Hi Big Fan But Too Scared To Publicly Request 😭

hi!! just read both of your wrecker works and rineicbeijcwjkdjs LOVED THEM!! wrecker’s my fav of tbb and i really feel like he needs more love😭 i'm gonna be checking out some of your other works later lol

anyways i saw that you were taking requests, so i went through your prompt list and saw two that caught my eye. they're 24. “You need to wake up because I can't do this without you.” and 18. “I almost lost you.”

i was wondering if you could write something with those prompts for wrecker please? like tbb + reader were able to rescue omega, crosshair, and tech (i am believer in tech surviving season 2 finale), but the reader got seriously injured during the rescue and is now in a coma. wrecker would be the one to say the prompts and it would be angsty like wrecker thinking the reader might die. but please let this end happily.

other than those details i trust your writing skills and process for anything! take your time writing, there's absolutely no rush!! and again your writing is soooo awesome!!😊😊

Well hello there!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those fics, and thank you for popping this request in - so sorry it's taken me so long to write it! I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope it hits the spot 😁

I guess it's also technically canon divergent now S3 is out, haha 😅

Through the Darkness

No one said rescuing the rest of the Batch from Mount Tantiss would be easy - you just didn't expect it to go like this.

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, reader in a coma for a bit, little bit of angst, but also dashes of hope, happily ever after.

Translations: sarad - flower

Hemlock has his hands on you, his blaster pressed to your temple. The sounds of fighting cease. Dead TK Troopers litter the floor. Wrecker and his siblings freeze, slowly lowering their weapons.

Your back is pressed to Hemlock’s chest, and there isn’t a clean shot at him.

“Anyone moves and your dear liaison will pay the price,” Hemlock states.

Rage flows through Wrecker. You were in danger, too far for him to grab and shield, and he had no idea what to do. He glances at his siblings – Omega curled against Hunter’s side with weariness painted on her face, Tech leaning heavily against Echo for support as his body protests the prolonged time standing. Crosshair had peeled off from the group earlier, searching for what or who none of them was sure. They were all back together again. A family again. He wasn’t about to let Hemlock take you from them.

Shakes start in your thighs, slowly creeping up your body until your arms and hands tremble, too. You’ve been in dangerous situations before, had your life threatened before - but you’re certain Hemlock would do it. The man is crazy and will stop at nothing to get his hands on your family. The sound of his verbal back and forth with Hunter is like white noise.

The slightest movement in the rafters above catches your attention, and your eyes dart up. Battered and bruised, Crosshair has found a vantage point and a rifle. Those hawkish eyes meet yours, and a silent conversation is shared. You do the maths. There’s only one way out of this. Thank the Maker you still trust him, even after everything.

You give an almost imperceivable nod, knowing he’ll catch it. You flick your gaze to the others, taking one last look, just in case. Echo, who’d joined you all near the end of the war and had so seamlessly slipped into the fold of your family. Tech, worse for wear after his fall on Eriadu, but with that same solid determination in his eyes. Hunter, the man who’d welcomed you into the squad all those years ago, listened when you shared your thoughts and didn’t make a fuss when you broke terrible news to them about the next mission. Omega, trying to hide her fear through bravery – so much for a young girl with such a pure heart to endure. And Wrecker, the imposing force of a man who’d always put himself between you and danger, who reached for you at every opportunity and consoled you when things had gotten too much – the man you’d quietly loved for some time.

With a shaky breath, you close your eyes, placing all your faith in Crosshair. The quiet sniper who’d at first sneered at you and flicked toothpicks in your face before he’d thawed out and helped perfect your aim, taught you how to use his rifle, and what to look out for when scouting.

The sound of his shot reverberates around the hanger, and milliseconds later, searing pain tears through your shoulder, pulling a piercing cry from your lips. Legs giving out, you crumple, welcoming the cold durasteel you hit.

You don’t know if they all made it out, but you pray they did.

Wrecker hasn’t moved in weeks, refusing to leave you alone. The memory of you being shot won’t leave him; the sound of your agony is stuck on repeat. You’d been in bacta for what felt like forever, the shiny skin on your shoulder a testament to its healing power, but it wasn’t enough to wake you from the coma you’d slipped into. Pabu’s only Doctor had insisted on removing you from the tank once your physical wounds had healed, transferring you to a standard medical bed.

Crosshair’s shot had torn through your shoulder, but the angle had been perfect. Wrecker hadn’t expected any less from his little brother. The bolt had exited you and entered Hemlock, hitting him straight in the chest. A kill shot. That hadn’t killed you. Or so Wrecker hoped. Even if you woke, your shoulder would likely ache for the rest of your life, and your arm would not be as strong as before.

The sound of the door opening pulls Wrecker’s gaze from your prone form and across the small room in Pabu’s clinic. Crosshair slides through the crack in the door, thin lips pressed together, brow pinched. He visits often, guilt in his eyes every time he looks you over. You might’ve okayed the shot, but it still tore at the sniper’s soul to have hurt you.

“Nothing?” Crosshair rasps, sticking close to the door as he glances between you and his brother. He’d never admit it, but fear was starting to settle in his gut. If you didn’t wake…

“Nothin’.” Wrecker confirms, shoulders slumped. “Been talkin’ to her. Doc said she might be able to hear us. Not that it’s doin’ much good.” He sighs, gaze shifting back to you. “Told her we all got out okay. That you and Tech and the kid are alright. Don’t want her worryin’.”  

Crosshair makes a slight noise, acknowledging his brother’s words as his gaze lingers on your prone form.

“You stayin’ a bit?” Wrecker asks, using one foot to push out the spare chair at his side – the rest of their siblings often visited, too.

Hesitating, Crosshair lets out a small sigh as he moves across the room, lowering himself silently into the chair. He hadn’t stayed before, preferring to flit in for any news before disappearing. It hurt too much to see you this way, knowing he’d caused it. That and he was still working through everything that had happened during his time with the Empire, trying to fix his relationships with his siblings. But Wrecker needed him, so he’d stay.

You’d always hated the dark.

The shadows surround you, pressing in from all sides. Yet amidst the inky darkness, you find yourself standing in a solitary spot of light, its glow offering a semblance of warmth amidst the chill of the void. The lights kept appearing, and you’d learned quickly that when a new one glistened on the horizon, you had to run for it before the light you were already standing in disappeared. 

You’d lost track of how many lights you’d chased so far. 

Each one varied in intensity – sometimes brilliant beacons, other times mere flickers barely piercing the gloom. Yet, regardless of their brightness, they all held a magnetic pull, drawing you forward with an unyielding force. And each time you reached one, a brief respite washed over you, a fleeting moment before the next journey into the unknown began.

Scanning the horizon, you spot another light starting to beckon, its faint glow a promise of safety. With a heavy heart, you know what you need to do.

Taking a deep breath, you burst into a sprint. Each step forward is a battle against the darkness, its tendrils reaching out like icy fingers, eager to drag you into its embrace. Goosebumps prickle your arms, heart pounding as fear gnaws at your insides, but a stubborn determination fuels your movements. You can’t afford to falter, to succumb to the darkness, not after everything.

Worry lingers at the edge of your consciousness, a constant reminder of uncertainty. What lay beyond the lights? Will you ever find your way back to the world you once knew? The questions taunt you, echoing in your mind relentlessly the longer you spend here.

Yet, a glimmer of hope remains amidst the fear and uncertainty. Though the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, there must be a reason for the light. There has to be something causing it. Blessing you with it. Giving you these small moments of respite and keeping you in one piece. 

You keep going. One foot in front of the other.

A shove yanks Wrecker out of sleep, and the big man jolts awake with a small yelp.

Crosshair snickers, leaning back in his seat, drawing his hand back towards his chest. “Sleeping on the job, vod.” He can’t help but jibe, his smirk melting into a frown at the sound of Wrecker’s stomach growling. “When’s the last time you ate?” He asks. He hadn’t wanted to wake him, seeing him finally getting some rest, but the sun was high in the sky now, and Crosshair knew it wouldn’t be long until Omega and Hunter swung by.

Blinking, Wrecker’s mind takes a moment to catch up with the fact he’s awake. “Urm, yesterday? Maybe?” He guesses, not really sure. The days were starting to blend together.

With a huff, Crosshair stands, long legs unfolding. “Will get you something. Can’t wither away before she wakes.” He mutters, grateful for the opportunity to leave and not have to sit any longer in silence with his feelings – he’d done enough of that for the day.

With a slight nod of appreciation, Wrecker watches as Crosshair heads out the door, hearing the gentle click of it shutting behind him. Hand wiping over his face, Wrecker shifts in the chair, stretching a little. But he can’t avoid the inevitable forever, and although it pains him, he looks you over for what feels like the millionth time. 

Despite his imposing stature, he feels powerless.

He hadn’t been able to protect you - the woman he loves. He’s loved you since the moment he first met you in the hanger of a Venator, as you’d been assigned to him and his brothers as their liaison. You’d offered them a smile that had rendered him speechless, and his booming laughter had then filled the hanger when you’d quipped back at Crosshair as he'd sneered about them not needing a babysitter.

You kept them on their toes and blended in so seamlessly with their chaotic lives.

Without an audience, Wrecker clears his throat, leaning forward in his seat to gently take your tiny hand in his much larger one. “I hope ya can hear me, sarad.” He starts, voice mellow. “Been a few weeks now since we got ’em back.” He’s not sure how much you’re aware of, if the passing of time is something you’re experiencing. “Cross was just here. Finally sat for a bit. Think he feels guilty.” Wrecker pauses, brows furrowing, face pinching. “I feel guilty. Should have protected ya, kept ya close.” Wrecker’s voice cracks a little, emotion seeping through. 

“We’re all here, though. Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what. Can’t wait for ya to wake up and tell us all how much trouble we’re in.” He chuckles softly, a hint of sadness in the sound. “Just...ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.” He admits, a well of emotion pressing down on his chest.

Wrecker’s words hang heavy in the air, the weight of his emotions palpable even in the silence of the clinic. He wishes he could shake this feeling of helplessness and do more than just sit by your side, waiting for a sign of life. But for now, all he can offer is his unwavering presence and a steady stream of conversation, hoping against hope that somewhere within your subconscious, you can hear him.

Keep going. You need to keep going.

The darkness claws at you, desperate to slow you down and draw you into its embrace. But the light grows closer with every step you take, with every thud of your heart as you race forward. Amidst your footsteps echoing in the void is the faintest whisper of something familiar.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

“Wreck!” You cry out into the darkness, feet faltering for a second as you recognise the deep voice. The darkness tries to take advantage of your momentary hiccup, but with a yelp, you pick up your pace. The hope that lingers in your heart explodes. As you draw closer to the light, Wrecker’s voice comes into focus. “Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what.”

With renewed determination, you push yourself harder, every muscle in your body screaming for rest, but you refuse to give in. The light grows brighter, its warmth now palpable against your skin.

And then, just as you’re on the verge of stepping into the light, a sudden force knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling onto the cold, hard ground. Panic grips your chest as you scramble, desperate to continue your pursuit.

But the darkness has other plans, closing in around you like a suffocating blanket, obscuring the light. Amidst the coldness creeping through your body, you cling to the memory of Wrecker’s voice, a lifeline in the darkness.

Body straining, you crawl forward, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, determination burning bright within you. You don’t belong in the darkness. You belong in the light. With them. With him.

Straining, you reach out an arm, trembling fingers skimming the edge of the light as Wrecker’s voice comes through loud and clear. “…ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.”

The darkness recoils. 

With a final surge of strength, you propel yourself forward, breaking free from the suffocating grip of the void. The light envelops you, wrapping you in its warm embrace as the shadows recede into the distance, getting further and further away. Relief floods through you, tears of joy mingling with sweat on your cheeks.

Head tilting back, you look up at the light, a bubble of laughter escaping as you bask in the glow. Eyes fluttering shut, you savour the moment. Yet this time, when you open your eyes, there’s no darkness or blinding light anymore. 

You blink. Once. Twice. The soft hum of medical equipment fills the air. And there, beside you, is Wrecker, head bowed, the weight of his hand wrapped around yours. 

Everything seems to freeze except the frantic thudding of your heart. “Wreck…” You whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse as you dare to hope you’re back. Really back. 

Wrecker’s head jolts up at the rasped sound of his name, his good eye widening as he meets your gaze, your name falling from his lips as his features crumple, a heaving sob of relief escaping him.

You slowly sit up, wincing at the ache that shoots through your shoulder. It’s still tender, but the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming flood of emotions that wash over you at the sight of Wrecker’s tear-streaked face. 

You reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in reality. “I’m here.” You murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him.

Wrecker’s grip tightens around your hand as if afraid you might slip away again if he lets go. He leans into your touch, his words catching in his throat momentarily before he stands, leaning over the bed to envelop you in an embrace, protective yet gentle, conscious of your shoulder. “You’re back.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Thought I almost lost ya.”

Weak but grateful, you return his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence washing over you, grounding you in reality. A lump forms in your throat at the thought of him worrying about you, thinking he would lose you. “Not going anywhere, big guy.” You reassure him, sniffling as you try to keep a lid on your emotions. “The others?” You ask cautiously, dread curling in your gut. 

“All made it,” Wrecker confirms, arms slowly uncurling from around you as he sits back in his chair, hand scooping up yours so he can maintain some contact. 

Your dread is swept away and replaced immediately by relief; this time, you don’t bother holding back your sobs.

“No cryin’, pretty girl. Please.” Wrecker’s heart aches at the sight, his free hand moving to cup your face and wipe away the tears.

You smile through your tears, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. Wrecker’s touch is like a lifeline. “Sorry.” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to reign in your feelings. “Just...so relieved.”

Wrecker offers you a tender smile. “No need to apologise, sarad,” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. A bolt of courage has him leaning forward to gently kiss your forehead.

As Wrecker’s lips meet your forehead, warmth seeps through you, chasing away the last remnants of the dark coldness. He pulls back a little, his gaze meeting yours, and the air feels electric. Without a word, you lean forward, closing the distance between you as your lips finally meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. 

And you realize that amidst the chaos and darkness, love has always been the guiding light, leading you back to where you belong.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees

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I’m SO excited to read more of this. Completely agree Fox is a grumpy cutie who needs reassurance, naps, blankies and the good caf. And I absolutely loved Thorn basically marching him for treatment and how he knew Fox would 💯 skip out the moment he wasn’t looking 😂

Too Sweet

Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Doctor!Reader

Words: 6,140/20,589

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, strangers to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, description of blood/wound care, Fox is a little anxious/paranoid, and he needs a hug, you can pry goofy Thorn out of my cold dead hands, smut in part 3? 4?

Summary: Fox has no time for romance. He doesn't even have time for sleep, let alone dates. But when a horrible day at work leads him to you, he suddenly finds himself in danger of reevaluating his priorities.

A/N: Trying something a little different with more, shorter parts for these longer fics. Also forgot to say thanks for 650 followers! hello!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

“For the last time, I don’t need a medic.”

Fox is trying to be polite about it, but the tone of his voice is bordering on a growl. Every push on his shoulder is a jab to his pride, making him hiss like an angry tooka-cat. He knows he's being ridiculous, but that's never stopped him before.

His patience is already thin, but it had been stretched to the breaking point by a series of unfortunate events over the course of the day. The first, and arguably the most annoying, had occurred at the beginning of his shift.

Fox had woken up late, and his alarm clock had gone off with a loud, obnoxious tone that had caused him to shoot straight up in his bed, slamming a fist onto the off button. He scrambled out of bed and dressed faster than he thought possible, then hurried into the mess hall for the early shift breakfast. He was late enough that the food line was empty, and his choice was between a bowl of sludgy porridge or an unidentifiable ration bar.

The ration bar had tasted like stale durasteel, and the porridge was more of a thick slop, so Fox had opted for the latter. He scarfed it down with a mug of caf after an overdrawn fight with the machine, which tried to refuse him more than one portion of caf. He had left the mess hall with his stomach growling and his mouth bitter with the aftertaste of the caf, and his mood had soured even further when he found the lift under maintenance, forcing him to take the stairs.

When he arrived at the office, there was an enormous stack of datapads on his desk. A new security system had just been installed throughout the city, and the details were apparently too sensitive to be kept on the holonet. The only copies of the schematics were the ones on the physical datapads, and Fox had the wonderful task of checking every single one.

By the time lunch came around, Fox had managed to read through half the stack despite the constant interruptions. Someone would come in and ask about some obscure policy, or a trooper would report that someone had thrown a bottle at him, and the Chancellor would call for updates, and all the while, Fox had to be careful not to crush the datapads with his gauntlets.

The Chancellor was especially persistent today, calling him in person to demand a detailed analysis of the new security measures. Fox was forced to leave the datapads behind in order to give him an impromptu briefing, which ended with the Chancellor dismissing him with a wave of his hand and a curt, "I'm sure you have more important things to attend to."

Fox was seething when he returned to his office, and in a last minute attempt to escape his prison and an effort to calm himself, he decided to walk the patrol route himself instead of sending a trooper.

Of course, this had to be the day that every citizen on Coruscant decided to commit a crime, from a jaywalking elderly woman to a pair of pickpockets that had made off with a trooper's blaster. There was an argument outside a bar, an illegal speeder chase, and a man had decided to start a fire in the middle of the street, and all this had happened in the span of less than two hours.

Thorn had thought it was funny, but Fox hadn't found it nearly as entertaining. And now, he's been injured during the scuffle with the firestarter, and Thorn is making a big fuss about it.

Fox's shoulder throbs with pain as he moves, and he tries to ignore the way the skin is tightening around the wound. It's only a scratch, but it's deep, and Fox can feel blood oozing out of the cut and dripping down his armor. His head is pounding, and his chest aches from having been slammed against the duracrete by the man's boot.

A hand presses down on his shoulder, and Fox flinches away with another hiss. He turns on Thorn with a scowl

"I'm fine," he growls, shrugging Thorn's hand off his shoulder. "Leave it alone."

"Fox," Thorn says. He's trying to sound reasonable, but Fox can hear the exasperation in his voice. "It's a karking gash on your arm. I can't leave it alone."

Fox rolls his eyes. "I'm not letting you drag me back to the medbay for something as minor as this," he says. He turns and starts walking, heading towards the Senate building. "We've got more important things to do."

"I'm not dragging you to the medbay," Thorn says, running to catch up. He grabs Fox's arm and yanks him to a stop. "You're going to GMF. It's on the way to the Senate anyway."

"What? No!" Fox sputters, but Thorn is already pulling him down the street. He digs his heels into the ground, but Thorn is stronger than he is, and the other commander pulls him forward without breaking his stride.

"You're coming with me whether you like it or not," Thorn says, his voice firm. He doesn't loosen his grip, and Fox can only follow along helplessly. "The office will survive without you for a couple of hours."

"Thorn, you're not—"

"Yes, I am."

Fox scowls. Thorn isn't budging, and neither is he, and they've reached a stalemate. He's considering the merits of just sitting down and refusing to move, but before he can even make a decision, they're already at GMF.

"Let's go," Thorn says, pulling him up the steps. "Just stop trying to act tough and get over yourself."

Fox wants to protest, but Thorn has an iron grip on his arm, and he doesn't want to risk a public spectacle, so he allows himself to be pulled inside.

"Fine," he huffs. He can already feel a headache coming on, and his stomach is still grumbling in protest at its meager breakfast. Maybe he'll be able to sneak away before anyone notices, and no one will ever know that the Commander of the Guard was seen at GMF for such a minor injury.

"That's the spirit," Thorn says, grinning. He pulls on Fox's arm again, and this time, Fox lets himself be dragged away.

They've been sitting in the waiting room for a few minutes, and Fox is already starting to regret his decision. It's a busy day at GMF, and a steady stream of injured people are filing into the building, filling the waiting room with a cacophony of moans and groans.

Fox's shoulder is starting to throb again, and the wound is leaking blood into the fabric of his blacks. Thorn is tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his expression thoughtful.

"I wonder how many people are in here because of you," he says, looking around the room. There's a group of young men sitting on the opposite side of the room, nursing a variety of wounds. "They must be getting sick of seeing the Guard around here."

Fox glares at him, and Thorn chuckles.

"You'd think they'd learn their lesson and stop committing crimes," Fox mutters.

"We'd all like that," he laughs. "But we both know that won't happen."

Fox sighs, leaning back against the wall. He shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. He's still annoyed about his arm, and now the smell of bacta is starting to get to him. It had always had a pungent, chemical smell to him, and the scent of the various medical supplies is making him queasy. 

He can feel his stomach starting to churn, and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. The bright fluorescent lights are only making things worse, and the sound of the door sliding open and closed as various people walked in and out of the medical wing is grating on his nerves.

It doesn't help that Thorn is sitting right next to him, staring him down like he's a suspect in an interrogation. He'd caught on to Fox's plan to slip away almost as soon as they'd stepped into the room, and Fox had been forced to endure his company as they waited for their turn.

"How long is this going to take?"

"They said they were pretty busy today," Thorn says. "I'm not sure, but you're probably going to be waiting for a while."

"Great."

"Don't be such a baby. It'll be over before you know it."

Fox groans and leans back in his chair. He can't help but think of all the work that he should be doing right now. The stack of datapads has probably gotten taller since they left the office, and he'll have even more work to do once he returns.

He hates the feeling of wasting time, especially when there's so much to be done, and at this rate, he'll be lucky if he manages to finish the rest of his work by nightfall. And that was if the Chancellor didn't call him again.

"You should go back," Fox says, looking up at Thorn. "I can handle this."

Thorn raises an eyebrow, giving him an incredulous look.

"And let you weasel your way out of getting that arm checked out?" he scoffs. "I don't think so."

Fox shoots him a glare, but Thorn only grins.

"Nice try, but no," he says. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Thorn—"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Fox sighs and slumps in his seat. He can see that Thorn isn't going to budge, and he doesn't have the energy to argue with him. His shoulder is really starting to hurt now, and the bleeding hasn't slowed down yet. He's getting dizzy, and the queasiness is growing stronger

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall. He feels terrible, and the longer he sits here, the worse he feels. The smell of the bacta is making his stomach turn, and the noise and chaos in the room is starting to get to him.

The medical center always brings back memories of the Kaminoans, and he was usually only ever here when one of his brothers was seriously injured. He doesn't have fond feelings towards the place.

"This is a waste of time," Fox mutters. "I could be working, or doing literally anything else right now."

"You know it's not a waste of time," Thorn says. He's looking around the room, keeping a close eye on the other people. "You're injured, and you need to get that taken care of. Stop being such a stubborn di'kut."

Fox is about to say something in response, his eyes land on a medical droid heading their way. He lets out a sigh of relief and gets to his feet. Finally, his suffering is about to end.

"Commander Fox?" the medical droid asks, stopping in front of him with a metallic whir.

"Yes, that's me."

"Please follow me. We're ready for you now."

"Finally," Fox mutters, ignoring Thorn's chuckle. 

He follows the droid down a long, white corridor, his footsteps echoing against the tile floor. He keeps his eyes forward, refusing to look back at Thorn. He doesn't want to see the smug look on his brother's face.

After a few minutes, the droid leads them into an examination room and motions for him to sit down on the cot. Fox complies, perching on the edge of the thin mattress and crossing his arms, trying not to fidget, and Thorn takes a seat in the chair in the corner of the room.

The droid is quick and efficient, running the scanner over his shoulder and chest and checking the readouts. It tells him that he'll need some stitches and bacta treatment, and Fox sigh, nodding his agreement.

"Thank you, Commander," the droid says. It stands still for a moment, processing its data, and then turns and exits the room.

"You're not getting out of this one," Thorn says as soon as the doors shut behind the droid.

"I know," Fox grumbles, slumping in his seat. He rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I just want to get this over with."

Thorn shakes his head, a smile playing across his lips. He doesn't say anything, but Fox knows he's just happy to have won. They're both competitive, and any victory, no matter how small, is something to celebrate.

"Stop that," Fox snaps. He doesn't want to deal with Thorn's smugness. He's already irritated, and the last thing he needs is for his brother to rub his victory in his face.

"Stop what?" Thorn asks, feigning innocence.

“That thing that you’re doing with your face.”

“It’s called smiling, Fox, you should try it sometime. I think you could use the practice,” Thorn teases, and Fox rolls his eyes.

Before he can come up with a retort, the door opens, and Fox reflexively straightens, preparing himself for the worst. The medical droids aren't exactly known for their gentle touches and bedside manner.

To his surprise, the person who enters the room isn't a medical droid. 

Fox feels his eyes widen as he takes in the decidedly human figure standing in the doorway, a datapad in hand. Wearing a crisp, clean set of medical whites, you stand tall, and his first thought is that you're beautiful.

His second thought is that you look far too cheerful for someone working in a medical facility. Your eyes are bright, and you're smiling, and the expression is so warm and genuine that it makes him wonder how you're managing to maintain it in a place like this.

It's a nice smile.

It isn't until Thorn clears his throat that Fox realizes he's been staring at you for the last few seconds, and he hastily looks away just as you glance up from the datapad.

"Hello," you say, your voice soft. "Commander Fox, is it?"

"Y-yes," he manages to reply, feeling his cheeks flush.

"And I'm Commander Thorn," Thorn chimes in, and he shoots him a smug look when Fox turns to glare at him.

"Well, hello," you say. Your voice is warm and melodic, and your eyes are sparkling. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"The pleasure's all mine," Thorn replies, flashing you a grin.

"Yeah," Fox mumbles. "Pleasure."

He's never felt so awkward in his life, and he's suddenly acutely aware of the blood on his armor, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions, and the fact that he hasn't slept in a couple days. You, on the other hand, look fresh and put together, and you're practically glowing.

You introduce yourself, and you give them a brief summary of your qualifications and experience. Fox doesn't pay much attention to what you're saying. He's too busy trying not to stare at you, and it isn't until he hears the word 'bacta' that he snaps back to reality.

"Wait, what?" he asks.

"Bacta," you repeat, tilting your head slightly. "It's a healing substance that stimulates the body's natural ability to regenerate tissue."

"I know what bacta is," he says, his tone coming out harsher than he intended.

You blink at him, clearly startled by his response, and Fox feels his face heating up.

"Right," you say, clearing your throat. You offer him a small, polite smile, and he looks away, embarrassed. "As I was saying, we'll need to administer a small dose of bacta to the area where the injury occurred. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Fine." Fox crosses his arms and tries not to scowl, and you turn away, tapping on your datapad again. Thorn kicks him in the shin, and Fox gives him a look. The other commander gestures with his eyes to you, and Fox frowns, shaking his head.

"Do you have any allergies or medical conditions?" you ask, looking up from the screen.

"No," Fox says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The mattress is far too thin, and the metal frame is digging into the back of his knees. "I already told the droid."

"Right," you say. "Just making sure."

Fox glances over at Thorn, who gives him an exasperated look, and Fox sighs. He knows that he's being difficult, but he can't seem to stop himself. His shoulder hurts, his head is throbbing, and his stomach is rumbling, and he just wants to get this over with so he can return to the office and finally finish the rest of his work.

He looks back at you and sees that you're staring at him. You're looking at him with concern, and your lips are pressed into a thin line. You're not smiling anymore, and Fox feels a twinge of guilt.

"You don't have to be nervous," you say. "This is going to be a quick procedure, and it won't hurt at all. We'll use a local anesthetic and numbing spray, and you won't feel a thing."

"I'm not nervous," Fox protests, his face flushing. "I just don't have time for this."

"I understand," you say, and your expression softens. "But this is important, and we need to make sure that you're taken care of."

Fox wants to argue, but there's a hint of steel in your tone, and the look in your eyes is firm. You're clearly not going to let him get out of this, and he sighs, resigning himself to his fate.

"Alright," he says, reluctantly.

"Great," you say, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

He feels a little better when you smile at him, and he tries not to smile back. You turn away, busying yourself with setting up the equipment, and Fox takes the opportunity to look at you again. You're standing with your back to him, and he can see the outline of your figure through your medical whites. You're not very tall, but you're not short either, and he wonders how old you are. You can't be older than twenty-five, he guesses, but it's hard to tell with natborns.

"How did you get that injury, anyway?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

"Work-related incident," Fox says. He doesn't want to tell you the truth. He doesn't want you to think he's a clumsy idiot, or that he can't do his job properly.

"Oh," you say, sounding a little surprised. You turn back to the equipment, and he can see the muscles in your back tense. "That sounds... dangerous."

"It's nothing," Fox says, his voice low. "I can handle it."

"Of course," you say softly. You turn around and walk over to the cot, your gaze focused on the equipment. "Okay, armor off, Commander. Let's see it."

Fox stiffens, his heart skipping a beat. "I—what?"

"The injury," you say, your brow furrowing slightly. You reach over and brush your fingers against his arm. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Fox says, a little too quickly. 

Thorn lets out a snort, and Fox glares at him. He just raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face, and Fox rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, it's been a long day," he says as he turns back to you. "Just a bit tired, is all."

"That's understandable," you say, your lips curving into a small, sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I've been on my feet since 0600."

"I think you win," Fox says, his voice dry.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, and his heart skips a beat again. It's a nice sound, and he feels a strange surge of pride at having caused it.

He was truly terrible at making small talk, and most people found his dry sense of humor off-putting. The fact that you had laughed at his words, even if it had been a polite, professional laugh, was surprising. It was hard not to see it as a small victory in an otherwise terrible day.

You smile at him again, and he feels a sudden urge to smile back. You look like you're about to say something, but then your datapad beeps, and the moment is lost.

"I'll be right back," you say. "Just got to check something."

You step out of the room, and Fox lets out a breath, relieved that you're gone. He hadn't expected you to be so friendly, or to be so concerned about him. Most natborns just saw the troopers as an extension of their equipment, and they only spoke to him if there was a problem. You're different, though, and it's unnerving.

"You're blushing."

"What?" Fox sputters, turning to Thorn. "What are you talking about?"

"Your face is red," Thorn says with a wide grin.

"It's the lights," he says, pointing to the ceiling. "They're too bright."

"I didn't know we could blush," Thorn teases. "That's kinda cute."

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on. You can't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested."

Fox sighs and shakes his head. "Not now, Thorn. We're in a medical center, not a bar."

"Good thing, too." Thorn stands up and starts to help him unlatch his armor, a smirk on his face. "Cause if we were, you wouldn't have a chance. She's way out of your league."

"You're the worst," Fox says, and he swats Thorn's hands away and reaches up to unfasten his shoulder plates himself.

"She's pretty," Thorn continues, ignoring him. He pulls off Fox's pauldrons and sets them on the ground. "And she's not scared of you, either. That's a first."

"Yeah, well, she works in a medical facility," Fox mutters, slipping out of his cuirass. "They must have taught her how to deal with difficult patients."

"Maybe," Thorn says. He removes the rest of Fox's armor, placing it carefully on the ground, and then steps back. "But I don't think that's it. She's nice."

"She's paid to be nice."

"That's not fair, and you know it."

"I don't need you playing matchmaker," Fox grumbles.

"Fine," Thorn says, crossing his arms. "But if you don't ask for her frequency, I will."

Fox's eyes widen. "Don't you dare—"

The doors slide open again, and you step inside, your expression bright. "Sorry about that."

Your gaze is focused on the gloves you're pulling over your hands as you walk in, but as soon as you look up, your smile vanishes, and you freeze. Your eyes are fixed on his arm, and Fox quickly glances down, noticing the large dark patch of blood seeping through his undershirt.

"Oh, Commander!" you exclaim, hurrying towards him.

"It's not that bad," he says. He hadn't realized how bad it was until now, and his heart is pounding in his chest. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Your tone is stern, and he finds himself shrinking back a little under your intense gaze. "Now sit still."

Fox does as he's told, watching as you pull a stool over and set up a tray. Your movements are swift and practiced, and you don't seem at all bothered by the amount of blood. You're frowning, but your eyes are calm, and Fox finds himself relaxing a little.

"Let's get this over with," you mutter.

You're not smiling anymore, and it unsettles him. He'd thought that he had imagined the steel in your voice earlier, but now he can hear it clearly, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, sir," he says, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's doctor, actually."

Fox winces.

"My mistake," he mutters, his voice apologetic. "Force of habit."

You look at him, and he thinks he sees the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but before he can be sure, your face is composed and neutral again.

"Would you prefer I cut the sleeve off, or would you rather take it off yourself?"

"I'll do it."

You nod, and he lifts his arms, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin. His stomach clenches at the sight of the deep, bloody gash, and the stench of copper is heavy in the air. He can feel the blood beginning to trickle down his arm, and the sight of his pale, slick flesh is almost enough to make him vomit.

"Are you okay?" you ask, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"Yeah," Fox manages. He's feeling a little woozy, but he tries to push it down. "I'll be fine."

You give him a sympathetic look, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the wall.

"Okay," you say. You grab a vial and a syringe and inject it into his arm. "This should help numb the pain. Try not to move."

Fox nods, and you lean closer, gently cleaning the wound. The smell of the disinfectant is strong, and he forces himself to focus on your face instead. Your expression is calm, and you're humming softly as you work, and he finds himself relaxing a little more.

"How did this happen, anyway?"

"Like I said, it's work-related."

"So it was a knife, then?"

Fox glances at the gash, and he nods. He can't tell if the cut is deep enough to require stitches or not, and he's a little worried that the knife might have hit an artery.

"You're going to have a nice scar."

"Good. It'll match the others," he mutters, his tone flat.

You pause for a moment, looking at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's a sadness in your eyes that he doesn't understand. You resume cleaning the wound, and he tries not to think about it.

"Do you always go out in the field?" you ask.

"Sometimes."

"And do you usually get injured like this?"

"It's not uncommon."

"Hmm." You're quiet for a few moments, and then you glance up at him, your eyes filled with concern. "You're very brave."

Fox is stunned. No one has ever said anything like that to him before, and it catches him off guard. He doesn't know how to respond, and he just sits there, staring at you. You don't seem to mind, and you return your attention to his wound.

"This is a lot deeper than I thought," you murmur. "It'll need a few stitches."

"Okay," he says, his voice soft.

"Try to relax," you say, gently touching his arm.

He nods, and you begin to sew up the wound. He tries not to think about the fact that the needle is digging into his flesh, and instead focuses on the feeling of your gloved hands on his skin. They're gentle and warm, and the scent of the disinfectant is beginning to fade, replaced by the faintest trace of flowers.

He can't remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. His brothers are rarely so careful, and most people who touch him are doing so with the intention of causing him harm. It's a pleasant change, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he expected.

"Sorry," you say, glancing up at him. "Almost done."

"Take your time," Fox replies. "I'm in no rush."

That's patently untrue, but the lie slips from his lips easily, and he's rewarded by a smile. He can see Thorn giving him a pointed look, and he knows that his brother will never let him live it down. But right now, he doesn't care.

The smell of flowers grows stronger, and he realizes that it's coming from you. The scent is subtle, but pleasant, and he's surprised by how much he likes it. He wonders what the source is. Is it your hair? Your skin? Or maybe it's something you wear, like perfume. He can't quite tell, and the mystery is starting to bother him.

You finish suturing his wound, and you dab some bacta gel over the stitches, sealing them. The sensation is cool and soothing, and Fox lets out a soft sigh of relief.

"How does that feel?" you ask.

"Better."

"Good," you say, your expression softening. You reach out and squeeze his uninjured shoulder, and Fox's eyes widen slightly at the unexpected gesture. "You should be all set, Commander."

"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds awkward in his ears. He's never thanked anyone for treating his wounds before. Usually, it was a medic droid, or another trooper, and his thanks were never required. But somehow, the words seem necessary now.

"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice. You remove your gloves, tossing them in the bin, and turn to clean up your equipment. "Do you have any other injuries, Commander? Any other...work-related incidents?"

"No, nothing else."

"Good." You stand up and stretch, and Fox takes the opportunity to admire the shape of your body. He can't help himself, and he quickly looks away, a flush rising on his cheeks.

"Thank you," Thorn chimes in, and Fox nearly jumps out of his skin. He had almost forgotten that the other commander was there, and his brother is looking at him with a knowing smile.

"You're welcome," you say, smiling at Thorn. You turn to Fox and offer him a smile, too, and he tries to smile back. It probably looks more like a grimace, and he quickly drops it.

"Now, remember, if that gets infected, or the stitches come loose before they dissolve, I want you to come right back, okay? No excuses."

"Got it," Fox replies.

"I mean it, Commander," you say, and you give him a stern look. "Don't make me hunt you down."

Fox blinks, his heart skipping a beat. You're serious, and he finds himself nodding, agreeing without thinking.

"Yes, sir," he says, and then mentally curses himself. "Doctor."

You chuckle, and the sound makes his chest tighten. It's the nicest sound he's heard all day, and he can't help but smile. You give him a playful salute, and he returns it, and you laugh again.

"Well, I hope we don't see each other anytime soon," you say, grinning.

"Me, too," Fox mutters, before he stiffens. "I mea—"

"I know what you mean," you say, your eyes sparkling. You hold out a hand, and he hesitates for a moment before taking it. Your skin is warm, and his breath catches in his throat when you gently squeeze his hand. "Take care, Commander."

"You, too," he says, and your smile widens. 

You pick up your datapad and step around the cot, moving towards the door. As you pass him, Fox catches another hint of the flowery scent, and his eyes widen. Lavender. It's lavender.

"Have a good day, gentlemen," you say. You flash him one last smile, and then you're gone.

He lets out a long, slow breath, trying to process what just happened. He feels... strange. There's an odd warmth in his chest, and he's still not quite sure what it is. He doesn't think it's anything bad, but it's new, and he doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or the painkillers. Or maybe it's the bacta. Yeah, it's probably the bacta.

Thorn slaps him on the back, and he lets out a startled noise, nearly falling off the cot.

"I don't know what the hell that was," Thorn says, chuckling. "But it was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen."

"Shut up."

"Seriously," he continues. "She's definitely way out of your league. I might even say she's way out of mine."

"I'm leaving," Fox grumbles. He grabs his armor and starts putting it on, trying not to wince as the plates rub against the bandages. "Get out of my way."

"Sure, sure," Thorn says, stepping aside. He gives Fox a sidelong glance, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Just make sure you give her your frequency."

Fox stops, his helmet half-on. He stares at Thorn, his mouth agape, and then turns away, pulling his bucket on over his head. He's not about to give Thorn the satisfaction of an answer. Not when his brother is clearly enjoying his discomfort so much.

He stalks out of the room, his boots echoing against the tile floor. Thorn follows, laughing, and Fox can feel his cheeks burning. He keeps his head down, his shoulders hunched, and he's determined not to speak another word. 

As they walk through the lobby, he notices you standing at the desk, speaking to the receptionist. You're not smiling anymore, but Fox can still see the ghost of it on your lips, and he feels the strange warmth growing inside him.

Thorn elbows him, and Fox lets out a hiss, glaring at him through his visor. He's already starting to regret allowing Thorn to drag him here. This whole experience had been far more traumatic than the injury itself, and he would have been better off ignoring it. But as he looks back at you, his gaze lingering on your form, he finds that he doesn't really regret it. At least not entirely.

The receptionist hands you a datapad, and you nod, thanking her. You turn and look at him, and he quickly ducks his head, pretending to adjust his pauldron.

"Commander!" you call out. "Wait a moment."

Fox stops, and Thorn snorts. He turns and sees you approaching, a small smile on your lips.

"Forget something?" he asks, and he winces internally at how gruff his voice sounds.

"Yes, actually," you say, stopping in front of him.

"Okay," he says slowly. He doesn't really understand why you're talking to him again, but he's not complaining. "What is it?"

"Your frequency."

Fox freezes, his eyes widening. He can't believe what he's hearing, and for a moment, he's convinced that he's misheard. It doesn't seem possible. Not with how the day has gone so far.

He glances over at Thorn, who's practically vibrating with excitement, and he quickly turns back to you, his heart racing.

"Uh..."

"I'll have the receptionist check in on you every few days, just to make sure everything is healing up okay," you continue. You hold out your datapad, and he takes it automatically. "But if there's any complications, or you notice anything unusual, don't hesitate to contact me, okay?"

The breath leaves his lungs, and he's grateful for the bucket over his head. Right. Of course. You're his doctor. This is completely professional. The disappointment that floods his veins is surprising, and he mentally scolds himself. What had he been expecting, anyway?

“That won’t be necessary," he says, handing the datapad back. "But thank you."

You frown. "Commander..."

"It's fine." He turns and gestures for Thorn to follow. "Come on, we've got work to do."

He can hear Thorn muttering behind him, and he knows that his brother is probably annoyed, but he doesn't care. The warmth inside him has vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable numbness. He doesn't know what he was hoping for, and he's glad that the conversation is over. It's better this way.

You call out after him, but he ignores you, and within moments, he's out of the building and back on the street. Thorn is right behind him, and they start the long trek back to the office.

"I can't believe you just did that," Thorn mutters.

"Did what?" Fox asks. He doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes fixed forward. He can feel his face heating up, and he's suddenly feeling very tired.

"You're an idiot," Thorn says, shaking his head.

"Shut up."

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Fox tries not to think about the conversation. It doesn't matter, and it's better to just forget it.

He's been doing this job long enough to know that it’s dangerous to get attached to people, especially when they were civilians. Things never worked out, and the risk of getting hurt was too great. He'd seen too many of his brothers get their hearts broken by the citizens they were trying to protect, and he wasn't about to let that happen to him. It wasn't worth it. And you weren't special, anyway. You were just another natborn.

He repeats these thoughts to himself over and over, and eventually, he starts to believe them. The warmth inside him disappears, and the numbness returns. He's relieved. He's finally starting to get his head on straight, and the sooner he forgets about you, the better.

And yet, when they reach the Senate building, Fox hesitates. His eyes wander towards the medical center towering over the cityscape, and he feels a twinge in his chest. He tries to ignore it, and he continues walking, heading towards the office. But the ache doesn't go away, and the image of your smile lingers in his mind, taunting him.

He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He'd only just met you, and it was nothing but a brief conversation. There was no reason to be upset. But somehow, it feels like something was taken from him. And he can't figure out what it was.

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I am working on my crosshair calico critter!

I just finished his blacks. Tomorrow, I'm going to start with his armor 💖

“Touch **, and you’re dead.” With Wrecker

Night Gone (Not Totally) Wrong 

Summery:On your way home....things go horribly wrong. But when a big, strong clone comes to your rescue, it causes you to reconsider. Did your night go horribly wrong after all?

Warnings: Little violence. Self depcrecation. mentions of drinking.

Celebrating You Masterlist

Hello dear Anon!!!! Sorry it took me so long to get this out. I wanted to do well on it and life things came up which I had to settle...I hope it was worth the wait! Enjoy!

Huge shout out and thank you to @arctrooper69 for beta reading this story for me!!! Thank you for your suggestions and helping quell my uncertainty after not writing for so long!!!!! <3

You made your way through the streets of Coruscant, trudging along the lonely, empty ally. It was all dark, except the crumbs of light from neon signs and stores, which fell from the busy streets above where the city was lively with music and laughing, drunken men. 

You hated coming this way, especially this late at night, but there was nothing you could do about it. Your normal way home was blocked off by an accident which you could tell would take hours to clear up. Your alternate route was under construction, and so was constricted. Your second alternate route was so out of the way due to military lanes now reserving important pass ways you might as well stay at school overnight. Your third option was you could walk up by the bars, but you didn’t want to do that. Last time, you almost got hit by three different speeders! And hit on, by multiple, unstable beings. Which you have to say, you preferred being hit by the speeders than that. 

But the chill in the still air down here sent a shiver up your spine, which wasn’t related to the cold. Every step you took, filled you with dread and regret that you’d come this way. Amazing how the yearning to get home, and your exhaustion, overroad all sense of urgency, caution, and warning at the time. Now, you were wishing you hadn’t silenced that inner voice. Nope, from now on, you would let it scream and talk and shove this experience in your face so you wouldn't repeat it again. 

Your eyes darted too and fro. Every sound echoing in the ally, and in your ears and brain. You turned sharply to see what they were only to find a womprat knocking over a bottle and the clicking and prattling of tiny feet as it scurried away.

Sighing in relief, you turned around again, still hugging yourself despite the moment of levity. 

“Well, that was certainly nothing to be afraid of.” You huffed, scolding yourself. 

“That wasn’t, but I am.” A deep, gurgling voice growled at you. 

Your body froze, and you slowly turned around to see a masked humanoid step out of the shadows. 

“Try to run, I dare you.”

Your scream pierced the air. As you turned in panic, an electrocord wrapped itself around your ankle. With another scream, you fell to the ground with a hard thud. You let out a sob and a groan at once. Your knees were bruised and your hands were scraped. 

The figure made its way toward you, hand extended with a blaster. You tried to scramble away but a shot of pain from your ankle paralyzed you. 

With wide eyes, you watched your attacker’s steady, slow strides make their way ever closer to you. The gap thinning significantly by the second. 

Then, a flash of blue blinded your eyes and the sound of his blaster clanking a distance away made you gasp. 

“Touch her, and you're dead.” A strong, scratchy voice boomed behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the voice belonged to a large, burly man who towered above you and even your attacker. He had one false eye and his head displayed scarred flesh in the form of a star. He stared menacingly at the man and took two quick steps for you. 

Your attacker screamed at the incoming giant and fled the scene, all bravado gone. 

The man's scowl turned soft and he knelt down to where you were quivering and shaking. 

“Are ya alright there? Did he hurt ya?”

Your eyes were still wide with fear, and your limbs still felt paralyzed. You couldn’t move anything. You just hugged yourself and heaved. 

“I-I-I” you stuttered, struggling with your breathing. If you weren't so shaken, you'd be angry at your inability to get your words out. “I–”

“Don't worry, it'll be ok. I'll get you home.” he interrupted, gently. 

He looked you over and spotted the twisted ankle. 

“Oh, that looks like it hurts.” 

“I-it does.” You said curtly, hissing at the pain that started to crawl up your leg into your kneecap. You dug your fingernails into the gravel below you, trying to convince yourself that it actually did something to relieve the pain. 

“The name's Wrecker.” 

You hummed in reply, acknowledging that you registered what he said. You couldn’t tell if he was being polite or just trying to distract you with conversation. Probably both. You didn’t care enough to differentiate how you felt about it. 

“May I?” 

With a nod of your consent, ‘Wrecker’ scooped you up, and lifted you in his arms carrying you out of the alley. 

He continued to talk; marveled at the uncanny ease of his strength, nonchalance and conversation, you couldn't tell if it was to set you at ease or if that was just how he was.

“We'll get my brother, Tech, to look at that ankle of yours. He’ll know a safe way to remove that thingy without hurting ya more. He's smart and good at everything. He makes a good field medic. I know from experience.” He indicated his head with a nod and laughed. “I got it when I, uh, started messing with explosives in the beginning of our formation. I gathered a whole bunch of ‘em and lit up the entire base! Hunter didn't think it was funny but I thought it was awesome.” 

He laughed at the memories. “If Crosshair hadn't won the bet, he'd have been way angrier, I'm sure. I tried telling him it's the same with that height thingy he pulls. It's worth the risk, even though it's dangerous. It's freaking fun.”

He chatted on as if you knew the people in the stories, never offended by your lack of laughter or reactions. 

You stared straight ahead, hearing but not registering half his stories. You were sure that you'd enjoy them normally but the shaking wasn't going away. Your breathing was still off and your throat closed off by unshed tears. You wanted to cry so badly. Oh how stupid you'd been. All you wanted was to get home. You were hungry and exhausted, and thoroughly run-through by your life. You deserved what you got for being so stupid…

“Hey, it's ok. Cry it out. Hunter says it's good for you, or at least that's what he tells me. But you're not stupid. Don't ever think that. You're going through a lot but it sounds like you've been brave.” 

You jolted, mouth agape, starting at Wrecker for the first time with wide eyes. You didn't mean to say that out loud…

But Wrecker continued to look kindly but seriously at you. There was no jocularity in his manner now. 

“Don't downplay yourself. Anyone can make stupid mistakes. Happens. It's only when we let them get the better of us that they win.” 

You swallowed hard and looked down. 

“But I–” 

“None of that now.” Wrecker smiled big. “It’s war, even on comfy Coruscant! Sometimes ya have to do things ya wouldn’t otherwise do.”

You were silent for a bit before you spoke again. 

“It was my fault, Wrecker, I could have been more careful…how’d you find me?”

“Hm, well, I heard ya scream. My brothers and I were just at 79’s up there.” He indicated a higher level above. I was on my way back to the ship. I just jumped down here to see what it was.”

Wrecker arrived at a lift and kicked the lever to make it go up. 

“Better question for ya, why’d you trust me?”

He looked at you curiously. 

“Well, you have clone armor on…Clones are good…trustworthy…from my experience.”

Your face heated and you looked away again, with the contrast of your face to your body, you realized how cold you were for the first time. You shivered and tried to warm yourself. 

Wrecker noticed and readjusted you so your position was a little bit more close to a cradle, his arms creating a better shelter from the wind. 

The lift came to a jolting stop. 

When Wrecker stepped from the lift, you were met by three figures. You drew closer to Wrecker, fright returning, until Wrecker called out excitedly at the meeting. Ah, these must be the brothers from the stories. 

“Ah, I see you’ve returned.” One man adjusted his goggles. “We were about to come and fetch you. You were approximately twelve seconds over what you said you’d be.”

“Uh, I underestimated how far down it was…” his nose twitched and he switched his attention from his brother to you. “This is Tech! He’s the one that can fix you up!” 

‘Tech’ took one glance toward the ankle and back up at Wrecker. 

“It’s simple, Wrecker, really —”

“Where do you live, kid?” the one with the half-faced skull interrupted. “It’s late and we’ll get you home. Tech, you can give them the proper run down of how to fix it when we get there.”

“Next street over.” 

He nodded and jumped in the speed-car along with the others. Tech prattled on alongside you, Wrecker quiet for the first time, but he never removed his gentle eyes from your face. When you acknowledged his spying, he’d turn away embarrassed and pretended to be looking at something else, all red in the face. This little gesture made you smile a bit. The one with the sniper rifle stayed behind you, arms crossed and annoyed. He hadn’t said one thing. You vaguely wondered if you’d done something to offend him in the past, but he didn’t seem too concerned about your existence at all, so you thought perhaps that’s just how he was. 

The moments seemed shorter the closer you got to your home, a part of you wishing it’d drag on a little longer so you wouldn’t have to leave Wrecker’s arms. It was absurd of you, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. You’d only just met the man, but for the first time, you felt safe in the galaxy of danger. Wanted in a world of love – a place you always felt excluded from. Now, you understood the old holo-films you used to make such fun of. 

Before you knew what happened, you found yourself sitting on your couch, Tech binding your ankle. 

You didn’t remember blankly telling the boys directions to your apartment, nor Wrecker gently lifting you up and carrying you over the threshold to your home. Nor did you notice the exceedingly worried look he was giving you and his brother. 

“Is she ok?”

“She’s fine, Wrecker. She’s had a traumatic moment. She’s spacing out as a form of processing what happened. She’ll come to.” 

“T-hank you. I appreciate all that you boys have done for me.” You slurred when another bolt of pain jolted you into the present. You hated how your tongue felt like sand and mouth filled with mud. You shook your head to clear your mind. 

“No problem, ma’am.” Skull face said with a nod. “Glad you’re alright. If there’s anything more for you before we go….”

“No, thank you. Have a good trip back!” 

They all nodded their heads respectfully with a ‘good night’ and filed out the door. 

Sitting in the silence, your face heated. What the kriff? How could you have been so rude! You should have asked them if they wanted something to eat, drink, or something! What if you never saw them again? 

The idea made you freeze. 

Never see them again? 

Never seeing Wrecker again?

He was so kind, sweet, gentle yet strong. The who night he only treated you as a gentleman would. You didn’t want him to leave your life forever. Not when you’d just found each other. A knot formed in your throat and tears sprung to your eyes.

Nope, you couldn’t have that. You swallowed hard. Things made sense and didn’t at the same time. Your stomach all churned up. Is this what people called butterflies? 

If so… Why were you just sitting there? You had to do something, and quick!

Hopping on one foot, you fumbly raced to the door. Grasping and sputtering (perhaps with some curses about how out of shape you felt), you lunged for the door, grasping the handle and yanking it open.

“Wait! Wrecker! Wait!!!! Here’s my comm number!” You waved a piece of flimsy (you didn’t remember writing) in the air. “Call me maybe?” You looked at the note to double check you wrote the correct numbers in the correct order. Yup, all good. 

Wrecker jogged back to the door, first confused by your outburst but then a small grin made its way from ear to ear.

 “You betcha I will!”

 He excitedly took your number and lifted his commlink to his mouth. 

“Hope ya feel better! Can I come over tomorrow to check on ya?” 

With the rush of blood to your ears at your blush, you almost – almost – missed a sly, foxy voice you hadn’t heard before shout in glee.

“I told you they’d exchange numbers before the night was over. You owe me ten credits, Tech. Don’t forget the double or nothing he’d see her again in the next week. Pay up, bud.” 

Divider by @djarrex and @vet-iv-er

Speak Now

Word Count: 6.3k Pairing: A section for each of our boys Warnings: fluff and god I did our boys well Summary: As always happens before the Batch left after a visit, you find yourself wishing they didn't have to go. You've grown too attached to them, one in particular. You just didn't realize he'd grown just as attached. He should really say something.

The night was over. Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Tech, and Echo were scattered throughout your apartment resting. It felt good to see them all relaxed enough to sleep somewhere other than the Marauder or their barracks. It felt even better knowing you were a safe space for them.

You’d avoided the question of how long they’d be around this time - as if not asking would extend their answer. Missing them and wishing they wouldn’t leave weighed on you. You knew it was selfish.

They were doing something so important for the Galaxy. The Republic depended on them. Other people’s lives depended on them.

But you wanted them too and some fragment of you needed them too. How could anyone meet them and not become addicted to their presence?

Every time they came back to you, you inevitably indulged yourself in a dream of them tossing aside their duties for a civilian life. Even if it wasn’t for you, you’d still occupy a slice of their time. Wouldn’t you?

One of the clones in particular stood out to you. You vied for extra time alone with him amongst the already limited timeframes you were granted. 

Stuck in a daydream of anxiety you stood on your balcony, arms crossed and lost in the lights of the city beyond.

Little did you know you weren’t the only one with a fantasy of a different life - one with you in it.

 The Kaminoans drilled discipline into the clones. Not much of anything served as a temptation for them. Men like Cut were aberrations of their nature, but so were all of the men of Clone Force 99. 

The same man you dreamt of even tasted Cut’s temptation. Seeing you with someone else, seeing someone else by your side, made him realize that he’d like to be the one to stand by your side. And if he couldn’t do that he at least wanted you to know he wished he could be.

WRECKER

When you offered your bed to Wrecker, having Crosshair smashed up against him wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. It wasn’t that he and his brothers hadn’t slept dog-piled together plenty of times, it just seemed natural that sleeping in your bed might come with sleeping with you. 

Something he hadn’t realized he wanted until the idea was presented to him. 

Just like the idea of sleeping beside you, he’d never had much reason to think about your romantic life. Finding out you’d been seeing someone, seeing another man holding you, catapulted the concept into fruition. 

The said man quickly became an ex that night, but it made Wrecker wonder what it’d be like to be the one by your side. To be the one making you smile every day and keeping you warm at night.

Where Crosshair fell asleep almost instantly, Wrecker lay awake wondering where you were going to sleep and what you were going to do when they weren't with you. When he wasn’t with you.

Taking Crosshair’s elbow to the ribs was the last push Wrecker needed to roll out of your bed. Wrecker tiptoed around the rest of his squad scattered about your apartment in search of you.

A cool breeze chilled the skin of his exposed chest and led him to your balcony where you stood facing the city. You were lost in thought and unaware of his presence. Seizing the opportunity, Wrecker slowly padded over to you. 

He got within a step of you and slowly extended his arms out around you. Just for a moment, though, he appreciated how lucky he was to be this close with you. To be able to even think of touching you with no recourse. Then that moment was over and he snatched you up in his arms. 

You barely suppressed a yelp as he hauled your feet into the air. Your giggling echoed through his chest. You didn’t realize he was shirtless until he put you back on solid ground and you twisted around in his arms.

The two of you stood like that, loosely in each other's arms, until your giggles quieted and only the city sounds filtered between you.

Despite your best effort at modesty, your eyes fell to the eye level pec muscles. You’d rarely seen Wrecker out of uniform, let alone half naked. A sight that made you suddenly very thirsty. His muscles flexed, breaking your focus and earning a laugh from Wrecker. 

“Like what you see?” He chuckled as quietly as he could, barely mindful of his brothers inside.

Trying to look as uninterested as possible, you rolled your eyes and stepped back enough for his hands to slip off of your waist. “Show-off,” you mumbled playfully.

You peaked around him, looking for who else was up. “They’re all asleep.” Wrecker answered the obvious question. “I-I…” He fumbled around the reason he was the only one there, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Your face heated as you realized it would just be the two of you. Getting any of Batchers alone was rare given their circumstances. While you’d attempted to before, you’d never managed to get Wrecker to yourself. 

Ignoring how giddy the idea made you, you were quick to worry after why he couldn’t sleep. “Is it the bed?” You nervously asked.

Wrecker blew a raspberry and waved you off, “Your bed is fine.” When you kept staring up at him, silently waiting for further explanation, he tried to casually add, “Just couldn’t stop thinking is all.”

Relieved, you smiled and half-heartedly said, “Oh yeah? A credit for your thoughts.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. The two of you blinked at one another, both a little caught off by the failed attempt. Wrecker tried again, yet still he came up with nothing. 

Wrecker had never been a good liar to begin with and each lie he conjured sounded obvious. So he braced himself for the truth.

“I was thinking about you.”

“Me?” Your voice cracked with surprise.

Instantly regretting his decision, Wrecker stepped back, waving his hands anxiously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You grabbed his wands, stilling him and shutting him up. “You were thinking about me?” You asked, quieter this time.

Wrecker caved at your touch. Weakly smiling, he sighed and admitted, “Yeah, I think about you a lot.”

Surprise overtook you, but that didn’t stop a little smile from bubbling up. Every negative, anxious thought of tomorrow keeping you awake disappeared leaving only a stutter of half words to slip from you. 

Unable to compose your satisfaction with the news, you cleared your throat and replied simply, “Is that so?”

Your reaction widened his smile. Wrecker wasn’t sure what he expected, other than rejection, but it wasn’t bashfulness. Spurred on by the flush coming to your face, he took a step and a chance.

 He let out a soft laugh,“And I think I like you.” Lacing your fingers through his, he lifted one of your hands to his mouth. “That okay with you?”

His lips were hot on the back of your hand. Breathlessly you reassured him, “Of course,” With your free hand you palmed his cheek. Your earlier worry did begin to resurface. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Wrecker’s chest squeezed. He didn’t want to either. He’d rather stay by your side and spend every night with you like this. It wasn’t possible yet, but at least for a night he could.

With hope in his voice, Wrecker asked, “Would you consider coming back to bed with me?”

If it had been anyone else, you might think they were making a pass at you. Between the light pull of Wrecker’s brows and him being, well, Wrecker, the thought barely occurred to you. Not to mention, it did sound much nicer than worrying yourself to exhaustion on the balcony.

So you followed Wrecker back and he slid into your bed, pushing Crosshair back with his hip. Flat on his back, Wrecker extended his arm out to invite you in next to him. Your eyes flit between Wrecker and Crosshair who was now adjusting himself around his brother.

Careful not to disturb the sniper, you gently tucked in next to Wrecker only for him to pull you in tight. He wiggled in place, nestling into an optimally cozy position, before sleepily mumbling to you, “You owe me a credit.”

You didn’t dare speak for fear of waking Crosshair, but you didn’t have to worry long. Crosshair was the one to respond from his side of Wrecker. “Shut it, Wrecker.” He cracked an eye open to lock onto you, “And not a word of this to anyone.”

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair opened his eyes, blinking back into reality tucked in your bed next to Wrecker. He sat up on his elbow, taking a few moments to remember where he was.

He’d fallen asleep so quickly, Crosshair barely remembered lying down. Not that he was surprised. He was at ease in your home, it was one of your effects on him. The other being irrationality. You made him irrational and, at times, distracted. It was the only way he could describe it. 

He cared for little beyond his squad and his missions, but an irrational side of him did wander into thoughts of you between missions. Visiting you settled Crosshair into just another routine - another fact of his life in the GAR. He didn’t care for post mission accolades, but seeing you was an indulgence he never fussed about.

Crosshair had been content to spend the rest of his career oscillating between crushing clankers and spending downtime with you and his brothers. That complacency was shot to shit when the Batch surprised you with a visit and you surprised them with a newly acquired boyfriend.

The memory of seeing that slimebucket with his hands around you heated Crosshair as fast as when he first laid eyes on him.

Fully aware he needed to cool off before he could even think of falling back asleep, Crosshair left bed to step outside. He’d passed the rest of his squad in a beeline for the still open balcony door. Something he was noting to nag you about when you came into his sights, leaning your forearms against the balcony railing and watching the city lights.

Crosshair froze for a moment, wondering how he missed the fact that you weren’t inside. Irrational and distracted, he thought to himself.

“It’s funny.” You said, seemingly out of nowhere. Crosshair half expected you to be mid conversation on a comm until you peaked back over your shoulder at him.

He walked over to you, pulling up beside you to mirror your position against the balcony. “What’s that?” Crosshair drawled.

Hiding your smile in your shoulder you shook your head and looked back out over the city. “I can always feel when you’re looking at me.”

Pushing himself to full height with a scoff, Crosshair crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing. “Is that an enhanced trait?”

You kept your eyes forward as you smiled and shook your head, as if surprising even yourself. “No enhancements.” You paused, a half thought crossing your mind before you winking in his direction. “Just your effect on me.”

The wink he expected, you were always playful and light. Your words though, short and haphazardly spoken, took Crosshair off guard. They sounded too familiar. He couldn’t tell if you were being serious.

Pinning you with a seriousness that dampened your smile, Crosshair said in a low voice, “Was that his effect?”

The mention of your ex instantly drained you. Rocking back on your feet, you dropped your gaze to the ground for a few beats, really considering how you wanted to play this out. You didn’t want to waste your energy or your time with Crosshair on that prod. 

On a deep breath you stood to your full height and faced him with a tired smile. “I don’t wanna talk about him, Cross.”

His nickname on your tongue almost softened him enough to avoid the subject, but he still pressed you. Using the weight of his hip, Crosshair moved away from the railing in defiance.

“Why don’t you?” There was a challenge in his voice he rarely aimed your way. A shred of cruel teasing bit through his words, “Embarrassed?”

“No.” The word left no room for discussion. You met his challenge with your own, countering, “Why do you want to talk about him?”

Crosshair didn’t answer immediately. That venom of his gone all at once. He held your gaze, suddenly unsure ‘why’ himself. The thought of your ex wasn’t a pleasant one, but a persistent one nonetheless.

When more than a few seconds passed and only silence and staring remained, you squinted briefly before an idea struck you.

A tight lipped grin sprouted over you. Crosshair’s eyes fell to your lips, finding nothing but suspicion in your new look. Meeting your eyes once more he dreaded to ask, “What?”

Your mouth squirmed in a desperate attempt to suppress your growing amusement. You gave him an amused once-over, your gaze trailing from his feet to his head as you stepped in on him. You were close enough now that one wrong sway would put your chest against him.

Crosshair didn’t back down. He was on edge, unsure of what suddenly changed, but he didn’t back off. “What?” He asked, insisting with more annoyance.

“Are you jealous?”

Jealousy was not in his vernacular let alone his nature. Snorting at the very notion, Crosshair opened his mouth to object. Nothing came out. 

Because maybe he wasn’t jealous, but he certainly was possessive. Combined with the irrational streak you gave him, it certainly did look like jealousy.

Having let you cherish the moment for far too long, Crosshair tilted his head sideways to return your once-over before leaning in on you. Clearly entertained, he drawled, “And what if I am?”

You were in each other’s breathing space. One tempting sway and you could taste him. Even after a shower he still smelled like mint and gun oil. Holding your resolve together with nothing but string, you asked in a less than steady voice, “Are you?”

The two of you locked into another silent showdown. On a whim of concession, Crosshair eased off of you. You thought he was going to redirect or bite back but instead he muttered, “Get over it already.”

You stifled a gasp, caught somewhere between laughter and shock. “You’re actually-”

He very nearly regretted his version of admitting his feelings. Rolling his eyes, Crosshair moved around you with your delighted look trailing him. He came to your back and guided you forward with his hands at your elbows.

You gently resisted, craning your neck back to beam up at him, “Where are we going?”

Crosshair couldn’t decide if this was quickly becoming annoying or you were looking more cute with every second your smile grew.

“Bed,” He casually said as he prompted you forward again. 

Your head snapped forward and you quiet until you got to your bed. The one Crosshair was also sharing with Wrecker.

Crosshair said nothing as he got in under the duvet, scooted back into his brother and pulled the covers back when there was enough room for you. You tried not to think about it too much as you crawled in next to Crosshair.

He pulled the covers back up over as he settled in behind you. You both fell silent, allowing the warmth of the moment to sink in.

A low, sleepy groan emanated from behind Crosshair that was followed by Wrecker’s thick arm slinging over the two of you. You went stock still, not sure what to make of the situation.

You opened your mouth to comment but Crosshair cut you short by pulling you in and mumbling, “Think carefully about what you’re going to say.”

You decided to leave it be.

ECHO

Laid back comfortably, eyes shut and good arm resting on his stomach, Echo dozed off while listening to Hunter and Tech chatter. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until he was rolling onto his side and his chair tilted farther back. The shift in balance jolted him straight into a state of alarm and confusion. 

After a few slow breaths, Echo looked around and his brothers were now fast asleep with Hunter taking the couch and Tech on the floor. He leaned over the arm of the chair to see down the hallway. It seemed Wrecker and Crosshair were out too.

He was halfway to assuming you’d slept somewhere in your room when he heard the muffled sounds of the city. Figuring you’d left a window open, Echo got up to investigate. You’d gone through the trouble of putting him and his squad up for the night, the least he could do was shut a window for you.

Echo only hoped you felt as cared for as he did. So it was frustrating, to say the least, for Echo to meet the ungrateful scumslug who called himself your boyfriend. He didn’t come across as the brightest man in the Galaxy and insulting you in front of five trained troopers proved that.  His squadmates didn’t pick up on him calling you a ‘barracks bunny,’ but the slight wasn’t lost on Echo. All of his training to remain logical under pressure vanished when he laid your ex flat.

For the rest of the night, Echo circled back to the thought of what happened to you when they left. You weren’t defenseless, but you were alone. That bothered him more than anything.

Instead of an open window, Echo found you alone on the balcony and could only guess how long you’d been out there. Hoping to side step spooking you, Echo softly called out to you from the doorway.

He didn’t entirely succeed in not startling you. It hardly seemed to matter by the smile you turned on him. You put your back to the city and playfully gestured at him, “And why aren’t you asleep?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Echo chuckled. He enjoyed laughing so easily with you. “What are you doing awake?” He asked as he approached.

You debated being honest about the selfish thoughts keeping you up, instead choosing to shrug it off with a half truth, “Couldn’t get settled is all. You?”

Glancing back inside the house, Echo rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I think that chair of yours might have it out for me.”

Instantly, you could see him falling back. “Oh no!” Resting a hand apologetically on your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t warn you.”

Echo scoffed playfully, dismissively gesturing his scomp arm, “Takes more than a chair to take down this trooper.” His features softened the longer he looked at you. The city lights brightened you beyond just your smile. Seeing you safe and smiling satisfied a male side of him.

A chill ran through you and, without thought, Echo came to your side to put his arm around you. Rubbing some warmth into your arm, he suggested, “Why don’t we get you inside?”

You didn’t budge. Looking up at Echo, your smile dimmed as you considered him. He saw a sort of skepticism flicker through you. Unbeknownst to him, you were searching those hazel eyes for an ounce of deceit, or even pity, and only tender honesty stared back at you.

Echo saw your typical confidence wane when your gaze dropped. You looked guilty, but of what was lost on him. His brows pulled together in question. Clones were trained from creation to withstand and divvy interrogations. Gently extracting information not so much.

Treading carefully, Echo gently probed, “What is it?”

Shaking your head, your features pinched and you asked, "Why did you go so far for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Echo countered instantly, not needing a single second to answer. He adjusted his position slightly, reeling back for a better view of your face. “I won’t let someone talk like that to you.”

The answer didn’t satisfy you. As nice as the sentiment was, its inevitably fleeting nature tarnished the moment. Your lips tightened to a thin line. Still not meeting his eyes, you sounded bitter saying, “You can’t always be here, Echo.” 

The truth hurt and it fed the unease eating away at him. He knew what it was like to be alone and he did everything he could to never be that way.

Steadying you by your shoulders, Echo bent down into your line of sight. Exhaling, he admitted, “You’re right and I wish I could be.” Your eyes shot up as he continued, “Just let me do what I can for now.”

He stood to full height, your eyes rising with him. You blinked up at him, repeating back to yourself what he’d said. There was a chance you were reading too much into it, but his words were enough to give you the courage to say, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Echo’s eyes widened, before warming again. “Hopefully a day will come when I won’t have to.”

There was nothing to hide your blatant hope in asking, “Do you mean that?” 

Pivoting to your side, Echo slid his arm back around you. Echo cocked his head back, brandishing a roguish grin as he said, “I’ve never meant anything more. Now let’s get inside already.” On the way in, his hand slipped to your waist and he muttered under his breath, “Let’s just hope that chair can handle two.”

Tech and Hunter were still fast asleep when you made it inside. You followed him to the recliner, watching him carefully position himself. Barely keeping the furniture balanced, Echo twisted around and made enough room for you to fit in. It took you squirming over his legs and nestling into the crook between him and the chair to get situated.

The two of you had never been this close for this long and the only thing you could think about was the fact that he wore aftershave. He tucked you under his chin, unintentionally giving you the perfect view of his neck. 

You turned your face into him, pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck and mumbling a thank you to him. One he answered by pulling you closer and returning the gesture.

HUNTER

From your couch, Hunter listened to you move around your apartment. He was intent on seeing you turn in for the night, but that moment never came. At some point between resting and tracing your movements, Hunter dozed enough for you to slip by him. The sound of your balcony door opening snapped him back to reality.

Hunter sat up, thumbing his bandana out of his eye and keenly extending his senses. You definitely weren’t inside. Knowing he wouldn’t get any rest until he knew you were safe and asleep, Hunter rose to find you. Even then, sleep might evade him.

He had a feeling he’d be losing a little more sleep after this evening with you. 

When they left for another mission, Hunter focused on the objective. Seeing you was always something he looked forward to, but he couldn’t dwell on what was behind him. Anything other than setting his sights ahead put his squad in danger. Besides, Hunter knew he was going to keep the Galaxy safe and by extension that meant you too.

This time around challenged that perspective. Your jackass of an ex had been easy to chase off, but what about when they left? Prior to seeing a man mistreat you, Hunter never doubted your ability to survive on your own. By your own admission you’d done so most of your life. 

Even after the encounter with your ex Hunter didn’t doubt you. 

He doubted the people around you. People who saw all you had to offer and wanted to use that to their advantage. In the end, Hunter wasn’t sure what he hated more: the thought of you getting close to ill-intentioned people or realizing it couldn’t be him.

Finding you alone on your balcony only compounded his worries. You were alone in the cold, and it finally occurred to him that his squad took up every viable place to sleep. How was he any different from others taking advantage of you?

That resentful part of him took in the view of you against the city and wished it was a sight exclusively for him. For a moment he let himself believe it was. If only for the night.

Hunter slowly approached you and quickly realized you were mumbling to yourself. Hoping to afford you the privacy of your thoughts, Hunter cut you off by whispering, “I know you don’t think I’ll let you stay out here all night.”

You jumped at his voice, nearly colliding into him as you spun around. He was only a foot or two away, angling a smile down at you. Breathing into calm, you gave him a light shove as you glanced around for anyone else.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,”  you protested, the beginnings of a grin betraying your feigned annoyance.

“Then don’t sneak out like that.” He retorted lightly, nodding towards the open door behind him. Hunter looked at the city beyond you, wondering if he could spot where you’d been fixated. Drifting back to you, Hunter asked, “What are you doing out here?”

Your smile flinched, but you shrugged with a casual shake of your head. “Just needed some air.”

Hunter nodded, clearly only halfway believing you. While convincing you to go back inside crossed his mind as the right thing to do, he opted for spending more time with you. “Care for some company?”

Your eyes flitted between his, ultimately shaking your head. “Oh, I don’t think so.” You said, your tone scolding. Stepping into him, you pressed your hands to his stomach in attempts to redirect him inside. “You need sleep.”

He relished the feeling of your touch before tenderly gripping your wrists. You stopped pushing, but passed him a confused look. Hunter swept his thumbs over the soft skin of your wrist, acutely aware of your quickened pulse beneath his fingers.. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You tugged your hands down, putting his hands in yours. On a tight grip you pulled him in, the force of it bringing his face an inch from yours. “Someone has to,” you insisted softly.

For all the fun they brought you it was so easy to forget that to most, Hunter and his squad were military assets. Outside of their worth in battle, little else about them mattered to the Galaxy. There was little you could offer them outside of occasional respite and hopeful thoughts and hope it meant something.

In his eyes, you saw the same thing that grew in you. Hesitancy - he was holding back, you both were. Neither of you spoke as you stood there, breathing in each other's presence. Slowly, Hunter raised your clasped hands to his lips, maintaining eye contact until his lips gently touched your skin.

“And who worries about you?” Hunter’s lips brushed your skin as he whispered.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?” you countered.

The question halted the sergeant momentarily. It wasn’t that you were wrong, but that wasn’t his primary concern. Lowering your hands, Hunter sighed. "Worrying is nothing if I can't protect you."

The weight of his admission, hidden behind the hesitancy you glimpsed before, warmed you but looked heavy on his mind. You couldn’t fight. You were no trooper and absolutely no Jedi. But you could do one thing..

His hand was still holding yours when you reached out to touch his face, your fingers tracing the outline of the tattoo on his cheek. You offered him a broad, reassuring smile, taking a moment to admire the moment.

“Hunter,” his name was a hum in your voice. “I can protect myself.” He immediately opened his mouth, surely an objection not far behind, but you outspoke him. “Protect those who can’t protect themselves and when this war is over…” You paused, taking a deep breath as you searched for the right words. “Well, I'll still be here when it is.”

It may not have been poetry, but the lightness in his smile, meager and fleeting though it was, told you that burden was a little lighter.

“Come with me.” He whispered between you.

You instinctively pulled back. Leaving Coruscant, joining him in the stars - it was absurd. “Hunter, I can’t-”

“To the couch,” he clarified with a soft chuckle..

Heat rushed your cheeks at the misunderstanding. Clearing your throat you nodded, “Okay.”

He gave your hands a squeeze, held onto one, and guided you back inside. The apartment was silent, the living room dark and you were thankful for Hunter’s senses. He led you to the couch, motioning for you to go first.

You slid into place, pressing your back into the couch as Hunter joined you, caging you between his body and the couch. A vague attempt at watching over you for the night. 

Hunter pulled his bandana down over his eyes as he settled in around you.  Speaking in a tone low enough for only you to hear, he said, “I can’t promise the next one will get off so easily.”

The words were both a joke and a threat, wrapped in his unique brand of dry humor. You lightly scoffed, wrapping an arm over his chest and drawing him closer. “There won’t be a next one. Not until the war is over,” you mumbled into his chest.

TECH

Lying in a nest of blankets on your floor, Tech replayed the evening while your apartment settled into silence. Despite having found you and spent the evening in your company, a persistent restlessness gnawed at him, preventing any sense of ease.

So, he scoured the night’s happenings for the piece that kept his peace at bay.

The search for you had been brief and relatively straightforward—a minor challenge that excited Tech. Discovering you in a lounge, especially clad in an open-backed dress, had been a surprise that quickened his pulse. However, it wasn’t nearly as unsettling as the sight of a morally dubious man claiming to be your partner.

While he found no logic in your accepting amity, let alone intimacy, from a man who either lacked the capability, knowledge, or desire to measure up to you, the man was easily dissuaded and you were safe. Logically, there was no reason for lingering concern.

Spending the evening in your quarters should’ve dispelled any remaining apprehension. Your life was not at risk. In fact, there had been no mortal danger at all. Everything worked out. His search had been successful. You were safe.

And yet, he was left with an unfamiliar sense of uncertainty - a feeling he was less than comfortable with.

After returning to your apartment, Tech busied himself by installing several security enhancements and scrutinizing local crime statistics. Beyond that, there was little else he could do for you. You were adaptable and resourceful, he would not insult you by thinking you could not take care of yourself.

He also wouldn’t insult you by rejecting the makeshift bed you offered him. Though, by Tech’s surmising, that left nowhere for you to sleep. A theory proved right by you leaving Wrecker and Crosshair in your room, sneaking past the room where he lay and back out of sight.

Something wound tight in Tech’s chest. In a move of innate curiosity, he swept his blankets aside and followed in your footsteps. He was keen to see where you had gone or to just have eyes on you again.

You were a few silent steps ahead, leaving a cracked balcony door as the only indication of your path. Finding you lingering at the edge of your balcony stopped him at the door. It was the tension leaving his chest that struck him.

The physical relief was recognizable - the very same he felt each time they found you and the direct opposite of the pressure he felt meeting your former partner. The pressure was identical in the moments you were out of view. 

Tech adjusted his goggles as the pattern became clear. At the core of it all, you were the variable between the fleeting sensations. Identifying the truth of his unease came with the inevitable frustration of being unable to alter the circumstances. In the end, there was only one path forward.

He made no attempt to hide his presence, watching you stiffen as he drew near. Anchoring yourself to the railing, you leaned forward on an inhale and rocked back on the exhale. 

Unsure how to interpret your going taut, he asked outright, “Do you… wish to be alone?” Eyes fixed on the city you shook your head only once in response. Following your line of sight, Tech looked over the city and saw nothing of note.

A distant shout had him reaching for his datapad, something he left beside his nest of blankets. In lieu of reading through statistics Tech tuned his goggles to survey the street below. “The locality of your home is not what I’d deem a secure district.”

“It was probably just some drunk idiot,” you mumbled, not dissuading Tech from continuing to look around. Glancing sideways at him you had to smile at the seasoned soldier gripping the balcony and seemingly so intrigued by city life. Softly scoffing, you said, “There’s nothing to worry about, Tech.” 

“On the contrary,” Tech replied simply. Pulling his attention back to you, he kept one hand on the railing and said in a serious tone, “Your balcony makes you susceptible to intrusion and you’ve already fallen in with unsavory company.”

The last bit stung, but he wasn’t wrong. The concern, blunt as it may be, did feel nice.

Placing your hand over his, you tried to reassure him, “I’m fine, aren’t I?” His pursed into a thin line, clearly unwavering. Squeezing his hand a bit tighter, you added lightly, “Besides, you have more important things to worry about.”

Tech’s head tilted to the side, his eyes momentarily averting, but returned still as serious as before. “My duty to the Republic does take precedence, but that does not make your life any less important to me.”

You blinked once, then twice, absorbing his words. A part of you, a large part in fact, hoped the words carried more weight than just comfort. 

You must’ve looked as taken off guard as you felt for Tech to ask, “Does that surprise you?”

You opened your mouth, ready to make a denial, only to snap your mouth shut again. Once more you tried to speak but only, “A little,” came out. The two words tasted harsh, as if you were making light of the situation and of his feelings. Stepping closer, you lowered your voice and quickly added, “You mean so much to me. I just… I -” In an uncharacteristic fit of stammering you spat out, “I just didn’t think you cared that much.”

Tech’s gaze fell to where you held his hand, his brows furrowing behind his goggles. You felt his hand twitch beneath yours before it fully twisted, placing his palm against yours. For a few moments, you stood like that, hand in hand with his gaze locked on your hold.

His focus remained there, his thumb starting gentle paths as he slowly said, “I admit that I… only recently came to the conclusion myself.”

“What changed?” His eyes snapped to yours at your question.

Tech’s brows lifted and along with a corner of his lips. “It would appear the sight of you in the company of your former partner was not one I found enjoyable.”

The realization that all your hopes had rung true left you breathless. A warm flush spread across your cheeks, accompanied by a smile that not only curved your lips but also reached your eyes.

You laced your fingers into his, eagerly confessing, “Tech, I-”

“Where do you intend to sleep?” Tech cut you off with no thought to what you’d attempted to say.

Lost in the heat of the moment you took a moment to blink back into the present. “I’m sorry?”

Tech pointed a finger towards the door going inside. “You gave up every viable sleeping arrangement. Where will you sleep?”

Instead of admitting your previous intentions of avoiding sleep, you shrugged with an amused sigh. Hands still intertwined, you stepped back, tilted your head back and chuckled. “I was playing it by ear.”

“There is enough room beside me for you to fit.” Tech said matter of factly. A playful glint passed through his eyes. “Shall we find out?” You immediately conceded, gesturing for him to lead the way. 

As per usual, Tech was right. There was more than enough room for you both to fit into his makeshift bed. Tech adjusted the pillows to his liking and laid back, the both of you looking up at the ceiling in silence. Eventually Tech turned with his back to you, seeking some reprieve from the air between you.

Taking the opportunity before you, you scooted in behind him. He was nearly a foot taller than you, but somehow you fit in nicely behind him. He said little, simply adjusting back against you and positioning your arms around him. 

Just as he settled in, he started twisting in place, saying, “I should make note of such a significant moment.”

You answered his movements by tightening your arms around him. “Tomorrow. For now, sleep.”

He didn’t struggle against you, choosing to settle back again. “I fear that it will be harder than I originally imagined.”

tags: @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @jetii @hshfsjzjsgj @zahmaddog @heidnspeak

an: i realize I've missed some folks over time, let me know if you want on the tag list.

(Bad Batch) Wrecker x Reader: Splash

     (Author’s Note:  Here, have a soft Wrecker fic.  We all could use one.  This man doesn’t get enough love on my blog, so I’m here to fix that.  Hope you all are doing well!)

   “I have to admit,” you said, shrugging out of your overclothes to reveal the swimsuit underneath.  “This planet isn’t so bad.”

   “Told you so,” Wrecker called from the water.  He dunked his head under momentarily before resurfacing and spouting water like a fountain.  His grin was rather suspicious as you waded in from the shore with caution in case it was a cooler temperature.  To your pleasant surprise, it was warm as bathwater.

   “Wow, even the water’s nice.  Then again, this is a tropical planet.  I just can’t stand the weird bugs I saw earlier.”  You recalled some of the creatures you’d seen hanging on leaves or bushes in the jungle on your way to the pond with Wrecker.  Many were vibrant colors, warning you straight away that they were to be avoided.

   “Bugs are bugs wherever you go,” he shrugged.  “Just squash ‘em.”

   “Yeah, well, I take it you haven’t seen the kind that live on Geonosis.”  Your expression twisted in a show of disgust, and he laughed.  “What?”

   “Nothing,” he chuckled again as you waded closer to him in the water.  “You just look cute when you make that little face.”

   Your skin suddenly felt even warmer, and it wasn’t simply the temperature of the water.  Sometimes you weren’t quite sure what to make of you and Wrecker’s relationship.  You were teammates that had grown into good friends over the course of several missions.  There were days when you felt like something else was there.  For one, you thought he was handsome and strong, and you admired his outgoing nature, the care he had for his brothers, and his sense of humor.

   The question was: did he admire you in return?  Every now and then, you’d get a feeling that he did.

   “Did the others say they were coming?” you asked, lowering yourself into the pond more so you were only visible from the neck up.

   “Tech had stuff to do first.  Crosshair doesn’t like swimming.  Hunter was going to come down, but not for a while.”  Wrecker shot you that mischievous grin again.  “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves for now!”

   Before you could utter a reply, he reached over to pull you out of the water and over his shoulder, roaring with laughter at your surprised scream.  He didn’t even look the slightest bit phased as you slapped the skin on his back playfully in a futile attempt to get him to release you.

   “Wrecker, come on!” You laughed.  “Face me like a man! If it weren’t for your sneak attacks, I’d have kicked your butt.” 

   Both of you knew he was ridiculously strong, but he seemed to find it amusing when you talked like that.

   “Oh yeah?  You want to put that to the test?”

   “Yeah, fight me.”

   He lowered you so you could stand directly in front of him, but you were stunned into silence at the proximity.  Your hands rested on his damp arms while his remained on the small of your back.  Droplets of water ran down his face, shimmering under the light of the afternoon sun that peered through the tree branches and vines above.  Your eyes didn’t leave his for several seconds, and his gaze didn’t leave yours either.

   Part of you wanted to lean in and capture Wrecker’s lips in a kiss, but you were very aware of the height difference and how quickly it could get awkward if you did take the risk and lean in only for him to leave you hanging.

   Instead, you settled on giving his forearms a gentle tug with the hands you still had resting on them.  He wouldn’t budge if he didn’t want to, but he did.  You leaned in a little, and Wrecker met you half-way.  His lips touched yours a little too hard at first before he backed off ever-so-slightly to make the kiss softer.  You gripped him like he was your anchor in a stormy sea, and his hold on you tightened in a magical way.  He pulled away to touch his nose to yours and linger there for a minute.  When you opened your eyes, you saw him already looking at you with a small smile and a glint of curiosity in his gaze.

   “What was that for?” he asked in a low voice.

   “You couldn’t tell?” you joked.  “I like you, Wrecker.  Like, really like you.”

   “I think my reaction speaks for itself, but I’ll tell you anyway: I like you too.”

   “So what do we do?” You asked, brushing your fingers past his wrists to take his hands into yours.  “About this?”

   “Well, for starters, I wouldn’t mind another kiss.”  He chuckled, leaning in to steal a feathery-soft one that nearly made you melt.  “But seriously, __________, I wanna’ see where this goes.  I’ve wanted to for a while.”

   “Me too,” you grinned.  “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

   “You and me both.” 

   The two of you broke apart to splash each other and exchange banter as you had before.  You spent the rest of the afternoon playing in the water and then huddling together on the shore to let the sun’s rays dry you off.  By the time the other Bad Batchers showed up, they found you resting in the crook of Wrecker’s arm in the golden sunlight, both of you fast asleep.

another throwback comic while I'm cooking something else in 3D

Guilty Pleasure

Word Count: 2.8k Pairing: post finale Crosshair x fem jedi!reader, past references to techxreader (tech girlies beware this one might hurt) Warnings: well its post finale, so some sad tech talk. angst and a lil fluff and bad proof reading Summary: Even with everything over and everyone back on Pabu, you and Crosshair still hadn't discussed a few things. Him hunting you, his feelings for you, or Tech. It was time. Some literal guilty pleasure.

You’d been separated from Clone Force 99 for months before your paths crossed again and Crosshair was long gone.

Initially, you attributed Crosshair’s continued attempts on your life to the influence of the inhibitor chip. But when Crosshair admitted that his chip was removed, your anger was uncontrollable—echoing the fury you felt on Kaller, the day he turned against you.

Your rage faded when you accidentally stumbled upon an old trunk filled with his gear. Buried under his armor was a small bundle of fabric. His privacy meant little at that point so you plucked it out and undid the bundle.

Inside, you found a tiny tube made from woven straw—a playful gift you had once hidden in his pack as a lighthearted jest about his constant need for toothpicks. The memory of him discovering it on a mission, his irritation palpable as he scolded you for invading his space, flashed through your mind. 

Seeing this keepsake tucked away amongst his most personal items confused you.

Turning the fabric over in your hand you recognized it as material from your old Jedi robe. When you chose armor over cloth you chose to discard the last physical remains of your Jedi life. 

Before you threw the robe away, however, you had playfully snipped off a hand-sized piece and tossed it into Crosshair’s lap, teasing him that it would be the closest he'd ever get to truly 'touching' a Jedi.

The only two things you’d ever given him and he’d kept them even after Kaller. You thought back to Crosshair before Kaller and some things looked different now.

His cutting remarks, always sharp and ready, his teasing, the intense way he often watched you—what you had once perceived as dismissive and aggravating, designed to unsettle you, now seemed to have been his attempt at playful banter. It was his own manner of expressing familiarity, albeit aggressively.

Hidden in the memories of butting heads, you dug up moments of subtle gentleness from the sniper. There were times he offered you a hand while navigating unsteady ground and carrying your pack - albeit biting about slowing the squad down.

There had been a time or two when you caught what could only be described as the ghost of a smile on Crosshair's lips—a hint that perhaps he found you attractive. Yet, his careful distance had always reassured you there was nothing more to it.

Now, looking at the items before you, doubts crept in. He had kept these tokens; he must have felt something for you, however slight. How had you failed to notice any signs?

When you heard footsteps on approach you made quick work of putting the trunk back together and in its place. It wasn’t until you saw Tech, checking your progress locating the tools, that a thought dawned on you.

Tech—the brother to whom Crosshair had been closest, the one he had always been perfectly in sync with. The one who looked at you like you were something to covet.

It all became very obvious. Of course, Crosshair would have been aware of Tech’s affection for you. Not much got past him, not with his sniper’s instinct for reading the subtleties of his surroundings.

To Crosshair, Tech’s natural ease around you would have been painfully clear. His loyalty towards his brother meant he would never do anything to undermine Tech’s happiness.

Yet, through it all he’d kept a piece of you for himself.

It made a funny feeling float through your chest. A mix of regret and gratitude.

Crosshair was an objective and loyal man. He put things above himself. His feelings, his wants, they didn’t  matter to him compared to his duties.

Eventually, you found it impossible to hold any resentment towards him for his actions. It was simply who he was. Even his actions that felt so deeply personal were dictated by his role as a soldier of the Empire. His entire sense of purpose was defined by his commitment to his duties.

Yet he still tucked away, in a corner only he’d see, a part of you to himself.

Looking up at Tech, the man you so thoroughly adored, gratitude swelled in you. The least you could do was forgive and accept Crosshair for who he was. You decided to extend him the patience and love he didn’t allow himself.

In his absence, you’d honor that by keeping his brothers safe for him. As you followed Tech out of the Marauder, you silently vowed to never let anything happen to them again.

A vow you failed to keep.

With each trek across the galaxy in search of Omega, alongside Wrecker and Hunter, the weight of your unkept promise grew heavier. The first sign of relief came unexpectedly—a transmission from Omega, her voice crackling through the Marauder’s comms.

You were only a hair’s breadth behind Wrecker when you ran to Omega. You stood back as Wrecker twirled her around, watched her run to Hunter, and allowed them the space of a family.

A familiar sensation hummed over your shoulder. A feeling you hadn’t felt since…

You swung around and standing in the light of the ship was Crosshair.

Weeks went by and reconnecting with Crosshair was more difficult than you anticipated. You’d both changed and the space left by Tech constantly hung between you.

Crosshair needed the same time and space he’d once afforded you. You wouldn’t push him, but that didn’t stop you from poking him. He was more compliant than when you first met and time on Pabu with Omega only made him more so.

When Omega told you about meditating with Crosshair, you knew you had to make the most of the opportunity.

On the back side of the island, there was a natural pool that became a frequent haunt of yours for meditation.

Floating in the waters, eyes shut and head relaxing on a rock, you’d been waiting and ready with your senses extended. Of all the brothers, Crosshair was the one who kept no pretenses about going unnoticed. He knew well that if he could spot someone watching him from a klick away, a former Jedi like you would easily sense him without even sight.

“Omega said you wanted me.” Crosshair’s voice cut through the quiet.

You twisted in the water, pushing yourself to sit up. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re lucky I came.” He retorted, arms crossed and shifting his weight onto one hip. He surveyed you with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

As you sat up, the waterline dipped just enough to reveal that the cloth wrapping your chest was now transparent. You noted his sharp intake of breath before he clicked his tongue and looked away, a subtle blush on his cheeks.

You smiled and gestured to the empty pool beside you, “Join me.”

His lip curled into his nose, “Why?” You didn’t deign him with a response, instead remaining with your hand outstretched.

Crosshair sighed and moved to sit on the rocks bordering the water. You splashed a bit of water at him. “Ah-ah! I meant join me in the water, Crosshair.”

His eyes narrowed on you, but after a moment of grumbling, he began to strip off his clothes. The moment the skin of his abdomen came into view, you averted your eyes, suddenly realizing you weren’t as prepared for this you thought.

Crosshair finally stepped into the water, his movements slow. He stood there for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next move, as the water lapped quietly around him.

You reached out and tugged on one of his fingers, coaxing him deeper into the water. “Sit back,” He let you guide, but he was stiff as stone, sitting rigidly against the rocks.

You sat adjacent to him, giving him ample space to relax if he so chose.

Despite the serene environment, Crosshair remained tense, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him, his thoughts miles away. Leaning through the water, you gripped his calf and pulled it over your lap. The sudden motion caused him to slip slightly; his hands scrambled through the water, seeking stability.

Now forcibly reclined, he pursed his lips but withheld whatever comment he had simmering. You met his resistance with a raised eyebrow and a light pinch, “Stay with me. Now, lay back.”

He blinked a few times, but again he complied. His head was resting against a stone behind him, his body from the chest down beneath the water line. You began to massage his calves. As you worked he spoke., “Why did you call me here?” His eyes were on the sky, deliberately avoiding yours.

“They say water’s supposed to be good for healing.” You mused, watching him carefully. For once, your roles were reversed. You took in everything about him while he sat back, trying to shut you out. 

“And who, exactly, is ‘they’?”

“Old, dead Jedi,” you replied with a light scoff, but the humor faded quickly. Your gaze dropped to your hands, momentarily still on Crosshair’s leg. You had referenced the Jedi Purge so casually, yet between you and Crosshair, it was anything but lighthearted.

“Crosshair-”

“I’m sorry.” He interrupted, his eyes finally meeting yours. For hunting you.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of him. His head tilted to the side, eyebrows pulled together, lips pressed tightly. He looked defeated, ashamed, devastated. “I—”

You lurched forward, placing a hand over his mouth. Crosshair’s eyes darted between your touch and your face. You couldn’t think too much about touching because thinking of how close you were was distracting in and of itself.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice wavering. Your hand then slipped to cradle his chin, your head shaking gently. “You don’t need to say that. I know who you are, Crosshair.” His eyes widened in surprise, and when you started to pull your hand away, he quickly grasped your wrist, holding onto the contact.

Despite the emotion swelling in your chest, your voice was steady. “Whatever happened, whatever you’ve done - it’s not changed how much I care about you.” You held his eyes, hoping to reach the dark parts of him he clung to. Leaning closer you swept a thumb over his cheek. “So let me be here for you.”

The next breath he took wasn’t shaky, but smooth and sure. He closed his eyes and, on exhale, opened them looking a little lighter. Crosshair gave a small nod, softer than you ever thought possible.

Giving his face a gentle squeeze, you smiled, removed your hand, and sat back. Sitting back, your chest lifted above the water again. Crosshair’s eyes dipped for a moment before looking skyward again and drifting shut once more.

Your hands drifted back to his calves still laying across your lap. The flutter of his eyes and the little hitch in his breath didn’t escape your attention. It made your fingers dig in harder. 

“Seeing you in your old armor has been nice.” 

He only grunted in response.

You fidgeted for a moment, but casually probed, “Was everything in your trunk the way you’d left it?”

“I’m wearing it all, aren't I?”

You lowered your voice, saying “I wasn’t talking about your armor.” The sniper tensed under your touch. “Cross.” You watched him, eyes averted, swallow. 

A muscle feathered in his jaw, “You looked through my trunk.”

You made no attempt to hide it. “I did. You kept a few things of mine.”

“I did.” He matched your limited honesty.

“Why?”

Crosshair’s lips tightened into a wry smile and his head fell to the side to face you. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

You blinked absently, a thoughtful frown tugging at you. You weren’t sure if this was a line he wanted you to cross. Or if you wanted to for that matter. Leaving it up to him you said, “You tell me.”

Crosshair stared at you for a few beats, looking between your eyes, but pushed up in the water as opposed to divulging anything. Drawing his legs off of yours, he stood in the water and silently climbed his way out of the pool.

He was shutting down and shutting you out.

Panicking, you stood to go after him, pleading. “Crosshair, stop.” Stretching out from the pool you managed to clip a finger. “Please. I’m sorry, I-”

Crosshair yanked his hand from yours, his fingers curling into fists. Keeping his back to you, Crosshair tilted his head like he was considering looking back. He was struggling and the panic of having broached the subject at all sunk into you.

Finally, his feet shifted and turned to face you again. His knuckles went white and he broke the silence, “You were… the first time Tech cared about someone other than our squad. I saw how he looked at you.”

Tech’s name stole the air from you. You’d not said it out loud in so long and this wasn’t the way you wanted to. 

Crosshair didn’t give you a choice, he crouched to your level and continued, “But he wasn’t the only one who saw you.” He let out a low breath, like he was free of a weight he’d held for so long.

An odd flutter rattled through you. Perched there in front of you, Crosshair was every bit the sharpshooter you’d first met. Seeing right through you and something in his eyes. Something you were never able to place before now.

It was want. He wanted you.

The thought stilled you. He still wanted you.

Crosshair dropped his head, whispering in a pained voice, “And I couldn’t - I won’t-”

You couldn’t listen to another word, so you broke your own heart, you said, “Tech wouldn’t want you living like that.” 

Crosshair’s head snapped up and he was just as shocked as you were. Shocked at you admitting a very hard truth. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but couldn’t find a single syllable to say. Didn’t know if you even could if you did. Before you lost your nerve, you pushed yourself from the waters and looped your arms around Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair remained firm against the weight of you, his arms hesitantly reciprocating your embrace. The two of you sat like that for some time, soaking wet and holding each other with only your breathing to the silence. 

Clearing his throat, Crosshair gently untangled you. He pushed you back just enough to see your face. 

His eyes fell to your lips and when he met your eyes again there was something heavy in him. There had always been something unspoken between you and it now sat like a hot coal between you.

Your lips parted and caught his attention again. He swallowed and slowly brought his lips to yours, pausing one last time before pressing into you. Your response was immediate, deepening the kiss the moment your lips met. His hands were quick to settle on your waist, holding you against him and matching your fervor.

You didn’t want to feel everything at once. You just wanted to be lost in the feel of Crosshair and forget the rest. 

His hunger for you, buried for so long. flared to the surface. You felt and tasted better than he’d imagined. And he had imagined you often.

The burst of repressed fantasies caught Crosshair off guard enough that he broke the kiss. You were left panting and slightly dazed. Crosshair searched your flushed face for any sign of regret, but instead he found you doing the same to him.

This time you were the one to close the gap, gently pressing your lips together again. The kiss was softer and more intimate, allowing you to savor the feel of his lips. It had been a long time since you’d touched someone like this.

He tasted bittersweet.

Eventually you broke apart and both lowered to the ground. Crosshair hung his head back, sighed and a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. Leaning back on his good hand, Crosshair lifted a brow. “Was this your plan all along?”

You watched him for a moment, was he really joking right now?

Scoffing, you ran your fingers through your hair. “No.” Scooting over to Crosshair, you put a hand on his knee. With a genuine tone, you added “But thank you for coming out. And for-.”

Crosshair snorted,  interrupting you. “That’s enough of that for now.” Rolling onto his back and looking to the sky once more. Closing his eyes, he murmured sarcastically, “Healing waters, huh?”

“Something like that.”

taglist: @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @jetii

Thanks to the amazing encouragement of, and inspiration from @moonlightwarriorqueen I present my first fanfic in clone wars fandom. This is a Pride and Prejudice inspired Wolffe x Reader fluffy romp, with added appearances from my favourite Marshall Commander Fox, the Wolf Pack, Plo Koon and as many characters as I can shoehorn in appropriately lol.

P.S. If you haven’t read the amazingly gorgeous work of @moonlightwarriorqueen please can I suggest you do so forthwith. Their work is like a warm hug on a frosty day.

A truth acknowledged universally (part 1)

Wolffe x fem!Reader

Rating G

Trigger warnings: anti clone/adoptee discrimination in future chapters, discussions of money and food insecurity.

Wolffe scowled as the party reeled around him. The patch covering his eye itched something fierce, as the musket wound was still healing beneath it. .He had been dragged from his enforced solitude by the rambunctious pleas of his younger brothers, affectionately dubbed the “Wolf Pack” by those who had the misfortune to know them at their most exuberant.

To his left his father, Plo, dozed lightly despite the loud music played aggressively on the pianoforte which guided the dancers around the room. Wolffe moved gracefully to ensure that the blanket upon his father’s lap didn’t slip away under the weight of the abandoned book within his lap. His father had spent too long this afternoon expending his energy and had refused Wolffe’s gruff requests to rest. Despite being ostensibly retired, Doctor Koon spent many hours teaching the younger children in the village to read, saving their parents the schooling fees, so that they may more easily feed their families with the money saved. Wolffe could not be cross with his father, but he was concerned with the personal toll the unrelenting kindness took on his father as he entered his twilight years.

With a bone weary exhale, Wolffe watched as his younger brothers, Sinker and Boost, spun their latest objects of affection around the ballroom, both of them possessed with a giddiness and breathless joy he himself had not been party to in years. Wolffe didn’t begrudge them that joy, far from it, he wished he could bottle and preserve it for all his brothers so that they would never be without, but as the eldest sibling, the responsibility for his family's fortunes weighed heavily. The burden had become harder to shoulder since his injury at the hands of a French assassin had forced him home to recuperate. Wolffe could only afford a few more weeks before returning to the front line would be necessary for all of his family to remain solvent. Internally, Wolffe began to calculate the amount of time he had to remain before it would be deemed socially acceptable to leave.

With a crunch of strained wood, the ballroom doors swung open with an unbecoming lack of decorum. Wolffe’s gaze snapped to the entryway, assuming his other brothers, Comet and Wildfire, the irrepressible twins, had either escaped or joined the party without permission. Instead, he was surprised to see new faces. Arrivals were hard to keep under wraps in a village this small. Everyone knew each other's business faster than the carrier pigeons could arrive.

Wolffe studied the group who had interrupted the festivities. A bearded gentleman in naval uniform maybe a decade older than Wolffe led the way, his natural leadership and presence evident in his stride. He was flanked by a sandy haired young man with intense eyes, clad in a junior officers uniform, who was escorting a younger girl, whose dazzling blue eyes and scandalously matching coloured hair suggested trouble.

With a short whisper to the host, they were announced as First Sea Lord Benjamin Kenobi, and his young charges Officer Anakin and Ahsoka Kenobi. Behind them both, trying her best to blend into the wallpaper, was a young woman, unannounced and unnamed, she followed the trio indoors, eyes cast downwards.

Wolffe watched as the Lord and his family worked the room, intriguing all around them. There was an unseemly amount of fawning over the new arrivals which caused more than one exasperated eye roll from Wolffe as both Sinker and Boost, abandoning their dates for the evening, fell over themselves to pester Lord Benjamin for tales of maritime warfare and adventure.

Beside him, Doctor Koon stirred, awoken by the change in background ambience. He looked to Wolffe for support as he tried to rise to his feet, which his son provided dutifully and automatically without glancing downwards. Rubbing the unexpected sleep from his eyes, he felt his joints ache from the position in which he had taken his impromptu nap. No doubt he would be subject to a light scolding from his eldest son, who worried for everyone but himself. Plo looked to see what had taken Wolffe’s attention.

Wolffe seemed enraptured by a young lady who had entered behind the newcomers. Whilst they held court, this lady had sought out the serving staff and it looked as though she had asked, to their bafflement, to be put to work.

Plo supposed that this ask for employment was a diversionary tactic to avoid participation in the pantomime currently underway from her companions. Whilst Lord Ben and his young family enjoyed every moment of attention, this girl was determined to avoid it, and when her offer of assistance was politely declined, she took herself to the chairs at the furthest, and most empty corner of the room. She looked for all the world as though she wished to blend into the wallpaper. Dr Koon was surprised she hadn’t acknowledged Wolffe’s stern and probing gaze so far, but what was even more unexpected was the small jolt which travelled through his son as she did finally return his stare.

Icy blue gray eyes met the Wolffe’s remaining amber eye and a silent conversation took place.

Koon knowingly chuckled as he patted Wolffe’s arm, drawing his attention downwards, to support more of his weight. However, the brandy he had had after dinner sought to rush to his head and he swayed heavily, his heart fluttering too fast and too unevenly. As his vision narrowed, and the familiar blackness of unconsciousness encroached, all Koon could think was how much this would further worry Wolffe. He hoped the arms of oblivion would let him return. He had much to do.