Okay Guys So I Was Watching The Livestream Of Dee Bradley Baker With His Live Signing Today, + A Fan

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.

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.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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consequences be damned

Wolffe x F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

description: commander wolffe likes to berate you when you go against his orders, but this time, you can't supress the visceral reaction it brings.

warnings: not necessarily enemies to lovers but... a decent amount of arguing, mentions of negative clone treatment, i think that's it? idk man I'm tired

a/n: this is for all the girlies that cry when someone raises their voice at them! (me) anyway... i get nervous when discussing the treatment of clones and other kinda touchy stuff bc i just have this nagging feeling that i'm always interpreting stuff wrong, so I hope the stuff wolffe says at the end makes sense lmao

You heard your name called after you before you managed to make your escape to your quarters, desperately trying to avoid confrontation. Ignoring the Commander’s calls, you hurried down the hall, your strides much wider than your usual gait. You managed to get the door open, but a large hand wrapped around your wrist before you could evade the uncomfortable conversation.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Commander snarled, tugging you back into the corridor and slamming his fist into the control panel to shut the door.

You lifted your eyes to his for a moment, your head still angled to the floor as if it would shield you from his foul temper. You had never seen him so angry.

“I asked you a question, soldier” He said, his voice dangerously low as his face drew near to yours, “Did you really think I’d let you off after what you just pulled?”

“Sir, I didn’t mean to—”

Wolffe interrupted you with a sarcastic laugh, “Didn’t mean to? You’ll have to do better than that”

You couldn’t look at him. You knew he’d react like this when he found out, but you still hated when he was angry with you. He was more hard on you than his brothers, he always had been. So much so that you felt there was something unsaid between the two of you, that there was some itch that he wouldn’t stop scratching even though he wouldn’t acknowledge what it was.

“I’m sorry sir” You peeped out. It was the only thing you could say.

You had no explanation for your actions. You had gone directly against his orders, knowingly, deliberately. You knew he would find out, you knew he’d berate you for it, and you did it anyway. You’d do it again if you got the chance.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it” He began, and you let him scold you without interruption, “I have told you, countless times, you do not get involved in the conflict. No matter what. Do you know how it makes me look?”

He paused, but you knew the question was rhetorical. In that silence it was hard not to think about the feel of his hand wrapped around your wrist, still keeping you in your place.

“I makes me look like I can’t control those under my command. If a medic can go against my orders then what’s to stop the rest of the men? Or the other nat-borns? I mean, do you even think? Clearly you don’t. You don’t have combat training, you could’ve been hurt, or you could have died”

He continued on, but you tuned him out. You had heard this barrage of demeaning comments more than once, and it was starting to feel like maybe it had become one time too many. If you had any more backbone you would’ve told him how much you despised when he did this. Although, Wolffe — along with almost everybody aboard the ship — was above you in rank. You couldn’t possibly give back to him this belittling commentary, so once again you stayed silent.

The worst part was that most of the time, Wolffe wasn’t even unbearable to be around, far from it. At any other time he was kind, in his own way. It wasn’t a way in which you’d seen anyone else express kindness, but you’d come to understand the way he operated a little by now. For example, something you had retroactively realised was a display of compassion, was that when you first joined the 104th, he had checked up on you everyday, albeit not in a particularly cheerful way. He had made sure you were comfortable in your new quarters, the ones you were now stood outside of being reprimanded.

There was something gnawing at the back of your mind, the feeling that you shouldn’t have to put up with this. You could hear your father in the back of your head, telling you that you had to learn to stand up for yourself. You hadn’t looked up at Wolffe once through his ranting, and you didn’t plan on it either, especially now as you felt your eyes becoming heavy with tears.

It was a natural response. You never liked being told off, and right now you felt as if you were a child again, your parents giving you a lecture about your shortcomings. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in a similar manner, silent and unacknowledged.

You didn’t know when Wolffe had finished laying into you, but when you stopped reflecting on the past and came back to the present moment, you realised that he wasn’t speaking anymore. You hazarded a look at him, once again keeping your chin pointed down. He was just staring down at you, his scowl replaced in favour of a more uneasy frown, finally removing his hand from your wrist.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, clearly unsure of how to even approach the situation.

“I’m fine” You replied, and your voice was surprisingly even.

He was still just peering down at you through his creased brow, frozen in his place and out of his depth.

“Why are you crying?” He addressed the situation head on.

“I’m not crying”

“You are”

“I’m n—”

“You are”

You looked to your feet, feeling absolutely infinitesimal under the full scrutiny of his commanding presence.

“Alright fine, maybe I am” You admitted in a whisper.

“Why?” He asked firmly.

“No reason”

“No reason?”

“Yep, no reas—”

“Stop it” He interrupted again, “What’s wrong?”

You let out a long breath, your chest heaving before it escaped your pursed lips. You could taste the saltiness of your tears, and you lifted a hand to wipe one of your cheeks.

“I just don’t like being told off okay? I can’t help it”

“I wasn't telling you off, I was—”

When he didn’t finish his sentence your eyes flicked back up to his. His frown had softened, and he was now chewing on his lip as if he was looking for something to say. You huffed quietly, your cheeks scorching with embarrassment at the whole situation.

“If it's alright with you sir, I'd like to retire to my quarters now” You spoke quietly, trying to escape this situation that was nothing if not awkward.

Wolffe stepped back from you, clearing his throat, “Yeah, go ahead”

You turned back to your door and opened it up. You had only taken one step inside when Wolffe spoke up again.

“Wait”

You turned around, your eyes finding his, flitting between the cybernetic and the natural. His usual scowl was nowhere to be seen, and he just looked at you with a plain expression, something unreadable.

“I don't want to have to tell you off” He said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You mustered up a little courage after his change in demeanour, “Then why do you?”

His throat bobbed as he gulped, “I just want you to be safe”

The way that he was staring at you was entirely too much for you to cope with, so you lowered your gaze once again before you replied.

“Thank you sir, I appreciate that”

Wolffe reached up slowly, gently taking your chin and guiding your eyes to his. He gazed upon you with the utmost sincerity and apology as his thumb swept across your still-wet cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you”

“That's oka—”

“It's not” He spoke resolutely, with no room for argument, then softened his voice a little, “You understand that I don't like to be angry with you, right?”

Something about your expression must have conveyed a sense of doubt, because Wolffe frowned when you didn’t reply.

“Do you really think-?”

“I don't think, remember?” You replied, in a oddly humorous way, despite the previous tone of the conversation. Wolffe gave you a disapproving look, and you backtracked, “Sorry Commander”

Wolffe was still holding you face, and the way his eyes were searching yours was making your stomach erupt into butterflies. His gaze was captivating, cementing you in place and rendering you speechless in a completely different way to when he had been scolding you earlier. You didn’t want to be the first one to break away, and thankfully Wolffe came to his senses soon enough.

“I should go”

He dropped his hand from your chin and stepped back. You nodded subtly in reply to his words, still unable to form your own, and he turned to leave with haste.

You watched him walk away as you leaned on your doorway, stalking down the hall with a pace to rival your hurried steps from earlier. His head turned back to you briefly, and you both instantly looked away, you stepping back into your room and closing the door as you felt your cheeks burn hot from being caught watching him.

It felt like something had shifted in your relationship, like something significant had happened. Perhaps it was your inadvertent show of vulnerability, perhaps it was the way his touch set your skin alight. Whatever it was, it was something that you couldn’t take back. Whatever was unsaid between you was coming to light, and you cursed your racing heart for getting ahead of itself.

You were crouched behind cover, your eyes locked on a trooper that had been knocked to the ground. He wasn’t moving, but going over to see if he was still alive was too risky, even if the focus of the enemy’s fire wasn’t in his direction any longer. You lingered, waiting to see even the slightest twitch of his fingers. He continued to lay motionless, his body sprawled in an uncomfortable position from the heavy blow he had received. You hoped, prayed, and they were answered in an instant, the man’s body curling in on itself as he groaned in pain.

You gulped, and slowly turned to look over your shoulder, only to see Wolffe watching you like a hawk.

“Don't you dare” He shook his head slowly, his voice low, almost a growl.

You hung your head a little, squeezing your eyes closed for a brief moment.

“I'm sorry Commander”

You rushed out from behind the cover, hearing your name being screamed after you in a desperate plea for you to do anything else. You didn’t pay attention, you were solely focused on making it to the trooper.

You pulled the man to his feet, throwing his arm around your shoulders and making your way back to cover, but you were not so lucky as to evade danger. Blasterfire ripped through the air surrounding you, causing you to duck out of its path, and take the injured man down with you.

“Get out of here!” The Commander shouted at you, stepping in front of you and shooting at the droids that had focused their fire in your direction.

You dragged to man the short distance back to cover, and as you were giving him a once over, assessing the issue, Wolffe ordered another medic to take over and tugged you further back from the front lines, around the corner of a crumbling building.

“What the kriff is the matter with you?”

He was angry. More angry than he had ever been, more angry than the previous rotation. And yet, there was a far clearer emotion swimming in his non-cybernetic eye, dripping from his pinched brows, washing over you with every heavy breath he exhaled. Worry, concern, utter distress.

“I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't want you anywhere near the action” He growled, evidently struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Despite his afflicted demeanour, you didn’t feel like having a repeat of the previous rotation, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins only sought to heighten you irritation.

“And I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't appreciate being told off” You grumbled back to him, not feeling brave enough to say it with your chest.

“Then stop doing stupid things!” He rebutted, his voice conveying every inch of exasperation he felt.

You shook your head as you dragged your gaze from him, starting to walk away. You weren’t going to be talked to like this again. For the second time in the last rotation, Wolffe’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back.

“I'm talking to you”

“Well I'm not talking to you” You snapped, snatching back your arm and finally letting your irritation take over.

At first, Wolffe appeared to be taken aback. You had never so much as argued back at him before, but something about the fire burning in his eye told you that it was welcomed. He wanted you to fight back. He liked that you were fighting back.

“I refuse to be reprimanded for doing the right thing” You continued, letting him hear your true feelings on the matter.

“You refuse?” Wolffe seemed almost amused.

“Yes” You replied, but your confidence was slipping, “I refuse”

Wolffe laughed, taking a step towards you, “And I suppose you think you have the authority to refuse my orders? Seeing as it's the only thing you can seem to do right”

You stepped away from him, but with every step you took, he followed after you. It wasn’t long until he had backed you into the wall, and was towering over you with a challenging look on his face.

“I have free will, is what I have” You puffed out your chest in defiance, causing it to come into contact with his chestplate, “And I will use it to do the right thing, consequences be damned”

“It must be nice to be you, huh?”

You just frowned, not entirely sure what made him say that.

Wolffe’s face became stern, “You just get to flit about, playing the hero when you could so easily become the martyr acting the way you do, claiming it's all about ‘free will’ and ‘doing the right thing’. Well guess what? I don't have those luxuries. If I disobey orders, I get court martialled. I don't have free will, and I don't get to do the right thing, I get to do as I'm told”

You swallowed thickly as your body recoiled from his in shame. From his perspective, your actions certainly seemed silly and plainly misguided. Perhaps they were.

“I'm sorry Commander, I didn’t think—”

“No, you don't think, do you?” He retorted quickly.

You frowned deeply, drawing an enervated sigh from Wolffe.

“I would love to be able to consider what is right and wrong, but I am simply not allowed. Having the ability to think, to form thoughts unique to myself, but not get to enact any sort of ‘free will’, it's—” He breathed deeply, his forearm coming to rest on the wall beside your head, “Oh, the things I would do if I had free will”

His eyes bored into you through heavy eyelids, his self control hanging by a thread. He was so close to you, his body pressing yours into the wall, and it was taking all of your strength to not melt against him.

“What would you do?” You spoke softly, guiding him in the right direction.

He didn’t waste any time in replying.

“I would tell you that the reason I don't want you around the action, the reason I can't stand your stupid moral compass which makes you do stupid things, is because the idea of you getting hurt is my own personal hell. I would grab you and hold you close and keep you safe, I would never let you go. I would—” He puffed out a quick breath, mingling it with your own as he drew impossibly closer, “I would kiss you, and do every other thing I've been dreaming of since the first moment I met you. I would throw all of this away, if I got that chance”

There was not a single one of his words that were processing in your brain. For a moment you just stared at him, shocked, before the surprise melted from your face and you offered every measure of tenderness within you in a single look.

“Wolffe” You whispered, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek.

His eyes closed at your touch, and his troubled expression eased slightly. He let out a shaky breath as he took in the warmth of your skin on his, but as soon as he had revelled in it for a moment too long, he put up his walls again.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I don't have free will” He stepped back from you but you were determined now, following after him.

“Well I do”

You practically leapt at him, your hands finding the back of his neck and pulling him against you, bringing him into a searing kiss. His hands instantly flung around your waist, tightening around you and drawing you into his body as if he was never going to let go, just as he promised. It was as if he only needed you to be the one that initiated it, and now, he had forgotten everything that was stopping him in the first place.

You let your fingers tangle in the curls at the base of his neck, and he pushed you backwards into the wall again, a soft groan sounding in the back of his throat. One hand came up to cup your cheek, and you were surprised at how softly he held you, a direct contrast to the way that he was devouring your lips, consuming your very soul with only his mouth and tongue.

You had to pull away, gasping for breath, and he did the same. He held you close as you both caught your breath, staring into each other’s eyes with a newfound fondness. It was intoxicating, to see him like this; his chest heaving from having kissed you with such an intensity. You felt like your psyche was being ripped from you with each heavy exhale, and you were watching from outside of your body.

“I'm never letting you go now” He continued to hold onto you like his life depended on it, burying his face in the exposed skin of your neck.

“I thought-”

“Don’t” He rumbled, “I don't care what I said before, there's no going back now”

You sighed blissfully and mirrored him, and coiling your arms around his neck and holding him tightly. The feel of his breath against your neck was heady, deeply exhilarating, but in the quiet of the moment, you couldn’t help but remember you were in the middle of a battle.

“Maybe we should-”

He lifted his head and cut you off with a deep kiss. You were powerless to stop him, but you didn’t care to anyway.

“Just a little longer” He pleaded, his eyes soft and slightly widened, “Please”

You let a small smile lift the edges of your lips, enamoured by the soft side that this kind of treatment brought out of him. It was almost amusing, how different he was acting as compared to his usual authoritative demeanour. He was putty in your hands, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

You brushed your lips lightly against his and spoke with a teasing edge, “Yes sir”

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565

Well, since we're on a Boba kick, let's go with classic Bounty Hunter Boba. You ran away from home before you were sent away to be the mistress of a distasteful Imperial Officer. When Boba finds you, because of course he does, you offer up your charms in exchange for freedom. I feel like at first he'll be all cocky, like you'll need to prove it to him that your ✨️charms✨️ are worth it. But then, once he has a taste, he's hooked...

BESTIE I LOVE HOW YOUR MIND WORKS

your parents are rich, like royalty of a whole system of planets rich. you've always been aware of the fact that you'll be married off to whomever they deem appropriate, and while you don't like it, you also understand that this is just how the galaxy works.

but then, you find out that not only is your husband-to-be an imperial officer, he's had three previous wives, all of whom died under suspicious circumstances. you try to bring this up to your parents, but they won't hear anything of it, already dreaming about the influence they'll be able to wield with their daughter as the wife of an important imperial officer.

you're determined that you won't let this bastard kill you, so you make the brave (or maybe stupid) decision to run away before the wedding.

your parents, being as rich as they are, of course hire the best bounty hunter in the galaxy.

meanwhile, boba is of the impression that this is going to be easy. you're essentially a spoiled princess, running away from home because you don't like the husband mommy and daddy picked out for you. he's seen this all play out before. you're just looking for a bit of a thrill, but soon enough you'll be hanging off your husband's arm, dazzled by the riches and influence he supposedly wields.

but.

slowly, his opinion begins to change. it takes him weeks to find you. he's never had a bounty hide out from him for this long. it's almost impressive, if he weren't so annoyed.

he finally corners you on hoth of all places, and he's completely stunned to see that you've managed to set up a small ice cave, lined with furs you must have skinned and cleaned yourself, and meagre but filling rations. you're wearing surprisingly sensible clothes, warm but also unassuming. you don't have any technology, but you wield a knife with unerring accuracy. you were prepared, that much was obvious. still, you're not formally trained, and boba's the best in the business.

it takes him longer than he'd like to admit to subdue you, and the scuffle ends with you on your back as he straddles your hips, hand pinning yours above your head as he holds a vibroblade to your throat.

"kill me," you whisper, and he once more finds himself caught off guard. "kill me, or keep me for yourself, but don't take me back to him."

he scoffs, the noise doing a poor job of masking of how rattled he is by your request. "not how this works, princess."

but you don't flinch. "either you kill me, keep me, or take me back. and I promise you, if you take me back, I'll take my own life before I let him do it."

boba doesn't want to think about what that means.

he stays quiet, pulling out a pair of cuffs and locking them around your wrists. you sigh, having expected this. he pulls you to your feet and leads you to his ship.

there, he pauses in front of the carbon-freezing unit. you can't see his expression behind his helmet, but you wonder if he's considering your offer.

but, he says nothing, and gestures for you to step into the unit. you close your eyes for a moment, already planning how you'll get access to the poison you need for a swift but painless death once you're delivered to your fiancé.

you step into the carbon-freezing unit, and the world goes dark.

~~~

when you come back to awareness, it's slow and painful. you're dizzy, confused, and you can't see a thing. your hands are no longer bound, so when you feel a firm grip on your shoulders, you instinctively lash out at who you assume is a guard, or your fiancé.

you manage to get a punch in before your wrists are grabbed, and a surprising voice filters in through the fog.

"easy, princess."

you still, eyes searching but unable to see anything.

"f-fett?"

he doesn't respond, but you allow yourself to be moved until you're settled into a seat, the cushion soft beneath your aching legs, sore from the pins and needles rushing up and down every inch of your body.

"give it a minute, princess. let me know when you can see."

it's difficult, just sitting there, vision blank, but slowly, shadows and light begin to filter back in, followed by blurry colors and shapes that slowly form into a clear picture.

the bounty hunter is sitting on a table in front of you, still in most of his armor, which explains the pain in your knuckles, but his helmet is off, revealing a stern expression, though it softens almost imperceptibly when he sees the recognition in your eyes.

"I can see you," you whisper, eyes darting around as you try to make sense of your surroundings. "where am I?"

he lets out a low laugh.

"you gave me three options, princess. remember?"

your mind flashes back to the ice cave, where you'd fought for your life, and been subdued regardless.

"kill me, keep me, or take me back and I'd kill myself."

he nods.

"it'd be a shame to kill such a pretty young thing," he says softly, tone almost mocking. "even bigger shame to let you kill yourself over that piece of bantha shit."

your mind jumps to the third option.

"so," the bounty hunter says, contemplative, with a hint of a challenge. "convince me why I should keep you."

you don't give yourself any time to second guess. you lean forward, hands landing on his broad thighs as you place your lips against his. you nibble lightly on his lower lip, letting your tongue flick out to beg for entrance. he grants it to you, though you can't tell if he's just humoring you or not.

as soon as your tongue brushes against his, he's pulling back, and you worry for a second that you've done something wrong.

but his arm wraps around your waist and yanks you forward so you're perched in his lap, hands flying to his chest to steady yourself. he looks up at you, eyes dark and hungry.

"that's a good start, princess. why don't you see what else you can do to convince me to keep you?"

Absolutely understandable incredible concept 10/10 would also look disrespectfully

I’m the staring type-

[shoutout to @lonewolflupe for the idea prompt <3]

Cody’s New ARC

(There’s more coming probably tomorrow)

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

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

This is perfection - I can feel Gregor’s presence and energy through the screen. I need to know what dark magic I need to do to live inside this fic please and be the object of his adoration. Please and thank you.

All Lost Time

Pairing: Gregor x fem!Reader

Words: 9,547

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! established relationship, fluff, a little hurt/comfort, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, pinv, nipple play, multiple orgasms, edging, overstimulation, oral fixation?, marriage and kids talk but no pregnancy kink, Gregor is very chatty during sex but I think we all knew that, and he is head over heels obsessed with reader as he should be

Summary: After months away, Gregor is finally coming home to you. And he's made it his mission to make up for every second you've been apart.

A/N: I blame @cyaretra for this!! This is my first time writing Gregor so be nice to me okay thanks

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

It’s silly, you think, that Gregor still makes you feel this way. 

You’ve been together for nearly a year now, but every time you see him, the flutter in your stomach and the way your heart starts pounding are as strong as the first time he smiled at you and asked if you wanted to get dinner.

It was an instant attraction. And at first, you couldn’t understand why. You were a communications officer embedded in the Republic Navy, hopping ships month to month, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t been surrounded by clones day in and day out since the war began. You thought yourself immune to their good looks, their charming smiles, and their boyish humor.

But there was something different about Gregor. His eyes lit up when he talked. He had a sense of humor. He had a story. And when the stolen frigate he was on showed up out of the blue in the middle of a battle and fired a full salvo at the Separatist flagship, well...you were smitten. You couldn’t help but find his antics amusing, endearing, and downright attractive.

He asked you out the second time you saw him. The third time, you kissed him.

The fourth, well, things got a little out of control.

Now, standing here in your apartment, counting down the seconds until he arrives, you can hardly believe how quickly the last year has gone by. How, in spite of the constant threat of danger, and the never-ending war, and the fact that you rarely have the time to see each other, he’s still the person you want to spend your time with.

The one who makes you laugh, even in the darkest hours. The one who makes you want to fight just a little bit harder. The one you can call, no matter how late it is, just to hear the sound of his voice.

And the one who can make you feel this excited, this giddy, this happy, just by walking through the door.

The second you hear the soft beep that means someone has punched in the code to your apartment, your heart leaps. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. It doesn't work.

Your heart jumps again when the door slides open.

Gregor steps inside, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and looking a bit sheepish. He gives you a shy grin.

You stand there, just staring at him, unsure what to do, afraid that the moment you move, he'll vanish like a mirage.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi."

There's a pause. A long one.

And then a huge grin spreads across his face, and a second later, the bag hits the floor with a thud. Gregor crosses the room in two quick strides, sweeping you into his arms. You let out a little yelp of surprise, and he laughs as he peppers your neck and face with kisses.

You can't help but laugh along with him, even as you tell him to stop. You try to wriggle free, but his hold on you is firm. Your squirming only makes him squeeze you tighter, his arms around your waist, his lips traveling up your neck and making you shudder.

"Stop, stop," you say, still laughing.

"Why?" he asks, his mouth pressed against your jaw. "I missed you."

"I can tell," you reply, and you tilt your head to give him better access. "Missed you too"

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. It's longer than the last time you saw him, and he groans appreciatively as you gently scratch his scalp. His kisses turn softer, more reverent, and a warm feeling spreads throughout your entire body.

"Welcome home," you whisper, and his hands move to your hips, pulling you closer.

"I could get used to hearing that," he murmurs.

He moves down to your neck again, and the warm feeling intensifies, turning into heat, burning hotter and hotter with each passing second. His fingers trail up the side of your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They come to rest on the bare skin of your lower back, and when his thumb begins tracing gentle circles, a soft moan escapes your throat.

You know that if you let this continue, you'll never get out of this entryway, but right now, you're not sure you care. All you know is that his hands and his lips are setting your skin on fire, and all you want is to feel him everywhere.

"Did you... have a good trip?" you ask, gasping a little as his teeth scrape over your skin.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbles. His lips find the spot under your ear and stay there. You squirm in his arms, but only because it's ticklish, not because you want him to stop.

"How was Felucia?" you ask, breathless.

"Fine." He sucks at the pulse point on your neck, and you whimper, tightening your grip on him. "I got to fire a few blasters, kick a few droids, save the day. The usual."

"So... you're... all in one piece?"

He pauses, pulls back a little, and looks down at you. His grin turns mischievous.

"What do you think?"

You bite your lip. Your hand trails down his chest and stomach, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. You look back up at him, batting your lashes innocently before your hand slips lower. He catches his breath as you cup him through his pants, stroking lightly.

"You feel like one piece to me."

Gregor's mouth covers yours, and he kisses you deeply, his tongue teasing your bottom lip until you open your mouth and let him in. You're barely aware of him steering you toward the wall. It isn't until your back hits the cold, smooth metal that you realize how dizzy you are, how hot and needy you've gotten from nothing more than a few touches and his kisses.

He pins your hands above your head, and you feel the pressure of his thigh between your legs. You moan, arching up, and he moves against you, grinding slowly. His mouth leaves yours and moves to your throat, and you tilt your head back and close your eyes, letting him have his way with you.

"I've thought about doing this the entire trip home," he murmurs, his hands leaving yours. One of them finds your waist, holding you steady as he moves his leg back and forth. The other slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across the skin of your stomach. He pushes the fabric up, baring your chest. You gasp, shuddering, as the air cools your hot skin.

"You have?"

"Oh yeah." His mouth moves down, his lips closing around the tip of one breast, his tongue flicking out. "Had plenty of time to think."

You thread your fingers through his hair and hold him to you. He sucks and bites at you, sending sharp pangs of pleasure and pain through your body. Your hips rock against him, searching for relief.

"You don't think that's a little... unhealthy?" you ask. He chuckles, and the sound vibrates against your sensitive flesh. He lets go with a wet pop, and his lips ghost across the valley of your breasts and onto the other one. You shiver and press into him.

"Not at all."

You moan as his tongue slides along your skin, lapping and circling. He sucks, harder and harder, until the pressure is almost too much to bear. You cry out, and he stops, pressing a gentle kiss over the bruise that's already forming. He looks up at you, his pupils blown, his smile wicked.

"You know what I miss most when I'm away?" he asks, his words a whisper against your skin. His thumb circles your nipple, and you suck in a breath, squirming. 

"What?"

"This," Gregor says. He presses a kiss to the top of your breast before his hand moves south, cupping you through your pants. "And this." He slips his fingers inside your waistband, finding the edge of your underwear. "And definitely this." 

His thick fingers push under the thin cotton fabric and stroke through the slickness. He finds your clit and rubs, slowly and gently, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart right there.

"Mmmm," you moan. "That's a lot to miss."

He teases you a little, his fingers sliding lower, finding your opening and thrusting once, shallowly. You whimper, your legs trembling.

"Well," he replies, sliding one finger inside you, "it's a good thing I've got plenty of time to make up for it."

Your breath catches in your throat as his finger strokes the place deep inside you that makes you shudder and shake. He's got the perfect rhythm, and just the right amount of pressure. You close your eyes and tip your head back, arching against the wall as your mouth parts and little, high-pitched noises of pleasure escape.

"So beautiful," Gregor murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "So soft and warm. Like a little ray of sunshine in my otherwise miserable existence."

"Stop," you whisper, though it's the last thing you want him to do.

"Stop what?" he asks. "Stop calling you beautiful? I don't think so."

"But—"

"Oh, yes you are," he cuts you off. 

Gregor takes a step back, removing his hand. You whimper at the loss, and he gives you a smile before dropping to his knees in front of you, looking up at you with an expression that can only be described as worshipful.

"In fact," he says, pulling your pants down, "let me show you how beautiful I think you are."

You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. Gregor has a way of making you feel things that no one ever has before, and his words alone are enough to bring you to the edge. But when he looks at you like that, and when he speaks to you the way he does, all husky and low, it's hard not to let go.

As if he knows this, his eyes lock with yours, and his mouth curls into a smirk.

"I think I'd better take a closer look," he says, and his tongue slips out, tracing along his lower lip.

He grabs hold of your waistband and pulls, and your pants and underwear slide down your legs. You lift one foot, and then the other, stepping out of them, and he tosses them aside. He kisses the inside of your knee, and then slowly moves up, kissing his way along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your legs tremble. Your hands shake.

He reaches the top of your leg, and then stops.

"Gregor?"

"I could stay here forever, you know," he says, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thigh. "It's my favorite place in the entire galaxy. So soft. So perfect."

You're about to protest, but before you can, he spreads your folds with his fingers. Your words come out as a cry, and your hands fly to his hair, clutching his head and pulling him closer.

“And this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Your knees buckle. Gregor steadies you, his laugh hot against your skin. "You know, it's really unfair that I don't get to do this nearly often enough."

"You do just fine," you breathe, "when you're here."

"Just fine isn't good enough," he replies. He leans in again, flicking his tongue over your clit. You gasp and arch toward him, and his arms slide around your waist, holding you tight against his face. "You deserve more than just fine.”

You have a feeling he's talking about more than just this, but before you can ask him, his mouth covers you, and any words that were going to come out turn into a long, drawn-out moan.

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, getting lost in the sensation of his tongue moving against you, licking, sucking, teasing. One of his hands finds yours and laces your fingers together, holding tight, grounding you, and reminding you that no matter where you are, no matter what else is going on in the galaxy, this is real. This is where you are. This is the only thing that matters.

Gregor's free hand moves to your thigh. He urges you to part your legs further, and you oblige, leaning back against the wall and sinking lower, letting him lift your leg and place it over his shoulder. His tongue laps at your entrance, teasing, and then moves higher, circling your clit again and again.

You gasp. Your toes curl. Heat builds between your legs, and every movement of his tongue makes you shiver and tremble. Gregor knows exactly how to play your body. He's mapped every inch of you. He knows the right amount of pressure, the exact movement that will send you careening over the edge.

And it makes it all the more frustrating that he seems determined to keep you hanging on, never quite pushing you over the cliff.

"Gregor, please," you moan.

"Please what, sunshine?" he asks with a laugh, and you whimper as his lips brush your clit.

"Don't make me say it," you whisper, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks.

"Oh, no, no, no," he replies, shaking his head. "You're not getting off that easy. I want to hear it."

You groan and drop your head forward, looking down at him. His eyes are bright, his smile is wicked, and his fingers are teasing your slit, not quite going in, but just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you.

"I want you," you whisper, trying not to whine. "I want you to make me come. Please."

"Your wish," Gregor murmurs, his voice low and rough, "is my command."

His tongue finds your clit and stays there, stroking, teasing, flicking. His fingers slip inside you, first one, then two, and curl, stroking the spot deep inside that makes you scream.

The heat between your legs builds and builds until it becomes unbearable, until your thighs are shaking and your vision is blurring. You can't breathe, can't speak, all you can do is clutch his hand and moan, louder and louder as the pleasure swells.

"Yes," he whispers, his lips and his breath and his voice sending a cascade of shudders through your body.

Finally, his mouth covers your clit, and he sucks hard, his fingers thrusting deeper.

You come apart. Your body goes taut, your head tilts back, and a cry escapes from deep in your throat. Your orgasm rips through you, wave after wave, and you cling to Gregor's hand as if he's the only thing keeping you from being swept away.

He keeps going even after the spasms stop, and soon, you're building up to another peak. The intensity is too much, and you try to pull his head away, gasping his name. He doesn't stop. He holds you tighter and doubles his efforts, his tongue lapping and his fingers pumping.

"Oh, no," he says, holding fast. "I'm not done yet. I still have plenty more to make up for."

"Please," you moan, though whether it's because you can't stand any more or because you don't want him to stop is anyone's guess.

"I think..." Gregor murmurs, his fingers curling inside you. You buck against his hand, moaning loudly. "I think I might have to do this a few more times. Maybe all night."

His mouth covers you again, and you close your eyes, giving in to the sensations. Your whole body is trembling, every nerve is singing, and the pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that it almost hurts.

He takes you higher and higher until the heat and the need are unbearable. Little moans and noises escape him, and the way his tongue and lips move faster and faster against you let you know that he's just as excited by this as you are. He's just as aroused by giving you pleasure as you are by receiving it. And the thought that he gets so much enjoyment from this, and from knowing that he can make you feel this way, is what finally pushes you over the edge.

You scream, and your entire body shakes and spasms. Your nails dig into his hand, and he holds tight, letting you ride out the pleasure until the tremors finally subside and you collapse, boneless, against the wall.

Gregor's fingers slip out of you, and his mouth goes slack, letting go of your clit. He gently lowers your leg and stands, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close as the aftershocks make your body shudder and twitch.

"There," he murmurs, planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Much better."

You giggle, breathless.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Definitely," he says. He pulls back, just a bit, and cups your chin in his hand. His thumb runs along your lower lip, and you open your mouth, letting it slide in. He groans as your tongue flicks across his skin, his forehead falling forward and resting against yours. "That's one night's worth of missed opportunities. And there are... a lot of nights to make up for."

You grin, letting go of his thumb.

"Well, then, I suppose we'd better get started," you reply. Your hands move to his belt, fingers dancing across the cold metal. You look up at him through lowered lashes, biting your lip. "My turn?"

Gregor grabs your wrists, pulling them away. You whimper.

"No," he replies. He gathers your wrists in one hand, and the other lifts to stroke your cheek, his eyes darkening. "Tonight, I want to make love to my girlfriend. The way I've been wanting to the entire trip home. And that means I get to be the one taking care of you."

"Oh, come on, Gregor," you say, pouting. "Let me make you feel good too."

"Nope," he says. He steps back and starts pulling off his shirt. "This is a night of self-indulgence, and that means I'm going to take my time and do everything I've been fantasizing about doing since the last time I saw you."

"Is that right?" you hum, raising an eyebrow. You start to push off the wall, but his hand stops you, his palm flat against your chest. He shakes his head.

"Nuh-uh," he replies.

You groan. "Gregor, that's not fair."

He laughs and tosses his shirt aside, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"It's plenty fair. I've been on Felucia for months, fighting hordes of vicious battle droids and trying not to die." He pulls the belt from his pants and tosses it aside. "It's been a stressful couple of weeks, and I think I've earned the chance to do whatever the hell I want."

"And what is it that you want?" you ask, crossing your arms.

He pauses, and his expression changes. His eyes darken, the black of his pupils swallowing the brown, and his grin fades. He looks at you like he wants nothing more than to devour you, and it sends a wave of heat over you so powerful you feel your knees weaken.

"Go get on the bed," he growls, "and I'll show you."

And oh, there's the tone that makes your heart beat faster and your stomach do flips. The tone that lets you know that, tonight, it's not just about the physical, but something so much deeper, and a thousand times more intimate.

You hesitate, and he takes a step forward, his eyes narrowing.

"I said..."

"Yes, sir."

Gregor grins, and his eyes light up.

"There's my girl," he murmurs.

You can't help the smile that comes to your face, or the way you blush and bite your lip, and Gregor's grin grows wider. He grabs your cheek, squishing them slightly as he pulls you in for a kiss, soft and gentle and sweet.

"Go," he says when he pulls away.

You nod.

He kisses you again, and then lets go. Gregor's hands find your hips, and he gives you a little shove forward, making you yelp and giggle. You hurry down the hall toward your bedroom, stripping off the rest of your clothes as you walk. Every step feels like you're walking through a haze, a dream, something surreal and wonderful.

By the time you reach the bed, you're naked. You throw yourself down and bounce a little on the mattress, feeling giddy. The bed is made, as always, but you grab the blankets and fling them back, creating a messy, rumpled mess that would ordinarily drive you crazy.

It's a few minutes before Gregor comes into the room, but when he does, the sight of him makes your heart leap.

He's still wearing his pants, but his feet are bare, and his shirt is gone, leaving his muscular torso completely exposed. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, clinging to the thick lines of muscle and dark hairs that cover him. You can see the lines of a few fresh scars, and some older ones, but the thing that really gets you is the look on his face. He's trying to keep himself in check, to remain calm and controlled, but there's something behind his eyes that makes it obvious he's fighting to keep from jumping on top of you.

"So, how do you want me?" you ask, trying to keep the tremble from your voice.

Gregor walks slowly toward the bed, his hands behind his back. His eyes roam over your body, and his gaze burns hotter than a solar flare. His lips are parted, and his breathing is a little uneven, and the fact that this man, who has seen so many terrible things, and experienced so much death and destruction, has no trouble being completely undone by you, is intoxicating.

"Gregor?"

He takes a deep breath. His gaze meets yours, and his lips curl into a grin.

"Perfect," he says, smiling softly. "Exactly like that."

You're blushing furiously now, and the desire burning in his eyes is making it hard for you to catch your breath.

Gregor approaches the bed, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the outline of his erection through his pants, and your fingers itch to grab hold of him, to stroke and tease and make him feel the way he made you feel. But as soon as you sit up and reach for him, he pushes your hands away and straddles you, pinning your arms at your sides. He leans down and kisses you, his tongue slipping past your lips and exploring your mouth.

"Tonight," he whispers, pulling back, "it's my turn to do all the work."

"I don't mind working," you say, arching your hips against his. He gasps and then chuckles.

"Next time," he replies. He plants a soft kiss to the end of your nose and presses his forehead to yours. "Next time, I'll let you do whatever you want. Tonight, it's just about me taking care of my girl."

"What if I don't want to be taken care of?"

"Hm..." Gregor hums, pretending to think. "Tough."

His lips meet yours again, and his kiss is hard, demanding. Your hands struggle against his grip, wanting to touch him, and when he finally lets go, they fly to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him closer. Your mouths open and tongues tangle, and he shifts, settling himself between your legs. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and arch up, trying to press your body against his. But he resists, keeping himself hovering over you, denying you the friction and pressure you desperately want. You can feel him through his pants, so close, but it's not enough, and you squirm, whimpering into his mouth.

"Not so fast, beautiful," Gregor says.

"You're teasing me."

"Yes," he replies, sliding a hand down between your legs. "Yes, I am."

"Gregor—"

He shushes you, slipping two fingers inside your entrance, and all other thoughts leave your mind.

His fingers curl and stroke, and you buck against his hand, whimpering. He knows your body almost as well as you do. He can bring you to the edge faster and with more intensity than you can yourself. And the fact that he's doing it without even touching your clit is driving you insane.

"How are we doing, sunshine?" Gregor asks, and the smugness in his voice making it obvious he already knows the answer.

"So... so good," you manage, biting your lip.

"Just good?" he teases, slowing his pace. You squirm, trying to get his fingers deeper, but he holds back. "Are you sure there isn't something more I can do to improve the experience?"

"Oh, stars, please, Gregor, please."

"That's what I thought."

His thumb brushes your clit, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your eyes fly open as you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. He resists, and you moan in frustration.

"Gregor, please," you say again.

"Please what?"

"Touch me," you reply. "Kiss me. Make me come. Just, please, don't make me wait any longer."

"All in good time, my love," he murmurs. He kisses the base of your throat, sucking lightly at the spot just above your collarbone that makes you shiver and moan. "All in good time."

You bite your lip and hold on to his shoulders, waiting for him to continue. He kisses his way down your neck, pausing every so often to suck and bite and lick. Each touch sends little jolts of electricity through your body, making you hot and needy.

By the time he reaches the valley between your breasts, his fingers are moving deeper inside you, and the slow, steady strokes of his thumb against your clit are nudging you closer to the edge again. You arch your back, pressing your breasts closer to him, begging him to move his mouth lower. But instead of doing what you want, he turns his head and bites your nipple, sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers. He presses a kiss to the top of your breast, his tongue swirling over to soothe the sting. You cry out, arching up, and he laughs. "Every part of you."

His fingers curl inside you, stroking the spot deep inside, and your head tilts back. The pressure and the heat building between your legs are almost unbearable, and the only thing keeping you grounded is his free hand, stroking your hip and the crease where your thigh meets your body. He moves his thumb from your clit, and you whine in frustration.

"Look at me," he says, and when you glance down, his eyes lock with yours. They're dark and serious, the same way they were when he ordered you onto the bed. But now, the look on his face is full of affection and adoration, and it makes your heart melt.

"Do you know what I think about when I'm out there?" Gregor asks, his fingers still moving, and it takes everything in you to stay focused. "When I'm fighting those droids, and the shooting stops, and everything goes quiet?"

"W-what?"

"I think about this," he replies. "I think about coming home. About getting to be with you. About getting to make love to you. About getting to hold you, and kiss you, and taste you, and touch you."

"Oh, stars," you whisper, his words sending a fresh wave of heat over your skin. You arch up again, trying to press closer, and he chuckles.

"I think about how lucky I am," he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours. His hand fists in the sheets beside your head while the other continues to move, slow and steady, deep and intense. "I think about how much I love you."

"Gregor..."

You feel the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, and you pull him closer, kissing him deeply, your tongue sliding past his lips and meeting his. His thumb brushes your clit, and you let out a high-pitched whimper, your whole body going stiff.

"I love you," he murmurs against your lips. "And I will never get tired of showing you how much."

You cling to him, unable to speak, and he kisses you again, long and slow and sweet. He kisses his way down your chest, stopping to lavish attention on your breasts, sucking and nipping and swirling his tongue. He moves lower, and lower, kissing his way across your stomach and down your thigh.

"So beautiful," he whispers, pressing his lips to the spot right above your knee.

He lifts your leg, hooking it over his shoulder, and turns his head, kissing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.

"I used to be afraid I'd forget," he says, his voice low and hoarse. His fingers curl inside you, and he kisses higher, closer, and closer. "You know. That my memory would go again, and I wouldn't remember you. Or us. Or the way it felt to be here with you."

You swallow hard. "Oh, Gregor, please, don't..."

"But it didn't," he says. He's still moving his fingers, slowly, almost lazily, and the sensation is driving you crazy. You rock your hips against him, trying to get him to go faster, but he stays in control, keeping his movements steady. "It didn't go. Because no matter what, no matter where I am, no matter how bad things get, you're the one thing that never left me."

"Good," you say, gasping. "Because I never want to leave."

Gregor kisses the inside of your thigh again, and then presses his face to the place where it meets your hip.

"I wish I could keep you with me," he murmurs, nuzzling and nipping and licking. "Everywhere I go, everywhere I am, all I want is you."

You feel the heat building between your legs, and the pleasure coiling deep inside. It's slow and intense, and the longer he goes on, the more desperate you get. You want to reach for him, to clutch at him, to pull him closer, but you're afraid of breaking his spell. He seems to be in a trance, his mouth moving over your skin as if he can't stop.

And if it means being this close, having him this near, having him this intimate, this passionate, this whole, then you will gladly let him do whatever he wants.

"I don't ever want to lose this," he says, kissing his way up the opposite thigh.

"You won't," you promise. "Never."

Gregor moves back to the spot on the inside of your thigh, biting down harder, sucking, licking. Your breath hitches as you feel the delicate veins burst, the skin bruising under his teeth. A few days, and it will fade, but for now, it will be a mark of his love, a reminder that you belong to him. That he belongs to you.

He pulls his mouth away and presses his face to your hip again. He's still stroking his fingers, slow and deep, and it's starting to become too much. It's becoming hard to think. Hard to breathe. You arch against him, but he keeps his rhythm, holding you down with the weight of his body.

“I want to stay like this forever," he says, kissing the space right below your navel. “Stars, sunshine, I want to devour every inch of you. Want to spend a week, a month, a year with my face between your legs, because that's the only place in the universe where I'm actually happy."

"Gregor—“

"I could live there, you know," he cuts you off. "Forever. Wouldn't even mind. Just you and me and a big bed and nothing else."

"But no food," you reply breathlessly, unable to resist the joke, your eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't need it."

"You'd get hungry."

"For you." He kisses his way back down the other thigh, leaving a trail of tiny bruises behind. "Nothing but you."

"Fuck, Gregor," you gasp as he sucks at the crease of your leg and your pelvis, his fingers still stroking, his other hand tightening its grip on the sheets.

"I love it here," he murmurs, his breath hot and humid against your skin. "Love the way you smell, and taste, and the noises you make when I kiss you here..." He trails off, and his tongue finds your slit.

You cry out, arching against him, and he pushes his face between your legs, lapping at the wetness.

"Oh, Gregor," you moan, grabbing his hair, pulling him closer. You can feel him grinning against you, and his laughter makes your toes curl.

His tongue moves in long, lazy strokes, and his fingers are still going, in and out, curling and twisting. You're panting, writhing beneath him, the heat creeping up your legs toward your core, and he holds firm, his mouth and his hands continuing their work.

"Gregor, please," you whisper, and he lifts his head.

"Please what?"

"Let me touch you."

"No."

He presses his lips to the place above your clit, sucking gently, and you whimper.

"Please."

"No," he says. "You don't need to touch me."

"But I want to," you protest.

"And I want to touch you."

You groan and let your head fall back, and he goes back to his task, his tongue finding your clit, licking and lapping, and his fingers speeding up, thrusting deep.

Your orgasm is building slowly, the heat and the tension growing more and more, and your entire body is trembling. Tears build in the corner of your eyes, your legs are shaking, and your toes are curling. You feel as if you're standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. All you need is one more push, one more movement, and the wave will crest and the pleasure will spill over.

"Gregor, please, I can't," you whimper, your hand fisting tighter in his hair. He moans against you, and the sound reverberates through your body, sending a new wave of shudders over your skin. "Don't stop, please, don't stop, please..."

He doesn't say a word, but his hand grips your thigh tighter, and his fingers keep their steady pace, in and out, curving and stroking. His tongue dances along the length of your slit, teasing and licking, and finally, when you're sure you can't take any more, his lips cover your clit, and his tongue presses against it, circling slowly.

You break.

Your back arches, your toes curl, and a cry rips from your throat. White-hot pleasure floods your senses, and you grab the sheets, gripping them tight. The spasms spread from between your legs up your thighs, through your stomach, to your chest, and down your arms. Your thighs clamp down hard around his head, and he laughs, his breath warm against your wet skin.

"Yes," Gregor murmurs, his voice hoarse, and he grunts as you squeeze his head tighter. His hand grips your leg, holding fast. He continues his movements, slower now, letting the pleasure build and then fall, and his free hand slides up, finding your own and lacing his fingers through yours. Your hips rock, following his pace, and he doesn't stop until the aftershocks fade and you lie there, boneless, panting, and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You lie there, unable to move, unable to think. Your thighs fall open, releasing their grip on him, and Gregor kisses the inside of one leg and then the other, letting his lips linger before sitting up and stretching. You watch him through hooded eyes, a lazy smile playing across your lips.

"Wow," Gregor says, licking his lips. “That was a good one."

"Mmm," is all you can manage. You try to sit up, but your arms are still shaking, so you let yourself flop back down. Your hands reach blindly for him, and he laughs, catching one and pressing a kiss to the palm.

"Oh, no," he says. "Not yet."

"But you didn't—"

"Not yet," he repeats, his smile turning wicked. 

He leans down, kissing you softly, and then moves off the bed. His hands find the waistband of his pants and slides them down, revealing the bulge of his cock, thick and heavy, straining against the fabric of his briefs. The sight of his erection makes your mouth water, and you reach for him again, but he shakes his head.

"Not. Yet."

You groan, frustrated, but Gregor just laughs. He drops his pants and steps out of them, his thumbs hooking in his underwear, pushing them down, and his erection springs free. His cock bobs, hard and red and dripping, and you bite your lip, waiting.

“How many more do you have in you?” he asks as his hand closes around his length and strokes slowly. He groans, his head tilting back, and your stomach tightens at the sound.

You blink hard, your brow furrowing. "How many what?"

"Orgasms," he replies, his hand still moving. Your eyes follow the movement, mesmerized by the way his palm and fingers wrap around his girth, the head appearing and disappearing through the ring of his thumb and forefinger. "How many more can you handle?"

"Um... I..."

You can't form words. Your brain feels fuzzy, and all you can focus on is the desire that's burning through your veins. Gregor's cock twitches, and a bead of pre-cum drips down the shaft. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and his grin grows wider.

"Come on," he says. "Give me an answer. Four? Five? More?"

"Maybe three," you reply, still distracted by the movement of his hand.

"Three sounds good," he says, and the way his voice drops, low and rough, sends a shiver down your spine. "I can do three. Now..."

He lets go of his cock and crawls back onto the bed. You grab for him, but he bats your hand away, shaking his head.

"No, not like that," he says.

"Then... how?"

Gregor lies down, stretching his arms above his head, and you frown.

"What are you—"

"Come sit on my face."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes go wide.

"You're kidding."

"Nope," he replies. He grins, his gaze dropping lower, to where you're still wet and throbbing. He pats his shoulder. "Hop on."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not an answer."

"Because I want you to ride my face until I've made up for the last three months," he replies, and his voice is low and thick, sending another shudder through you. "Now get over here."

You stare at him for a moment, stunned, and then slowly move, straddling him. You hover over him, your knees on either side of his shoulders, and his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you fast as you position yourself over his face. You feel a little ridiculous, but Gregor doesn't seem to mind. He simply grins up at you, and then, without any warning, his mouth covers you.

You cry out at the feeling of his mouth on your oversensitive flesh. It's almost too much, and the first swipe of his tongue has your legs trembling. But he's insistent, his hands tightening around your thighs, holding you in place as his mouth and tongue go to work.

"Gregor—"

He moans, and the vibrations travel through you, making your thighs tremble. You lean forward, bracing yourself on the wall, and his tongue darts out, swirling and swirling.

You let out a whimper. You're still sensitive, still coming down from the four orgasms he's already given you, and your body feels boneless and limp. But the way he's working, the way his mouth and tongue are moving against you, makes it hard to keep your thoughts straight.

You lean forward, resting your head against the wall, and your breathing becomes heavier and heavier. Your hips roll against him, and his hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, keeping his face buried between your legs. You glance down to see his eyes are closed, his brows drawn together as he works, and the sight of him so focused, so intent, so hungry, sends a new wave of heat through you.

It's too much, but not enough. It's overwhelming, and yet, somehow, you want more. You need more. The heat is building in your belly, and you know it won't be long before you're right back where you were before, and yet, the intensity is a little frightening. He's not even touching you, not really, and the thought of what might happen if he does has you terrified.

"Gregor, please," you moan, reaching for him, but he shakes his head, not breaking his stride. His tongue swirls around and around, and the heat coils, tight and hot and unbearable. "I can't. I can't. Please, stop, it's too much."

He pulls back, and you gasp in relief.

"Do you really want me to stop?" he asks, panting. His lips are slick with your juices, and his chin is shining. His pupils are blown, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is mussed. He's a complete wreck, and you've never seen anything sexier in your life. "Do you really want me to let you go?"

"No," you gasp, swallowing hard.

"Do you really want me to stop making up for all the nights I've been gone?"

"No."

"Good."

He grabs your hips and pulls you back down, his mouth covering you once again. You moan and squirm, your hand flying to the back of his head, fingers fisting in his hair. He hums his approval, and the vibrations make you gasp and buck against him.

"Oh, yes," you whimper, rolling your hips. You can feel his stubble rasping against the soft skin of your inner thighs, and his nose nudges the place just above your clit, making you squirm. "Please, don't stop."

He doesn't respond, but his hands slide up to cup your ass, squeezing gently as his tongue moves faster. You brace yourself on the wall and the headboard, grinding your hips against him, and he groans. You can hear him panting, can feel his chest rising and falling beneath your knees, and his eyes are squeezed shut, his brows drawn together.

The heat and the tension build, and soon, you're right on the edge again. He doesn’t keep you there this time, though. Instead, he takes you higher and higher, pushing you closer and closer, until you feel like you might explode. And when you think it can't get any better, he reaches up and slides his fingers inside you, pumping and curling.

Your entire body goes rigid, and a loud, long moan escapes your lips.

"Stars, yes," Gregor groans.

He keeps going, faster and harder, and you come, gasping and shuddering. He doesn't stop, just keeps moving, his tongue and his fingers bringing you to another peak before you've even finished the first. You're screaming, begging, and the world starts to go fuzzy. All you can feel is the pressure, the heat, the intensity, and all you can see is his face, buried between your legs.

By the time you peel yourself off him, Gregor is a mess. His face is covered in your slick, and his lips are red and swollen, his hair sticking to his forehead. He's breathing hard, and his chest is heaving, and when you manage to lift your head and meet his gaze, you can't help the giggle that escapes your throat.

"You look like a mess," you say.

"I'm not the only one," he replies, and the huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

"I don't think I can do any more," you tell him.

"Sure you can," Gregor says, and he slides his hand up to rest on the small of your back. His fingers stroke the damp skin, and the heat and the electricity are still there, just below the surface. "Just give me a minute, and we'll try again."

"We will?" you ask, biting your lip.

He nods, grinning, and reaches up to wipe his face. His fingers find their way into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean. The sight of his lips wrapped around his fingers makes you shiver, and when he finishes, he lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Yeah," he replies. "We will."

"And what if I can't?"

"I think you can," he says. His hand moves lower, grabbing the base of your ass, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading.

"Oh," you breathe. "Okay. Um... how?"

"Just relax," Gregor replies. His hand squeezes tighter, and his thumb strokes the soft skin, sending a tingle through you. "Relax, and let me take care of you."

You nod and close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you. He continues to rub, his movements slow and soothing, and you can feel the tension leaving your body. You’re boneless and liquid, and every time he touches you, a little shockwave travels up your spine, making you shudder.

He maneuvers you easily, flipping you over onto your back and pushing your legs apart. He settles between them, and his mouth finds yours, kissing you deeply.

You can taste yourself on him, and the sensation is enough to make you gasp and writhe. You're still sensitive and overstimulated, and every touch of his skin against yours is almost unbearable. You clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and his lips leave yours, trailing kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

"Still alive?" Gregor asks, pulling back just enough to look at you.

"Barely."

He grins and kisses you again. His cock is pressed between your legs, hot and throbbing, and he grinds against you, moaning softly. The feeling of his shaft rubbing against your slick skin is intoxicating, and the desire begins to build again.

He's moving slower this time, his hands stroking and teasing, and he seems intent on touching every inch of you, making sure not a single part of you is neglected. He's everywhere, kissing and nipping, his fingers exploring and massaging. You cling to him, your hands roaming over his broad, muscular shoulders, his chest, and the thick muscles of his arms. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving scratches and welts, and the noises he makes send a wave of heat over you.

Gregor shifts, and the tip of his cock finds your entrance.

"You want more?" he asks. "Or are you done?"

"More," you whisper, clutching his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Please, I want to feel you."

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, though it's obvious that's what he wants, too.

"Positive."

He captures your lips in another heated kiss before he pushes your hand away and positions himself at your entrance. He teases a little, rubbing the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

"Because I can keep doing this," he says, "and just come like this. On you."

"Gregor, please," you groan, frustrated, and he laughs.

"Okay, okay," he says, and he shifts his hips, pressing forward, and he enters you.

The sensation of him stretching and filling you is exquisite, and you let out a long, low moan, wrapping your legs around his waist. He groans and pushes deeper, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin, and his teeth find the place where your neck and shoulder meet, sucking hard as he starts to move.

His pace is slow and steady, and his lips and teeth are on your neck, leaving bruises, marking you, claiming you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper, and he groans, his hand fisting in your hair.

"Stars, I've missed you," Gregor murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin.

"I've missed you, too," you reply, arching up, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Never going this long again," he continues, his voice ragged. "Can't stand it."

"Me neither."

He kisses his way up your neck and along your jaw, finally finding your mouth. You kiss him, long and deep, and his hand leaves your hair, moving to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. He's being gentle now, the urgency and desperation replaced by tenderness and love. You kiss him harder, clinging to him, and he moans, thrusting deep until his pelvis is flush against yours.

"I love you," you whisper, and Gregor lets out a soft sigh.

"Love you, too, sunshine," he replies. "Love you more than anything."

You close your eyes and hold him close, relishing the feeling of his body on top of yours. You're hot and sticky, and you can taste the sweat on his skin. You're tired, and spent, and a little sore. But it feels so good to have him here, inside you, with nothing between you. Nothing except love. And that's enough.

"Tell me again," Gregor whispers, his hand slipping between your bodies. His thumb finds your clit and strokes slowly, and you arch, whimpering. "Tell me again."

"I love you."

He groans, burying his face in your neck again, and his pace picks up, his fingers circling your clit faster. You wrap your arms around him, clinging tight. The pleasure builds slowly, but it's there, and it's getting stronger with every thrust.

"Again."

"I love you, Gregor."

A tiny gasp escapes him, and he pulls back, looking down at you. His eyes are bright, and he's smiling, his hair damp with sweat. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he turns his head, kissing the center of your palm.

"Good?” you ask.

"So good," he murmurs. "Too good."

"Too good?"

"Yeah," Gregor says, his laugh shaky, and his head drops down, his forehead touching yours. "If I had known it would be this good, I'd have run away from the GAR as soon as I found you and never looked back."

"You wouldn't," you reply, smiling and running a hand over his hair.

"For you?" he asks. "Absolutely. Just ask. I'd walk across the galaxy if you wanted. Take on the whole kriffing Separatist army. Slay a dragon. Whatever you want."

"You don't need to slay a dragon for me, Gregor," you say with a laugh.

"Fine. A dragon, a rancor, a Dathomirian devil-bat. Whatever. You name it, and I'll do it."

"Gregor."

"I'm serious, sunshine." His pace is speeding up, his thrusts getting deeper, and the pressure of his thumb is getting harder. You moan and arch, and he grins, nuzzling his nose against yours. "Whatever you want, whenever you want it. Just say the word."

"Gregor," you breathe, gasping as his hand slips down, finding the spot behind your knee and urging your leg up. "I don't need anything but you."

He smiles, the look on his face one of pure adoration, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"Oh, sunshine," he says, leaning down and kissing you softly. "I am going to marry the hell out of you."

The words surprise you. It's not the first time he's said it, but each time feels like a little thrill. A reminder that, even though your life is full of uncertainty and danger, you have someone who loves you, and would do anything to keep you safe, and would never leave you. It's a promise that, someday, all of this will be over, and you'll have a home and a family and a place in the world, together.

"Is that a promise?" you ask, unable to keep from smiling.

"Damn right it is."

He kisses you again, deeper, harder, and his hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing your palms together. You clutch his hand and close your eyes, lost in the moment, the heat and the desire and the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

Gregor's breath is coming faster now, his thrusts a little rougher, and the way his hand is moving between your legs is sending sparks of electricity through you. He's so close, and you can feel him starting to lose control. You cling to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him and holding tight, and he buries his face in your neck. His hips start to move erratically, the sounds he's making driving you wild.

"We'll get married. As soon as the war's over. Or before, if you want,” he mutters into your skin. "Have a whole bunch of kids. Be a real family."

"Yes," you agree, gasping, the pressure between your legs building to an almost unbearable point. "A huge family. Enough kids to start our own squad."

"Stars, yes," he murmurs, his teeth nipping at the base of your throat. “Lots of kids. And lots of grandkids. And I'll be there for all of it. And we'll be happy and safe. And... oh, fuck, sunshine, I'm not gonna last much longer."

"Neither am I."

He groans, and his hand moves faster, stroking you harder, and the spasms are so close. You're right on the edge, and when Gregor pulls back, looking down at you and giving you that soft smile, it sends you careening over.

You come with a scream, clutching his hand and pulling him closer. The tremors rip through you, and he follows, crying out your name as his body goes rigid and his hips jerk and stutter. His release spills into you, hot and thick, and you shudder, riding out the waves of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut as you feel him grind deeper, his hips pressing hard against yours, and he lets out a low moan as his cock twitches and pulses inside you.

Finally, the spasms stop, and the two of you collapse, breathing hard, clinging to each other. You lie like that for a long time, holding him close, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the aftershocks making you tremble and shake.

The muscles in your stomach and thighs are burning, and Gregor's weight on top of you is a little uncomfortable, but it feels good, and you don't want him to go anywhere. You never do. You wish you could stay like this forever. Just the two of you, safe and sound and far, far away from the rest of the galaxy.

"Wow," you murmur.

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh.

You're quiet for a moment, and then, Gregor lifts his head.

"One more?" he asks, his eyes hopeful.

You laugh and shake your head, pushing his hair back off his forehead. He grins, and you cup his cheeks, pulling him down and kissing him gently.

“Maybe after dinner,” you say, and Gregor laughs.

"Fair enough."

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the space between your breasts, and then rolls onto his side, pulling you against him and kissing the top of your head. You snuggle against him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the sound of his heart beating. The feeling of being in his arms, safe and loved, is better than any orgasm, and you feel yourself relaxing, drifting toward sleep.

You're nearly there when he speaks again.

"What do you think? Is a spring wedding okay with you?"

"Hmm?" you hum, forcing your eyes open and looking up at him.

"For our wedding. It's my favorite time of year,” he replies, tracing his fingers lightly across your back. "When everything comes back to life. And I think you'd look really good in a flower crown."

You chuckle and press a kiss to his shoulder. Your lips trail across the scar there, and his arms tighten around you, squeezing a little.

"Sure, Gregor. A spring wedding sounds wonderful."

"Oh, good," he says. "And maybe, if we can talk Cody into taking a few days off, we can have him marry us."

“Does he have the authority to do that?”

"I think so. I've never asked him, but it doesn't hurt to check. If not, I bet General Kenobi would do it. He likes you. Plus, it would be a nice gesture to show him that we appreciate all he's done for us."

"Okay, yeah," you grin. "We can ask them."

"Perfect," he says, his hand traveling up your back and over your neck, and his fingers tangle in your hair. He tilts your head back, and kisses you softly. "I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

Gregor grins, and he pulls back, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. You settle in next to him, and a wave of peace washes over you. For the first time in three months, you're completely at ease.

All the fear, the worry, the anxiety that's been weighing on your shoulders is gone, and in its place is a sense of rightness and contentment. It's like everything has clicked into place. Like you've been floating, lost in a storm, and the anchor has finally hit the ground, holding fast.

It's not the perfect ending. But it's close. And it's what you've needed.

"I love you, Gregor," you whisper.

He doesn't answer. His chest is rising and falling steadily, and his face is relaxed. You smile and press a kiss to his chest.

It's just as well. There will be plenty of time to tell him.

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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.”

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