep breath, I finally turned away from him, attention falling back to my datapad to clear him before I could find some excuse not to.

“And you’re wearing a chest brace.” I added, cheeks burning at the quiet chuckle it drew from him.

“Alright.” He hummed through that little smirk that sent my heart racing, brow hitching slightly. “Anything else?” My jaw jut forward against the smile toying with the edge of my own lips.

“Give me a sec, and I’ll think of something.” I shot back, arms crossing my chest with a heatless glare, but he only responded with another soft laugh.

 The following day passed in a blur; endless paperwork to finish, a shocking amount of supplies to restock, as well as overseeing what precious few hours of physical therapy I could force each of them through before we were scheduled to leave. Nearly each of them, at least. Wrecker's knee had some lingering stiffness, but that faded with minor warmups. Tech's arm was still notably weak, but he assured me he'd already tested for nerve damage, and I had no reason to doubt him, resigned to merely monitor it over the coming weeks. Crosshair had spent much of the time aboard the massive flagship in their gun range, and he had no qualms with proving just how thoroughly his eyes had healed. But Echo… Echo had vanished under the guise of “requisitioning" materials to finish building his new legs, an occasional message our only reassurance that he was still onboard.

I shouldn't have been surprised to note the missing supplies during my final check of the Marauder's medbay, but the little pang of disappointment was there regardless. The night cycle had nearly begun, and the thought of sinking in-between warm sheets and warmer arms taunted me as I reluctantly noted the missing bacta and bandages, and started wearily back to the hanger's storage room, empty box cocked against my hip.

Night had little meaning in space. It was a label meant only to grant some illusion of familiarity; a place-keeper for the sake of simplicity despite the fact that “night" had a thousand different meanings on a thousand different planets. What days or weeks spent in the in-between of hyperspace were usually used to gradually adjust perception to match the cycle of one’s destination.

The Vigilance, however, had no destination. If she neared a planet, it was for the sake of a brutal onslaught void of any consideration toward night and day. Men died in the darkness just as easily as in the light. So the Vigilance rotated between an imagined night and day solely because such a thing was expected, but, in truth, it made no difference beyond a simple shift change to those sentenced to remain in that liminal existence. Solders still marched through halls on patrol amidst maintenance crews and cleaner bots and all manner of workers striving to keep the vessel ready to fight at a moment's notice, and they spared me little consideration as I wove between them, just another cog churning within the Republic’s war.

“It was a trick question.” My attention snapped up, surprised to find a clone standing a few meters away just within the door of the supply room, a tentative smile on his youthful face. I nearly glanced behind me, but there was no mistaking who he was speaking to.

“I… didn’t ask a question.” I replied hesitantly, mind struggling to make sense of the odd interaction as I studied the man before me. His left brow was split from some barely visible scar, and his nose was ever so slightly askew, but his eyes were free of that haunted distance that had become far too common among the more war-hardened soldiers.

“Droid poppers.” He said as though that might explain everything. A moment later, I finally realized that it did, eyes widening, and his lips pulled into a broad grin, shoulders shaking with the faintest hint of laughter. My mouth opened, but I was too surprised to fathom a response.

“Jester.” He offered stealing a few slow steps closer., and I couldn’t quite hide the wince, but he only laughed harder.

“Feel like I might owe you an apology for that.” I offered with a sympathetic chuckle.

“Well, I did have a couple more… exciting names I would have preferred, but…” he shrugged, “I kind of earned it.” The ease of his aloofness was a stark balm to the heaviness of the past several days, and I readily welcomed that lightness with a smile of my own.

“I don’t think that was a trick question.” I belatedly retorted, instantly earning an animated eyeroll.

“But it was definitely meant to make me look like a damn fool.” I couldn’t help but snicker, nose scrunching with a knowing smirk.

“Just be glad I sent you to Wrecker instead of Tech.” He let out a heavy huff at my response.

“Tech was there.” He stated flatly, and I let out an unapologetic snort. “I think he’s going to try to make my entire batch repeat basic chemistry…”

“But now you know how to make an incendiary grenade from spare parts.” I teased. His shoulders dropped, brows furrowing above a fond glare.

“Yeah. Several ways, in fact.” He drawled, earning another bout of laughter from me.

“He’s… really nice.” Jester’s voice fell into a near whispered, expression softening with a touch of remorse.

“Yeah,” I murmured quietly, “He really is… They all are.” I added, but the skeptical look he shot me drew a knowing chuckle even as I tried to suppress it. “They are.” I pressed. “Just… need to earn it, first.” His gaze fell at that, jaw shifting stiffly as that remorse grew.

“I tried to apologize… He wouldn’t even let me finish.”

“Words… don’t really matter much to him.” I explained gently. “You reached out… And since Crosshair was there and you don’t have any black eyes, I’m assuming you did it respectfully.” He let out a quiet huff.

“Thanks.” He whispered after a brief moment of silence. I didn’t have to wait long before he continued. “I needed some sense knocked into me… would have preferred you do it in a less embarrassing way, but…” His eyes rose back to meet mine. “Thanks.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it.” I replied, words quiet before drawing a deep breath and glancing back at the still empty crate. “You got out of it last time, but, since you’re here, how about you help me pack for our next mission?” That beaming smile instantly returned to his lips as he eagerly started toward me.

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Tech is immune to flirting, but she keeps trying! This was adorable!

#tech’s a coder not a flirter

Tech x Mechanic Reader

Summary: After the war, you reprogrammed a troop of abandoned B1 battle droids to serve with kindness—not violence. When Clone Force 99 shows up for a supply run, Tech questions your methods, and you challenge his logic.

You found them half-dead in the sand. Twenty B1 battle droids, dumped in a sun-scorched wreck outside the outpost, like bones picked clean by time and war. Most folks would've scavenged the parts, maybe sold off a few limbs if the servos were still functional.

But you? You were a little lonely, a little dangerous, and very, *very* good with code.

Rewiring them took weeks. You erased what the Separatists left behind, built your own parameters from scratch, and gave them something they'd never had before: choice.

You taught them to wave. To carry groceries. To call you "Friend" instead of "Master."

And when people flinched at the sight of battle droids strolling through town, you dipped your brush in paint. Mint green, lavender, sunflower yellow. You gave them smiley faces, heart decals, flower crowns made from leftover wire. You made them soft. Funny. Endearing.

They were still capable of violence—so were you—but they only used it when you gave the order.

Which wasn't often.

---

Clone Force 99 didn't arrive with blasters drawn, but the tension clung to them like dust. The mission was simple: a supply pickup for Cid. In and out. But this planet made Wrecker's nose wrinkle, and Echo kept his blaster low and ready.

Hunter spotted the droid first—lavender chassis, daisies painted across its plating, an old satchel slung over one shoulder as it meandered through the marketplace humming something vaguely cheerful.

"Is that... a B1?" Echo asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It appears to be carrying coolant," Tech said, scanning with his datapad. "And whistling."

Wrecker let out a low chuckle. "Guess the war *really* is over."

"Something's off," Hunter murmured. "Let's follow it."

They kept their distance as the droid turned off the main strip and waddled down a side alley, past a half-crumbling sign that read *THE FIXER'S NEST* in flickering neon.

The shop was a bunker of welded panels and salvaged Separatist tech. Outside, another B1—bright pink with a lopsided sun painted on its chest—was sweeping the doorstep and chatting to a GNK droid.

"Friend says no sand in the workshop," it explained, very seriously. "Sand gets in the gears. Sand *hurts feelings*."

The Bad Batch exchanged a look.

Hunter stepped forward and tapped twice on the doorframe.

You didn't even look up from where you were elbow-deep in a deconstructed astromech.

"You're late," you said, voice calm. "Tell Cid her coolant's in the crate by the wall. So's the power cells, bolts, and the weird candy she likes."

There was a pause.

"We didn't say we were here for Cid," Echo said slowly.

Now you looked up—smirk sharp, eyes sharper.

"Didn't have to. You've got that *'we work for someone mean, grumpy and morally grey'* vibe. Plus, you match the order details she sent me yesterday."

Wrecker moved to the crate and peeked inside. "Yep. All here."

"Of course it is," you muttered. "I run a business, not a guessing game."

Tech, meanwhile, was still staring at the droids—two were dusting the shelves with actual feather dusters, and another had just handed you a datapad while humming.

"These are B1 units," he said, voice laced with something between awe and concern. "Fully functional. Active. Painted."

You stood, wiping your hands on a rag. "I call that one Sprinkles."

"They're dangerous," he said immediately. "You realize they could revert to their original programming at any time—"

"Not mine," you cut in. "I rewrote them myself. Erased every combat subroutine. They're coded to help, protect, and be as non-threatening as a bowl of soup."

Tech stepped forward, clearly bristling. "Their hardware alone makes them capable of violence. You cannot override thousands of lines of military protocol with flower decals and whimsy."

"No," you said coolly, "but I can override them with skill, precision, and an understanding of droid psychology that clearly surpasses yours."

Hunter winced. Echo muttered something under his breath. Wrecker made the universal *oooooh, burn* face.

Tech, however, pushed up his goggles like you'd challenged him to a duel. "I would very much like to inspect your code."

You arched a brow. "What, no dinner first?"

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

You grinned. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll even let you use the comfy chair."

Sprinkles chirped and handed Tech a cup of caf with perfect comedic timing.

"Welcome, new Friend!" it said cheerfully.

Tech took the cup automatically, staring down at it like it might explode.

You leaned on the counter and gave him a slow once-over. "You gonna tell me how unsafe I am again, or are you here to learn something?"

He met your gaze, thoughtful now. Curious. "...Both."

You smiled, victorious.

---

Tech hadn't stopped talking for fifteen minutes straight.

Not that you minded. His cadence was quick, his mind quicker, and his goggles fogged slightly whenever he got excited. Which, it turned out, was often—especially when discussing battle droid memory cores, sub-routine overrides, and how you managed to build a loyalty system based on *empathy* instead of authority.

"You replaced their original fail-safe with a social dependency loop," he said, practically glowing. "That's... innovative. Risky. But brilliant."

"I try," you said, leaning against your workbench. "It helps that they trust me. Most people don't trust anything unless they can control it. Droids aren't any different."

Tech nodded slowly, examining the code you'd opened for him on your terminal. "You used a behavioral reinforcement system. Repetition and reward. This is similar to clone trooper training methodology—except applied to machines."

You gave him a sly look. "Are you comparing yourself to a B1?"

"I am acknowledging structural parallels in behavioral learning patterns," he replied, completely straight-faced.

You grinned. "That's what I said."

Tech paused, frowning slightly. "You are... amused by me."

"Observant, aren't you?" You stepped closer, brushing your shoulder against his as you leaned in to point at a line of code. "This part here—subtle failsafe. If they ever encounter an override attempt from an external signal, it loops them back to me."

He blinked, eyes darting from the screen to your face. "That is... impressively cautious."

"I've been told I'm full of surprises."

He didn't respond—just squinted closer at the screen.

You sighed, lips twitching. "Nothing? Not even a blush? Stars, you *are* all business."

Before he could answer (or continue missing your very obvious flirting), a loud crash echoed from the street outside, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a thermal disruptor and the annoyed squawk of one of your droids.

You were already moving.

Outside, a low-rent bounty hunter—tatty armor, one glowing eye, and an attitude that outpaced his ability—was holding one of your B1s at blaster point.

"Move, scrapheap, or I'll scrap you myself," he snarled.

The droid blinked. "Friend said no yelling. Friend also said no blasters unless you bring candy."

"*Candy?*"

You stepped into the street like a storm cloud in boots.

"Is there a reason you're threatening my droid, or are you just bored and stupid?"

The bounty hunter turned to you, smug. "This thing walked in front of my speeder. I don't care how shiny you paint 'em—B1s are still clanker trash. I'm just doing the galaxy a favor."

You gave a slow whistle.

Three more droids stepped out from alleyways and rooftops, all armed with repurposed but deactivated blasters—they didn't need live ammo to intimidate. One even had a frying pan.

The bounty hunter backed up a step.

You raised a hand.

"Engage," you said simply.

They moved like a synchronized swarm. Two pinned his arms while the others knocked the blaster from his hands and dismantled his boots with surgical precision. The frying pan droid stood back and provided color commentary.

"Friend says don't be mean! Friend says fix your attitude!"

The bounty hunter was on the ground and begging within seconds.

You stepped forward, crouched down, and grabbed him by the collar.

"You threaten one of mine again, and I'll let them finish what they started. You hear me?"

He nodded frantically.

"Good." You turned to your droids. "Escort him to the edge of town. Gently."

They saluted with cartoonish enthusiasm and dragged him off, half-hopping as they went.

You stood, dusted your hands, and turned back to find Tech watching with an unreadable expression.

"Well?" you said, folding your arms.

"That was... efficient," he admitted. "But highly aggressive."

You raised a brow. "They followed my orders exactly. Didn't fire a shot. Didn't kill. Didn't even insult his boots. I programmed them to protect what's mine, not wage war."

"But the capability—"

"*Exists.*" You cut in. "Just like yours does. Just like mine. The question isn't what they *can* do. It's what they *choose* to do. And what I program them to choose."

Tech looked at you then—really looked at you. A flicker of something passed behind his eyes. Understanding. Respect.

Maybe even admiration.

"They're not like the others," he said, finally.

You smirked. "Neither am I."

He hesitated, adjusting his goggles. "Would you... allow me to assist you in refining their motor skills protocols? I have a few ideas."

You leaned on the workbench again, grinning. "You wanna help me teach battle droids ballet?"

Tech blinked. "Not... precisely."

"Come on, Tech," you said, voice low and teasing. "Live a little."

He didn't answer, but he did roll up his sleeves and pull out a datapad, already scribbling new subroutine formulas with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You might not have cracked the flirtation firewall yet—but the code was definitely compiling.

Fantastic story! Excitedly waiting for more!! Fives flirting, not hitting his mark. The 501st. Anidala. The intrigue is building. 😍

Good Graces

Chapter Three

Tags/Warnings: graphic (and casual) depiction of violence, wounds, death, etc.

Chapter WC: 4,449

A/N: Okay so this is going to be longer than I thought. Definitely less than 20 chapters, but probably more than 10, by virtue of me trying to keep these all under 10k each.

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Esmé takes the lead as soon as they step out onto the street. She moves quickly, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. She doesn't so much as slow down, even when a couple bumps into her, muttering something under their breath. Fives has to jog to catch up with her, his steps a little clumsy in his haste, his arms swinging by his sides. She doesn't look back. She just keeps moving.

She's not okay. She's trying to hide it, but she's not. He can see it in the way her shoulders are pulled tight, her back ramrod straight. Her breathing is too fast, and her hands are shaking, her knuckles white. She's on edge, and it's more than just a brush with a bounty hunter. She's seen them before, that much is clear, and this isn't her first time having to deal with one.

Ahead, the crowds begin to thin, the streets emptying as they move farther away from the marketplace. It's quieter, the noise of the festival muffled by the tall buildings, and the air is crisp, a gentle breeze blowing through. It's not exactly a short walk, but Esmé makes quick work of it, her strides long and sure with the confidence of someone who's walked the same path a hundred times.

She doesn't speak, and Fives doesn't ask. He's not sure he wants to know the answer.

He's not really sure what happened. One minute, they were fine, and the next...well. He's not sure.

There had been a moment when they were in the alley. He'd grabbed her and covered her with his body. And maybe he should've said something, explained what he was doing, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd just stood there, and she hadn't protested.

He can still feel the warmth of her, the way her hair had tickled his face, her breath against his neck. Her skin had been soft beneath his fingertips, and she'd smelled sweet, like some kind of flower. She hadn't moved away. Hadn't tried to push him off. In fact, he'd swear that she'd leaned into him. Just a bit. Just for a second.

And then, in the blink of an eye, she was a million lightyears away. She'd practically sprinted out of the alley and onto the street, leaving him to follow. It had happened so fast, so suddenly, that he's still trying to wrap his head around it.

Had he done something wrong? Said something wrong? He knows he has a habit of pissing people off, especially when he's nervous, but she'd been smiling. Maybe he was just seeing things, hoping for something that wasn't there, and the fact that he's already starting to spiral is a sign that he's screwed this up beyond repair.

He's not going to give up. He can't. There's something between them. He can feel it. He just has to figure out how to bring her walls down.

“Bounty hunters are like sand fleas," Fives speaks up, trying for a joke. Anything to break the tension, anything to distract her. "Once you get one, you just end up with a hundred more. They're annoying like that."

Esmé doesn't laugh. She doesn't even crack a smile. She just keeps walking, her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her.

Alright, that was a bust. He clears his throat and tries again.

"So, you...uh...you've got experience with bounty hunters, I take it?"

"What gave it away?" she asks, her voice dry and her lips pursed.

Okay. He deserved that. He can't help the snort that escapes him.

"Yeah, fair enough," he concedes with a shrug. He scratches the back of his head, his gaze flicking towards her and then away. "Do they...do they come after you guys a lot?"

"Sometimes."

"Is it always bounty hunters, or do you get a little bit of everything?" he asks. She doesn't reply, and he's not sure she's going to. He doesn't want her to shut down, not again. He sighs and tries a different approach. "I heard you got attacked a while back. A bunch of droids, or something, right? Was that... Was that your first time?"

Esmé stops suddenly, and Fives almost runs into her. They're not far from the Senator's apartments, only a block or two away, but he's grateful for the reprieve. His arm is aching, the bag of groceries hanging heavily from his hand, and his legs are burning from his attempts to keep up with her.

"No," Esmé says, her voice low. She looks up at him and purses her lips. "No, that wasn't the first time."

"Oh." 

That's all he can think to say. Oh. It doesn't really feel adequate, doesn't really capture the full depth of his surprise and confusion and...and anger.

Anger, because he knows that this can't be normal, and the fact that she's clearly had to do this more than once means that there's a problem. It means that the Senate, the GAR, everyone, has failed.

Failed her.

He's not sure why, but that bothers him. Maybe it's the fact that he and his brothers are supposed to be part of the solution, part of the solution to all the problems in the galaxy, and yet he's standing here, talking to a woman who has clearly been attacked more times than she's willing to admit, and who doesn't even seem surprised by it. Or maybe it's just because he likes her, and the thought of someone trying to hurt her makes him feel sick.

Fives doesn't like it. He doesn't like any of it.

They stand in silence for a few moments, their eyes locked, and then Esmé turns away, her gaze flitting over the nearby rooftops. She's looking for the hunter, or at least he assumes she is. Her hand is resting on her blaster, her fingers tracing the handle, and she's chewing on the inside of her cheek, her brow furrowed.

"You're right," she mutters as she starts walking again.

Fives hurries to catch up, his boots loud against the paved stone. He looks at her, confused, and raises a brow. "About what?"

"About bounty hunters." Her eyes meet his for a moment, and her lips press together. "Where there's one, there's another. We should hurry."

He doesn't need to be told twice. They fall into step with each other, and she leads the way, her stride steady and her back straight. Fives keeps pace, his gaze sweeping the nearby rooftops, his stomach churning.

He should have been faster, should have acted sooner, should have known. He should have seen the threat coming, should have had a better response, and should have had a better plan. He shouldn't have been so distracted by her, and he shouldn't have let himself get caught off guard. He should have been better.

He'll have to be better.

“Captain,” Fives speaks into his comm, his voice quiet. "I think we might have a problem."

There’s no response, and he frowns. He taps his vambrace.

"Rex?"

Silence.

His gut twists, and his steps falter. He stops, his hand reaching for his blaster, his gaze searching the rooftops above him. The sun is starting to dip below the horizon, the shadows lengthening and the sky growing dark. There are windows everywhere, and the balconies are crammed with potted plants, the railings lined with colorful fabric and the windowsills decorated with small statues and lanterns. It would be easy to hide, even in plain sight.

Esmé pauses, her attention on him, her expression expectant. He shakes his head.

"It's probably nothing," he says, trying to sound casual. "Probably just a faulty connection. I'll try again—"

"Don't," she cuts him off, her voice hard. "If they're jamming communications, then we don't want them to know we're onto them."

"But the others," Fives begins as he gestures helplessly, his hand waving in the air. "If they don't know, then—"

"We're not far," she assures him. There's a hint of compassion in her voice. It's not much, just a slight softening of the edges, but it's enough to show that she does care. More than she lets on. "Just a few minutes. We can handle a few minutes."

"Yeah," he agrees. He takes a deep breath, his shoulders squaring. "You're right. We've got this."

Esmé nods.

"Good," she says. "Let's go."

They move quickly, their steps echoing down the narrow alleyways, the music and chatter of the festival fading the farther they go. They reach the building where Senator Amidala is staying within minutes, and Fives feels himself relax when he sees the troopers are still posted outside. Esmé doesn't slow. She walks right past them, her hand on her blaster, and heads straight for the door.

The men look startled, and then confused, their helmets moving from Esmé to Fives, and then to each other. Esmé strides through the lobby and disappears into the turbolift, her finger jabbing the button, and Fives has to run to catch up with her before the lift doors close on him.

"Don't let anyone else in," he calls over his shoulder as the doors slide shut, and then the lift is moving, the numbers climbing higher and higher.

Fives shifts his weight from foot to foot, his grip on the bag tight. He can see their distorted reflection on the metal surface, the bags beneath his eyes and the tense line of his shoulders. His helmet is still sitting on the coffee table, and it feels like a mistake. He should have kept it on. Should have been ready for a fight.

They're nearly at the top when a burst of muffled blasterfire reaches their ears, the sound coming from the floor above. They freeze as their gazes meet in the reflection. The distorted version of Esmé nods once, and he does the same. She draws her blaster, her fingers curling around the handle, and her thumb flicks the safety off.

The turbolift slows to a stop, and the doors open with a soft chime.

The scene in front of them is chaos.

Bodies litter the hallway, the floor and walls littered with holes and scorch marks, the plaster cracked and the tile broken. The door to the Senator's apartment hisses as it opens and closes repeatedly, stuck on the security droid lying deactivated in the entrance. Two RNSF soldiers are sprawled in the middle of the hallway, blood pooling beneath them, their eyes glassy and their bodies limp. 

Esmé lets out a breath, taking a step forward, and Fives reacts without thinking. He grabs her and shoves her back into the turbolift, and her back hits the wall with a thud. Her eyes go wide, her mouth dropping open as a gasp escapes her.

"Stay here," he orders. His hands are on her shoulders, holding her in place. "Wait for the Captain."

A furious look washes over her, and Esmé's nostrils flare. "You can't—"

"Stay. Here," he repeats, dropping the bag of groceries beside her. He pulls his pistols from their holsters, his grip tight and his jaw clenched. "Do not leave this turbolift."

Fives doesn't give her a chance to argue. He steps into the hallway and hits the control panel, and the doors closes on her protests, her face vanishing from view. The sound of a fist banging on the door is the last thing he hears before the lift starts moving.

He can't wait. He has to act, now, before the situation gets any worse. He takes a deep breath, his gaze flitting between the fallen men, and then he rushes forward, his strides long and his blasters raised. 

His mind is racing, a million thoughts flitting through his head at once. Where are the others? Who is attacking the Senator's security detail? Are they even still alive? Who else has the clearance to access the floor?

He should have done a perimeter sweep. He should have checked the rooftops. He should have made sure the area was clear. He shouldn't have let his guard down. He shouldn't have left his squad. He should have—

Fives pushes the door open and stumbles to a stop, his body slamming into the door frame.

The room is a mess. Blasterfire has ripped through the walls, the plaster shredded, chunks of rock and wood scattered across the floor. Furniture is broken, the sofa torn and the cushions ripped, and a painting lies crooked on the wall, a hole punched through the canvas.

Kix is kneeling on the ground, hovering over Tup, whose hand is pressed to his chest, his armor stained red. Jesse and Rex are crouched behind a pile of upturned furniture, their bodies angled towards the staircase. A man dressed in black lies on the ground, his limbs akimbo, his body still.

The Senator and General Skywalker are nowhere to be seen.

Jesse notices him first. His head turns towards Fives, and he holds a finger to the mouth of his helmet.

Fives nods and creeps inside, his back brushing against the wall, and he keeps his blasters trained on the stairs. There's no movement, and no noise except for the sound of Kix working, his hands quick and his movements practiced.

Fives edges closer, his steps careful, and he ducks behind the pile of furniture.

"What's the situation?" he whispers.

"Bounty hunter," Rex answers. He sounds tired, his voice rough, and his body is slumped against the couch. "He had some kind of disruptor on him. Jammed our comms."

"Is he alone?"

"He is now." Rex nods toward the body. "Tup got him. Barely."

Fives risks a glance over at Kix, who's applying bacta to Tup's chest. Tup's breathing is labored, his face pale, but his eyes are open. He gives Fives a weak smile, his hand raising in a small wave, and Fives waves back.

He takes a breath and turns his attention back to the staircase.

"Senator and General?" he asks.

"General's guarding the Senator. She took a shot to the shoulder. They're barricaded in her room." 

Fives feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He should have been here. Should have helped. Instead, he was off, flirting with a pretty girl and buying groceries, and his brothers were stuck fighting a battle without him.

He should have known.

"Where's your handmaiden?" Jesse asks. "She alright?"

"In the lift," he replies. "I told her to stay put. Figured she was safer there than out here."

"And you think she's gonna listen to you?"

"No," he admits, his lips twisting into a wry smile. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Probably not."

Jesse lets out a huff of amusement, and he leans forward, his gaze fixed on the staircase. There's a long, jagged crack running up the wall, the paint peeling away. There's blood on the railing, and more splattered against the wall. Someone had been hit. Fives hopes it wasn't the Senator.

Fives scans the area, his gaze flickering from one corner to the next. He doesn't see any traps, any signs of hidden enemies, or anything else that might indicate a potential threat. The apartment is silent, and it's almost unnerving, the lack of noise making his skin crawl.

A second later, the warble of a lightsaber and the sound of pounding feet reaches their ears. Someone is running towards them, fast and hard, and the other troopers are on their feet before Fives can react, their weapons raised. They're all aiming at the stairs, their stances wide, their shoulders tense and their fingers ready. 

The footsteps come closer, and then the figure appears, leaping down the stairs two at a time, their head down and their arms pumping. They're wearing a heavy cloak and a hood, a long scarf wrapped around their neck, and Fives only has a moment to register the familiarity of it all before the figure is sprinting past, and then diving for the window.

Fives propels himself forward, intercepting them, his arms wrapping around their waist, and he slams them both into the floor, his shoulder colliding with the ground. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, and he groans as an elbow cracks into his nose, his grip releasing on instinct.

The bounty hunter gets to their feet and dodges the blaster bolts Rex and Jesse fire at them. They reach the window and pull the curtains aside, their hands reaching for the latch, and they throw the window open. A gust of wind sweeps through the room, blowing the curtains wide and knocking a potted plant onto its side.

A single, precise shot rings out, and the bounty hunter's body jerks.

Their knees buckle, legs folding under them, and they crumple to the ground. The window slams shut, and the curtains fall back into place. Fives looks from the dead body to the window, and then to the source of the shot.

He hadn't even heard Esmé approach, hadn't heard her enter the room, but there she is, standing in the doorway, her blaster still raised, the bag of groceries hanging over her arm. She lets out a sigh and holsters her weapon.

She killed him.

Just like that. In a single shot, without so much as a second glance, and Fives... he's not sure what to do with that. It's one thing for a clone or a Jedi to kill a person, but for a civilian, a handmaiden, to do it? Without a hint of hesitation or remorse? He's not sure he's ever seen something like that before.

Rex lowers his blasters, and the others do the same. They look at her, and then each other, and then back at her. No one says a word.

Fives swallows and slowly pushes himself to his feet, his palms pressing into the carpet, his eyes still fixed on Esmé. She's looking down at the body with barely a hint of emotion, her mouth twisted in distaste. She seems more annoyed than anything.

"I told you to stay put," Fives tells her, touching his nose gingerly. It's not what he wants to say. There are a thousand other things he should be saying, should be asking, but that's what comes out. "Couldn't listen for five minutes, could you?"

Esmé ignores him as she takes a tentative step inside. Her eyes land on Tup, and her brows draw together.

"Are you alright?" she asks softly.

Tup's head is propped up against the wall, his helmet discarded on the floor, his hand pressed to his chest. He tries to sit up, but Kix pushes him back, and Tup winces, his teeth bared.

"I'm fine, ma'am," he says, his voice hoarse. He manages a grin, his cheeks flushed. "Just a scratch."

General Skywalker appears at the top of the stairs, his expression stormy and his robes rumpled, his hair a mess and lightsaber held tightly in his hands. The tension drains from his shoulders when his gaze lands on them. He glances at the body and then at Esmé, and his brows raise.

"Nice work, Es," he says with a sigh, and he deactivates his lightsaber, clipping it to his belt. "How many was that, now?"

Esmé's lip curls.

"Eight," she answers flatly. She's still focused on Tup, her eyes moving over his body, cataloguing the damage. "You should have had a better security detail, Anakin."

"Oh, yeah? I'll keep that in mind next time," the General scoffs.

"Do that."

Fives looks between them, his eyes darting from General Skywalker to Esmé and back again. The Senator comes around the corner a few seconds later, moving slowly. She's holding a hand over her shoulder, the other wrapped around her torso, and she's pale, her face pinched and her robes torn. She takes a step forward toward the stairs, but she stumbles, and General Skywalker is there in an instant, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her upright.

The calm expression on Esmé's face fades, and for the first time since the attack began, Fives sees fear flicker across her features. The bag of groceries falls from her hands, hitting the floor with a loud thump, and she starts forward across the room and up the stairs.

Fives watches her go, his chest tight.

The others are talking, but he doesn't hear them. He's watching Esmé, watching the way her face softens as she helps the Senator, her arm wrapping around her back and her hand coming to rest on her hip, supporting her weight. She's murmuring something, too quiet for him to hear, and the Senator's head drops onto her shoulder, her eyes falling closed.

It doesn't make sense.

Nothing about her makes sense.

She's a handmaiden, a servant. She's a civilian. She shouldn't know how to shoot, shouldn't be able to defend herself, and she definitely shouldn't be able to take out a bounty hunter like it's nothing. She shouldn't be so good at it. And yet... she is.

The Senator is leaning against Esmé, her hand gripping the back of her tunic, her body curled into her side. Esmé doesn't seem to notice the weight, her focus fixed on the Senator, her voice soft and soothing.

Something about the scene is unsettling. She should be frightened, should be afraid. She should be shaking, or crying, or something. Instead, she's standing there, her hand rubbing slow circles on the Senator's back, her chin resting atop her head, and her eyes are hard.

The General says something, and then he and the Senator disappear back around the corner. Esmé follows, her hand resting lightly on the Senator's arm, and Kix is on his feet, rushing after them, the medkit in his hands.

Fives should follow. He should make sure the Senator is okay. He should check on the rest of the men, and make sure the building is clear, and call for a clean-up crew, and find out how the hell a bounty hunter was able to get past them all and into the Senator's apartments.

But he can't seem to make his feet move.

He's frozen. His whole body feels like lead, his hands shaking and his heart pounding. He can't seem to shake the visual of Esmé, her face twisted with determination, her aim true, and her eyes hard.

Eight.

The number rings in his head, repeating over and over. Eight. Eight bounty hunters she's killed. Eight attempts on the Senator's life, and each time, Esmé has been the one to stop them. It should be impossible. It should be a fluke. But the General had said eight like it was nothing, and Esmé hadn't denied it. 

And then, in the space of a single, heart-stopping moment, Fives understands.

It's like everything is falling into place, and the puzzle is finally complete, the picture coming together. She's not just a handmaiden. She's not just a civilian. She's not even a soldier.

She's a trained killer, and a damn good one.

"So," Jesse starts, his voice cutting through the silence, his helmet tilted in Fives' direction. He has his arms hooked underneath one of the bounty hunter's, and he's dragging them out onto the balcony. "You going to tell us what happened with her, or...?"

"Or what?"

"Or I'm gonna start guessing," he replies, his voice teasing. He sounds completely unfazed by what just happened, like taking out a bounty hunter is an everyday occurrence, which, considering who they are, it kind of is. "I mean, I've got a lot of ideas. And none of them are very nice."

"Well," Rex chimes in as he moves to help lift the dead weight, "he did spend the evening with a pretty girl. We all know how those usually go."

Fives rolls his eyes, and he can't help the chuckle that escapes him.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," he mutters. He crosses the room and bends down, grabbing the abandoned bag of groceries and scooping the fruit that had spilled out back into the bag. "You got me. I spent my evening trying to flirt with a pretty girl, and it went so well she shot someone in the head."

Rex snorts, and Jesse lets out a loud bark of laughter. Tup just grins, his lips stretched into a wide, teasing smile.

"You were gone for a long time," he points out, his eyes dancing with amusement. "What took you so long?"

"I had a lot of flirting to do," Fives retorts, and the men laugh again. He smirks, straightening. "A lot of groceries to buy. Besides, you can't rush these things. You gotta go at the lady's pace. Right, Captain?"

Rex holds his hands up in surrender as he drops the bounty hunter's body beside the railing.

"Don't drag me into this," he warns, shaking his head. "I've got enough problems as it is."

"Ah, come on, Rex. You and General Anathorn are adorable," Jesse teases, and Rex shoots him a dark look. "Maybe you can give Fives some advice."

"Yeah, Rex. Advice."

"You know, I think you boys have got this handled," Rex says dryly. He heads for the stairs, his steps brisk. "I'm going to go see if General Skywalker needs help."

The men chuckle and wave him off.

Fives watches him go, and then turns back to his brothers, his gaze scanning the apartment. The windows are cracked, and the plaster is ruined, but the furniture is still in one piece, and the walls are mostly intact. They're lucky the place is still standing, and that no one was seriously hurt. It could have been a lot worse.

The Senator is alive, and so are the rest of them. And maybe his ego is a little bruised, but he'll survive. At least Esmé had shot the bounty hunter, and not him. Small mercies.

It's going to take a while to figure her out. And honestly, it probably won't be worth the effort. There are a million beautiful women in the galaxy, and there's no reason why he should get hung up on this one.

There's no reason at all.

Fives sighs and shakes his head.

"Yeah, well," he begins. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and looks over his shoulder towards the balcony. "I don't think there's gonna be a second date."

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Ahhh Fives. This is going to be good! Can’t wait for another chapter. Rex and Fives at the end of this chapter is dead perfect. ❤️🔥

Good Graces

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Esmé Terel (Handmaiden!OC)

Tags/Warnings: Fives POV, romance, fluff, hurt/comfort, action/adventure, unrequited feelings, kinda enemies to lovers, forced proximity, awkward flirting, eventual smut, Fives is a bit much in this chapter but he evens out quick

Fic Summary: Assigned to protect Senator Amidala during high-stakes peace talks on Naboo, ARC Trooper Fives finds himself working alongside Esmé, one of Padmé’s longtime handmaidens. She’s disciplined, distant, and utterly unimpressed by his charm—exactly the kind of challenge Fives can’t resist. But when an unexpected crisis forces them into an uneasy partnership, he realizes there’s far more to Esmé than she lets anyone see. And he might just be in over his head.

Chapter WC: 2,172

A/N: I love Padmé's handmaidens and all the lore that goes with it, and I couldn't resist writing this. I'm aiming for about 10 chapters total. There's a new option on the taglist for this fic btw (feel free to update your choices if you don't want to be tagged in this).

Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

It's a simple assignment. Escort Senator Amidala during the peace talks, ensure she stays safe, and after, if he's lucky, spend a night drinking and enjoying the sights of Naboo's capital city with his brothers. Easy enough.

Fives is well-versed in these sorts of things. The escort missions are some of the few types of jobs the 501st takes up outside of the battlefield. It's always senators, ambassadors, or important personages, and most of the time, they're content to let him and his brothers do their jobs, as they should.

He likes doing this. It's a breath of fresh air to the normal routine. Most of their missions, after all, tend to be high-risk, high-stress, and high-fatality. It's hard not to appreciate the simplicity of the assignments every once in a while, and he's sure it's the same for all the other troopers. They get to take a break from the fighting, and instead get to have the pleasure of walking among beautiful landscapes and beautiful people. It's not a bad gig.

He just wishes it wasn't Senator Amidala.

He has nothing against the Senator herself, of course. She's nice, polite, and professional, and she's very clearly well-acquainted with the ways of the galaxy. She's the exact opposite of the clueless, sheltered politicians he's so used to dealing with, and that alone puts her leagues above her peers in his mind.

But it's not her he's worried about.

It's her handmaiden.

Esmé is the sort of woman he'd go out of his way to meet on any other day. The kind of woman that would stop him dead in his tracks, make him reevaluate his life, and then make him consider dropping everything to chase her until she'd let him have her. He's never had an easy time ignoring his attraction to pretty girls, and Esmé is just that.

She's the picture of everything a Nabooian woman is supposed to be, with her dark, curling hair, golden skin, and a pair of large hazel eyes that shine a deep amber in the light. She's smart, beautiful, and a little bit mean, the sort of person Fives knows his brothers would joke about being his type. And they're right.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight, but Esmé is the closest thing he's ever found to it. She's perfect in almost every single way.

So, naturally, he doesn't understand why she hates him.

She doesn't look at him, doesn't talk to him, doesn't even acknowledge him. She barely spares him a second glance when they're together. Her words are curt, her tone cold, and she doesn't speak more than a few sentences to him even when he tries to engage her. 

He's not entirely sure what he's done to offend her. He's never been anything but polite and friendly. Maybe a little too friendly in hindsight, but he can't imagine what would have set her off. The most she's ever given him was an annoyed look and a sigh when he'd tried to help her carry her things. She's never actually told him to fuck off, but it's obvious enough from the way she ignores him that he might as well not be there.

But even with how obviously she's avoiding him, he can't bring himself to dislike her. She's just... something else. It's hard not to think about her even when he's not around her, and he finds himself wanting her attention. Wanting her. 

He's a bit of a glutton for punishment, he'll admit, but there's a certain thrill in knowing that Esmé could destroy him with a single word, and he'd thank her for it. He doesn't even know what it is about her. Maybe it's the challenge, maybe it's the fact that he's a weak man and a pretty face is all it takes to make him want to get on his knees and beg, or maybe it's something else entirely, but he doesn't think it really matters.

The point is, he wants her, and she's decided he's not worth her time.

If it were any other woman, he would have backed off. But it's not any other woman. It's her. And he can't stop himself from thinking about her, from staring at her, from wishing she'd spare him just a sliver of the attention she devotes to Senator Amidala.

It's a hopeless endeavor. She's completely disinterested, and he knows he should give up.

But he's stubborn, and a bit of an idiot, and he's not quite ready to let go. The universe has handed him the perfect opportunity, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get another chance like this to spend so much time alone with her. He doesn't know what he'll do, or what he'll say, but he'll figure it out.

He's not letting her go without a fight.

He's got the entire week.

All he has to do is figure out a way to win her over.

Fives trips the moment he's stepping out of the gunship.

The Senator's entourage, gathered on the landing pad, watches in abject horror as he falls forward, his helmet slipping off of his head as his hands fly out to catch himself. In his haste to follow General Skywalker out of the ship, his foot catches on the ramp and sends him stumbling forward. His bucket goes sailing through the air, bouncing off of the paved stones and skittering to a stop against Esmé's feet.

There's a moment of silence as he stares at his helmet in shock, his gaze trailing slowly up the delicately embroidered skirt, across Esmé's stomach, her chest, and finally, to her face. Her expression is carefully blank, but there's something about the look in her eyes that lets him know exactly how stupid he's just looked.

At her side, Senator Amidala holds a hand over her mouth to hide a smile, though her shoulders tremble slightly as she looks away. General Skywalker is outright snickering, and he can hear Jesse and Tup laughing loudly from inside the gunship behind him. Even Rex has the audacity to snort quietly as he steps down from the ramp.

Fives' ears burn as he jumps to his feet. A nervous chuckle escapes him as he dusts himself off.

"Ah. Um. Hi."

Esmé stares back at him blankly. She looks down at the helmet lying at her feet and then back up to him.

"I—" He starts down the ramp quickly, his eyes never leaving her. "That's..."

Esmé leans down and plucks the helmet from the ground before he can force any more words out. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger, inspecting the visor, her nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. He thinks she might laugh at him like the others, but instead, she gathers her sleeve in her hand and uses the fabric to rub the visor clean, ignoring him entirely.

He feels his chest go a bit warm at the sight, and his footsteps stutter. 

General Skywalker claps him on the shoulder, laughing, and then he's walking past him towards Senator Amidala, greeting her warmly. She gives him a bright smile, and the two of them begin to talk in low tones, heads bent together as they walk away.

Esmé still hasn't looked at him, even as he comes to a stop at her side. Her eyes are still on his helmet, her lip curling slightly. She must feel him staring, because she looks over at him and quirks a brow, her gaze flicking downwards and then back up again. 

He realizes belatedly that he's still watching her with his mouth open. He closes his mouth and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You, um." Fives' tongue darts out to wet his lips. He clears his throat. "I'm Fives, by the way. ARC Trooper. Just in case you forgot. Or... if you didn't know. I don't think I ever introduced myself."

Esmé gives him a bland look.

He shifts his weight. Looks down at his helmet, then at her, then down again.

"...Right." He laughs nervously. "You probably already knew that."

She doesn't speak, merely holding out his helmet for him to take. He's quick to accept it, his cheeks going hot as their fingers brush. He tucks the helmet beneath his arm and rocks back on his heels, trying not to fidget under the heat of her stare.

"Thanks," he says lamely.

Again, she says nothing. But her gaze is still on him, and he wonders, briefly, if maybe now would be a good time to say something, maybe start a conversation, try and get to know her. Maybe if he could just find something they had in common, a shared interest, he could—

"Don't mention it," Esmé says finally. Her gaze trails downwards and back up. There’s a hint of…something in her tone. It's hard to tell what. Disdain? Indifference? Boredom? All three? "I suppose it’s not every day a man falls at your feet."

Fives nearly chokes on his tongue, his entire body going rigid as he stares down at her. He can hear the other troopers hooting with laughter behind him, but he's too caught off guard by her words to do anything but gape. 

Had she just...was that a joke? A tease? Something else? It was hard to tell, with how emotionless her voice had sounded. But he sees her lips twitch, a barely-there tilt of the corner of her mouth that he'd have missed if he hadn't been looking for it. 

Oh. Oh.

He hadn't thought—

Well, now. This changes everything.

He can’t seem to make his mouth work for a few long seconds. She's watching him now, a slight furrow in her brow, and suddenly, all he can think about is getting her alone and showing her exactly how willing he is to fall at her feet.

She seems to realize her mistake immediately. Her lips thin into a tight line, and her jaw goes tight. There's a subtle change in her demeanor, the way she holds herself, the look on her face. He can't place what it is, but something is different, and it's like someone's flipped a switch. Gone is the amused gleam in her eyes, replaced with a cool disinterest that makes his heart sink.

Esmé nods at him curtly, and then turns away, her shoulders squared and her chin held high. The rest of the entourage is already heading toward the transports waiting to take them into the city, and she follows without a backwards glance, her stride steady and sure.

"See you around," Fives calls after her, once he’s managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Esmé’s shoulders tense slightly, her foot hovering in midair. It's brief, only a half-second of hesitation, and then she's continuing on her way, hands tightened into fists behind her back. 

He watches as she stops to help Senator Amidala fix her shawl, tucking it back over the Senator's shoulder and brushing her hands along the fabric. The two exchange a few quiet words, their heads bent together, and then Esmé is turning and following the rest of the party towards the transport.

He can't help but admire the way she moves, her hair fluttering in the breeze, and the sway of her hips as she walks. There's a confidence in her, an air of authority that sets her apart from the rest of the handmaidens and staff trailing behind her, and it's mesmerizing to watch.

Maybe it's a trick of the light, or maybe he's imagining it, but he swears he sees her cast a glance back at him, her eyes narrowed. He stares back at her and grins, and he sees her shoulders go tight. She whips around quickly and marches towards the transport without another look back.

He feels his chest swell with something that feels dangerously close to hope.

That was the first time she'd ever spared him a second glance. And the first time she'd ever spoken to him directly. It might not have been much, but it was a start. A good one, he thinks. And it's something he can build off of.

Maybe this won't be as hard as he'd originally thought.

"Wow," Rex says from behind him.

"Yeah," Fives breathes. "Wow."

Rex gives him a pitying look and pats him on the back. He leaves his hand there as he starts herding Fives along, and Fives lets himself be led. He doesn't stop watching her, even as the transport doors close behind her and she disappears from view.

"You're not going to be any help this week, are you?" Rex asks, his voice low.

Fives shakes his head. He can't seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

"Nope," he answers distractedly, still trying to catch a glimpse of her through the tinted windows. "I'm gonna do something stupid, Rex. I can feel it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rex turn his gaze skyward as if praying for patience, his sigh heavy and put-upon.

"Of course you are."

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Gorgeous Echo💙

pre-citadel echo in bad-batcher gear 💙 this is like a year into the war 🖤❤️

ignore the inaccurate placement of the hand print 💀

Sadly beautiful. 💔

ever wonder about the afterlife?

Happy Gal or Pal or Valentine’s Day!

My Gabby Girl! Adopted 7 years ago. She’s 12 years old. 💖💖💖

# adopt don’t shop

Ohmigosh. THE SEQUEL❣️ SUGARPOP! My heart exploded when I saw this. 💥 💖 It is kriffing perfect and everything I hoped it would be! Thank you…. Thank you! @vodika-vibes is a legend!!

# sometimes a sneaky suggestion works #PopBly is my new fave #they deserve the happiness #Bly is a true hero #Cody is a putz and never deserved her # the Sugarpop Saga

She Could Have Been Mine

A companion piece to Sugarpop

Summary: Cody realizes what he lost.

Pairing: Background Commander Bly x F!Reader, Commander Cody

Word Count: 1086

Warnings: None? Minor angst

A/N: So, I finally wrote the sequel/companion piece to Sugarpop that so so many of you asked for. I hope you all like it.

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Loving her is easy.

She’s easy to love. Kind and gentle, warm and welcoming in a way you don’t see often outside the Jedi.

For Cody, loving her is as natural as breathing. 

And yet, he’s known from the start that she was too good for him. Someone like her deserves only the best. And Cody is far from the best.

So he does what he knows has to be done. He keeps his distance, treating her like a dear friend, almost a sister, but nothing more. He meets other women and dates them, and she always greets them with a warm smile and a baked treat.

And he ignores the way that she looks at him. The way she smiles at him. 

He ignores how her smile falters when he introduces another woman to the friend group. And he pretends he can’t see her heart breaking in her eyes every time he chooses someone else.

It’s for the best.

She deserves better than him.

When she gets kidnapped, her front door kicked in and her apartment trashed, Cody’s heart drops. He’s sure that they’re going to find her body in a ditch somewhere on Coruscant.

He gives up on her.

He can’t conceive of the possibility that she survives something like that. It’s not like she’s a soldier or anything like that. She’s just a baker. And, as much as he loves her, he can’t cling to the faint hope that she might still live. He has a war to win.

Bly…doesn’t agree.

“You have no proof that she’s dead!” Bly snaps, as he’s held back by Wolffe and Fox. Cody’s grateful for it, for all that Bly seems like an easygoing guy, he’s not sure he’d win in a fistfight against him. “You’re giving up on her even though nothing is indicating she’s dead?! What kind of friend are you?”

“I’m a realist, Bly. She’s just a baker—”

Bly rips himself free from his brothers and manages to restrain his anger with great difficulty, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disgusted with one of my own brothers before. I refuse to give up. I’m going to find her.”

Six months later, Cody is sure that Bly must have given up. Everyone else has.

And yet, Bly sends a simple message in the group chat, “I found her. She’s alive. Will return to Coruscant when deployment ends.”

For Cody, the message is like a breath of fresh air. He never, once, dared to hope that she might still be alive.

And, for the first time, Cody starts to think that maybe he’s been going about this all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for him to be honest with himself. 

The first time Cody sees her after her long imprisonment, he almost doesn’t recognize her. Her hair is cropped shorter than he had ever seen before, and she looks like she’s lost weight…but when she sees him she offers the same warm smile that she always gave him.

The same smile that makes his heart skip a beat. The same smile that he fell in love with all those months ago.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Cody offers as she walks over to him.

“Thank you. General Secura put me in touch with a mind healer at the temple, to help me process everything that happened to me. But…” She trails off, and looks away from him, her smile softening slightly, “I think I’m going to be alright.”

“That’s good. I’m glad the Jedi are willing to help you.”

“Well, General Secura said something about the kidnapping being half their fault? I’m not sure what she means, but she feels really guilty about it.”

Well, that’s news to him. But also, he doesn’t want to talk about the Jedi right now. Cody opens his mouth to say something, a rough plan on how he’d ask her on a date starting to form in the back of his mind.

Only he never gets the chance to speak.

“Sugarpop!” Her head turns to the side and a blinding smile crosses her face as she sees Bly standing there, “I was wondering where you slipped off to.”

Cody watches, stunned, as she turns away from him and skips over to Bly, not slowing as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his neck. And he watches as Bly spins her around to work off some of that momentum, and then leans in to press his forehead against hers.

Oh.

Her hands come up and press against his cheeks, and a giggle he’s never heard before slips from her lips as Bly whispers something to her.

Oh.

A wry, slightly wistful, smile crosses his lips. 

He missed his chance. 

His gaze meets Bly’s for a moment, and then Cody looks away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t deserve to see this.

He hears Bly murmur something to her, and he glances at them in time to see her nod and slide back to the ground. “Are we still going to go to the—?” She trails off, her voice tinged in hope.

Bly grins at her and kisses her forehead, “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” He takes her hands for a moment, “Wait outside for me? I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“Alright.” She turns and smiles at Cody, “I’ll see you later, Cody!”

“Yeah. Later.” Cody watches her leave the building and then turns his attention to his brother.

“You alright, Codes?” Bly asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’m not an idiot and I know you love her?”

“I’m fine, Bly. I’m not entitled to her.”

Bly sighs, “Did you think she was going to wait forever?”

“No. Of course not.” He pauses and then rubs the back of his neck, “Is she happy?”

“I like to think so.”

“Then that’s good enough for me. Just…keep making her happy, and I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Stop worrying about me, dumbass. Go to your girl.”

“Fine, fine.” Bly turns to leave the building as well, “Oh, but I’m telling Wolffe and Fox that you’re feeling sad.”

Cody huffs out a laugh, “Thanks.” Then Bly and gone and Cody takes a moment to push his hand through his hair.

She could have been his if he hadn’t been such a moron. But then, he’s not sure he’d be able to make her as happy as Bly does.

He tilts his head back, and a bitter laugh slips from him, “Force, I’m such a kriffing idiot.”

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The prologue, paving the way for what I feel…know…will be a wholehearted adventure. Thank you @legacygirlingreen for this undertaking along with @leenathegreengirl. #this is already amazing #hooked on Perdita and Wolffe #already cleaning my specs waiting for more

"Now we are even" || The Introduction || Commander Wolffe x OFC! Perdita

Author's Note: I am so excited to drop the first installment of a story involving Commander Wolffe. This is my first time writing for him, and I won't lie, I cannot express how much I've enjoyed getting in his head. I want to thank my lovely and dear friend @leenathegreengirl for helping breathe life into not just Perdita through her art, but also this story at large. This was truly a whim in every fashion of the word, but as Bob Ross once said, there are no such things as mistakes, only happy little accidents. I am really proud of what bit's I've come up with this pair so far. I apologize for future works involving them, because while this is an introduction set after TBB, I plan to go back in time a bit (wouldn't be part of the Filoniverse if there wasn't chaos with the timing I suppose). Also I'm still racking my brain over a shipname so I'd love the suggestions... Any who, enjoy loves - M

Summary: A story as old as time itself. A Clone Commander. A Jedi. Two people bound by honor and duty. Lives defined by unwavering codes. But now, everything is shattered as the Empire orders the galactic execution of the once-peaceful warriors known as the Jedi. When Wolffe unexpectedly crosses paths with a fleeting figure from his past, he faces an agonizing choice. Will he obey the Empire’s command, or will he risk everything—his identity, his loyalty, and his future—in the desperate hope of rediscovering the man he once was?

Pairing: eventual Commander Wolffe x OFC! Perdita Halle

Warnings: Mentions of Order 66, Brief mentions of assisted suicide, angst with a hopeful ending

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist || Next Part (coming soon)

Wolffe often found the hum of space to be unnerving. Not that space itself had a hum—space was cold, dark, and empty. The hum came from the ship, a constant, low vibration that resonated through its walls, a reminder of its fragile protection against the infinite void outside. He hated this liminal space, this time spent outside planetary orbits, where nothing anchored him.

The vacuum had nearly claimed his life once. He could still feel it if he thought about it too long—the suffocating press of nothingness, the frozen tendrils of death creeping up his spine as his oxygen dwindled. The darkness had wrapped around him like a shroud, a cruel mockery of safety. Skywalker, his padawan and the Sentinel had pulled him back at the last moment, but something about him had stayed behind, left adrift in that endless void. He’d survived, but a part of him hadn’t.

He wondered, often, if death would feel the same. Cold. Empty. A silence so profound it swallowed everything. Or would it be something entirely different? Something warmer, like the faint memory of a sunrise on Kamino’s horizon or the strength of a brother’s arm slung across his shoulders after a battle well-fought?

Plo Koon had once told him that death was not the end but a transition—a merging with the living Force. The words had stayed with Wolffe, though he wasn’t sure if they brought comfort or dread. The concept was simple enough, but it opened too many questions. Would he still be himself in the Force? Would his memories, his regrets, his flaws follow him into that eternity?

And what of those he had lost? Would he see them again? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. The idea of facing the Jedi again, seeing their calm, unwavering gazes, filled him with an ache that felt too large to contain. He respected them deeply, but respect came with weight, and he often felt crushed beneath the burden of their trust. Undeserved, he thought. Always undeserved.

He stared out the viewport, watching stars streak by as the ship hurtled through hyperspace. The endless cascade of light reminded him of something—he wasn’t sure what. A memory tugged at the edges of his mind: Plo Koon standing beside him, hand on his shoulder, as they stared up at the night sky from a dusty outpost.

“There’s always light in the dark, Wolffe,” the Kel Dor had said, his voice steady, unshakable. “Even in the emptiest parts of space, the Force is alive.”

Wolffe had nodded then, silent as always. Even now, the words felt too far away. The darkness pressed in closer these days, even when he was surrounded by his squad, even when the hum of the ship reminded him he was still alive.

Maybe death was different for men like him—men who had taken orders, done what they had to, and carried the weight of it in silence. Maybe for him, death wouldn’t be a warm reunion with the Force but a cold, endless void, like the vacuum that had almost claimed him.

Maybe that was what he deserved.

He tightened his grip on the edge of the console, the familiar vibrations grounding him, even as the void outside seemed to call his name. The stars streaked on, indifferent to his musings, and he stayed where he was, caught between the hum of life and the silence of the dark.

Sure, right now he might be aboard an Imperial transport ship, tasked with carrying a highly dangerous prisoner marked for execution. But in his mind, he was still in the Abragado system, sitting in a pod, waiting. Waiting for the moment his life would be snuffed out in a war he neither fully understood nor had ever truly wanted to be part of.

He hadn’t believed Master Plo when the Jedi had reassured him, promising that someone would come looking for them. Wolffe had learned early on that he was expendable, a belief etched into him by the longnecks on Kamino. He was just another number, another body in an endless sea of soldiers bred for war.

Then came the Jedi. Their compassion, their respect, their quiet insistence on treating clones as individuals—it had shaken the very foundation of everything Wolffe thought he knew. In a world where duty and obedience were everything, where each clone was molded to fulfill a singular purpose, the Jedi had introduced something foreign—something that made him question the very core of his existence. 

Master Plo Koon, in particular, had made an inerasable impact. There was a quiet strength in the way he carried himself, an unspoken understanding that resonated with Wolffe on a level he hadn’t known was possible. Master Plo didn’t just command him; he listened—and more importantly, he understood. The way he treated Wolffe wasn’t like a subordinate or a mere tool of war, but as someone with thoughts, desires, and a sense of self. He spoke to him not as a soldier on the battlefield, but as a fellow being who had hopes, fears, and a need for connection.

When the order came, he didn't want to believe it. He hated how easily his finger had complied, how instinct had overridden thought. The words echoed in his mind, even now when he laid down for sleep: Good soldiers follow orders.

But in that moment, as Master Plo Koon’s starfighter plummeted from the sky, spiraling toward the ground in a fiery descent, Wolffe felt an emptiness unlike any he had ever known. It wasn’t just the shock of watching his commander, his ally, fall—it was the crushing realization that he was complicit in the destruction. The weight of betrayal was a heavy cloak around his shoulders, pressing down on him with unbearable force.

He had followed orders, as he always had, but this time, there was no duty, no justification that could soothe the gnawing ache in his chest. For so long, he had prided himself on his loyalty, on his ability to uphold the ideals of the Republic and the men he fought beside. But as the remnants of Plo Koon’s ship burned in the distance, Wolffe couldn’t help but feel that he had lost something far more vital than the life of a Jedi. He had lost the sense of himself as a man who stood for something honorable.

The world around him seemed to blur, the familiar sound of blaster fire and the chaos of war drowning out in the silence of his thoughts. For the first time, he saw the full, horrifying scope of what he had become—a tool of an Empire that had twisted everything he had once believed in. His identity, his purpose, had been shattered in that instant. As much as he wanted to believe he was still the same soldier, the same Commander, a part of him knew that he had crossed an irreparable line.

Wolffe had never felt further from the idea of being “good.” Not just because of the life he had taken, but because of the loss of the man he had been—the soldier who had once believed in the nobility of his cause.

The last time Wolffe truly felt in his heart that he had done the right thing was the night he learned Rex was still alive. He could still see Rex’s face—pleading, desperate, filled with a conviction that cut through Wolffe’s carefully constructed walls. Rex had begged him to see the truth, to understand that the Empire’s orders were wrong. That hunting a child wasn’t justice.

Wolffe had spent years trying—vainly, tirelessly—not to question his orders. He was a soldier. And good soldiers followed orders. 

But good soldiers didn’t hunt children or order their friends to be killed.

Good soldiers brought in criminal lowlifes, the kind of scum he now had locked in the brig, to justice. At least, that’s what Wolffe had assumed when the prisoner had been described to him as “highly dangerous.” But maybe it was his more recent desire to question his orders, or the way something about this mission didn’t sit right, that sparked the flicker of curiosity. Maybe it was the sentimentality he’d been battling since Rex’s reappearance, or the uneasy edge that always came with being in space.

Whatever the reason, he made a choice. He sent his men off for an early retreat, claiming he’d stand guard himself. He told himself it was for tactical reasons, but it wasn’t. It was personal.

Just like opening the cell door.

The door slid open with a low hiss, revealing a dimly lit chamber. Wolffe expected to see a hardened criminal, someone rough around the edges, beaten down by years of wrongdoing. Instead, his breath caught in his throat.

Seated on the floor, her back pressed against the cold wall, was a woman—young, though her posture bore the weight of someone who had seen more than her years should allow. She didn’t flinch or rise as the door opened, her bright green eyes snapping to him with an intensity that felt like a challenge. Even in the faint light, they glowed, piercing through him like a blade.

“Commander Wolffe,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, the hint of an edge betraying both recognition and caution.

He froze. His hand hovered near his blaster, not out of fear but reflex. “How do you know my name?” he asked, his tone sharp, though his heart hammered in his chest.

A faint, bitter smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You don’t remember me, do you?” She shifted slightly, the movement revealing the scar that ran across her pale face, a jagged line that seemed out of place on her otherwise delicate features. “Not surprising. It was a lifetime ago.”

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. Her appearance tugged at a distant memory—a mission gone wrong, the deafening silence of space, and a bright flash of light. Falling out of the escape pod into waiting arms. Bright Green eyes. The scar.  His breath hitched as it clicked into place.

“The rescue,” he murmured. “Abregado.”

She inclined her head, her expression softened ever so slightly. “I was,” she said simply. “And now, here we are. Funny how the force works, isn’t it?”

His grip on the blaster faltered. This wasn’t a hardened criminal. This was a Jedi—a Sentinel, at that. She had pulled him from the pod, her face masked with the exception of her eyes. But he didn’t forget the voice, nor could he forget her scar.

He also didn’t forget the way she’d accompanied him to Aleen, attempting to calm his frustrations at the locals after the earthquake. He was built for combat, not a mercy mission. But she’d been there, calming that raging storm in him with her soft spoken words and delicate place of a hand on his skin. General Halle. Perdita. 

As he studied her features for the first time, he realized the shroud she had always worn concealed far more than he had anticipated. She had once explained to him that part of her trials as a padawan had been overcoming her vanity. After that moment, she had either been encouraged—or perhaps felt the need—to keep herself covered. The distinction between the two was significant, though he now found himself unable to recall which version of the truth it had been. The Jedi’s appearance had never been something he had been allowed to fully see, and so witnessing her efforts to hold her shoulders and chin high under his gaze felt wrong. Not that he hadn't been curious—he had. But seeing more than just those bright eyes and that scar across her face felt intrusive, as though he were crossing an unseen boundary.

Seeing her now, with her ghostly pale skin, so light that it was as if it had never touched sunlight. Her hair, equally fair, was a tangled mess of long braids and matted strands, though the right side was sheared close to her scalp, hinting at the harshness of the life she had experienced. Bruises etched into her neck, a testament to her resilience, showing that she hadn’t been easily subdued.

She was far more delicate than he’d imagined for someone of her position. She didn’t match the mental image he had formed of the woman who had once saved his life with her luminous eyes and sharp voice. Yet, in her very features, there was a contradiction that unsettled him. Her soft, pale skin was marred by a jagged scar that seemed to tell a story of its own. Her long hair clashed with the shock of short strands that spoke of some past confrontation. Her gentle eyes, framed by dark kohl. Her delicate lips—so soft and inviting—contradicted the clipped, controlled tone of her voice.

There was a complexity to her, an unsettling blend of contradictions, and it was that stark difference between appearance and reality that made her all the more enigmatic.

Not to mention, she truly was much more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Even after their brief conversation together. He’d wondered, but to see it in front of him now, he found words difficult on his tongue. 

She wasn’t like most Jedi. Distant. Quiet. She wasn’t one to preach or stand at the frontlines of politics. Instead, she focused on the people of the Republic, working directly with them in ways that often went unnoticed, or at the Council’s rare request. But she was no stranger to rebellion either. He remembered how she’d stormed away when General Skywalker's padawan had been placed on trial—angry, in a way that Wolffe found unexpected. He had always been told Jedi were supposed to rise above emotions, especially anger. Yet here she was, as human as anyone else.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of his own disillusionment pressing down on him. “Why would the Empire want you dead?”

Her smile disappeared, replaced by a shadowed expression. “Because I am breathing,” she said, her tone defensive. “And because that’s enough to be a threat to the Empire,”

Wolffe’s stomach churned. He wanted to call her a liar, to draw his blaster and end the conversation, but something about her words rooted him in place. She didn’t move, didn’t press further, as if sensing the storm inside him.

However, her eyes flashed with realization, and Wolffe felt the rare tug in his mind. He wasn’t immune to it. The Jedi, though usually respectful of a clone’s privacy, occasionally breached that unspoken boundary—usually in moments of intense concern. His thoughts became muddled, a fog settling over his mind, and in that instant, he knew. She had used the Force to reach into his mind.

“They sent you to hunt a child,” she said, her voice softening, almost mournful. “And now they’ve sent you to deliver me for my execution. How much longer are you going to follow orders, Commander?”

The words struck him harder than he expected, the weight of her gaze pinning him where he stood. For a moment, he didn’t feel like the soldier standing guard. He felt like the man adrift in the pod, lost in the silence of space, waiting for someone to find him.

He exhaled sharply, the silence broken by the harshness of his words. “What do you expect me to do? Not following orders makes you a traitor,” he spat.

She stared at him for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. “You’ve already disobeyed more than one order, haven’t you?” Her tone shifted, probing deeper. “Tell me, Wolffe—or do you prefer your number now? Should I respect the identity the Empire has forced upon you? After all, you seem so eager to follow their commands, to remain obedient, even if it means abandoning everything else.”

Wolffe’s jaw clenched as her words hit home, each syllable sharp, cutting through the layers of his resolve. He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching at his side, but he refused to let her see the crack in his metaphorical armor.

"I follow orders," he said, his voice tight. "It's what I was made for. It's what we all were made for. You think I like this? You think I want to be this?" He gestured vaguely toward his armor, the cold, sterile shell that defined him as much as his number did. "The Empire... they gave us purpose. A place in this galaxy. A role. And what do you want me to do, General Halle? Turn my back on that? After everything?"

She took a slow step forward, her eyes unwavering, assessing him like she always had. He could feel the pull of the Force, a subtle pressure against his mind. She wasn’t pushing, but her presence lingered, and it was almost like she could see through him.

“I’m not asking you to abandon your past, Wolffe,” she said, her voice softer now, though the challenge remained. “I’m asking you to remember it. To remember who you were before the Empire twisted everything. You have never been just a number.”

Her words settled into the space between them, heavy with meaning, and Wolffe felt something shift deep inside him—a faint stirring he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had spent so long burying that part of himself, the part that still remembered loyalty to something more than orders. But now, in her presence, in the weight of her gaze, it felt like the walls he had built up around himself were starting to crack.

"You think I can just walk away?" he muttered, almost to himself. "That it’s that simple? The wars, the lies..." He paused, the words thick in his throat. "I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Perdita’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes. She took another step toward him, this time with less certainty. She didn’t reach out, but the gesture was enough.

“You can always start again, find a new purpose, and maybe along the way find who you once were. I know you Wolffe. You are a good man. You always have been,” she commented quietly.

Wolffe didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the transport ship’s engines. The weight of his own thoughts pressed on him like an anchor, dragging him deeper into the abyss of uncertainty. He didn’t know what the right choice was. But standing here, facing the Jedi, he felt something stir in him that hadn’t been there for a long time.

The man he had been—the man before the Empire—was still there. Somewhere.

But could he still find his way back? Or was he already too far gone?

The question lingered, unanswered, and it gnawed at him from the inside out. The conflict within him was too great, an overwhelming surge of doubt and guilt. He was lost between what he felt and what he knew. He knew the Jedi were kind, compassionate—humane in a way the Empire could never be. But there was another part of him, the part shaped by years of conditioning, of following orders without question. The part that told him Jedi were the enemy, that they had betrayed him, betrayed all of them.

Even if she was correct, he didn’t feel he deserved a second chance.

"Stop," he snapped, his voice low and harsh, barely containing the fury building within him. "You're twisting my mind. That's why all you Jedi were executed." He spat the words, stepping back as if to escape the heavy weight of his own thoughts.

But Perdita’s gaze didn’t falter. Her eyes flashed with frustration—and something else. It was the same intensity that had pulled him from the wreckage of the Abregado system all those years ago. The depth her eyes had shown when he’d looked into them deeply under the glow of the setting sun on Aleen. The same ferocity that made her a Jedi in a way he could never fully understand.

“Did you pull the trigger yourself, Wolffe?” she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the haze in his mind.

His eyes widened. “What—?”

“Master Plo.” She took a step closer, her bound hands held out in front of her, as if she were trying to approach him without triggering some kind of defense mechanism. “Did you take the shot yourself?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His mind flashed back to that day, to the moment when it all went wrong. The blast rang out, and Plo Koon had fallen, silent and still.

“I didn’t—” Wolffe started, his voice shaking. “I didn’t want to…”

But she was relentless, her voice a hiss, her anger barely contained. “Did you pull the trigger yourself, or did you let one of your men do it for you? Did you stand by while they carried out the order?”

Wolffe’s heart pounded in his chest. She was right. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, not directly. He hadn’t been the one to execute the order. But he had been there. He had stood by calling the order while his brothers did the work. His hands had been tied by duty, by obedience and the relentless weight of his training. 

Her words cut deeper than he expected, and for the first time in years, he felt a crack in the armor he had spent so long building. The Jedi saw through him in a way no one else had in a long time.

“No,” Wolffe said, his voice heavy with bitterness. “Boost did it. Shot down the starfighter,” he explained with a dramatic sigh, as though the memory still weighed on him like a stone in his chest.

Perdita’s gaze never left him, unyielding. “Why?” she pressed, her voice soft but insistent, searching for the truth behind his words.

Wolffe hesitated, his eyes darkening with the weight of the past. “Because I couldn’t. Because I was weak…” His voice trailed off, thick with shame. He had always prided himself on being strong, unwavering. But in that moment, when the world seemed to fall apart around him, he had faltered.

“To lay down arms is not weakness,” she replied, her tone calm but firm, as though she had spoken those words to herself a thousand times.

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Says the woman marked for execution,” he muttered, a sharp edge in his voice. His gaze flickered toward her, searching for the woman who had once saved him, who had risked everything to pull him from the wreckage when all seemed lost. The memory stung.

“You saved my life once,” he reminded her, his voice quieter now, tinged with a mix of gratitude and regret.

“I did,” Perdita agreed, her eyes softening, but her expression remained steady. “And now, may I ask one favor of you? A simple one, so that we can finally be even?”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. There was something in the way she said it, something that made him pause. 

“Kill me,” she whispered solemnly, her words cutting through the silence like a blade.

Wolffe froze, his breath hitching in his chest. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t even process what she had just said. Kill me? The weight of those words landed on him with a staggering force, and for the first time since they’d started this uneasy exchange, his mind went utterly blank.

“W-What?” he stammered, confusion and disbelief mixing with a knot of panic that twisted deep inside him.

Perdita’s gaze never wavered, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes, a quiet resignation that tugged at something buried within him. She didn’t look like someone who feared death. In fact, she looked like someone who had made peace with it long ago.

“Kill me, Wolffe,” she repeated, her voice soft, but heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken things. “Where you are taking me is a fate worse than death,”

The words hit Wolffe like a punch to the gut. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he absorbed the depth of what she was saying. She was asking him to end her life, to release her from the nightmare that had followed her since the purge, since the fall of the Jedi. He could hear the quiet despair in her voice, the resignation that she had already accepted that no other option was left.

"Stop," he snapped, stepping forward with a sharpness he hadn't meant. His hand clenched into a fist at his side. "Don't say that."

Perdita’s eyes flickered to his, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability breaking through her hard exterior. "It's the truth," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve lived through so much betrayal, Wolffe. I’ve seen what the Empire does to those it deems 'enemy’, it’s not a pretty sight I assure you"

Wolffe’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words. He had heard whispers of the horrors of the Empire, the ruthless efficiency of its cruelty, but hearing it from her—someone who had once been who had fought beside the clones and now found herself hunted—made the reality of it all feel sharper.

“It’s not fair for you to ask that of me,” he demanded, his voice tightening with frustration. The very thought of it made him nauseous. To kill an unarmed woman—especially a prisoner—was not only unjust, it would be a betrayal of everything he had ever stood for. It could lead him to a court-martial, or worse.

“Why not,” she demanded.

Her words struck him harder than he expected. The Empire had already claimed so much from him—his autonomy, his sense of purpose, his very soul at times. But now, the reality of what she was saying pressed against him like a vise. Was he just another pawn? Would he become expendable too, the moment they had no more use for him?

“I’m not one of them,” he said, his voice a mixture of defiance and doubt. He wasn’t, was he?

But Perdita only stared at him, her expression unreadable. “You’re more like them than you think,” she whispered. “You’ve followed their orders. You’ve done their bidding. And now… now you want to pretend you don’t have a choice in what happens to me. Pretend I got free, tried to kill your men. I’m a threat am I not? Is that not what they told you? Please Wolffe. I do not wish to suffer needlessly. However if your resignation truly is with the Empire then I suppose you truly do not have a choice.”

Wolffe took a step back, his breath quickening. She was right in one sense—he had followed orders, too many times without question. But was that enough to define him? Was that all he was now? A soldier for an Empire that cared nothing for his humanity? Or worse, the humanity of others.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I still have a choice.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wavering just slightly. “Then make it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Should he kill her? Should he let her go? Should he risk everything? How much more guilt would he carry in delivering her to whatever fate she had foreseen? She was asking him to do something impossible, something that could destroy him just as easily as it would destroy her.

But the longer he looked at her, the clearer it became. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It wasn’t just about doing what was expected or what was easy. This was about redemption—for her, for him, for them both.

“I won’t kill you,” he said, the words steady but heavy. His eyes darted around. The cybernetic one struggling to see in the dimly lit cell as he searched for the control panel on the wall. 

Perdita didn’t respond, assuming he was ready to leave and her last attempt at peace, foiled by a clone who truly owed her little loyalty. As she prepared for his departure she felt the chains around her hands unlock, before falling away. Flexing her fingers she looked up to see him much closer now as he tugged her forearm.

“But I won’t let them take you, either.” His voice was low, almost aggressive in nature, as if he was revolting against the very action he was taking.

Perdita didn’t smile. She didn’t thank him. She just nodded, the flicker of something like hope passing through her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give him the courage to take the next step—whatever that might be.

“Why?” she asked, her voice calm, though it carried the weight of disbelief. She paused for a moment, taking a breath to collect herself in the wake of his unexpected actions.

Wolffe met her gaze briefly, then dropped his eyes to the floor, his attention lingering on the mud caked on the tops of his boots. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to hers again, his eyes scanning hers as if unsure whether to reveal the truth. Yet, in this moment—after throwing caution to the wind—it seemed honesty was the only option.

The problem? He wasn’t entirely certain himself. Of course, he had theories. Wolffe had been searching for a way out of the Empire ever since that night he crossed paths with Rex. Having a Jedi by his side would significantly increase his chances of desertion. So, part of his reasoning, at least, was rooted in a tactical advantage.

But then, as his gaze fell on her face, resting on the scar that marked her eye, something else surfaced. He remembered how much he owed her—how she had been the one to help locate their damaged pod. Without her, he would have been lost to the cold expanse of space. A debt like that, a life saved, demanded more than mere gratitude—it demanded something deeper.

“You saved my life once, General,” he said, though internally he wanted to slam his head into the durasteel wall. He knew that she had done so more than once—countless times, in fact, for him and his brothers. “Consider us even,” he added, his words laced with a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

After a brief pause, he heard the soft sound of her approach. Her arm brushed against his unintentionally as she spoke, her voice steady but curious. “What’s your plan?”

Wolffe felt the faintest stir at the brush of her arm, but he quickly focused on her words. He turned slightly, his gaze meeting hers, but there was a momentary hesitation in his expression. The question hung in the air, heavy with more than just the immediate answer.

He knew she wasn’t just asking about the details or the strategy—she was asking what came next, what he planned to do with everything that had led them to this moment. He could feel the weight of her question, the uncertainty that hung heavily in the air between them.

For a moment, he stayed silent, his mind racing through countless possibilities, each one more uncertain than the last. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the decision. "It’s a long shot, but I think it might work. You’ll have to trust me on this." He met her gaze, a quiet resolve in his eyes. "As for everything else, we’ll improvise—if we make it out of here."

"Alright. After you, Commander—"

"Wolffe," he interjected, his voice flat, almost terse. The weight of the moment pressed down on him—the knowledge that he was about to turn his back on everything he had ever known, to abandon the man he had been for so long. It felt like an impossible choice, and yet it was the only one left. In the face of such a drastic break, being addressed by his rank felt distant, cold, and impersonal. It was as though the uniform, the title, had become a mask for something that no longer fit him.

She paused for a moment, as if sensing the shift in the air between them. Her gaze met his, a flicker of understanding in her eyes before she nodded slightly, her voice equally dry, yet carrying a certain weight of its own. "Lead the way, Wolffe."

Her words, though simple, held a quiet acknowledgment—an acceptance of the change that had already begun. Neither of them needed to say more. The decision had been made, and whatever path lay ahead, it would be walked side by side.

To be continued...

(Also if you made it this far thank you so much! Below is the unedited image of Perdita courtesy of my lovely friend… you can find her bio HERE, on her page! Additionally, I may start a tag list soon so if anyone's interested just drop a comment or shoot me a DM <3!)

“Please, may I have some more?”

@vodika-vibes absolutely positively nailed this one. It’s perfect. 💖

#i was scriggling - screaming and giggling # I might have to read this 10 more times today

Sugarpop

Summary: Loving Cody is easy. It is too easy, for all that he doesn’t and will never feel the same way. But, maybe you can turn your attention to someone who’s been waiting for you to see him.

Pairing: One-sided Cody x F!Reader, Pre Bly x Reader

Word Count: 1500

Warnings: Reader gets kidnapped and starved.

A/N: It was just too cold to write this morning, lol. But I've warmed up since then and I love Bly, so here it is.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

From the day you met him, you’ve loved Cody.

You love his smile, his quiet jokes, and how you feel safe when you’re with him. You love the way his eyes crinkle when he’s genuinely happy, and the way his nose scrunches when he’s disgusted.

And he’ll never feel the same way.

Oh, you don’t doubt that he’s fond of you. He’s always happy to see you, and he enjoys how you’re happy to cook for him and his brothers, though he teases you about using them as taste testers, rather than cooking for them because you want to do something nice.

He’s protective of you, and your time, and you know he’ll never allow anyone to take advantage of you, or harm you, so long as he’s around.

But he doesn’t love you.

And it’s fine.

Really.

He doesn’t have to love you. You aren’t entitled to his love just because you loved him first. You’re happy having his affection and his friendship. You are.

Sure, some nights you lay in bed and fantasize about what-if. 

What if he did love you? What if he looked at you like you look at him? What if, when you’re with him, his stomach flips and his heart clenches? What if he lays in bed and thinks about you?

Most nights, however, those thoughts turn into tears.

But, no one knows about it. The only one who knows your silent grief is your comforter, and it doesn’t tell stories.

And so, you go on day by day. Greeting Cody with bright smiles and light jokes, and when he shows up with a girlfriend, you greet her politely and make sure that she doesn’t have any food allergies, and you treat her like a friend.

Sure, maybe she doesn’t last longer than a month or, in one situation, an evening, but you’re still kind and polite.

It’s ironic, you’ve actually managed to make some friends with his exes. 

And you know Cody appreciates it. He told you, once, that he was glad that you were so welcoming to the people around you, and then he continued by telling you that you’re too nice for your own good.

You can’t help how you are as a person, and so you wave off his concerns when he brings it up. It doesn’t matter, in the long run, because he has all of his brothers looking out for you.

So, you suppose, if you want to be accurate, you have to admit that he does love you. But he loves you like a friend loves a friend, not like how a man loves a woman.

At least he’s still in your life, even if it’s not how you want. You just have to take what you can get.

But, all the same, when you’re kidnapped several months later due to your friendship with several Marshal Commanders, you know that no one will come for you.

All you can do is keep your mouth shut and pretend that you don’t know what your kidnapper is asking. You can’t do much, but you can protect them at least a little.

You’re not sure how long it’s been. There’s no way to tell what time of day it is here in the cell that has been your room since you were snatched from your apartment. 

It must have been at least a month. At this point someone must have noticed that you went missing, right?

It’s not like your kidnapper was subtle about snatching you, seeing as they kicked open the door and destroyed your apartment in the process of kidnapping you.

Of course, who would they send to save you? The Guard? The Police?

No one?

The idea of dying in a tiny cell so far from home, so far from the people you love most, makes you want to cry. But you stop yourself before you can start. You only get a single cup of water a day.

You can’t afford to waste it.

Just as you wrap your thin blanket around you, and are considering moving to the other side of the thin cot that has been your bed for who even knows how long, you think you hear the sound of blaster fire.

Your gaze flickers towards the door of your cell as the sound gets louder and louder.

And then, you hear a voice. Familiar in the way that all clone voices are familiar.

“Here! I found it!” You hear some scuffling from outside the door, and then what you assume is a curse in Mando’a. Then, finally, the door slides open and stays open.

The man on the other side of the door is wearing white armor with yellow markings. Familiar yellow markings.

“...Bly?”

“You’re a hard lady to find, Sugarpop.” You scrunch up your nose at the nickname. Yeah. It’s Bly. He’s the only person in the galaxy who calls you Sugarpop.

“It’s not like I did it intentionally.”

“I know.” He steps into the cell and with surprisingly gentle hands, he coaxes you to your feet, “How are you? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“...I’m hungry. And cold.”

“I bet you are. No shoes?”

“They took them so I couldn’t run away.”

“Fuckers. We should have killed them slower.”

He really shouldn’t sound so cheerful when saying that. But it doesn’t actually bother you.

“Bly?”

“Yeah, Sugarpop?”

“Can I go home now?”

He stills and then a slightly strangled laugh fall from him, “Well, you see…”

“Bly?”

“We’re not on Coruscant.” He says hurriedly, “We’re actually in the outer rim. You’ve been a guest of the Hutt Cartel for the better part of 6 months.”

You stare at him, “Six…?”

“Yeah, Sugarpop. Six.”

“...my job…my apartment?”

“Ah, well…the Jedi did what they could, but both your boss and your landlord decided that you were dead three months in and you lost both.”

“Oh.”

“But, it’ll work out!” Bly sets his hands on your shoulders, and you can almost see his brow furrow through his visor, “You’ve lost weight. A lot of weight.”

“Well…well…I probably needed to anyway…” You offer, feeling slightly numb.

“Bullshit, you were perfect.”

You blink at him again, “Thank you?”

“We’ll get you healthy again, and you can help out in the kitchen.” Bly offers cheerfully as he guides you out of the cell and lifts you over a pile of broken droids, “It’ll be great.”

“There are a lot of droids here,” You mumble, more to yourself, as you nudge something away with your foot.

“Yeah, looks like the Hutts are working with the Seppies.” Bly glances at you, “You know what, Sugarpop? I think I’m just going to carry you.”

“You don’t have to—”

He scoffs as he scoops you into his arms, “Have to? Please. I’d pay for the honor.”

You stare at him, even as you slide your arms around his neck so you feel more secure, “Bly?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you flirting with me? While rescuing me?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. I am.” Bly glances away, “Cody’s a blind idiot if he can’t see how you look at him.”

Your face burns, “I wasn’t trying to be transparent…”

“You weren’t Sugarpop. I just watch you a lot.” Lightly, he bumps his helmet against your forehead, “Just waiting for the day you look at me like that.”

Bly steps over a pile of something that was probably a person at one point, and you drop your head to his shoulder. As he walks, you go back through all of the conversations you remember having with Bly, and slowly you come to a realization.

“Bly, have you been flirting with me since we met?”

He laughs, “You’re just now noticing? Oh, Sugarpop, we need to give you lessons on being more observant.”

You huff and nudge him gently, “Don’t be mean. Humans are notoriously bad at detecting flirting.”

“Yeah, well…” He pauses for a moment to kick a door open, “Cody’s an idiot and I’m right here if you want to turn those pretty eyes on me.”

“Just like that?”

“Hey, I’m a patient guy. And it’s a long flight back to Coruscant.” He carefully sets you back on your feet and he lifts his helmet to rest on top of his head, “I think you’ll find that I’m a pretty charming guy.”

It’s at that very moment that you notice that his grin is slightly lopsided and that his eyes are a few shades lighter than Cody’s. And it almost feels like a betrayal when your stomach flips nervously.

“Is that your opinion?” You ask as you ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

His grin widens, “Nope, lots of people have that opinion.” Something in his gaze softens, and his fingers brush your cheek, “I’m glad you’re not hurt, Sugarpop.”

A tiny smile lifts your lips, “Thank you for coming to get me, Bly.”

There’s a serious glimmer in his gaze as he takes your hand and brushes his thumb across your knuckles, “Always.”

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Echo’s first hugs with his Bad Batch bros. I can’t even….!

#sweet and touching and awkward and smirky #echo my love

A Quick Cuddle - Part 1 - Wrecker

Hi all! Since I really needed some comfort (and it seems like many others need it right now too) this will be my first post for Echo-vember. I've decided to post one Echo-focused fic each week of November revolving around the first time Echo hugs each of the batch. If you want to be tagged when I post these fics let me know <3

Thank you @renton6echo for coming up with the concept of Echo-vember. I'm excited for it <3

Ao3 Link

Part 2 - Tech - Tumblr Link & Ao3 Link

Part 3 - Hunter - Tumblr Link & Ao3 Link

Part 4 - Crosshair - Tumblr Link & Ao3 Link

Summary: The first time Echo hugs Wrecker

Word Count: 1,021

Their mission had gone off without a hitch. It was the first of many, Echo hoped, as they boarded the Marauder to embark on whatever was next for the group. He could barely keep up with how fast everything was moving. One mission after another, no planet longer than a few days, so much to learn he was racing just not to fall behind. Rest days were far and few between. He slept even less with Clones Force 99 than he did when he was a 501st ARC. Even when he did it was always surrounded by people just as he liked it, constantly listening to the sounds of snores and chatter and even breathing. That was okay with Echo. He didn’t have too much time to think in between rushing into battle and his new squad was about as chaotic as he expected. They were nearly yelling over each other in the excited rush that followed their mission. It was swift, simple, but they’d run into the need for an explosion and that got all of their blood pumping. Who would’ve thought, the squad of excitable commandos liked when things went boom. He was busy smiling at them, ignoring the need to make a plan, set a path, move on, while they pushed each other around and chattered. 

“That was awesome!” Wrecker whooped as he whipped his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor. A wide smile stretched across his face, skin flushed with excitement. He shoved Echo’s shoulder. “Who knew you could do something like that?!” Right. Echo tried to bite back the grin but he was fighting a losing battle. He’d been on top of a walker, helping plant explosives while the rest of them distracted enemies for him and the big guy. Apparently using his grappling hook to swing off the side of it, wrapping its legs together, and tucking into a roll as he dismounted wasn’t just a common method everyone used. When he’d knocked the walker over he yelled at Wrecker to run, close enough that their backs heated while the explosion went off behind them. Echo wasn’t sure why it was particularly exciting but it may have been the domino effect of explosions that detonated throughout the battlefield that made them all so giddy. 

Something about fire. It just really made all of them bouncier. 

Echo shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Had to learn something from all of that ARC training.” It was the first time he’d truly felt confident with the batch. They’d only known each other for a few weeks, spent even less time in the field, and he’d fumbled a few plays - understandable - but he’d let it hurt his ego a bit too much. All those racing thoughts and unease had wriggled its way into his mind. A win was nice. It reminded him who he was. A time when they thought he fit in was even better. The batch was so tight he started to think infiltrating their ranks was impossible. 

Maybe he just hadn’t given them enough time. 

Wrecker laughed - bright and jovial - nudging Echo again, this time hard enough that he bumped into Hunter who steadied him with a grin. “You can say that again! We make a great team.” In a move that almost knocked all the air out of his lungs Wrecker swept his arms around Echo’s waist, lifting him up into the air. The shock came first along with a surprised noise from the back of his throat - not a squeak, thank you very much - as the big guy hugged him. His feet dangled in the air while Wrecker swayed him back and forth. 

This was the first time any of them had hugged him. For a brief moment it was like being doused in freezing cold water but the warmth radiating off of Wrecker made every bone in his body relax. Hugs certainly hadn’t been at the top of his list of priorities - he hadn’t really thought about it - but he found himself smiling regardless. Wrecker was a tactile guy, mostly shoving and throwing his arm around the others, but hugs weren’t out of the question. Echo just hadn’t realized that Wrecker would ever want to hug him with his metal and attitude and newness to the squad so he’d not yet attempted to get physically closer to any of them yet. At least Wrecker was the easiest to befriend, so quick to invite Echo to join him in their down time and offer him space. It felt nice to be treated like a part of things. He couldn’t really hug him back, not with his arms pinned to the side as they were, but he did chuckle, awkwardly patting Wrecker’s side.

“Any time, big guy. Maybe next time we can make it a few more yards away from the explosion before it goes off.” The light scold was taken lightheartedly with a laugh. Wrecker squeezed him tight one last time then put him down, holding onto his shoulder to keep him steady while he regained his footing. The smile stuck to his face so bad he almost had to hide it behind his hand. Something as simple as a hug and he was taken down, reduced to silence, watching dutifully as the rest of them kept getting under each other's skin. Lucky was a word he would use, he supposed. It may seem simple but the worry that his new squad wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to be tactile with him was slowly ebbing away, flickering to the back of his mind even for the moment. His hand itched to do the same things the rest of them seemed so comfortable with - shoving, ruffling hair, hugs - but he wasn’t quite there yet. Wasn’t ready to be the initiator for tactile forms of affection. Wrecker had opened the door, allowed in some form of familiarity he hadn’t quite realized he missed so much. There was still learning, sure, but hope bloomed in his chest at the thought that this could be more than a squad, more than a team, but something closer to his heart altogether.

Mmmm Hunter….. @faithwalkcreationscloneart ALWAYS captures the moment with her fantastic pieces. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️❤️

I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do for my birthday than paint Hunter, so here he is! Can we call him the man in black? Or blacks? 😁 I just made a simple one but wanted to capture his thoughtful look. It's an 8x10 acrylic on canvas board, and yes I do make prints.

I have an Etsy shop with prints of my fan art and some custom 3D pieces for sale. https://www.etsy.com/shop/FaithwalkCreationsCo

On Facebook you can find me at https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61564620144107

The truth ain’t always pretty.

#clones clones clones

@vodika-vibes This is fluffily beautiful!!! Thank you for writing my request! ❤️❤️ The actual inspiration was my brother back when we were teens. Used to piss my dad off that he couldn’t communicate right away. Their solution was The Head Pat. 💖

Hi Vod’ika! I enjoy your stories so much! May I make a request? Prompt category Physical Gestures. Perky morning person (F) a little insecure. Chronically sleep-deprived clone BF can’t talk to her until he’s had morning caf and some time. Compromise is a pat on the head (or similar) as he walks by to acknowledge her presence without engaging until he’s awake. Perhaps Hunter, Rex, Fox or Wolffe. Thank you for considering. 😊

Morning Person

Summary: Fox loves his girlfriend. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He even loves how bright and bubbly she is first thing in the morning. It’s not her fault he cannot function without a cup of caf first thing in the morning.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 1031

Warnings: Reader is described as having long hair that "tumbles down her back" and she can wear it in a bun on the top of her head.

A/N: Hihi! You sent this in and I immediately knew what I wanted to write! But then it turned into something soft and fluffy at the end, lol. Thanks for your request~

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

Fox hates mornings.

In his, professional, opinion. Any time before 10 should be illegal, and he shouldn’t be forced to work before noon.

Tragically, the galaxy very rarely cares about what he wants, so here he is. Awake and sort of aware at 7 am.

The bed next to him is still a little warm, but that tracks. His perfect cyare wakes up at 6:30 every morning, even on days when she doesn’t have to work. Distantly, he can hear her moving around the kitchen, and soon enough the familiar scent of breakfast sausage cooking wafts into the bedroom.

Fuck, he loves her.

Groggily, he rolls off the bed, and stumbles into the fresher to shower for the day. It doesn’t help wake him up, but it needs to happen, and if he doesn’t do it now, it won’t get done.

One quick shower later, Fox meanders his way through the apartment he shares with his cyare and into the kitchen. There, standing at the stove with a spatula in her hand, is his cyare. 

Her hair is pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and she’s clad in one of his shirts and her frog covered sleep pants. She’s adorable. And she notices him as soon as he steps into the room.

“Morning Fox~” She chirps, “Did you sleep well?”

Fox grunts an affirmative noise and walks over to her. Normally, he would pat her head and kiss her forehead as a way to acknowledge her in the morning, but her hairstyle forbids it this morning.

So, instead, he kisses her temple and rubs his thumb down the back of her neck, before he steps around her to grab the, already prepared, cup of caf.

His poor cyare is a little insecure about her place in his life, even now, and so does everything in her power to be useful to him. This means, in this case, that she makes him breakfast every morning and preps his caf the way that he likes before he wakes up.

He, personally, thinks it’s ridiculous. Why would he want to look at another woman when he has her, after all? But she’s allowed her insecurities. It’s his job to make sure that they don’t overwhelm her.

When they first moved in together, she took his silence in the morning as an indication that he wasn’t happy with her. Though she never mentioned her thoughts to him, she just allowed the belief to work her into an anxious frenzy, until she broke down sobbing one morning asking him if he didn’t love her anymore.

That had been a mess and a half to clean up and untangle.

Together, they worked out that so long as he acknowledges her in the morning, even if it’s something as simple as a touch and a kiss, it keeps her from overthinking everything.

He settles on one of the kitchen chairs, silently nursing his caf, as he watches her make breakfast for them. She’s humming along with the radio, and a small smile lifts his lips. 

Her hair is a mess, she’s not wearing any make-up. Her clothes are wrinkled and worn, or very childish in the case of her pants. She would be the first one to say that this is when she looks her worst.

She’s wrong.

Right here, first thing in the morning, when it’s just him and her and no one else, she’s never more beautiful. He really is a lucky asshole.

He watches her plate breakfast, sausage, toast, fresh fruit, and some juice, then she sets a plate in front of him, before sitting in the chair next to him. 

That’s about the time she realizes that he’s staring at her.

“What?”

Fox absently pushes his mug to the side, and reaches out for her, his hand settling on her cheek as he coaxes her closer to him so he’s able to press kisses across her face. His free hand reaches up to tug the rubber band out of her hand, allowing her long hair to fall around her shoulders and down her back.

A giggle falls from her as he pushes her hair out of her face, so he can continue kissing her, “Fox! Our breakfast will get cold!”

“It’ll keep,” He mumbles against her jaw, “Love you.”

One of her hands tangles in his curls, while the other curls around his bicep. “Silly man, what’s gotten into you?”

Fox just hums and continues pressing feather-light kisses across her face, until he finally catches her lips with his own in a series of light kisses. Then he decides that she’s not nearly close enough, and he swiftly tugs her from her chair until she’s sitting on his lap.

Still not close enough, but it’ll do for now.

A sigh falls from her, soft and love-sick, and Fox grins against her lips before pulling away and pressing his forehead against hers. 

She has a dreamy look on her face and a goofy smile on her lips, “Goodness,” She murmurs, her fingers falling from his curls to rest against his stubble-covered cheek, “Have I just been depriving you, Fox?”

“Went all night without kissing you,” Fox replies, suddenly very, very awake, “Had to make up for lost time.”

“Ah, so you’re not deprived. You’re spoiled.” Her voice is teasing and her eyes are soft. Her fingers trail against his jaw, and she huffs out a sigh, “You forgot to shave.”

“Didn’t forget. Didn’t feel like it. Too much effort.”

She shakes her head, “After breakfast, I’ll get the stuff and do it for you. I know how much you hate the feel of your stubble in your helmet.”

Fox feels his heart lurch in his chest. She really is perfect. And so, he pulls her into another kiss, though this time he doesn’t keep it chaste. If she’s not giggling like a schoolgirl when he finishes, then he’s not kissing her thoroughly enough.

The rest of the galaxy can take a hike. This, right now, is more important. And, just before he gets too lost in her lips, he can’t help but think that, just maybe, mornings aren’t that bad.

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“It’s the same picture.” When those credits started cascading this is the first thing I thought of.

# I wanna see Jude Law go swimmin’ in gold

Can’t wait for this fic to be released and meet a new OC. In the mean time drool over Wolffe. You’ll definitely need a bucket. 🔥

#wolffe is so krifffing hot #i hope I remember how to read when the story comes out

Meet Perdita! 🥰💚💕

(She is @legacygirlingreen ‘s new OC! Enjoy the excerpt from her upcoming story with Commander Wolffe below!)

“I won’t kill you,” he said, the words steady but heavy. His eyes darted around. The cybernetic one struggling to see in the dimly lit cell as he searched for the control panel on the wall.

Perdita didn’t respond, assuming he was ready to leave and her last attempt at peace foiled by a clone who truly owed her little loyalty. As she prepared for his departure she felt the chains around her hands unlock, before falling away. Flexing her fingers she looked up to see him much closer now as he tugged her forearm.

“But I won’t let them take you, either.” His voice was low, almost aggressive in nature, as if he was revolting against the very action he was taking.

Perdita didn’t smile. She didn’t thank him. She just nodded, the flicker of something like hope passing through her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give him the courage to take the next step—whatever that might be.

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Gorgeous Echo my love! Best tattoo idea for Echo. I love it so much! Rex-Fives-TBB … his history beautifully on display. 😍❤️

# echo never looked better

We just need more Echo, am I right?

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Perfect NYE situations! #i want to date ALL of these clones now #sweatpants and champagne and Jesse fighting and shy Tup and OMG Howzer

I don't have it in me to write full scenes, so here are some fun little drabbles of what it might be like to party with some of the boys on New Year's Eve! PLEASE feel free to add your own and use the tag #2024cloneNYE

Shoutout to @lornaka for the sweet helmet art. Find other dividers like these here.

Tup - Tries to take you somewhere neat to see fireworks, holding your hand and glancing at you sheepishly every now and then, but gets lost along the way. Is simultaneously frustrated at himself and nervous at what you’ll think of him until you pull him into a side alleyway to show him some fireworks of your own. 😎

Jesse - Is so delighted to be spending the evening with you that he nearly gets into three different fights with troopers at the bar because he's just so dang excited. Dances your ass off then takes you out for street food, where he does get in a fight with a handsy vendor. Gives you the best kiss of your life at midnight. 🥴

Fives - Tells you to wear a disguise. Dies laughing when you show up and he is wearing a simple poncho while you have donned a huge fake mustache. Sneaks you both onto a large cargo freighter that is scheduled to depart from Coruscant a bit before 00:00, so that as it’s slowly lifting into the sky, you get a bird’s eye view of the fireworks all around you. Of course, he now needs to figure out how to get you both off the ship without being caught. 🥸

-=-=-=-=-=[SORRY BABES, no Corrie dividers!!]=-=-=-=-=-

Fox - Shows up at your apartment in sweatpants and cracks up at the side of you as you open the door, as you are in sweatpants as well, even though you both had said you were going to “go celebrate” together. But you both knew exactly what you meant by “celebrate”, and you watch crappy holofilms while snuggling on the couch, dozing off until the sound of fireworks rouses you. You gaze blearily out the window, watching the flashing colors as you’re nestled into his arms, then you both drift back to sleep after a feeble “whoo!” 😴

Howzer - Dresses to the nines to take you out to dinner but feels awkwardly self-conscious about it until you distract him by coaxing him into sharing stories about his squad, which light him up immediately. Then he’s got nothing but soft admiration for you, insists on two desserts, and walks you to your front door to finish the evening with a tender kiss. Comes running back to knock on your door about 10 minutes later when he realizes it’s just now midnight and “he kissed you too soon.” The oversight is quickly remedied. 🤭

Hardcase - Finds out where they're setting the fireworks off from and sneaks you in. You both tuck in a tiny little corner between a huge metal structure that holds the firework launchers, and when they start going off, it's so loud that you can't help but squeal. Hardcase also yells in delight, catching the attention of nearby employees, and suddenly pretends he's escorting you off the premises after you'd been discovered sneaking into the area. 😂

Gregor - Grabs some wraps at a food truck and takes you to some random little park where a galactic Mariachi band (they exist, ok?) is playing sweet beats. Dances with zero shame, with and without you. Drags you up a nearby hill to see fireworks and produces a bottle of champagne seemingly out of nowhere. Forgot glasses though, so you take swigs out of the bottle and choke on the bubbles and foam. Spins and dips you at midnight and finishes with the sweetest kiss.

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ARC Trooper Badassery! Fives at his finest.

I call this gifset 'would not want to meet Fives on the battlefield'

I recently revisited this story from @freesia-writes and was delighted. Again. Jesse written as “JESSE!” and then ‘jesse’ as more of him was revealed. Funny and heartfelt.

#jesse loves pookie #ptsd

Pets4Vets: Jesse (1/4)

Chapter 1 of 4 - Word Count: 3.2k - Jesse x Fem Reader Master List

“Thanks for dinner,” she said quietly, shifting her eyes from her plate to his and crossing one arm across herself to rub the outside of the other. 

“Yeah baby,” Jesse purred with a cocky grin. “I mean, I got the dinner but you brought the dessert.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a treat,” he said with a wag of his eyebrows. “Want to take the party back to your place?”

“Oh, um. I’ve got to work early, so I think that’s all I’ve got time for now. But thanks again,” she offered, trying to mask the cringe on her face with a disingenuous smile. 

“Alright, your loss… heheh…”

“Yeah…”

They made their way to the door of the restaurant, Jesse holding it open for her as she shuffled awkwardly past him. She hesitated on the sidewalk, turning back to face him with that same feeble grin. Another thanks for dinner. An offer to walk her home. Declined. A question about another date. After a long, uneasy pause, that was also declined.

Jesse kept up his best face, chest puffed and confidence set firmly in place, until she disappeared around the corner, then he slumped, turning to begin his own walk home. A glance at the chrono reminded him that he wasn’t allowed back in the apartment he shared with Kix for another hour and a half… The cramped flat they rented together didn’t allow for much privacy, and his roommate had been excited to take advantage of the alone time with his partner from Right to Love, a matchmaking service for clones wanting to live as freely as they were able since the war had ended and they were released from service. 

The endless flashing lights of the Coruscant streets were oppressively bright as he plodded aimlessly, unsure of where to go. A deep sense of resentment was growing within, and he didn’t realize he was muttering under his breath until a few strange looks from passersby clued him in. Many of his brothers had found immediate success with Right to Love, now experiencing the joys of a relationship in ways they’d never thought possible when they’d been nothing more than property their entire lives. And yet here he was, having tried to connect with five different people now, each one entirely put off by the end of the first date. His assigned case manager at Right to Love had assured him that matches weren’t always perfect the first time around, and sometimes the process took a little longer to ensure the ideal fit. 

Doubt was growing in the pit of his stomach as he walked. What was it about him that was getting in the way? He was throwing himself wholeheartedly into this pursuit, and yet each attempt seemed to be less encouraging than the last. The resentment began to coil in his chest, heating up into anger, and he leaned into it. Anger was familiar. Anger, he could deal with. It made him feel powerful and in control, pushing aside any tendrils of fear or sadness that lay at its core. A sign up his head caught his eye, and he turned abruptly to barge through the door. 

Music thumped inside, the small crowd on the dance floor moving as one to the beat, and he jostled his way around the edge to find a seat at the bar. He waited for a while, watching the bartender help customer after customer, including those that had arrived after him. When the man began polishing some glasses, Jesse finally called out, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Can I get some service here?”

The bartender slowly finished wiping his glass, sidling down to the end and resting his palms on the counter with no attempt to hide the disdain on his face. 

“Did your giant face tattoo block you from seeing the sign on the door?” he drawled. “No clones. Go back to your own district.”

“You’re living in the past,” Jesse growled, the snake in his chest twisting and hissing. “Credits are credits. What does it matter who they come from?” 

“Just get out,” exhorted a Zabrak on the stool beside him who’d had his back firmly turned to him from the start. “Before we make you.”

He’d had enough.

“Go ahead and try,” he snarled, smacking a fist on the counter and rising to his feet. The Zabrak was in his face immediately, flanked by a nat-born and a Weequay who looked far too excited to throw hands. 

“Know your place,” the nat-born taunted, leaping forward to throw a swing, which Jesse dodged and countered with one of his own, sinking a fist into the man’s stomach and earning a satisfying grunt of pain. The brawl exploded, quickly changing the three-on-one situation into an entire mob set on teaching the clone a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. The ARC trooper held his own, ducking and swinging, using leverage to toss one body into another, but the blows were coming from every direction. A foot to the back of his knee knocked him off balance, right into someone else’s fist.

The next thing he knew, he was unceremoniously thrown onto the sidewalk among a litany of curses and insults, and he scrambled to his feet, body throbbing with numerous bruises from the punches and kicks that had landed as he’d tried to hold them all off. His nose was bleeding, and he wiped it on his sleeve before pinching it hard, stalking toward his building in a tornado of rage. 

He sat outside on the stoop for the remaining hour, ruminating on the sheer injustice of it all. But eventually, the hot indignation quieted, and in the stillness, he fought to stuff down the disappointment that whispered judgment and failure in its place. 

* * * 

“Come on, give it a try.” Kix straightened his scrubs as Jesse slouched against his bedroom doorway. “It’ll be a different dynamic. Might be helpful.”

“I don’t need help,” Jesse scoffed, folding his arms across his broad chest. 

“I know,” Kix affirmed quickly, “But the food carts in the square are delicious. So bring your next date and just come along for that.” He smoothed a hand over his neatly-cut hair and tilted his head at his mirror, checking that the first few letters of his head tattoo were hidden as much as possible by his dark locks. The medical clinic he worked at had some fairly strict rules around personal appearance, and considering how difficult it was to find clone-friendly jobs, no matter how qualified they were, he wasn’t about to risk losing his placement over something as trivial as that. 

“Fine,” Jesse huffed. “I’m doing this for the ronto wraps, you know.”

Kix grinned, clapping him on the back and squeezing his shoulder as he headed for the front door. “You’ve been doing too much upper-body, vod. Have a leg day.”

“Hah. Go clean some crusty old geezers, di’kut.”

“Oh please. I’m saving lives out there,” Kix threw over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. Jesse sighed. That did seem like a much better purpose than his own job as a personal trainer at a local gym, where most of his clients were flaky hopefuls who wanted to get into shape without putting in the time and work that it required. It paid well enough, though, and gave him an outlet for a sense of purpose as well as a place to exercise. If he were honest, he’d hoped he’d meet someone there, figuring they’d be more aligned with his interests and lifestyle, but after months upon months of dismal prospects, he’d gone ahead and applied at Right to Love. He sighed, turning to rummage in the cooling chamber until it was time for work.

* * * 

Days of work and leisure blended together, and Jesse found himself spending more time at the gym, adding cardio sessions on top of his bodybuilding regimen as a way to blow off steam. He finally got another match from Right to Love and agreed to go on the double date with Kix and his partner, laboring a disproportionate amount of time over what to wear. He didn’t want to admit it, but with each date he felt increasingly desperate. Desperate to prove that there wasn’t something wrong with him. Desperate to feel like he had access to the whole variety of options for a “normal” life. Desperate to enjoy the care, intimacy, and connection that some of his brothers had found. 

He straightened the long-sleeved henley shirt and rolled up the sleeves a little. Ladies loved the forearms, right? Slipping a wallet into his back pocket, he checked his reflection one last time and ventured into the living room where Kix was waiting for him. 

“Here goes nothing,” he grumbled. 

“That’s the spirit,” Kix nodded sagely, a fond smirk on his face.

The square had a weekly event where all the food carts in the vicinity would gather to offer their delectable delicacies, and there really was something for everyone, making it a very popular attraction. Jesse swaggered beside his date, Kix and his partner bringing up the rear, and shared stories of valor and bravery as she nodded and made small sounds of agreement here and there. The four of them had shared some snacks from a variety of vendors and were now walking it off along the city streets. 

Coming to a somewhat scenic overlook of a steep dropoff with many Coruscant levels stretching down below, the four of them sat on a couple of benches. Kix stretched his arm across his partner’s shoulders, and they nestled into his side with an affectionate gaze. Jesse shifted awkwardly beside his date, a beautiful redhead that made his mouth go dry when he tried to talk. Yet he’d pushed past it with bravado and confidence, he felt simultaneously certain and completely unsure of her interest. Kix was murmuring in his date’s ear, bringing a demure smile to their face, and Jesse turned to look at the redhead beside him. 

“So… You mentioned some adventures in the jungle… Did I tell you about our campaign on Felucia?” he asked, launching into the story before she was able to respond. He wove an exhilarating tale of their encounter with both Separatist forces and the Commerce Guild, finishing with a flourish and grinning proudly. 

“Sounds like the war was wild,” she offered.

“You’re karking right it was,” he laughed, attempting to slip his arm around her shoulder as well, but she stood up quickly. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I… I’m gonna go.” 

Jesse watched her leave, speechless, then was flooded with embarrassment as he felt the eyes of Kix and his partner on his back. He slowly turned to face them, and the empathetic looks on their faces added insult to the injury. 

“See you at home,” he muttered to his brother, nodding to Kix’s partner and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trudged back to their apartment. Kix watched him for a long time, nodding at the murmured condolences from his partner, who was incredibly kind and gentle, both admiring and strong in their own right, and he was regularly blown away at the fact that he’d been able to find them. Their compassion only served to deepen his own hope that his brother could find whatever it was he was looking for. 

* * * 

The next morning, a much-needed day off of work for both of them, Jesse was sprawled on the couch with a lazy hand resting on the steaming mug of caf on the nearby side table. Kix was scrambling some eggs in the kitchen, casting the occasional glance over the counter at his brother’s dejected slump. He was torn; Jesse was notoriously stubborn, but Kix also knew him better than most anyone else, and if he kept continuing in the same pattern, he would likely keep getting the same result. He flipped the eggs one more time and turned off the burner, scattering some shredded cheese over the top of them and putting a lid over the pan to melt it all together. 

“You… uh… seemed different last night,” he ventured, picking up his own caf, now mostly cold, and sitting in the armchair across from the downcast clone. 

“Mmm,” was the only response. 

“Does it always go that way?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s… What’s with the swagger stuff?” Kix asked, abandoning the subtlety. Jesse cast a hard look at him, but he caught the quickly-concealed flicker of hurt beneath the tattooed face.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t really seem like you. Did you answer the questionnaire honestly?”

“Yes!” Jesse said defensively, furrowing his brow.

“Well… then that might be why the dates aren’t going so well, if they’re expecting you to act… normal. You’re smart and pretty down-to-earth most of the time. Last night it felt more like you were trying to prove yourself somehow.”

His words stung, and Jesse balked at the feeling of being perceived so accurately. But a sense of resignation had settled in again, and he shrugged, attempting a nonchalant facade. 

“I’m just gonna get a pet. That’ll have to lo–... to put up with me, right?”

“Sure,” Kix sighed. “I’ve heard good things about P4V.”

“Look, di’kut, I know I can’t even get a second date, let alone some bedroom action, but I don’t think I have the credits for a sex worker… At least not a good one.”

“Classy as always,” Kix rolled his eyes. “It’s not a brothel, it’s called Pets 4 Vets. They have a variety of service animals to help with the difficult aspects of adjusting to civilian life.”

“I want a good-sized Massiff, not some fluffy little Loth-rat to lick me when I have ‘big feelings’,” Jesse snorted. 

“Kriff, you are thick sometimes.”

“Just these thighs.”

“Right. Just try it.”

“We’ll see.”

* * * 

You stroked a hand down the bogling's back, running fingers along the soft fur of its fluffy tail. It leaned into your touch with a contented noise, and you closed the cage behind it, watching it begin delicately eating its food before moving to the next kennel. You’d been working at Pets 4 Vets for a while now, and you felt thoroughly at home amid a great group of coworkers and an even better assortment of animals from every corner of the galaxy. They were all either in the process or finished with their training to be emotional support animals for the veterans who had served the Republic so well. You’d been a little unsure around the clones at first, not having spent any time with them before this, but they’d grown on you quite a bit and you’d been amazed at the complexity and individuality of each one. You’d also developed a knack for pairing them with animals, although it still took a few tries at times. 

“Good morning, tookas,” you said warmly as you slid the food bowl into the next crate, watching the two loth-cats eye it lazily from where they were curled around each other in the corner. They were a bonded pair, and last summer they had surprised the entire staff with a full litter of the most adorable babies you’d ever seen, who had since grown and been placed into loving homes. None of you had been too eager to see the parents leave, however, and it just so happened that none of the troopers so far had been the ideal match for them. The two of them roamed the clinic during the day, curling up near computer terminals or gracing guests in the lobby with their tails high in the air. At night, all the animals were tucked into their cozy kennels until morning, when they’d be fed and let out into their various programs for the day. Some had hours of training, others enjoyed free time inside or out, and some simply spent as much time as possible shadowing the clinic staff. 

“I wish I got breakfast in bed,” you murmured as you closed their door, watching the loth-cats yawn and nuzzle one another. You felt a deep sense of longing in your chest, and moved to the next cage to try to keep your mind from continuing on its current trajectory. But it was a lost cause. “Wish I had someone to wake up next to as well,” you continued. The dating scene hadn’t been kind to you, and if you were honest, you’d pretty much given up. Your friends urged you to keep the dream alive, to go on double dates with them and to meet the various eligible bachelors they knew, but nothing felt like a good fit. You assumed the problem was with you. And that was alright. You were happy enough on your own…you said. The clinic staff was a tightly-knit group, for the most part, and you authentically loved the animals. You felt fulfilled by the unconditional love you shared with each one, and you were so proud at the growth you got to witness as they went through training. 

The horde was fed, each one was released to its daily duty, and you began to clean all of the kennels, wondering if you should take your friend up on her offer to check out 79s. It felt completely out of your comfort zone, however. Not because of the clones, but you just generally weren’t a fan of loud, raucous environments, and you weren’t much of a drinker… So it didn’t seem like a very attractive prospect. As much as you were mocked for it, you weren’t really keen on one night stands, nor were you good at “keeping it casual”. You wanted a relationship with depth and longevity. Sometimes you wondered if the taunts about you were correct, that you had in fact watched too many cheesy holofilms and now had an unrealistic view of romance. 

Whatever.

A few hours of cleaning were followed by an hour or so at your computer, reviewing and categorizing the new applications. You didn’t realize you’d been completely hunched the entire time, your back rounded as you tapped away at the keys, and would have remained blissfully unaware if the receptionist hadn’t commented on it as soon as she popped in. 

“Geez, you look like a shrimp,” she laughed, dropping a data card on your desk. 

“You’re a bit of a cod yourself,” you teased, and she giggled, swatting your arm. “What’s this?”

“A new app. I was gonna bring him back here in person but he said he had lots of ‘big important stuff’ to do.” She rolled her eyes. “Quite the cocky one. He didn’t want to go through the interview process because he ‘knew what he wanted and it was a big dog’.” A chuckle followed the words as they both nodded. They were familiar with the type.

“Did you tell him he has to do an interview if he wants anything at all?”

“Yup. Said you’d contact him.”

“Lucky me.”

“Thought you might like a challenge. It’s been quiet for you lately,” she grinned.

“Considerate as always,” you smiled right back. 

“Have some fun with him. He could use someone taking him down a peg or two. Although I thought I could see the remnant of a black eye, so maybe someone already tried. He’s a big boy, too.” A suggestive wink.

“Oh boy. Can’t wait.”

Next Chapter

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Because Echo has a well deserved reputation. #chaos strategist

The imperials don’t scare their kids by telling them stories about the boogeyman, they scare them by telling stories about Echo.

Echo can do anything and everything! Total badassery.

Do I love a hero move or what?! @vodika-vibes nailed it! His bunny…. 😍

You Belong With Me

Summary: Wolffe wants you to be happy. It’s all he’s ever wanted. But watching you with him is killing him.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

Word Count: 1221

Warnings: Reader has a pretty serious burn, Reader is described as having hair long enough to tuck behind her ear, Reader's boyfriend is described as a jerk

A/N: I'm not sure about this one, I had an idea but then I changed the idea halfway though and I feel like this fic is kind of disjointed. But I woke up freezing and with a migraine threatening me, so this is the best I have today.

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He swore that he wouldn’t get involved.

He promised himself that he would be happy for her and that he’d play nice with her boyfriend. 

But Wolffe doesn’t think he hates anyone as much as he hates the man who just forbade her from drinking her favorite cocktail. Only for his ire to grow to new heights when he makes a joke about how she needs to lose some weight.

He watches her face fall, and he watches how she nervously plays with the sleeve of her dress, and Wolffe finds himself seriously contemplating how to best kill the boyfriend in a way that won’t come back to him…or onto her.

She hates wearing dresses, and she hates wearing long sleeves. If he has to guess, the boyfriend bullied her into dressing in a way that makes her look delicate and soft, rather than allowing her to be comfortable.

Wolffe downs half of his drink in one long gulp, trying to distract himself before he does something foolish…like throw the boyfriend out a window and into traffic.

Not that his brothers would let him do such a thing…well, not with so many witnesses around, at least.

Finally, after several more comments about things that she needs to change to be more attractive, the boyfriend wanders off to go and talk with some of his friends, and Wolffe immediately moves to her side.

Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and Wolffe has to bite his cheek to keep himself in check.

She scans his face for a moment, and then she folds her arms over her chest and curls in on herself, as if to make herself smaller. “You’re mad.”

Wolffe huffs out a laugh and lightly takes a strand of her hair between his fingers so he’s able to tug on it, “Don’t be silly, this is just my face. I always look like this.”

“I’d believe that if you didn’t look like Count Dooku just walked into the bar,” She replies.

Oh. Oops. He thought he was hiding his emotions better than that.

“Ah, well…I’m not mad at you, Bunny. Don’t you worry.”

Her gaze slides across his face again, “You hate him.”

“Well, I’m not dating him. I don’t have to like him.” Wolffe glances at her boyfriend, and he scowls, “He’s kind of…immature.” He’s a walking shit-stain is what Wolffe really wants to say, but his Bunny already looks so defeated and he doesn’t want to upset her.

“He’s not normally like this,” She tries, “I think he’s intimidated by you and your brothers.”

He scoffs, unimpressed. 

“Anyway,” Wolffe lets his gaze drift over her, “Since when do you wear dresses? Let alone dresses with long sleeves?” He lightly plucks the sleeve of her dress, and his eyebrows creep up when she quickly tugs the sleeve down over her hand.

Tellingly, she won’t look him in the eye. “Well, I thought, maybe it’s time for a change?”

“That right?” Wolffe leans back slightly and examines her properly, “You look uncomfortable.”

“W-well, it’s new and kind of uncomfortable—”

“Bunny,” Wolffe reaches out for her hand and she immediately presses the palm of her hand against his. Her hand is so small when compared to his, it just makes him want to protect her even more, “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I just…I don’t want you to get angry. I’m not worth that.”

“I’m a grown man, you don’t have to try and manage my emotions.”

“But…” She trails off and then, with her free hand, she tugs her sleeve down her arm, revealing an angry-looking burn on her forearm, the blister is easily three inches long and it looks bad.

“Why didn’t you go to a hospital?” Wolffe asks as he gently takes her arm and moves it so he’s able to see the burn better. It looks like she’s been cleaning it and treating it with bacta, but until the blister is popped her treatment isn’t going to do much.

She shrugs one shoulder, “He said that I shouldn’t. That it would be a waste of resources when I can treat it myself.”

“Did he do this to you?”

“What? No!” Her gaze snaps to his face, “Not intentionally. It was an accident. He might be kind of a jerk, Wolffe, but he’s not abusive. I swear.”

Wolffe takes her hand and tugs her over to where a group of medic brothers are gathered, “Then what happened?”

“It really was an accident,” She insists as she trails behind him, “I was helping him make something for his mother, and he tripped over his kid sister while holding a frying pan full of hot oil. His concern was getting the kid out of the way, and I got hit.”

“Mm…fine.” He doesn’t like it, but accidents happen. “What about the way he talks about you?”

She averts her gaze, “I dunno…he’s never said stuff like that before.”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow, “And the dress? You hate wearing dressed because you’re always cold.”

“I…he’s allowed to have preferences.”

“Yes, he is. And so are you.” Wolffe stops and turns to face her while threading his fingers with hers, “Come on, bunny. Are you happy with him? Because I’ve seen you happy, and I’m not seeing any of that right now.”

She squeezes his hand, “He asked, Wolffe. And…I didn’t know how to say no.” It’s a quiet admission, but it’s an admission all the same.

Wolffe sighs and lightly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “We really need to work on your boundaries, bunny. And, for what it’s worth, I think you deserve better than someone who wants you to change for him.”

“It’s not like anyone is interested, Wolffe.”

“Maybe you should try looking a little closer to home,” He counters pointedly.

She blinks at him, “Closer to home?”

“Maybe someone who you’re already friends with?”

He watches realization cross her face, “Wait, you mean yo—” Wolffe lightly presses a finger against her lips, cutting her off.

“Bunny, your boyfriend is making out with the waitress.” He probably shouldn’t be as amused by that as he is, but he’s never claimed that he’s a good person.

She turns her head, and her expression sours, before she looks up at Wolffe, “I’d like to leave.”

“Alright, we’re going to the clinic, right?” Wolffe asks pointedly as he lifts her injured arm.

“Home first, I wanna change into something a little less…Little House on the Prairie. And then, yes, you can bring me to the 24-hour GAR clinic.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Wolffe mutters.

“And then, after they clean it, maybe we can get some caf?”

“Bunny, are you asking me on a date?”

She looks up at him, a little anxiously, “Only if  you want?”

Wolffe flashes a crooked smile at her, and then drops a kiss to her temple, “I would be honored. Don’t you have to break up with tweedle-dumb over there?”

“Don’t be mean. I’ll send him a text.”

“Now who’s the mean one?”

His bunny pouts at him, and then carefully tugs her sleeve down over her burn, “Let’s get out of here, Wolffe.”

“As you wish, bunny.” This isn’t how he planned on catching his bunny’s attention, but now that he has it, he’s not going to let it go for love or money.

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Thank you @stellarbit for this fun take on my request! That came from your brain so quickly! I love it! 😻

(Is this where requests are submitted? Hope so!)

1000 followers! I can’t even fathom that. Well done!

Was hoping for a SFW using “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.” Female in the periphery of 501st (mech/nurse/comms) who is on the quieter side. Hanging out with the usual mouthy suspects (playing sabacc or watching a game) as the boys throw insults and tease each other. She throws in the occasional pointed zinger and it gets their attention. Then it’s on! Playful banter ensues. An intellectual “geeky girl takes off her glasses and is finally noticed” feel. Thank you for considering my request.

Thank youuuuuu for the request. This was super fun but WARNING I don't actually understand sabacc so beware I winged it a lil.

All Bets Are Off

Word Count: 2.2k Pairing: platonic 501st x fem!reader Warnings: insinuation of gambling and bad portrayal of sabacc Summary: Jesse, Kix, Dogma, Tup, and Fives decide to play sabacc after finding you tinkering away alone. Dogma can't win, probably doesn't know how to, and you decide to lend a hand.

General Skywalker left much of his plans for the upcoming mission to the imagination of the 501st. All preparations that could be made with the few details given were already put into motion - leaving you and your squad with ample time to kill on the Resolute.

The General personally recruited you after your help decrypting Separatist communications during a mission on your home planet. You’d been hesitant at first, having no combat experience and the desire for a quiet life, but accepted regardless.

The men of the 501st battalion did their best to put you at ease and yet, even after a few weeks with them, you still sat in an adjustment period. Not that that stopped them from loitering around you in their downtime. You were their first taste of female attention that wasn’t Jedi, though, they’d never admit it. In return you were boundlessly entertained by the clones, though, you rarely showed it.

Having come upon you tinkering with a broadband transceiver, Jesse, Kix, Fives, Tup, and Dogma took up a game of sabacc to ‘keep you company’, as they put it. All the while, you snuck glances from the sidelines. Three rounds in and Jesse was on top with Dogma sourly coming in last. 

“Admit it, Dogma, you don’t even know how to play.” Jesse laughed, triumphantly splaying out his cards on the table.

A chorus of groans rounded the group, accentuated by Dogma slamming a hand on the table. Quickly on his feet, Dogma jabbed an accusatory finger across the table. “I know how to play. You’re just getting lucky.” He curled his lip and harshly gestured to Tup who sat beside him. “I bet he isn’t even shuffling correctly!”

One corner of your lips tipped into a smirk. Dogma may have been wrong about Tup’s shuffling, but, at least for where you sat, it did seem luck fueled Jesse’s winning streak.

Tup swept his hands around the table, gathering the cards for another round. Ever the patient man, Tup only shook his head at his brother’s accusation. Kix, on the other hand, would never miss an opportunity to rile his tightly wound brother. 

Smirking, the medic leaned over the table, tauntingly saying, “If you’re so sure, maybe you should deal next.” Tup smiled, nodded, and offered the deck to Dogma. His suggestion only further annoyed Dogma, who pointedly shoved Tup’s hand away. 

As Tup started divvying out the cards, Kix continued, “And you’ll need a bigger tattoo to hide those tells, mate.” You paused your work solely to catch the predictable, red tint Dogma’s face took on.

“You’re one to talk,” Fives retorted with a chuckle, glancing at his first card and then smirking mischievously at Kix. “You couldn’t bluff your way out of a paper bag.”

“How do you-”

Jesse cut Kix short, “You pick up an extra card every time you think you’ve got a good hand.” The entire table murmured in humored agreement before settling into determined silence once the cards were dealt. 

It was funny, you thought, how they pestered one another. They really were brothers at the core of it all. 

Your hands remained still as you dialed in on the game. Initially, you drowned out their commotion during the first round. By the end of the second round, you were purposely eavesdropping - which might not have been the right word considering they’d stepped in on your work as opposed to the other way around. In the last round you’d started tracking who laid down what, correctly predicting Jesse’s win. You’d been counting their cards.

As the next round started you didn’t see the harm in possibly lending poor Dogma a little help. You were sure that Tup was right in Dogma’s knowledge of the game, but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a little boost. 

Nonchalantly positioning yourself for a view of the whole table, you kept an eye on the cards going around. It seemed that Jesse’s streak might finally break, and fortune was turning in Dogma’s favor.

Confident the other men had equally as bad hands, or worse, than him, you nearly turned away until Dogma started reaching for the draw pile. Hoping to stop him, you purposely scraped your spanner into the device in hand. By chance, the noise stalled him enough to glance towards you.

In a subtle second, you gave a discouraging shake of your head. His eyes stayed on you, albeit with a suspicious glint, as he retracted his hand. Dogma was in no way subtle and his obtuse reaction, just like all of his other tells, was not lost on his squad. You were back to looking busy by the time heads turned your way.

The moment the men returned their attention to the game you followed suit. For reasons unknown to you, Dogma maintained a frustrated expression despite the fact that you knew he had the lowest count hand. At that point, you were certain - he had no clue what the point of the game was or what it took to win. 

The round came to an end when Tup passed on his turn. It was Dogma’s best chance at winning and luckily Dogma did you the favor of looking your way without signal. You quickly mouthed ‘call’ before the others caught on. 

Tup did lean back in search of Dogma’s distraction, surprised to find you spectating. A small smile was all it took for Tup to shrug off his suspicions.

“Call.” Dogma announced with more confidence than you’d expected. 

The table erupted in mild laughter, with Kix nudging Jesse playfully. Jesse leaned forward, eyebrow raised skeptically. "You're bluffing."

"I second that," Kix chimed in. "No way I'm folding."

"Not a chance," Jesse added.

"And what keeps catching your eye?" Fives turned sharply, his suspicion fading as soon as he saw you. Leaning back with a relaxed grin, he draped an arm over the back of his chair. "Didn’t think you’d be interested in card games," he teased. “Or take you for a gambling woman.”

Catching the curious glances from the group, you shrugged lightly, your voice laced with feigned boredom, “Oh, I don’t gamble.” Setting aside the transceiver with the same small smile you gave Tup. “That’s for people who need luck.”

A round of “oohs” filtered through the group, each of the clones smirking to one another.

Fives’ head dipped, clearly amused by the jab. “That’s some big talk.” He nodded again to the table at this back. “Alright then, you tell us who’s going to win.”

You attempted a thoughtful frown but the edge you had on them wouldn’t let you stop smiling. “Well, I know it won’t be you.”

A sharp snort came from across the table. You and Fives peaked over at Dogma, who was finally showing some light heartedness. The smile Dogma finally wore made you feel even more confident in your interjecting. The man really needed to loosen up and you were glad to help.

Unbothered, Fives peered back at you then around the table at each of his brothers. “Not me, huh?” Slinking his arm back around he smoothly glanced at his cards once more and, with a casual flick of his wrist, exposed his hand.

Eager to see the results, you shoved out of your seat to stand at Fives’ shoulder. You were disappointed to see your prediction was a card off, but only by the suit, not the number. And, if you were right, Dogma still had the winning hand.

The others groaned and tossed their cards in. Jesse, visibly knocked down a peg, clicked his tongue and shoved his cards in Tup’s direction. The motion turned the cards face up and revealed a hand that lost to both Fives and Dogma.

You eyed the cards Tup gathered before looking over at Dogma. He had an iron grip on his two cards and an odd expression pinching his face. It was a mix between worry, confusion, and forced composure. Altogether it would be best described as outright discomfort.

Sighing, you relaxed with your head cocked to the side. Pointing over at him you nodded, “Go on Dogma,” you paused, shoring up the courage to join their ribbing. “Show them what it’s like to lose.”

Tup laughed heartily, stopped organizing the cards to give Dogma a sarcastic pat on the shoulder. “Yeah, c’mon Dogma. Show us.”

Instead of shoving Tup off, Dogma smacked his cards down in front of him. He kept the faces hidden beneath his hand for a suspenseful moment before unveiling his winning hand.

Dogma’s discomfort melted away as Tup’s sarcasm turned congratulatory while the others scoffed about Dogma’s luck.

In a show of disbelief, Jesse snapped his head in your direction. His tattoo was distorted by the severe pinching of his brows. “How’d you know he was going to win?” 

Fives leaned in on his elbows, waving a dismissive hand. “Everyone gets a little lucky.” The dismissal bit into your pride, a slight you wouldn’t let pass.

Bringing your face to his level, you purred to Fives, “Like I said, I don’t need luck Corporal.” You mimicked Tup’s gentle pat to the shoulder as you straightened back out. “If you must know, it’s called ‘counting cards’.”

“You counted the cards?” Kix leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, and wearing an incredulous grin. “From over there?” He exchanged a shake of his head with Jesse beside him.

In a voice that was more impressed than incredulous Jesse said, “It does seem like a reach.”

“You’re just mad that you lost.” Dogma interjected, sending a reassuring nod your way. Out of his squad, he’d been the least personable with you up to that point. Not that his struggle with the softer touches of rapport building ever offended you, it just made the small display of kindness stand out more than it would coming from the others.

Unfortunately, his newfound endearance put you on the spot when he followed up by saying, “In fact, I bet she’d wipe the floor with you lot.” 

Dogma wasn’t smiling at you as his brothers turned fully on you, but he was positively brimming with pure confidence in you. He was so much easier to win over than you’d expected and yet, for all he knew, you could’ve just gotten lucky. His borderline blind faith was concerning as it was flattering.

“Well…” Your voice trailed off as the weight of their expectant smiles settled in.

Fives shifted completely around in his chair, soaking up the awkward twinge in your smile. “I’ll take that bet.”

Something about the way his eyebrow quirked up at you in challenge made your stomach flip. For the sake of your sanity you hoped it was born from friendly competition as opposed to charm. 

Sucking on a tooth, you gave it one last thought and rolled your eyes. “If you want to go broke that badly, I won’t say no.” 

Your compliance, reluctant as you tried to make it seem, roused another round of cheering from the men. Fives and Jesse gladly scooted apart, making way as you drug a chair over. 

While you settled in, Tup chuckled as he began shuffling the cards, “If we’d known you liked sabacc, we’d have made you join ages ago.”

Brushing off nonexistent dust from your sleeve you replied, “If I’d known you were this easy to beat I’d have joined ages ago.” Earning their jovial reactions was weirdly satisfying and made you a little annoyed you hadn’t warmed up sooner.

“Alright, alright. Enough chatter.” Fives said in a warm tone. He sat close enough that he only had to lean over slightly to bump into you. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is, Shorty.”

Your face heated a bit, neck nearly snapping as you looked up at him. Jesse’s laugh cut you off as you tried to refute the moniker. You weren’t quick enough in turning on Jesse before Kix piped up.

“You are shorter than, well, all of us.”

Even Dogma seemed amused by their joking with you. For him, it probably felt nice for the center of the joking to just not be him for a while. And… it didn’t feel bad either to get the same treatment as they all did.

Despite scoffing to yourself, there was no hiding your enjoyment. A feeling had been bubbling in you through the entire interaction and, without warning, you started laughing loudly and genuinely. Unbeknownst to you, as eager as you were to keep them laughing, seeing your real smile for the first time made the 501st boys just as determined to keep you smiling.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.” You mumbled as the laughter subsided.

“Ahh, stick with us and I’ll bet you’ll be sick of it.” Tup said, earning an agreeable mumble from the rest of his brothers.

You shrugged, unconvinced. “I’ll take that bet.”

Family dinner at Clone Central.

Looooved the casual conversational style. Whole thing had me giggling! 😃

hiii can you do a story about after a long mission, Hunter and Fem reader are about to make out but Omega interrupts and just keeps asking about what they were doing

I’ve been dreaming of this thing for a long time

HI! Thanks for the ASK!!!

Sorry this one took awhile. Been working a LOT lately.

But, here it is! Hope you like!!!

(Pinterest pic credit: Maulia)

"LITTLE INTERRUPTIONS"

HUNTER X FEM READER ASK FIC

Background: This is set after Tantiss when the remaining characters settle on Pabu. My headcannon is they take off for missions to help Rex and the Clone Rebellion. Omega stays with Auntie Phee who keeps her busy with treasure hunting and (mostly) out of danger. She gets to still be a child with fun adventures.

Word count: 1K

Warnings: Swearing, mention of male erection, implied inevitable sexual activity

“Movies over. Time for bed, Omega!” Hunter promptly popped up off the sofa, nudging her to get up. 

“Aww...I’m not tired. Can we watch a couple holoshorts? THEN I’ll go to bed.” 

“Nope, off you go.” Finally dislodging her off the edge. “Brush your teeth first.” 

“Jeez...why are you in a hurry???”  

I couldn’t help but giggle at her persistence and sass. Little smarty pants. She suspected something was up. Usually, Hunter would let her linger a bit longer after the show was over. 

Hunter and I have been seeing each other in-between missions. Him with Clone Force 99 and me with my little band of Rebel Cell “Missfits” (an unruly group of women from planets all over the galaxy). Usually, our squads worked separately and had never heard of each other until meeting on a mission planned by Rex. 

He and I hit it off right away. 

From then on, we conveniently kept running into their squad. Even when we didn’t necessarily need help. And at times when we DEFINITELY needed it. They saved our asses on quite a few missions.  

The Missfits never forgot CF99’s generosity. We saved their cute butts too. After all, we support our allies. 

Eventually I just came out and confronted Hunter. And in front of both squads. Sometimes a woman’s gotta put a man in the hot seat to see what he says. 

“Hmm...we meet AGAIN! Are YOU keeping tabs on us?” Stated it loudly while staring him down...giving my devil may care expression. 

Hunter tried to hide his amazement at my bold statement. Keeping a neutral expression. He really did. But I could see the small barely perceptible grin at the corners of his sweet mouth. 

Kriff, I like to watch him lose his composure! Letting go of the control he tries so hard to keep in check... 

Wrecker couldn’t contain himself, slapping his brother’s shoulder HARD. “He’s keeping tabs on YOU! MAHAAA!!!” 

Hunter turned three shades of red while OUR entire squad erupted in wolf whistles and cat calls. The ladies COULDN’T let THAT go without making a big deal out of it. 

Of course, Wrecker’s statement was partially true. It was no secret he, Echo and Crosshair had a thing for the ladies in our squad. 

Then things got sticky with The Empire and we had to lay low for a while. Being seen together in the same place at the same time proved too risky. Our squads parted for quite a few months. We missed our men. They missed their women. 

But I digress. Back to Movie Night... 

Little Miss Omega really had our number. She glanced from Hunter to me.  

Surely, she suspected SOMETHING, just unsure of WHAT. 

“Goodnight kiddo. We’ll plan to do something fun and stay up later another night. With or without your brother.” I reached out with my foot and playfully kicked Hunter’s leg. 

He’s giving me that hungry look he gets when I’m sassy and physical with him... 

Omega smirked “Goodnight Y/N.” 

Then off she went to brush her teefies. 

Hunter settled back on the sofa, slid up close, arm up on the back of the couch around me. He expertly turned off the lamp on the table behind us. Smooth. 

We stared deeply into each other’s eyes in the semidarkness of the holoprojector. 

“Missed you. All I thought about for months.” His smoky voice so low. So deep. So...sexy. 

“Mmm...did ya now...” 

Maker, he’s so beautiful and sweet it makes my heart ache. Gonna tear him up tonight...quietly of course...we don’t want to wake up... 

“OMEGA! Go back to bed.” Hunter, doing his best to NOT sound annoyed. Didn’t even move from his position on the sofa. Still gazing in my eyes. 

The tiny, barely perceptible shadow in the hallway turns and scurries back to bed. 

“Damn Hunter. You’ve got kid radar.” 

“Not the only thing I’ve got.” He sensually runs his hands up my arms, shoulders, neck, caresses the sides of my face... 

...we close the gap between each other. Gently touching noses, foreheads. My arms slide up his stomach, chest...finally gripping his strong shoulders...and just as our lips meet... 

“HOLY KRIFF!” I just ‘bout lept off the sofa!!! 

Omega stood 5 ft in front of us...watching... 

“Hunter...did YOU teach her to be THAT quiet???” 

“What did I TELL YOU?!” He’s trying to be patient. Trying REALLY hard. 

“I’m thirsty...” Her expression is uncertain. She’s a good kid and certainly not trying to be disobedient. 

“You know where the sink is.” He’s the kind of guy who would get the water for her.  

But he CAN’T right now. I can feel his hardness against my thigh. Hunter shoots me an uneasy expression.  

He anticipates she’ll ask to be tucked into bed next...and he CANNOT support that action right now. 

I quietly giggle. 

He slowly shakes his head at me. 

Omega bounces into the kitchen and we can hear the sink running. 

The tap turns off. 

Sounds of a tiny person drinking. 

The rest of the water gets dumped into the sink.  

Clink of the glass being set on the counter. 

She’s quickly back in front of us. 

He inhales with the anticipation of her request. 

I’m watching all of this with bated breath...ready to bust out laughing. It’s NEVER a dull moment in The Batch household. 

“Will you tuck me...?” 

“OMEGA!” She jumps out of her skin. 

Echo emerges from the darkened hallway. A serious expression on his face, and a contrast to the #1 MOM t-shirt he’s wearing with his sweatpants. 

“Leave them alone and come to bed.” His expression softens. NOBODY can stay mad at Omega. 

“But...” She’s stalling. 

“Now, young lady.” Echo raises an eyebrow and holds his hand out to her. 

Omega glances back to Hunter. 

“Go on with Echo. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I know you have questions.” 

She nods and takes Echo’s hand. Before they disappear down the hall, Echo glances over his shoulder and winks at us. 

Hunter and I wait... 

The door to Echo’s room closes. Clearly, he’s running interference for us tonight. Providing privacy. Otherwise, Omega will keep sneaking out. 

Waiting a minute more...Hunter cocks his head like a dog...listening... 

While reaching over and pressing a button on the holo-remote. Slow, sensuous Jizz music starts to play. 

Then that handsome man turns back to me with an intensity in his eyes that makes my whole-body ache.  

“Now...where were we?” 

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

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STAR WARS: THE BAD BATCH // Choices "As your brother, I'm asking you to do the right thing."