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#clone wars fanfic
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Suckers
Fives & Echo
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Summary: Hilarity ensues when Fives spots a lollipop in the shape of a clone.
Pairing: None
Characters: Fives, Echo, Rex, Fox
Tags & Warnings: humor, crude humor, sexual humor, sexual innuendos, art comic at the end
Word Count: 337
Author's Note: I blame cursed clone wars merchandise on eBay, late-night Discord chats, and @kimiheartblade for this abomination 😂 It's pretty much just dialogue. I don't even know if I want to call this a fic, considering how thrown together it is. But sometimes you just have to write funny stuff. As always, please enjoy 💚
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"Hey, Echo, look at this!" Fives yells. He grabs Echo's arm and pulls him towards the candy storefront.
"What?" Echo huffs, then yanks his arm back.
"It's us!" Fives exclaims.
Echo raises an eyebrow. "Huh?"
"They made us into suckers!" Fives smiles. He points to the clone-shaped lollipops nestled in a stand next to the candy store window.
"And you're excited about that, why?" Echo asks.
"We're famous!" Fives grins.
"Right," Echo rolls his eyes, "because minors and middle-aged single women sucking on us is peak fame."
"Aw, come on, Echo," Fives says. "It's a novelty!"
Echo crosses his arms. "It's disgusting."
"I'm gonna buy one," Fives says, then walks towards the door.
"Wait!" Echo yells, trying to stop him, but he can't.
Fives buys the lollipop and returns to Echo, who is waiting for him outside the shop.
Echo sighs. "Happy now?"
Fives smiles and then shoves the lollipop in Echo's face. "Here, have a lick."
Echo cringes away. "Ew, no way!"
"It's just a lollipop," Fives says.
"I don't care," Echo huffs.
"But don't you want to know what flavor they made you?" Fives asks.
"No!" Echo says. "I don't have a flavor."
"But it looks like you," Fives says.
"I'm not sucking on something that looks like me," Echo says.
"Then it looks like me," Fives says.
"I'm not sucking on something that looks like you either!" Echo exclaims.
"It's kriffing sugar!" Fives retorts.
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Rex taps his foot against the pavement, his arms crossed, while staring at his two arc troopers who are currently sitting handcuffed on the edge of the curb.
"Does someone want to tell me why the Coruscant Guard got called out here?" Rex asks.
Fives and Echo look away from each other in embarrassment.
Fox clears his throat. "Several passersby complained of two men in an altercation with one of them repeatedly yelling, 'suck on it'."
Rex takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"We can expl–"
"Don't," Rex interjects with a wave of his hand. "I don't want to know."
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Comic by @chiliger
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Masterlist
AO3
Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @sun-roach @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moonwrecked @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @reader6898 @kimiheartblade @dukeoftheblackstar @totally-not-your-babe @t3mpest98 @novas-daydreaming @thestarwarslesbian
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clonesuperiority · 11 days
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I'm using my recent TBB osession to draw my clone ocs for the first time in forever again (Since I haven't named them yet: These are Kick, Boxer and Isle - finally cleaned up)
I have been reading some clone x reader fanfics (share some with me pls I love them gsjvkfgsf) and lets say ... I have been noticing a pattern in regard of the ... bathrooms in Clone Bar 79 ...
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freesia-writes · 1 month
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Am I gonna start something for every day of the week? Not that I'm aware of, LOL. But let's give this a try? Maybe I'll alternate fanfic and fanart... Or make a separate day. Who knows.
Fanfic Authors: What are you CURRENTLY working on (choose ONE, haha) and what's your favorite part about it?
Don't be shy, share a link! 🤓
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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 month
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The Night Before Someday
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A/N: Happy (slightly belated) birthday to my dearest @wings-and-beskar! I wrote you some smut. 💛
Pairing: Cody x Reader (GN)
Rating: M - Minors DNI
Wordcount: 1.6K
Warnings and tags: fluff; roofies mentioned in passing; somebody other than Cody tries to hit on you; SMUT; oral sex; teasing; minor dom/sub dynamics; orgasm delay; established secret/forbidden relationship.
Summary: Did you read “Someday” and feel a burning desire to know what happened the night before? Look no further! This is that fic.
Suggested listening:
Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list
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79’s was hot, loud, and crowded. The heavy beat of dance music pulsated through the dense, smoky air of the club. The 212th was on shore leave, and you could swear that all 42,000 troopers in the battalion were currently either in line for the bar or grinding on the dance floor. You weren’t the only nat-born officer in the place, but you still stood out in the sea of clones, and every so often a drunken trooper would hoot your name or cheer raucously as you passed.
The energy was frenetic. To tell the truth, dance clubs weren’t really your usual scene, but it was the first night of leave, and it was expected that the senior command staff would put in an appearance. It wasn’t so bad, though; the troopers were rowdy but unfailingly respectful, and as you headed back to your table after braving the line at the bar for a refill, one of your very favorite trios found you and pulled you inexorably into their orbit. 
“Didn’t think we’d see you here tonight, Major,” Wooley said as he slung his arm over your shoulders with an easy (if somewhat wobbly) smile.
“Why not?” you asked.
“Figured you’d have somethin’ better to do than hang out with the same faces you see all day every day,” Waxer grinned.
“What could possibly be better than this?” you asked, gesturing at the sticky, sweaty crowd.
“Probably just about any nat-born cantina,” Boil replied.
“Oh, we have more than our share of shitty dives,” you replied. “Plus my chances of having my drink roofied are probably lower here than just about any bar in the galaxy.”
“‘Specially with us watching your back,” Wooley said. He was slurring his words a bit, and his arm was ridiculously heavy on your shoulders, but you had a feeling his night was just getting started.
“Surprised you aren’t at the table with the rest of the command staff,” Boil remarked.
“I was on my way back when you waylaid me,” you laughed.
“Eh, we’re more fun anyway,” Waxer said with a charming smile.
Privately, you couldn’t help but agree, not that you would ever, ever say it out loud. Waxer, Boil, and Wooley didn’t have to worry about presenting a dignified facade the way the senior officers—including you—did. 
You drew a breath to reply, and suddenly, a Mirialan tripped and stumbled into you. She righted herself quickly, apologizing profusely in an Outer-Rim trade language. You replied fluently in the same language, reassuring her and asking if she was all right. She nodded and excused herself quickly, and as she left, you checked to make sure she hadn’t swiped your credits.
“Kriff, it’s hot when you do that,” Wooley said, leaning a little closer to your ear.
“What, check to make sure someone didn’t rip me off?” you laughed.
“No, when you speak Sy Bisti or whatever that was,” he replied.
“Meese Caulf,” you said.
“I don’t know how the commander keeps his hands off you when you’re translating for him,” Wooley said a little over-loudly.
Yeah, he’s definitely had enough to drink, you thought.
If you were honest, you liked Wooley just fine. He was sweet and funny, he had great hair, and he looked like… well… a clone trooper. Enough said. You might have considered reciprocating his interest if it weren’t for two very important factors. One: you outranked him by several degrees, and you’d have felt weird about it even if it weren’t officially forbidden for you to fraternize with him. Ironic, all things considered. 
Two—
“Because I don’t fancy a court martial, and I suspect the major doesn’t either, so I’d suggest you keep your hands to yourself,” a voice said from just behind you.
His tone was mild, but all four of you snapped to attention instinctively, and Wooley dropped his arm and put several inches in between himself and you for good measure.
“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir,” Wooley said sheepishly.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Commander Cody replied. 
“Er, sorry, Major,” Wooley mumbled.
You kept a perfectly straight face as you reassured Wooley, then extricated yourself from the group and made your way back to the command staff’s table with Cody. 
Once you were out of earshot, you asked, “Court martial? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”
Cody arched a quizzical brow. “Just looking out for my officers.”
“Careful, Commander. People might start thinking you have an interest beyond strict professionalism.”
Under the guise of steering you around a group of rowdy, drunken troopers, Cody rested his hand on your lower back, and you felt his fingertips graze your bare skin, just beneath the hem of your shirt.
“We can’t have that,” he murmured. He leaned in slightly to whisper in your ear. “I wish I could dance with you.”
You suppressed a smile. “How much longer do we need to keep up this charade before we sneak back to my flat?”
“One more drink ought to do it,” he said. 
You glanced down at your cocktail. “Mine’s already half gone. I’ll leave first so nobody suspects.”
“You know, Wooley was right about one thing. You are hot as kriff.” He pressed his fingers into your back gently, then withdrew his hand as you approached the table where the rest of the senior command waited. “Door code still the same?”
“Always.”
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You were in the kitchen chugging the galaxy’s largest glass of water when you heard the front door swish open. By the time it closed again, you were already in Cody's arms. As your lips met, he picked you up and spun you around until you shrieked with laughter. When he set you down, he held you steady until you regained your footing, then slid his hand up your back to hold your head as he leaned his forehead against yours and took a deep, slow breath in and out.
“Hello,” you smiled.
“Hello,” he replied. “I missed you.”
“It's only been an hour,” you pointed out.
“An eternity.” He kissed along your jaw until he reached your ear, whispering, “A lifetime.”
You shivered as his breath tingled across your skin. “Welcome home.”
A quiet rumble of pleasure sounded in his chest at your words. “Let's go to bed.”
“Tired?” you teased.
He slid his hands down your body to grip your ass, pulling you hard against him. “Not even a little bit.”
That’s a kriffing lie, you thought, knowing exactly how busy and exhausted he was, but you weren’t about to call him on it when his lips tasted so perfect, and his body felt so strong and solid and warm, and his hands roamed over you, touching and teasing and exploring. You didn’t even notice that he was expertly guiding you backward through your flat until he leaned you slowly back onto your mattress.
“Excellent diversionary tactics, Commander,” you said as he kissed down your throat and sternum, deftly unbuttoning your top as he progressed.
“Mm,” he murmured, unzipping your trousers and sliding them down your hips. “That’s Marshal Commander.”
Your laugh turned into a gasp as he tugged your underwear out of the way and his tongue caressed your skin. 
“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he whispered, gazing up your body as he stroked his fingers over you softly. He trailed kisses down your pelvis and swirled his tongue over your sex. “I could never taste you enough.”
Oh, gods, but he tried. He devoured you with all the skill and passion of a man deprived too long. He took his time, luxuriating in your smooth skin, your warmth, your scent, your taste, your quiet moans, your desperate whimpers, your frantic squirming beneath his lovely mouth. 
Ever the strategist, he used every tool at his disposal in his relentless pursuit of your pleasure: fingers, tongue, lips—even his teeth: grazing them gently across your tender flesh, then smoothing his tongue over you in soft, comforting strokes. He drew you closer and closer to your climax, refusing to hurry, even when your whimpers and moans gave way to pleading and sobbing as heat pulsed relentlessly through your veins, so close: so close, and yet just out of reach. 
And then—he stopped.
You nearly screamed in frustration. “Damn it, Cody!”
“Manners,” he chided.
You growled. “I am going to get revenge for this.”
“I have no doubt,” he replied, kissing you softly and then brushing his thumb over his swollen lips. “Now ask nicely.”
You gritted your teeth and took a deep breath. “Please, sir, will you let me come?”
He gave you a devilish smile and lowered his head back down to your body, devouring you with renewed enthusiasm, and within seconds, he brought you to the precipice.
“Please, please, please,” you chanted.
He groaned, a deep, gravelly sound that vibrated on your skin, and with a dexterous movement of his fingers, he pushed you over the edge. You let out a hoarse cry, for once not concerned about keeping your volume down, as your hips thrust up off the mattress. He pressed you back down as he kept going, eagerly taking everything you had to give, until you were twitching and writhing helplessly beneath him.
At last, when he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure from your body, you fell back, breathing hard as you slowly relaxed against the pillows. He looked up at you with a self-satisfied grin, and you narrowed your eyes vindictively. Wrapping your legs around him, you flipped both of you over so he was lying on his back beneath you, gazing up at you with blatant adoration.
“My turn,” you murmured.
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Didn't read "Someday"? It's here, and it's fluffy as hell!
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spicy-clones · 9 months
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Everything here is NSFW. It's either straight smut or highly suggestive. So minors, please skedaddle (go read the fun fluff at @freesia-writes).
Any works below with an asterisk (*) have an audio file of a commissioned voice actor delivering a line or two from the fic. :D
Sign up for my tag list (or unsubscribe) here!
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Full-Length:
Sharp Edges - an x Fem!Reader collaboration with @lightwise that started off as a blind date one-shot but turned into a freakin' incredible fully-developed fic, with plot, character development, twists and turns, angst, yearning, and plenty of delicious *spice*. ;) It's also a fix-it fic that mixes up the events of TCW and TBB a bit to end it happily ever after.
One-Shots:
A lot of the titles are pretty self-explanatory... To make it simple. ;) You'll notice some duplicates, too -- they were from celebration requests!
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A Show of Thanks - Hunter x Fem!Reader - part two of a request where Reader nurses Hunter back to health... and they bang.
Feral Hunter, Delighted Reader - F Reader
"Make me forget today" - F Reader
"Are you wearing my shirt?" - F Reader
"I swear, I'll bite you..." - GN Reader
"I'm trying to be sexy and you're laughing!" - GN Reader and FANART
"That ass is mine." - GN Reader
Restrained (tied up Hunter) - F Reader and fanart!
Hunter Has No Business Looking This Good - F Reader inspired by fanart
TBB Prompt Event #1 - Delicious Smut with Hunter x F Reader
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You. Crosshair. One Bed. - F Reader - four-part ficlet
"Make me forget today" - GN Reader
"I'll bite you... Please do!" - GN Reader
"Why is there a rope next to the bed? - GN Reader
"Oh, someone likes praise..." - F Reader
Sensual Baking - F Reader
A Striptease from Crosshair?! - F Reader
Lovemaking vs. Bangin - F Reader
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"I'm literally naked." - GN Reader
"Someone likes praise..." - F Reader
Tech Tries a New Technique - F Reader that's honestly written as a joke... But is quite entertaining.
Tech's First Time - F Reader
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The Buffet is Open - F Reader - food play, humor, and spice.
Falling in Love with Wrecker - F Reader - first time sweetness.
"Someone likes praise..." - skirt-wearing reader
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"That's the most attractive thing I've ever seen." - GN Reader
"Just lay back and let me take care of you." - F Reader
Sweet, Melty First-Time Softness - F Reader
"I am NOT having sex in a closet!" - F Reader
Vibrator Play - F Reader
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Training - F Reader - grappling leads to *grappling*; includes GORGEOUS artwork by @pinkiemme <3
Entwining Fingers - F Reader - with him on top. ;)
"Are you wearing JUST my helmet and kama?!" - F Reader
"Please make me forget today" - F Reader
"Are you wearing my shirt?" - GN Reader
“I am NOT having sex in a closet…”* - F Reader
Slightly Sub!Rex* - F Reader
Rex's First Time - F Reader
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Fives: "I'm trying to be sexy and you're laughing!" - GN Reader
Fives: "That's the most attractive thing I've ever seen." - F Reader
Fives Defends You, Then Bangs You - F Reader
Kix Likes His Hair Pulled - F Reader
Jesse: "I'm trying to be sexy and you're laughing!" - F Reader
Feral Jesse - GN Reader
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Wolffe: "That ass is mine." - GN Reader
Fox: "I'm literally naked." - GN Reader
Howzer: "Someone likes praise..." - GN Reader
Cody: "That is the most attractive thing I've ever seen." - GN Reader
Cody: Passion After a Near-Death Experience* - F Reader
Gregor: Confessing Feelings and First Time* - F Reader - a two-part series
Request Guidelines
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toomanybandstocare · 10 months
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{Naboo Sunset}
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Program: When Padmé sends word to you that Rex will be on an extended leave this time, you make sure that he'll enjoy his well deserved rest with no worries. Even with General Skywalker in on your plan, no one could have foreseen how Rex would react to your affection. Naboo will always be where the two of you point as the start of your lives as riduurs.
Pairing: Captain Rex x GN! Reader
Genre: Fluff
Length: 2636w
Camp Resolute's Masterlist
ClonexReader Bingo
Prompt: Sunset
Warnings: Mild suggestiveness, Petnames (usual Mando'a ones), Alcohol (not to the point of getting drunk)
Counselor Notes: Well this took a turn I didn't see coming! Thank you @ghostofskywalkerfor the idea of a sunset date with Rex &lt;3 For the @clonexreaderbingo.
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“So, just to make sure I understand correctly,” Rex slowly voices his concern as he walks off the Twilight with Skywalker, “Senator Amidala requested extra security for the Senate gathering that Naboo is hosting, and the GAR only sent the two of us”. After working with the general for most of his military career, Rex is wary when it comes to any mission with the jedi. His concern only grows when he knows the general is hiding something from him. Rex scans the royal hanger with his eyes, and his suspicions heighten when he realizes their ship is the only one not from this planet. 
“No,” Anakin drags out. “But we are here by special request. That part isn’t a lie”.
Rex rolls his eyes and sighs, “Then why are we here, sir?”
The two men reach the main entrance where the guard lets them into the palace with no questions asked. Rex’s eyebrow raises at the lack of protocol. His heart quickens as they walk through the bright palace halls. Normally, Rex can push aside the insecurity that comes with feeling like an outsider, but the grandeur of the royal halls and the luxurious outfits that its inhabitants wear cause him to sink into himself slightly. Finding comfort in the plastoid armor that his brothers wear alongside him even systems away.
Anakin looks at the captain out of the corner of his eyes for a moment, taking note of his stiff posture. He focuses on his gaze in front of them, but he then bears off to a side corridor. He leads Rex to a hidden staircase and explains, “The 501st has been granted an extended leave after our last success”.
Rex’s eyebrows furrow, “Then why are we on Naboo?” He’s careful to keep his voice calm so as to not betray the growing hope that’s overcoming him. The last rays of early evening bleed into a vibrant sunset over the lake from the open archways that line the outer wall.
“I may, or may not, have lied about the Senator requesting you to be here,” Skywalker sheepishly admits. “That doesn’t mean someone else didn’t request your presence, though”.
Reaching the top of the stairwell, Skywalker steps to the side and opens the door for Rex. His signature smirk appears on his face, and Rex thinks this is finally the moment he’ll strangle the general for everything he's been put through. Fully ready to voice his intent, Rex’s body freezes at the sight of you sitting at a table for two on the palace’s terrace.
Dressed in a summer evening outfit, you look at your partner in amusement as he can’t take his eyes off you. His expression of disbelief makes you lightly chuckle. Warmth blankets around you as the sun kisses your skin causing butterflies to tickle your stomach.
“I’ll leave you two to it. We’ll have a few weeks here, Rex, so try to actually relax on your time off,” Skywalker quietly dismisses himself. Before he completely moves away, he nods at you in gratitude.
You smile lightly at the general, and you focus your gaze on Rex. “Care to join me? It’d be a shame to let this go to waste,” you say and motion to the table full of fruit, cheese, and bread. A jug of water sits on the side of the table with a bottle of wine in a chiller stand. 
Rex can’t breathe as he takes in this moment. Memorizing it to hold close for the rest of his life, his heart swells to the point where he swears he's going to break. “How,” Rex tries to find his voice as he walks towards you, “How did you plan this?”
You reach your hands out to him and grasp his gloved hands. Rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles, you explain, “I had some help. Padmé learned about it through her husband, and she sent me a message. Offered to let us have a vacation away from prying eyes”. You look up at him from your seat and flutter your eyelashes. The soft smile on your face growing as Rex looks down at you in adoration. A flush warms your cheeks when he takes one hand to tilt your chin up towards him. His gentle touch ignites sparks across your skin.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” Rex quietly mumbles before placing a kiss to your lips. His hand then cups your jaw to help guide you into a better position to deepen the kiss. His lips move against yours and pride warms his chest when you meet him with equal tenderness. Everything feels as if it comes to a standstill as the two of you reunite and fall into your partner’s embrace.
You rest your free hand on his hip and run your thumb over the new scratches on the worn plastoid. Silently thanking the stars for safely returning Rex to you one more time. Rex pulls away from your lips, and before you can protest, he places a quick peck to your pout. Your heart races from the small act, and you meet his affectionate gaze with a similar look on your face. “I think you’ve voiced the idea one or two times,” you muse, “You did, did however, say we would need all the time in the galaxy to truly express how much you adore me”. 
You lightly laugh and let him step away to find his seat across from you, and his laughter soon joins yours. You pour water into both your glasses while you softly inquire. “How would you like to go about your vacation?” When Rex raises an eyebrow as he slips off his gloves, your cheeks flame as your mind begins to wander from the terrace oasis to the luxurious bedroom the two of you will find comfort in soon enough. “We have a gift sitting in front of us. If you want, we could completely ignore the war for a short time. Get lost in our imaginations of what it would be like to spend our lives peacefully hidden away from the galaxy,” you elaborate.
Rex looks at you with a thoughtful expression. His eyes flickering from your ethereal appearance to the beautiful scenery that leads his mind to all the possible afternoon rendez-vous the two of you could find yourselves in before noticing the small quirk of your lips. His chest aches at the care you’ve put into this experience for him, and he leans forward to grasp one of your hands across the table. “That’s a very dangerous idea, cyar’ika,” Rex muses.
“Don’t you flirt with death everyday, love?” you tease and squeeze his hand. “How could a blossoming field of flowers beside a tranquil lake pose more of a threat than a battlefield?”
 Rex chuckles and looks up at you from his eyelashes. His amber eyes hold a roguish glint that only grows in intensity at the small shiver that falls over your body. When he responds, he voice drops into a gravelly, hushed tone, “I meant dangerous for you, cy’are. Three weeks tucked away from any distractions where I can finally take my time to love and adore you. Worship you every morning, afternoon, and evening for everyday we live in paradise. You’re offering me too much when it should be me who offers you everything”.
Your breath hitches and the blush rising to your cheeks rivals the sunset’s rich red and orange hues that paint the sky. Heart pounding against its cage, your voice comes out airy: “Whatever you desire, I shall give to you during our time together. As long as you promise that you’ll return to me each time we must part ways”.
Rex feels like he can’t breathe. A wash of guilty pleasure consumes him as you bite down on a strawberry. The glistening juice trails across your lip before your tongue swipes across to collect it. Your lighthearted laugh seemingly brings a brighter glow that Rex didn’t think was possible to the golden beams of sunlight that stream through the hanging flowers. His other hand subtly moves to his utility belt as you turn your head to watch the sun set against the great lake. Rex is thankful that you let him get lost in his thoughts this time, because he wants to do right by you for this change in your relationship.
“I will do everything in my power to come home to you, so we can continue to create memories like these together,” Rex promises. His voice softens into a reverent awe, and as he speaks he unclasps one of his pouches.
“I know,” you softly acknowledge, “I will always count down the days until we reunite, but during those days I will always worry for your well being and safety”. Rex’s hand squeezes yours, and your expression drops. Not daring to look at your lover, you keep your attention to the families and friends who gather by the lake’s shore to begin their summer celebration. Your chest constricts as hugs are shared and shouts of excitement crescendo against the evening’s warm breeze.
Rex ducks his head and sighs. His fingers hesitate when they graze the small box he’s kept safe by his side during his last few deployments. When he steals a glance at you, Rex’s heart all but breaks at the adoration he holds for you. Sitting before him, Rex looks upon his lover who holds him with such care and tender love. Who understands him better than he does. Who goes through every obstacle to stand by his side and support him in a galaxy that causes a fear to fester in the back of his mind. A lover who walks him off the edge when his emotions get the best of him. There’s no one more deserving of his lifetime devotion after everything his cy’are has done for him. Certainly, no one who he could imagine living the rest of his life with.
With a reignited spark of resolve, Rex scoops the small box into his hand and clasps the pouch. “I can’t promise that a worst case scenario will never happen,” Rex quietly begins. When you turn to face him with a worried expression that nearly makes him choke, he takes a deep breath. “However, if there is a way for me to find my way back to you, I will always search for it. There is nothing in this galaxy that could keep me from returning to you. The only exception being death itself”.
Your breathing begins to grow heavy as you listen to Rex’s declaration. A night you hoped would be full of laughter and relaxation now renders you speechless while feeling the weight of his words sink into you. Your heart races as you watch Rex rise to his feet and return to your side once more. “Rex,” you softly question. Only for a quiet gasp to slip past your lips when he drops to one knee now holding your hand with such tenderness as he trails his thumbs across your knuckles.
Rex’s heart pounds against his chest as blood rushes to his ears. An overwhelming mixture of emotions makes him feel dizzy, but he will not let this opportunity pass. “I have never met a person who willingly gives a piece of their heart to whoever may need it. Someone who cares so deeply for their loved ones or people they have only just met, because you believe that everyone deserves to feel cared about. Regardless of if you’ve spent weeks with them or just a few minutes. You offer your heart to anyone and trust them to take care of it just as you would theirs, because you hold hope that the galaxy will rebuild itself into a place where everyone feels at home once more”.
“You’re going to make me cry,” you let out a watery laugh and wipe away the threatening tears, “You better not be doing what I think you’re trying to do. This vacation is supposed to be about you”.
Rex lets out a short laugh of disbelief as he shakes his head. He looks up at you with a beaming smile, “But that’s just it, cy’are. Without you, I am a shell of a man. You have brought so much light and love into my life that I never dared to dream possible. My heart only beats for you, and I want to spend the remaining days of my life by your side”. Rex slides his thumb under the ring box’s lid as his thunderous heartbeat echoes in his ears. “If you will allow me the honor, I would like to care for you with just as much devotion as you have shown me in the time we have already shared together”. 
Your eyes soften as Rex opens the ring box to reveal a simple silver band with a small sapphire in the middle. The last rays of light catch on the gemstone to cause it to sparkle in the early evening. “You would be a fool to ever think I wouldn’t say yes,” you weakly laugh and run your thumb under your eyes. 
“Then say it,” Rex pleads. His amber eyes shimmer with excitement in the golden sunlight as he waits to hear the words he’s only dreamed of hearing you say.  “Please”.
“Yes,” you softly assure him, “I would love to spend the rest of my life by your side”. There was never a doubt in your mind that this would be the man you married when you first met, but as Rex slips the band onto your ring finger, you have never known a love so strong. When you try to convey your feelings, the words can’t come. Only a small whimper falls from your lips and a short laugh. So instead you cup Rex’s face, and you share a passionate kiss. Your eyes flutter closed as you commit this moment to memory. 
A chuckle of acknowledgement falls from Rex before he nips at your bottom lip and deepens the kiss. Tilting his head, Rex holds your wrists and thumbs your racing pulse points. Your hum causes his skin to tingle. Finally, Rex feels as if he’s found his place in the galaxy. When your kiss breaks, the two of you still lean into each other's embrace and rest your foreheads together. For a few minutes, the pair of you don’t move away. Only shifting slightly to ghost your lips over over the other in featherlight kisses. Nudging your chin with his nose to make you open your eyes, Rex gently places a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away to stand up.
Instead of sitting across from you like you thought he was doing, your eyebrows raise when he takes his chair and moves it next to yours. “Couldn’t even go a minute without being apart,” you find your voice to tease.
Rex shoots you a look of amusement while reaching over to pick up the bottle of wine from the chiller. “Because you’re any better,” Rex counters and nods to your hand resting on his belt. Now adorn by a silver band that only makes his smile grow at the sight. Twisting the cork free, Rex pours both of you glasses of bubbly and places the bottle back in the chiller. As he sits by your side, he offers you a glass and rests a hand on your thigh. He tilts his glass towards you with his usual charming expression. “May we share as many days together as riduurs as there are stars in the galaxy,” he proposes.
Lightly clinking your glass to his, you beam at Rex. “And may we always find our ways home to one another after any time apart”.
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reader6898 · 1 month
Text
Day of Love
Pairing: Crosshair x female reader
Summary: Crosshair doesn't care much for the day of love but for you he's willing to go all out
Warning: cute fluff, Crosshair being a secret romantic, little suggestive at the end
A/n: happy Valentine's day everyone. I've decided to give some love to our favorite sniper. Enjoy!
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The day of Love: the one day out of the year that couples get together and celebrate their love for one another with cheap romance cards and expensive dinners.
No one was immune to the nat-born holiday and that included Crosshair. The first time the clone had heard of the holiday he had thought that it was a useless holiday that only the nat-borns celebrated. That was until you came along.
when Crosshair had met you, you had been working at Dex's diner as a waitress while going to University and saving up enough credits to get out of your crappy apartment. Crosshair had needed space from his brothers while they were on shore leave and Dex's was the only place he could think of besides 79s. It had been too early to drink so he had decided on the diner. He had taken a seat in your section away from everyone else and when you had come up to the table to take his order you had taken his breath away. He had been so taken aback by you that he stuttered over his words when he went to order. you had giggled at him and Crosshair could've fainted right there. who knew that the broody sniper of clone force 99 could get so flustered over a woman he just met.
At the end of his breakfast and after he was finally able to compose himself Crosshair managed to muster up the courage to ask you out for a cup caf. You had agreed and Crosshair couldn't have been happier. Crosshair hung out at the diner the entire time and when you finally go off of your shift the two of you ended up at a cute little caf shop just around the corner. You ended up talking about anything and everything until the caf shop was closing and while you didn't want the day to end you had to get out of your uniform and go to your night class. You gave Crosshair your comm number and that night while you were in class Crosshair asked you out on another date and you said yes. After that day everything was history.
Now, the day of love was here and Crosshair was preparing to spoil his beautiful Cyare. After spending weeks of trying to figure out what he wanted to do he had decided on making you a romantic dinner at his apartment. He could've gone the simple route with your favorite bouquet of flowers, dinner at one of those expensive restaurants, and then straight to the lovemaking afterwards but Crosshair didn't want to do any of that. You had deserved better. So, Crosshair decided to make you your favorite dinner and he had went out and bought you a beautiful heart locket that you spotted in a boutique on your last date and placed a picture of the two of you together inside of it. Crosshair didn't actually know how to cook this particular dish so he got help from an elderly twi'lek neighbor who was a chef back on his home planet and showed him how to make it. Crosshair had thanked him and when he told him that he could repay him for his kindness by helping get him around to doctor's appointments and to the store the twi'lek dismissed him and told him there was no need, that he knew what it was like to be young and in love.
The food was now cooking in the kitchen and Crosshair was finishing up getting ready as you were going to be by soon in about twenty minutes. He checked over his clothes one last time and sprayed some cologne you had gotten him for his name day on and once the final look was put together he went out onto the balcony and set up the little table. He threw on a table cloth and lit a couple of candles that he borrowed. He checked on the food once he was done on the balcony and then made sure he had your gift all ready. He let out a sigh as he was satisfied with everything and now all he had to do was wait for you to arrive.
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Twenty minutes later you arrive at Crosshair's apartment all dressed up and when you ring the bell Crosshair answers it almost immediately. He gives you a quick kiss in the cheek and takes your coat from you. He hangs it up in the closet by the door and when he looks at you he couldn't believe how lucky he was to be with you. He takes ahold of you by the hips and kisses you on the lips. You kiss one another for a minute and you eventually come up for air. "Hi." "You look gorgeous, Kitten." You smile and lean into Crosshair's embrace. Crosshair takes ahold of your hand in his and leads you out onto the balcony.
When you see the little setup you couldn't help but feel giddy. Crosshair pulls out your chair and you take a seat. Next, Crosshair pours the both of you a nice glass of champagne and takes a seat across from you. You clink your glasses together and you take a sip of the fancy champagne. Crosshair takes the gift he got you out of his pocket and slides it across the table. "Cross, you didn't have to get me anything." Crosshair shrugs. "I know. But I knew how much you've been wanting it since you saw it in the window." You take the small gift and unwrap it. When you open the box you see the locket and look up at Crosshair. "You remembered." Crosshair smirks. "Only for you, Kitten, only for you." You open the locket and see the picture of the two of you inside. "Oh, Cross. I love it." You lean across the table and give your beloved sniper a peck on the lips. "Help me put it on?" Crosshair stands up and goes to stand behind you. He takes the locket from you and places it on you. You look down at it and turn around. "Thank you." Crosshair gives you a smile and places a kiss on your lips again as the timer goes off. "I'll be back." Crosshair leaves and you turn back to your champagne. You take a couple of more sips and after a couple of minutes Crosshair comes out with a couple of plates of food. when you saw that it was your favorite dish you looked at Crosshair as he takes a seat. "You made this?"
Crosshair blushes and rubs the back of his neck. "Well, yeah. I wanted to do something special for you." Now it was your turn to blush. "Well, it looks delicious. I can't wait to eat it." You pick up your fork and dig in. You let out a moan and Crosshair smirks before digging into his own food.
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After dinner the two of you hang out on the balcony enjoying the quiet night and when your favorite song comes on the radio Crosshair takes you in his arms and the two of you slow dance to the song.
You lay your head on Crosshair's chest and he holds you tightly as you sway slowly back and forth. The two of you were so lucky to have one another to celebrate the day of love and you wouldn't have it any other way. You look up at Crosshair at the same time he looked down at you and you smiled. "I love you, Crosshair." Crosshair bends down and his lips hover over yours. "I love you too Kitten." He kisses you and you moan a little as Crosshair sticks his tongue into your mouth.
You moan a little louder this time and Crosshair pulls away. "How about we go into the bedroom and I show you another part of me that you love." Crosshair smirks at the same time you blush and Crosshair throws you over his shoulder. You shriek a little and then laugh as Crosshair carries you and walks the two of you through the hallway into the bedroom where you know you won't be leaving for the rest of the night.
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Tagging: @techs-stitches @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @the-rain-on-kamino @the-bad-batch-baroness @wings-and-beskar @rexxdjarin @sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @moonlightwarriorqueen @cw80831 @523rdrebel @deejadabbles @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @cloneloverrrrr @eternal-transcience
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anxiouspineapple99 · 5 months
Text
Queen of Hearts
Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader
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Summary: On your way home from work one early morning, you catch Fox drinking a man's blood in a back alley, and it changes your life forever.
Pairing: Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader
Characters: Fox, Thorn, clone OCs
Tags & Warnings: 18+, NSFW, MonsterClone!AU, clone discrimination, clone rights, minor injuries, violence, murder, blood, angst, domestic fluff, mild sexual themes, non-sexual intimacy, erotic blood drinking, enemies to friends to lovers, reader can be considered demisexual, stalking
Word Count: 14.5k
Author's Note: This fic is dedicated to my beloved @starrrgazingbunny! She gave me the clone, the monster, and the prompt, which inspired this monstrosity of a fic. Haha, get it? Monstrosity? Monster? I'm hilarious. Anyway, I love you darling and I hope you like the fic 😘 As always, please enjoy 💚
@clonexreaderbingo Square: "Your eyes sparkle."
MonsterClone!AU Prompt: "I know what you did."
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Fox’s boots rhythmically clack against the sterile tile floor of the GAR clinic as he strolls through the bright halls with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. It’s late, and he was sorting through an endless stack of data-pads when he received the comm that one of his Corrie Guards was injured on duty and undergoing medical treatment at the clinic. After the comm, he tossed his data-pad to the side and downed the rest of his cold caf before making his way to the clinic.
Fox hates receiving these comms because it’s always the same story. The natborns, who he swears are born with only one brain cell each, are cruel to his corries. Their apathetic dismissal of a clone's mere existence boils his blood. The clones never asked to be created and they surely never expected to be used, abused, and thrown out with the evening’s trash. They are flesh and blood men, his men, and he considers each one of their lives as his responsibility.
Fox lets his frustrating thoughts dissipate when he stops in front of the exam room door. The medic on duty, whose fingers are rapidly tapping on a data-pad medical chart, deviates from his rounds when he sees Fox with his arms crossed. Fox stays silent as he approaches, so the medic continues his data entry as he waits. Fox glances through the window of the door to get a small glimpse at the situation, then turns to address the medic. “What happened?”
The medic looks up from his data-pad and frowns. “He was breaking up a street fight on the lower levels when a natborn busted his nose and broke his arm.” The medic shakes his head. “Poor kid. It was his first night on patrol too.”
Fox sighs, thanks the medic, and dismisses him with a silent nod.
As the medic leaves, Fox opens the door and quietly slips into the exam room, hoping to go unnoticed. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he observes another medic carefully tending to the corrie’s injuries. Fox slumps his shoulders and releases a heavy sigh as he assesses the bruises on the clone’s face. This is the fifth corrie he’s gone through this week and the trend is only getting worse. It’s mind-numbing to him, just how cruel the natborns are.
After watching for a few more seconds, Fox pushes himself off of the wall. He pulls his bucket off and sets it down on the counter, his loose curls cascading down to just above his eyes. He walks over to the exam table, taps the medic on the shoulder, and asks him to take a break. The medic nods and hands Fox the bandages and adhesive before exiting the room. Fox flicks his hair to the side and away from his eyes as he takes a seat on the stool in front of the injured clone.
“C-Commander,” the corrie stammers in surprise while scrambling to stand to attention.
Fox reaches up and places two firm hands on the clone’s shoulders to gently push him back down onto the exam table. “At ease, vod,” his voice soothes. “No need to get up. You’re hurt.”
“Y-Yes sir,” the corrie says, nervousness escaping his voice. It’s not every day a shiny gets a visit from their commander, let alone have them bandage their wounds.
Fox lets a small smile creep onto his lips. He always finds it endearing the way the shinies act around him. They think he’s some sort of celebrity being the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, but in reality, he’s just an overworked, sleep-deprived, and overly-caffeinated bag of meat. There’s nothing about his existence that makes him feel worthy of their praise, at least, not when his men sit in the clinic wounded while he sits behind a desk doing data-work.
“What’s your name, kid?” Fox asks, his fingers working deftly to continue wrapping the bandage where the medic left off.
“Slapstick, sir,” the corrie says.
Fox chuckles at the name and tightens the side of the bandage.
Slapstick winces at the pain. “Apparently, I’m good at comedy, sir,” he jokes.
Fox grins. “You’ll have to tell me a joke when you’re better.”
“Will do, sir,” Slapstick smiles.
Fox makes quick work of wrapping the broken arm and gently gives it back. He grabs a cloth sling and fits it over Slapstick’s shoulder, making sure the elevation is correct for his arm to rest comfortably. Fox then grabs a few cotton pads and dabs them with alcohol to clean the blood off the corrie’s face and applies a bandage across his nose. When finished, Fox sits back in the chair and watches as Slapstick nurses his broken arm, a flash of emotion crossing his bruised face.
Fox frowns, rises from the chair, and places a firm hand on the younger clone’s shoulder. He peers into the shiny’s innocent, yet fearful eyes, and silently reassures him. “Do what the medics tell you, and you’ll be fine. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Slapstick nods. “Thank you, Commander.”
Fox smiles with sad eyes. “You’re welcome, kih’vod.”
Fox turns away, grabs his bucket off the counter, replaces it on his head, and then exits the exam room. He softly shuts the door behind him and stands in the hallway for a moment to compose himself. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly to release the tension built up in his shoulders. They’re so young. He laments. The new shinies come in looking so full of life and eager to please their superiors. It catches him off guard every time he sees one of their youthful faces.
Being part of one of the earliest batches of clones, Fox feels old. The gray streaks running through the sides of his dark curly hair only serve to prove it. It’s ironic to him since his batchmates haven’t grayed yet, so it must be the stress. He and the shinies are only a few years apart in manufacture date, but the accelerated aging makes him feel as if he’s lived a lifetime. He wishes he could relive the days when he was a shiny. Back then, they didn’t even have names.
Fox still remembers being a fresh young clone and ready to serve the Republic. He was created as part of a batch of commanders bred to be leaders, with superior intelligence and bolstered strength. Little did he know what true horrors he and those under his command would endure. The constant ridicule by every lifeform walking the streets of Coruscant, the discrimination and litany of ‘no clones allowed’ signs on business storefronts, and the lack of human decency was, and still is, repulsive.
He didn’t ask for this post, one so far from the war. Yet, here he is, visiting the broken men under his command and taking every bit of their suffering personally. Each one who is spat on, belittled, cursed at, and dehumanized weighs deeply on his soul. At least on the battlefield they’d receive the respect they deserve. At one point, Wolffe warned him of being overly attached to his men, and Fox knew Wolffe had every right to speak about loss, but he still didn’t listen.
He internalizes all of their pain and lets it steep deep within him. His anger for the natborns burns white hot in the pit of his stomach. He decided long ago that there’s nothing good about a natborn. They’re all useless beings that sit on pious ideals and build their peace on the dead bodies of his brothers, stacking them like cheap bricks and using their blood as mortar. But now, he’s done letting the atrocities slide. He’s done watching his brothers suffer at their hands.
Fox straightens himself as his resolve settles within him. Purpose driven, he marches back to headquarters. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on in his dark office, the blue glow from his data-pad illuminates his face as he sifts through the new reports to find the one about Slapstick. He pulls up a holo-recording of the events and watches it with intent. He notes the location, and when he sees the natborn’s face, he tosses the data-pad onto his desk and leaves his office.
He knows what he needs to do, and he’s finally ready to act on his intentions. The guilt that has crept into him, knowing that he could have done something sooner, only propels him forward in his mission. As he nears the exit of the headquarters’ building, Thorn is waiting for him. Fox curses under his breath. He knows Thorn will try to stop him, try to talk some sense into him, but he doesn’t care. He’s done playing around, and if he has to go through his brother, he will.
Thorn crosses into Fox’s path and folds his arms. "And where are you going?"
"Out,” Fox answers as he steps to the side to go around him.
Thorn follows his movements, preventing him from advancing. "What? You've got a hot date or something?"
"Something like that," Fox mutters, trying to side-step him again.
"I know what you’re gonna do," Thorn says, blocking his brother again. “I can smell it. The lust.”
Fox grunts in frustration and forcefully pushes past his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Thorn turns and catches Fox’s arm, his grip tight. "Whatever you think you're going to accomplish out there is only going to come back to bite you,” he warns. “You're gonna get caught!"
Fox smirks under his helmet. "Not if I bite first."
A small gasp escapes Thorn’s throat. He didn’t want to be right. He knew Fox was up to something malicious when he first caught a whiff of his altered scent, a shift so strong he could smell it from two klicks away. He refused to believe that his brother would go this far and intentionally put all of the commanders at risk by going rogue, but he was wrong. Fox is going through with it. In his brief shock, Thorn’s grip slacks enough for Fox to yank his arm out.
Fox, finally free of his brother’s blockade attempt, stalks off into the night to find his prey.
“Fox!” Thorn calls, desperate to get him to reconsider, but Fox doesn’t respond, and Thorn, powerless to stop him, watches as he slips into the shadows of Coruscant.
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You let out an exhausted sigh as you finish up your shift at the diner. It’s been a long night, and you glance at the chronometer on the wall while stretching out your back. It’s 02:00 hours and almost time for you to go home. You don’t mind working the second shift, in fact, you enjoy being a night owl and sleeping during the day. The initial adjustment to your schedule was difficult, but now that you have a routine set, your body works just as well as it did in the daylight.
After bringing the remainder of the plates to the kitchen, you grab a to-go container and pile all of the leftover scraps into it, then pour what’s left from the caf carafe into a to-go cup. Your manager is a good person, and she lets you take food home at the end of your shift for dinner. It isn’t much, just what customers didn’t finish, but you’re always grateful. Once you have all of your things gathered and your leftover dinner, you wave goodbye to the rest of the staff and leave.
As you walk along the diner front, you frown at the bright circular neon sign. It has an image of a clone’s helmet in the center and a large red slash running through it. You don’t understand what people have against the clones because they seem human enough to you. Sometimes it bothers you to be working in such a discriminatory business, but you don’t have much of a choice. Most places of business are anti-clone, and it’s hard getting a job with one that’s clone-friendly.
You sigh, and continue along the darkly lit street towards home. As you approach the next alleyway, you see two Coruscant Guardsmen leaning against the wall. You smile and wave at them and they eagerly wave back. One of the perks of working the second shift at the diner is that you get the pleasure of running into your two favorite Corrie Guards, Traipse and Chris, on their patrol route. They’re wonderful friends, with big hearts, and even bigger stomachs.
“Watcha got for us today, mesh’la?” Traipse asks as he slips his bucket off.
“The usual,” you smile and hand the to-go container to him. “A couple half-eaten sandwiches and some cold fries, but this time there’s a little ketchup stuck to them.”
“Sweet!” Chris rips his bucket off as he eyes the food in the container, practically salivating at the prospect of cold, soggy fries.
It breaks your heart to see them so excited over scraps from another patrons table, but you know that anything you give them is better than what the GAR feeds them. It’s the least you can do for them, and they truly appreciate the meal. You still remember the first day you met them when you began working at the diner. They were new and on patrol when they stopped in for a hot cup of caf, which was a big mistake. The owner was livid, cursed at them, and almost shot them.
The scene that unfolded in front of you was just as frightening as it was disturbing. The two corries only wanted a cup of caf to keep them awake during their patrol, and they were nearly killed over it. That was the night your heart broke and truly softened for the clones. You felt so bad for them that at the end of your shift, you scraped together all the leftover food and caf you could get a hold of, and searched the streets looking for them. You’ve been friends ever since.
“And,” you sing while holding up the to-go cup, “some caf to wash it down.”
Their eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “No way! You got us caf too?”
You laugh and hand the cup to Chris. “It’s not very hot, and it's a bit stale, but it should be enough for the both of you to share.”
Chris takes the first sip of the lukewarm, slightly stale caf, and you can see the tension slip from his shoulders. It’s like he’s tasting caf for the very first time, and it’s not even good caf. You smile, but on the inside, you’re hurting. All of the caf shops on their patrol route are anti-clone, so they can’t stop for a simple cup of caf or even grab something to eat. They have to wait until their patrol is over and return back to the GAR headquarters. You wish you could do more.
“Thank you, mesh’la,” Traipse says, then gives you a big hug. “You’re so good to us.”
“It’s my pleasure,” you smile as you squeeze him back. “You know, someday I’m going to open my own diner, just for clones.”
Chris grins. “We’ll be your first customers!”
You laugh at his exuberance, and tap your foot on the ground. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I really need to get home.”
Chris hands the cup of caf to Traipse who takes a small sip. “You want us to escort you home?”
“Nah,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’ll be fine. I walk this route every night, you know.”
“Be safe, okay?” Traipse says. “And if you need us, you know where to find us.”
“Thanks boys,” you give them each a farewell hug and set out towards home, turning around to wave goodbye one more time.
You really did want to stay and chat with your friends like you do every night, but this particular shift was exhausting and now you only want to sleep. You barely had any breaks in between your tables being filled and emptied, so your feet ache painfully. Just the distance to walk home is enough to make you want to scream in agony. You didn’t want to tell your friends that your feet hurt, because you know that one of them, if not both, would have tried to carry you home.
It’s not that you wouldn’t mind being carried home by a big, strong, and handsome clone, but they have a job to do. They're on patrol, and you’re already putting them into jeopardy by chatting away with them when they’re supposed to be walking about the streets of Coruscant. They’re allowed to take breaks, but to have them deviate from their course so severely just to take you home because your feet hurt, is way too big of an ask. It would not be right..
As you continue to walk the dark streets, illuminated only by neon signs, your thoughts are interrupted by a noise coming from one of the side alleys. It almost sounds like a scuffle. They say curiosity killed the tooka, but it hasn’t killed you yet. So, you cautiously peer down the alley and see two men standing by the wall. One looks like a clone, but you can’t tell what color his armor is, and the other man looks wasted. You tip-toe closer and crouch behind a crate to get a better listen.
“I know what you did,” Fox says as he backs the drunken man against the wall.
“Get lost clone,” the man slurs.
"You hurt my kih’vod," Fox says.
"Your what?" the man asks, clearly confused with the term.
"My kih’vod," Fox repeats. "You broke his arm, and for what? Fun?"
The man pauses as he tries to understand what the clone is talking about through his drunken haze. Once it finally registers, the man sneers and becomes angry. "He deserved it!" the man yells. "All of them! They're all freaks of nature!"
"Freaks of nature?" Fox mocks and cocks his head to the side, feigning confusion at the accusation. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Disgusting meat droids," the man scoffs.
Fox chuckles darkly and gets in the man’s face. "You don't understand anything."
"What’s that?" the man slurs.
Fox pulls his bucket off and whispers in the man’s ear. "I'm the freak of nature." He grabs the man by the throat and lifts him up against the wall.
"Let go!" the man yells as he struggles in Fox’s grasp.
"You're not in a place to bargain," Fox says, purposefully baring his fangs in a show of intimidation. The neon lights bounce off the fangs, making them glow bright, a stark contrast to the dark alley.
You startle at the sight of the fangs and your grip loosens on the side of the crate, causing you to fall into the alleyway, making a thud noise when you hit the ground. You scramble back to your hiding place behind the crate and clamp a hand over your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear or notice you. You close your eyes as your mind races a mile a minute, wondering just what in the stars you just saw.
Fox snaps his head to the side when he hears the sound and he catches a small glimpse of you scurrying behind the crate. Tucking that away to deal with later, he turns his attention back to his prey. “Looks like we have an audience,” Fox sighs. “I just hate it when guests show up uninvited to dinner, don’t you?”
The man wriggles helplessly in the Fox’s grasp, fear washing over him as he realizes the mistake he’s made.
"Confess your sins," Fox says.
"I… I'm sorry, please," the man pleads, tears streaming down his face.
"Oh, not to me," Fox explains. "I'm not your Maker."
The man whimpers, haphazardly kicking and fighting to get free, but he’s too weak under the influence of alcohol.
"I am your death," Fox sinks his fangs into the man's neck and sucks every last bit of blood out of his worthless body. Eventually, the man stops wriggling, and his body slumps in Fox’s grasp.
Fox grimaces at the bitter taste of the man’s blood, but it’d be a shame to waste it. He finally pulls away from the man’s neck, panting for breath, then spits the last bit of the bitter blood out of his mouth as he staggers back. The alcohol in the man’s blood begins to make him feel light-headed and woozy. He turns to where you’re hiding behind the crate and starts walking towards you. His bucket sways in his left hand, while his right hand drags the man’s limp body alongside him.
Fox stops in front of you and drops the lifeless body beside you. The man’s cold, dead eyes meet your live ones, and you feel sick to your stomach. You look up at the clone with wide eyes as fear and dread wash over you like a heavy blanket. You can see now that his armor is red, red like the Coruscant Guard and red like blood smeared on his face. Your breath quickens when you notice the elongated fangs made visible as he pants from his fresh kill.
“You’re a… a…” you stammer out as you slowly inch away from his looming presence.
“A vampire?” Fox finishes your sentence with a roll of his head, still feeling tipsy from the alcohol invading his system.
“That’s… impossible,” you say. You’re at a loss for words as your brain flips between fight, flight, and freeze. Sure, you’ve read the stories about vampires, but they were just stories, right? Vampires don’t exist in real life, do they? You’re not sure what to think, but you don’t have time to work through figuring out an answer. You dart your eyes to the left and to the right, looking desperately for an escape route.
Fox kneels down in front of you and grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. “This is our little secret. Do you understand?”
You nod your head, too shocked to give a verbal response.
Fox searches your face for a moment, unsure of what he’s looking for, but eventually he releases you. “Run along little one,” he whispers, “or the fox might catch you.”
At his words, you scramble backwards, awkwardly trying to get up off the ground. He’s not coming after you, but the fear and adrenaline that’s raging inside your body tells you to run away. You get to your feet and you run. You run as fast as you can. You look back to make sure he’s not following you, and you see him, standing where he left you, watching you as you make your escape. You turn forward and continue running, ignoring the pain in your already tired feet.
You’re not sure which direction you're running in, just that it’s away from him. You wonder what he meant by ‘the fox’. Who is ‘the fox’? Is he a fox? No. He’s a vampire. Is his name Fox? You’re not sure of anything at the moment, and you decide to figure it out later. You keep up your stiff pace, dashing through the streets, turning down corners that look familiar until you come to an abrupt stop when you crash into Traipse. A small yelp escaping your lips as you fall backwards.
“Mesh’la?” Traipse asks in surprise.
Chris stoops down to pull you to your feet. “Are you alright? That was quite the hit.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Traipse adds as he looks you over to make sure you’re not hurt.
“I’m okay,” you pant.
Traipse and Chris trade bewildered glances and briefly look around to see what you might have been running from.
“What happened?” Chris asks. “We thought you went home.”
“I…” you want to tell them what happened. You want to tell them what you saw, but you quickly remember that you were sworn to secrecy, so instead, you feed them a lie. “I just got spooked. That’s all.”
Traipse doesn’t believe your explanation for one second. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you insist with a shaky breath, trying to sound convincing. You pause for a moment, then make a simple request, hoping that they’ll stop asking questions. “Would you walk me home now? Please?”
“Of course,” Traipse answers. He’s still not happy with the lack of explanation, but he doesn’t want to push it any further. “It would be our pleasure.”
The two corries walk on either side of you as you make the journey home. You feel a sense of safety with them at your side, so you try to let yourself relax a little. Many people fear or even hate the Coruscant Guard, but you’ve always enjoyed having them around. They make the lower levels more bearable and safe to live in, and your late nights aren’t so lonely. But now, can you really trust them? Are they really who you think they are? You’re not so sure anymore.
As you approach your apartment, you once again think about the corrie you encountered in the alley. You know that he’s a corrie based on the color of his armor, but you’ve never seen him around the lower levels before, or at least not on your route home. Perhaps he lives on the upper levels and comes down to the lower levels to feed. Your skin bristles at the thought. A vampire amongst the clones. A vampire amongst the Coruscant Guard. What if there are more?
You glance at your companions and briefly wonder if they’re vampires too. You quickly throw the idea out of your mind. If they were vampires, wouldn’t they have drank your blood by now? You shake your head to remove the swirling thoughts. The sun will be rising soon, and you just want to go to bed at this point. When you arrive home, you thank your two escorts as they leave you outside of your apartment, but they stay long enough to make sure you get inside safely, and for that you’re grateful.
Once inside, you lock your door and check every window to make sure they’re locked as well, and then pull the room darkening curtains across them. The fear that has crept inside of you from the words of the mysterious corrie in the alley has not left you. You shiver and slink down beside your bed, clutching your knees to your chest. You wonder if he’ll find you or if he’ll try to hurt you. You know not all clones are good, but you’ve always tried not to judge them on the outside.
As your adrenaline winds down, you decide to skip dinner, throw on your pajamas, and curl up under your duvet, covering your head with the thick material like a child afraid of the monsters under their bed. You keep a light on beside your bed, just in case, then slowly drift off to sleep as your exhaustion overrides your fear and forces you to sleep. Surprisingly, you sleep well, and are only awoken by your preset alarm at 17:00 hours, reminding you to get up for another day.
You barely remember the events of the night before in your waking haze, but as your senses return, the fear and anxiety creeps back in. You now wish you had asked Traipse and Chris to walk you to work as well. You know they would have if you asked. Sighing heavily, you take a quick shower, get dressed, and throw some food together for a hasty breakfast before heading out the door. Fortunately, your route to work is uneventful, which you’re thankful for.
Your day at work is the same as usual. With the hustle and bustle of the diner, you rarely have a moment to even think about the corrie in the alley. Between waiting tables, refilling caf, and chatting with the patrons, you almost forgot. However, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. The feeling that you're being observed. You don’t let it bother you too much, but you know it has to be him, watching your every move, making sure you don’t spill his secret.
At the end of your shift, you bring the remaining plates to the kitchen, gather up another to-go container of scraps and pour the last of the night's caf into a to-go cup for Traipse and Chris. You bid farewell to your co-workers and meet up with your two corrie friends by the next alley. They’re leaning against the wall, waiting for you to show up, but with stern looks on their faces. They must be worried about you. However, their demeanor perks up when they see you coming.
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Across from the diner and in the shadows, Fox watches you. He keeps his distance, but he decided to keep an eye on you after the events of the previous morning. The words from Thorn rotate in his mind about getting caught and they churn in his stomach, because knows what will happen if the GAR finds out he’s a vampire, and he knows he put the rest of the commanders at risk. Which he mentally kicks himself for; the stubborn stupidity and lack of rational thinking.
Thus, he watches you, making sure you keep your mouth shut. He really doesn’t want to have to shut it for you, so he’s saving that drastic option for last. The keeping of his secret is vital to his entire batch’s survival. Only a few people outside of the commander batch know what happened during that unfortunate training mission, and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s not safe for any of them. They’re not monsters and they’re not animals, but they aren’t normal.
It was a routine training mission for the batch of commanders. A get in, complete the objective, and then get out type of mission. Their Mandalorian instructor was a proud and harsh man, but he knew how to train strong leaders. However, something went wrong when they stumbled upon an unknown creature in the bowels of the world. An otherworldly looking being that struck fear in all of them, even their instructor. Every man on that training mission left that world changed.
They left that world infected. Each one gained a heightened sense of smell, sharper ears, and an unusual taste for human blood. They could hear heartbeats as people passed by and smell fear on their men. The change was difficult, being acutely aware of others around them, and they didn’t drink blood often. It wasn’t needed for survival, so why risk it. Most of them didn’t like talking about it either. So, their fangs remained hidden and their attraction to blood was stifled.
Fox snaps back from his memories when his eye catches the blinking neon sign affixed to the diner’s transparisteel front which bars his brethren from entering. He scowls at the offending sign and writes you off just like he does everyone else. A worthless natborn that can’t see past their own biased ideals. He huffs, thinking that maybe it would be worth the trouble to just get rid of you after your shift, but his better judgment, that he was missing last night, tells him not to.
He continues to watch you throughout your shift, unamused as you bustle around waiting tables, refilling caf, and pocketing tips. He finds you rather boring, actually, and continues to weigh your existence in his mind as to whether he wants to keep you alive or not. As you exit the diner at the end of your shift, he straightens his back and stretches. He quickly furrows his brows at the smile plastered on your face and wonders what you could possibly be smiling about.
Fox becomes curious about your odd happiness, so he follows you, maintaining his distance and keeping to the shadows where he can. Luckily, that isn’t a difficult thing to do in the lower levels. When he sees you approaching two Corrie Guards standing by an alley, he stiffens, worrying that you might harm his brothers. He watches intently as you get closer, his muscles tensing as he rolls the notion of ousting himself. He takes a single step forward, then stops.
Laughter. He hears laughter. His brothers are laughing with a natborn. They’re laughing with you. Fox’s mouth falls open in shock, and he takes a step backwards, caught completely off guard by what he’s seeing. He watches, dumbstruck, as you hand them the to-go container of food and the to-go cup of caf. To think that a natborn could be kind to a clone was unfathomable for Fox, but here you are, giving them food, giving them caf, and making them laugh.
The look of pure joy and happiness on their faces melts something deep within Fox. He can’t quite place the feeling, but it’s warm and soft and inviting. His anger and fear starts to crumble as his features soften. Could he be wrong about you? Is there such a thing as a good natborn? His skepticism and apprehension are replaced with intrigue and curiosity, and he decides that he needs to know more about you. So, he watches you more, but now because he wants to.
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You fidget with your fingers and shift your weight between your two feet. “Hey, can I ask you guys a question?”
“Sure,” Traipse says as he tosses a few potato wedges in his mouth.
You hesitate for a second, piecing together the words carefully so that you don’t say too much, but you need to know the answer. “Is there a ‘fox’ in the Coruscant Guard?”
“Is there a ‘fox’?” Chris repeats with a slight laugh. “Yeah, there’s a Fox, but he’s not in the Coruscant Guard.”
“Oh…” you knit your brows together in confusion. You swear that the colors on that clone’s armor belong to the Corrie Guard.
Traipse chuckles at your confusion and needles Chris. “What this di’kut is trying to say is that Fox is the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, so technically he’s not in it, he’s over it.”
Your mouth opens in shock. “Fox is a Commander?!”
“The Commander,” Chris corrects with a pointed finger.
Your brain continues to recalculate like a GPS that has lost its signal. You can’t believe that the corrie you ran into in that dark alley, the one that killed that man, the one that is a vampire, is also the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. You feel sick. You’re not sure what question to ask next. You don’t want them catching on and you don’t want to release too much information, so you go with something simple. “Do you like Commander Fox?”
“Of course!” Traipse exclaims. “He’s the best!”
“He visits his men when they’re in the GAR clinic,” Chris adds. “Even the shinies get a visit from him. He really cares about us. Kinda like you do.”
“Oh,” you trail off, not sure what to say.
Traipse and Chris continue to gloat about their amazing commander, which confuses you even more. The image they paint of Fox is nothing like the man you saw in the alley last night. There’s no way they’re the same man. It’s not possible. The man they’re speaking of is kind, brave, and smart, but the man you saw in the alley was terrifying, violent, and spiteful. The two images clash inside your mind as you struggle to decide if they really are the same man.
“Why do you want to know about our Commander?” Chris interrupts your thoughts.
You stiffen and come up with something quick. “Oh, no reason,” you dismiss. “I just heard the name is all.” You hope that explanation is convincing enough for them, and you let out a little sigh of relief when they shrug and change the subject.
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Fox continues to watch you from the shadows as you interact with the two corries. He becomes nervous when you bring him up in the conversation, because if you’re as smart as he thinks you are, you’ll figure out his identity. With that information, you could easily go to the nearest general and get him arrested, court-martialed, or worse, decommissioned. He listens intently to his men’s praise, but his shoulders finally relax when they change the subject to something else.
After that encounter, Fox decides to watch you more, fully intrigued by the way you treat clones. He still has some doubts, and wonders if it’s only for show or if you really do care. However, night after night, he watches you clean tables, pack scraps together, and leave the diner. Like clock-work, you meet up with your two Corrie Guard friends to offer them a half-eaten meal, talk about your day, and listen as they regale you with harrowing stories of their nightly patrols.
Slowly, Fox finds himself wanting to see you more. Every night he leaves his office, whether his work is finished or not, to come and watch you at the diner. The way you dance around the tables in your apron, smile at patrons as you refill their mugs, and the sound of your laugh have become a part of his routine. He doesn’t want to miss a single second of you. He watches you with every intention to reveal himself, but he knows he can’t. Not after what you saw him do.
While Fox is back at headquarters, Thorn catches him lost in thought while sitting at his desk, mindlessly twirling his stylus around his fingers as his stack of data-pads grow. Thorn leans against the door jam and folds his arms. “You look busy.”
Fox continues to twirl his stylus while staring blankly at Thorn, unamused by his sarcastic tone. “Yeah, I am. So, why don’t you leave me to it.”
Thorn huffs. “You’ve always been a bad liar, vod.”
Fox wonders if Thorn is getting suspicious of him, and his question is answered quickly.
“You gonna tell me where you keep sneak’en off to at night?” Thorn asks.
Fox stops twirling his stylus and lowers his eyes to scan the data-pad on his desk. “It’s none of your business.”
“It’s my business if you’re gett’en us all in trouble,” Thorn retorts.
“It’s not like that,” Fox says without looking up from his data-pad.
Thorn approaches Fox’s desk and places both hands down flat onto the surface. “Then why don’t you tell me what it is like?”
Fox looks up from his data-pad and meets Thorn’s eyes with a scrunch of his nose. He emphasizes his words and says them slowly. “It’s none of your business.”
Fox and Thorn stare at each other with intensity. Thorn trying to read Fox’s intentions and Fox trying to ward off Thorn’s intrusion. As Thorn continues to search Fox’s face, he picks up on a faint scent emanating from hum. Thorn’s mouth slowly opens into a toothy grin as a singular thought pops into his mind. Thorn laughs and shakes his head, straightening himself up and moving away from the desk. He drags a hand across his chin. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”
Fox’s body tenses at Thorn’s acute awareness. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he dismisses, but his body betrays him. Heat slowly rises up his face and to the tips of his ears as his heartbeat quickens, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Thorn.
“You are!” Thorn exclaims with a knowing smile.
“I am not!” Fox retorts loudly, but then hushes himself to make sure no one hears. “I am not.”
“Don’t worry, vod, your secret is safe with me,” Thorn says playfully. “This is kinda unexpected though… I thought you hated natborns?”
Fox groans and leans back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “I do.”
Thorn throws him a devilish grin. “I guess not all of them.”
Fox leans forward and points his stylus at Thorn. “Get out.”
Thorn laughs and turns to leave Fox’s office, but not before giving him one more parting piece of brotherly advice. “Let me know if you need any date-night ideas.”
“Out!” Fox yells as he throws his stylus at his brother.
Once Thorn is out of sight, Fox plants his face onto his desk and groans. He never understood how Thorn could be so perceptive all of the time. He reads him like a book, but then again, he’s never been good at hiding his body’s reactions. Fox picks his head up from the desk and places it in his hands, fingers sliding through his mess of curls. He hates to admit it, but Thorn is right. He is in love, but he refuses to admit it because you’re a natborn. It goes against everything he knows.
It’s too late though, Fox can’t help himself from falling in love with you. He doesn’t get many glimpses of happiness in his life, but when he sees you. Maker, when he sees you smile, and your eyes sparkle, and you laugh, it’s enough happiness for him. He wants you to bring him table scraps and cold caf, to tell him about your day, and laugh with him. He wants to escort you home, to make sure you’re safe, and to be the reason that you smile, but he doesn’t know how.
Fox once again finds himself sitting in the shadows just outside of the diner and staring into the transparisteel window. He’s completely transfixed on you as you go about your shift. Something about your warm smile has captured his cold and calloused heart, and tonight is no different. He feels the urge again, the urge to confront you, to make himself known so he can get to know you. He kicks himself over and over for making you scared of him, but he wants to make it right.
He decides to approach you tonight, and steels himself to prepare, but as you open the door of the diner to leave, Fox catches a whiff of something intoxicatingly sweet. His heart skips a beat, his breath quickens, and his fangs become aroused at the scent. Even with his bucket on, it’s not enough to block out the decadent aroma. He pulls his bucket off and places a hand over his mouth and nose to try and stifle it, but it’s no use, the scent wafts around as you walk.
Through his growing arousal, Fox searches your body, looking for the source, and then he sees it. A bandage on your arm covering a cut. He tries to block the lustful thoughts out of his mind and remain focused, but Maker does he want a taste of you. His fangs throb out of need. The fragrance of your blood is like nothing he’s ever smelled before. Male blood is bitter and female blood is sweet, but your blood is overwhelmingly sweet. Sweeter than anything the universe could ever provide him.
Although he had plans to finally confront you tonight, he decides he needs to leave. The urge to drink your blood is too strong. If he made his move now, it would only frighten you, and that’s not what he wants to do. He doesn’t want you to be scared of him anymore. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear like you did the night you met. He wants to make his intentions clear to you so there’s no mistake. He’ll show you that like your two corrie friends, he is also worthy of your affection.
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It’s been three weeks since your terrifying encounter with Commander Fox, and you’ve finally put him and the ordeal out of your mind. You did what he asked and kept his secret, so there was no reason for him to come for you. However, you never quite lost the feeling of being watched, but you decided that it was just the paranoia getting the better of you. Besides, with Traipse and Chris walking you home every morning, you always felt safe.
Tonight is no different. You finish up your shift at the diner like usual, scrape together the best looking leftovers, and pour a to-go cup of the remaining stale caf. You clock out, say goodbye to your co-workers, and meet up with your corrie friends at the next alley over to give them their dinner. The look of excitement on their faces never fails to make you smile. It’s sad that something so simple, like table scraps and old caf, could make their night something special.
You chat with them about your day at work, and all the latest gossip from your co-workers, while they devour the diner food. A few well-timed jokes and laughs are exchanged, and when they’ve finished eating, they walk you home like they do every night since the scary incident. On the way, they fill you in on all of the juicy details of the Coruscant underworld. Some of it is so ridiculous you wonder if it can possibly be true, but you laugh and enjoy their musings.
Once you arrive at your apartment, you bid your friends farewell and swipe your keycard to enter your home. The inside of your apartment is dark, and only illuminated by a couple strings of battery powered fairy lights that are much more cost-effective on your energy bill than keeping your lights on. You lock the door behind you, toss your bag on the couch, and check all of the windows, before pulling the room darkening curtains closed as the sun threatens to rise.
You then enter the kitchen and wash the day of work off of your hands, then do a couple of the dishes that you’ve neglected for the past week. You place them neatly in the drying rack, then dry your hands as you mull over what you want to eat for dinner. You don’t feel like cooking, so leftovers are your only option. You pull open the conservator door and stare at your dismal choices. Finally, you pull out a small container of something you know isn’t bad and reheat it.
Sitting at your kitchen table, you mindlessly scroll through your data-pad and look at the current events while you munch on your dinner. You sigh as you read reports of the increased crime rate, violent anti-clone protests, and higher taxes for the lower levels. You toss your data-pad down, and grumble about there never being anything happy in the news to look at. When you finish dinner, you place your used dish in the sink, stretch, then head to your bedroom.
As you enter your bedroom, you flip the switch on the side wall to turn the lights on and nearly jump out of your skin as your soul almost leaves your body. There’s a clone lying on your bed. Of all the things you thought you’d come home to, maybe a stray tooka or something, you definitely never in your wildest imagination thought you’d find a whole clone in your apartment. You freeze and throw a hand over your mouth to stifle any noise but the clone doesn’t stir.
After the initial shock wears off, you notice that the clone’s armor looks awfully familiar to you. Your eyes widen with realization. It’s Fox. The Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, a vampire, is on your bed. He’s lying on his stomach, armor still adorning his body, bucket perched on the nightstand, his face buried in one of your pillows, with both arms wrapped around it. Every single human emotion runs through your body, and you’re not sure which one to pick.
“Fox!” you yell. “What are you doing in my bed?”
Fox doesn’t move, but mumbles into the pillow. “Sleeping.”
“Why are you sleeping in my bed?” you demand.
Fox nuzzles the pillow gently. “It’s comfy.”
Your mouth falls open at his answer, but you really aren’t sure what you were expecting. “How did you even get in here?”
“The door,” he murmurs sleepily.
“I– You–” you're at a loss for words. You’re stunned. You rush over to him and grab his left leg to try and pull him off your bed, but he’s too heavy and you can’t get him to budge. You step back and groan in frustration that he’s not moving. Suddenly, something clicks in your brain and you become very afraid. “You’re…” you back away from the bed. “You’re not going to kill me are you? I kept your secret! I promise!”
Fox sighs at the fear he hears in your voice, and he mentally kicks himself for being the cause of it. He thought that confronting you in a safe place, such as your home, in a very calm and non-threatening way would make this easier on you. Clearly, he was wrong. Perhaps he should have asked for Thorn’s help after all. In an attempt to de-escalate the situation Fox remains still and speaks calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
His soft spoken words almost sound sincere, but you can still see his bloody face in your memories and hear those cynical words spoken to you. You feel conflicted about the situation. He hasn’t bothered you since that night and he hasn’t moved an inch since you got home. If he really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t he have done so already? It would be way too easy. Your physical prowess is nothing compared to a clone, let alone a commander. He could easily kill you.
“I promise,” he adds when you remain quiet.
You can hear a level of vulnerability in his words that strangely sets your heart at ease. Maybe the Fox that your corrie friends spoke of is the real Fox, and the Fox that you met in the alley isn’t. You might be rationalizing away his behavior that night, but everyone has a breaking point. Ultimately, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You're still not okay with him breaking into your apartment or sleeping on your bed, but maybe he just needs a place to crash.
“Can you at least take your armor off?” you sigh. “You’re getting my duvet dirty.”
Fox doesn’t move a muscle.
“Whatever,” you let out another sigh, too exhausted to argue. “I’m going to take a shower, and I’m locking the door. So don’t try anything funny.”
Fox remains silent and unmoving.
You narrow your eyes, still wary of the commander. You know who he is. You know what he is. And you know what he’s capable of. As a precautionary measure, you grab your mace from your purse on the couch, gather a change of clothes, and lock yourself in the refresher. You should feel scared, more scared than you are, but something about him feels disarming and almost safe. It’s a stark contrast to what you saw the night you met, but maybe that’s his plan.
You finish your shower and exit the refresher, feeling clean and ready for bed. When you walk back into your bedroom, you startle for a moment. Fox is still lying on his stomach on your bed, but his armor is stacked neatly next to your dresser, leaving him clothed only in his black bodysuit. You look at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side, and wonder why he waited to take his armor off. Perhaps he didn’t want to scare you by making any sudden movements.
Whatever the reason, his intentions of not harming you are made clearer every second. He’s leaving his entire body vulnerable to you. You could easily grab one of the steak knives from the kitchen and stab him in the back with it, but you won’t. He hasn’t given you a reason to, and you hope he doesn’t. You haven’t been known as the smartest person in the world, and you trust way too easily, but you honestly don’t feel any malicious intent from him as he lies in your bed.
You cautiously come around to the empty side of the bed and look at his face nestled in your pillow. His dark curly hair lines the sides of his face, coming to rest just above his closed eyes, his lips are slightly parted as he breathes slowly. You have to admit, he looks peaceful, like this is the first bed he’s ever slept on in his whole life, and your heart softens a bit for him. He’s still a vampire, you remind yourself, but he doesn’t look scary, at least not like this.
Since Fox is sleeping on top of your duvet, instead of in it, you grab a blanket from the chair on the other side of the room and carefully drape it over him. He remains still and doesn’t say a word. You still wonder why you’re doing any of this, but something deep inside tells you that he won’t hurt you. You grab another blanket for yourself and stand at the edge of the bed. He’s still a little too close for comfort, and for caution's sake, you decide to sleep with your mace in your hand.
“Can you scoot over, please?” you ask.
Without opening his eyes, Fox wiggles himself to the edge of the bed, taking the pillow with him. You stifle a snort at how funny he looks, but the smile that crosses your face cannot be hidden. He’s like a child. Acting just like the rest of the clones when they encounter such small creature comforts. You take a lot of things for granted as a human, as a natborn, but you try your best to pay it forward to the clones when you can, even if that means letting one sleep in your bed.
You crawl onto the empty side of the bed and snuggle under the blanket you pulled off of the chair. You rest your head on your pillow and look over at Fox. His eyes are still closed and he seems to be asleep. Your mind on the other hand is racing with so many questions that you’re having trouble sleeping. It keeps going back to the night you met, and makes you wonder why he’s so different today than he was then. You fidget with your fingers, then decide to finally ask.
“Fox?” you whisper.
“Hmm?” he hums.
You hesitate for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mhm,” he mumbles against the pillow.
“What would happen if they found out?” you ask.
Without opening his eyes he answers. “I’d be decommissioned.”
You chuckle. “Is that some type of early retirement?”
Fox opens his eyes slowly and looks at you. “I wish,” he sighs. “I’m defective. Defective clones are either reconditioned or decommissioned.”
You stare into his deep brown eyes. They look sad. “What’s the difference?”
“Reconditioning makes you a blank slate,” he explains. “Like a memory wipe. Then you’re put back in the general clone population to start over from scratch.”
“That’s… terrible,” you say. You don’t know too much about a clone’s life other than what your clone friends have told you, but to think that their lives can be ripped from them in an instant is sickening.
“That’s life,” Fox laments.
You pause before asking your next question, unsure if you really want to know the answer. “What about decommissioning?”
Fox rolls onto his back and leans his arm over his forehead, pushing his curls up and out of his face. He doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but if he ever wants you to understand the reason he needs you to keep his secret, then he has to tell you. “It’s just a fancy term for euthanasia.”
You sit up and your mouth gapes open in shock. “Euthanasia? Like what they do with animals?”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
“But you're not animals,” you retort.
“You’re right,” he says. “But we’re not people either. We’re products. Goods bought and sold. Some can be fixed, others need to be disposed of.”
You stifle back tears. “I don’t think of you as products.”
“I know,” Fox smiles sadly, remembering the way you treat your Corrie Guard friends. “But a memory wipe can’t fix what I am, so the only option is disposal. It used to be very common back when I was manufactured. I almost lost one of my batch brothers because he had blonde hair.” Fox chuckles at the memory.
“I’m so sorry,” you offer, unsure of what words of comfort you can even give him. The way he talks about himself, as a product makes you sick to your stomach. The reality of the clones hits you like never before and your resolve to help the clones grows even stronger. “I’ll keep your secret, I promise. I won’t let them decommission you. Any of you.”
Fox smiles at your kind words, even if they are naive. He knows you can’t save all of them, but he also knows you will try. He finds your affection for him and his brothers endearing, and it makes his heart flutter with warmth and happiness. He knows he is safe with you, that he can be vulnerable with you, and that you won’t cast him aside like so many other natborns have. You’re different, so much different than anyone else, and he never wants to lose that.
“Go to sleep, mesh’la,” Fox says. “You can save all of the clones tomorrow.” Without another word, Fox flops himself back onto his stomach and buries his face into the pillow, slowly drifting off to sleep.
You lie awake for a little while longer as the sun peeks through the top of your room darkening curtains, and think about his words, about the fate of the clones, and about his fate as a vampire. You’re not even sure how he became a vampire, or if there are more vampires amongst the clones. All you know is that this clone, this commander, Fox, is sleeping peacefully in your bed, and dreaming of a life that is more than what he was created for.
The next evening, you wake up as usual to your alarm going off, telling you to get up for another night at work. You sit up and stretch towards the ceiling, then rub the sleep from your eyes. You look over and see Fox still sleeping in the same position he started in. You wonder if sleeping on his stomach is out of habit, or if he really enjoys it. To you, it looks uncomfortable, but you let the thought go. You sneak out of bed, trying not to wake him, and start your morning routine.
Since it’s the two of you this evening, you decide to make breakfast for once, instead of just tossing whatever you find in your mouth and flying out the door. You start the caf machine and pull two mugs out from the top of your cupboard. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a guest for breakfast, so you’re glad you kept the extra mugs. As the caf percolates in the machine, you set your small kitchen table for two, with plates, forks, napkins, and cups.
You pull four eggs from the basket, but you pause when you realize that you’re not sure how he likes his eggs. To be honest, you’re not sure if he’s ever eaten an egg. You decide to play it safe by making them all scrambled. Everyone loves scrambled eggs. Then you toss several strips of bacon in a different frying pan. As you work on cooking the eggs and bacon, you pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the orange juice from the conservator.
When you close the door, you’re startled to see Fox standing there. His face is still covered in sleep and his curls are all flattened on one side. He has one hand under the top half of his blacks, scratching at his stomach, and he releases a small yawn. The smell of food must have roused him from his sleep. You give him a small smile and pull out one of the table chairs for him to sit. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes light up when you place a mug of hot caf in front of him.
He looks between you and the caf several times, almost asking for your permission to drink it. You chuckle and nod your head for him to take it. He grabs the sides of the mug, cradling it like it’s the most precious gift he’s ever received. He brings it to his lips, inhaling the beautiful aroma before giving it a small taste. The hot liquid bites his tongue, but it doesn’t bother him, not when the taste of the caf is this divine. He lets out a languid sigh and practically melts into the mug.
You smile grows bigger at his childlike innocence and you place a plate of steaming food in front of him. His face is still in his mug, but when he pulls it away and sees the food, his eyes blow wide open. Once again he’s shocked that you’re providing him with such delicacies to enjoy. He starts to feel guilty that he gets to eat like a king while his brothers are starving on rations, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he eats what you give him and enjoys it.
Whether it was your home cooked meals or your comfortable bed, your new routine now contains Fox. Every morning, when you come home from work, you find Fox lying in your bed, exhausted from his night. You let him shower now, and even bought him his own towel, soap, and shampoo to use. Sometimes he spends a while in the shower, but you don’t bug him about it. You can only imagine how good it feels for him, after never having a proper shower in his life.
You also make dinner for the two of you as well. You have to admit, ever since Fox came into your life, your eating habits have gotten better. After dinner and dishes, you both curl up into your bed and sleep. When you first explained to him that the duvet was for sleeping under and not on, Fox got very excited. The weight of the duvet made him sleep better than he’s ever slept before. Then, in the evening when you get up, you make caf and breakfast, and you both leave for work.
It’s been several months now, and you’re completely used to cohabitating with Fox. You now expect him to be there whenever you come home. You find it fun to have a roommate. You have someone to talk to and watch sappy holo-dramas with. There’s nothing you enjoy more than curling up on the couch and eating popcorn together. He doesn’t bring in any income, but you don’t mind. The joy on his face when he drinks his first mug of caf in the evening is payment enough.
This early morning is no different than any other. You come home from work and find Fox lying in your bed, and you jostle him awake so you can make dinner together. Once you taught Fox how to cook, he became invaluable for meal prep and dinner time. Making dinner with Fox is now one of your favorite things to do. You both find it fun and a great bonding time. You talk about your days, smile, and laugh about dumb things each other says. You’ve never been happier in your whole life.
This morning, you’re making stew for dinner. It’s a new recipe and you’re really looking forward to sharing it with Fox. The days on Coruscant have grown cold and blustery, so it’s the perfect time of the cycle to be making warm food for the soul. You both set to work, peeling and chopping vegetables to throw in the pot. You're chatting about your day, when in a split second, your knife slips and you cut your finger. You wince at the pain and drop your knife on the cutting board.
Fox immediately smells your blood, that sweet sweet blood of yours that he almost forgot about. His heart skips a beat and his fangs twitch to life in his mouth. He fights it, the urge to take you right here in the kitchen and drink that precious blood of yours, and he staggers backwards until his back is resting against the conservator, covering his nose from your alluring scent. You sigh at your clumsiness and walk over to the sink to rinse your finger off, but Fox catches your arm and grips it tightly.
You snap your neck to look over at him and you see his blown pupils threatening to overtake his dark brown irises as his fangs begin to grow in his mouth. His grip on your arm is tight and for the first time in a long time, you feel fear when you look at Fox. Your life together has been so normal, you almost forgot he’s a vampire, and here you are bleeding in front of him. Your breath quickens, and your arm trembles. When Fox smells your fear, he releases your arm and steps away from you.
“I… I’m sorry,” he apologizes through a shaky breath. “It just smells so good. I couldn’t help myself.”
You rub your arm where he gripped you and knit your brows with worry. You can tell he’s struggling against the urge, and you feel bad for being afraid of him when his reaction seems automatic and not even close to malicious. He’s desperately trying to respect your boundaries, fighting the arousal in him as his fangs throb, desperate to release the building pressure. You have to get rid of it, the blood that’s causing him so much pain, so you turn the water faucet on.
“Please!” Fox pleads between pants. He reaches with his arm again, but stops himself as he poorly tries to contain his need. “Don’t waste it.”
“Do… Do you want it?” You ask hesitantly. The words feel foreign as they cross your lips.
Fox clenches his teeth and nods.
You fidget nervously. "Will I become a vampire if you drink my blood?"
Fox chuckles as he strains through his desire. "Doesn't work… Like that.”
“Fox, I’m scared,” you admit.
“Won’t… Hurt you,” Fox says through gritted teeth. “Promise.”
You hesitate for a moment, then tentatively stretch out your finger. He looks at your blood, lust overtakes his eyes, the pupils now blown wide. He wants it. He craves it. The sweetest smelling blood. He parts his lips and you can see his fangs protruding past the rest of his teeth. A fresh wave of fear hits you and you recoil your finger. Fox can smell your fear, so he takes your wounded hand gently in his and caresses the side of his face with the back of it, trying to calm you down.
He slowly slides your hand down his cheek and to his lips and darts out his tongue, flicking it across your bloody finger. He closes his eyes and he releases a sultry moan at the taste. Your blood is intoxicating and he wants more. He wraps his lips around your finger, his hot tongue swirling around it, lapping up every last drop that has spilled from it. You shudder when he starts sucking on it, pulling fresh blood from the open wound, the sensation odd and unfamiliar.
As much as Fox wants more, your finger won’t give it. The cut begins to clot without further penetration and the sweet taste slowly dissipates. He reluctantly releases your finger, a soft whine escaping from his throat at the loss of your blood. You take your finger back and inspect it, the wound already scabbing over and healing. You look at him in shock, and he stares back at you, panting as he comes down from his high. His fangs retract and his brown irises return.
“How did you do that?” you ask.
Fox sits down at the kitchen table and exhales deeply as his senses come back to him. “The secretion of my fangs.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“How much do you know about vampires?” he asks.
“Just what I’ve read in books,” you answer as you sit down at the table across from him.
“Well, all those books are wrong,” Fox explains. “First, I can’t turn you into a vampire. Second, we’re not immortal. Third, my fangs are only present when they’re aroused. And fourth, my fangs secrete both dopamine and serotonin.”
You blink at him a couple of times as you take in all the new information. You open your mouth to ask another question, but he answers that one too.
“And no, I don't turn into a bat at night or become dust in the sunlight,” he adds with a small laugh.
“So, then you don’t need blood to survive?” you ask.
Fox shakes his head. “Nope. It’s more like a craving.”
“What about the man?” As soon as the words are released, you instantly regret the question. You didn’t mean to bring that night up, but it fell out of your mouth too quickly.
Fox pauses at the question, knowing it was going to be asked sooner or later. “I drink blood for two reasons,” Fox begins and puts up two fingers. “For revenge and for pleasure.” Fox pauses again and looks to the side. “That man… He hurt one of my men. I was angry and bitter, and out for revenge.”
“Oh, I see...” You think about his words for a moment, wondering if you should ask more about that night or if you should just change the subject and move on. It’s already a sore spot between you two, but Fox has apologized about it multiple times since you’ve been living together. You ultimately decide on the latter of the options. “Does it taste good?”
Fox chuckles at the question. “Depends. Male blood is more bitter and female blood is more sweet, but those scales can tip depending on a lot of things.”
“What does my blood taste like?” You ask.
Fox traces absentminded shapes on the table with his finger and smiles as he remembers your taste. “Sweet, very sweet.”
You fidget with your wounded finger before asking your next question. “Was it… pleasurable?”
Fox purses his lips and thinks for a moment, trying to form his words carefully so as to not cause you an alarm. “Yeah, it was pleasurable, but it’s more pleasurable when I use my fangs.”
You wonder what the taste of your blood has to do with his fangs. “Why?”
“The secretions,” he says as he taps the side of his lip. “If my fangs are inside you, then you get it too. It’s supposed to keep the prey from struggling too much, but it also feels really good.” Fox rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. He’s never had to explain this to anyone before, especially to someone he cares about. “It can make for an awkward revenge kill, but also an erotic pleasurable drink.”
A warm heat creeps across your face. You remember the way he looked when he was drinking the small amount of blood you gave him and he was clearly having a good time sucking on your little finger. Perhaps getting your blood drunk by a vampire is a pleasurable experience. Your mind begins to wander and you think about Fox sinking his fangs into the side of your neck and it sends sparks of excitement through your body. You quickly lose yourself in your daydream.
“Mesh’la,” Fox says, trying to pull you from your thoughts.
You blink back to reality. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” Fox asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh, yeah,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m fine. Just a lot of information.”
Fox gets up from his chair and places a small kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll finish dinner tonight. Why don’t you go shower. It'll be done by the time you're out.”
You lean your head back against his stomach, close your eyes, and sigh. “Okay.”
Fox gives you another chaste kiss and helps you to your feet. A shower does sound really nice right about now. It’ll give you some time to clear your head and think about everything that has happened. You leave Fox to dinner and head to the refresher to take a shower. You run the water for a minute before getting in, then step under the stream of hot water. The water flows across the curves of your body as the gentle massage of the droplets soothes your muscles.
You wash your hair and give it a good conditioning, then wash your body. You lather up your washcloth and run it across your arms, legs, stomach, and down the side of your neck. You stop and do it again, only slower, rubbing the soft cloth against the thin sensitive skin. You start to think about Fox, about his fangs inside you, and what it would feel like. You close your eyes and imagine it, an erotic encounter with someone you trust and love that doesn’t involve sex.
You’ve had the conversation with Fox before, about sex. You’ve been living together for a while now, and what started as a mutual living arrangement turned into a relationship before you could blink your eyes. He shared his feelings with you. How much he loves you, cares for you, and what you mean to him. The feelings are mutual. However, you always feel bad about denying him such an intimate encounter, but you aren’t ready, and you’re not sure when you will be.
Fox never pushes the issue, and he never brings it up. He only ever discusses it if you are the one who initiates the conversation. You love that about Fox. He respects every boundary you give him. Even when he was overcome with lust at the scent of your blood, he still let you make the choice. He was in pain, and he chose you over himself. He always chooses you, over and over again. This time though, you want to choose him. You want to give him what he craves.
Once out of the shower, you dry yourself off with your towel and hang it next to Fox’s. You quickly towel dry your hair, moisturize your body, throw on your pajamas, and leave the warmth of the refresher. The transition to your chilly apartment isn’t bad, because Fox grabs you from behind and pulls you against his warm chest. You squeal and then smile when he wraps his arms around your stomach. He buries his nose in your freshly washed hair and lets out a contented sigh.
“You smell good,” Fox mumbles against your scalp.
You giggle. “Really? All I smell is that stew you’re making.”
Fox chuckles. “It does smell good, doesn’t it?”
You escape his embrace and spin around on your heels. “I think it’s dinner time.”
“I think you’re right,” Fox agrees and you both head to the kitchen.
The two of you sit at the kitchen table and enjoy your dinner together. Regardless of your small chopping mishap earlier, the stew came out wonderful. Fox did an amazing job and you can see him beam with pride as you groan from the warm earthy goodness. He also made a small batch of biscuits, which surprised you. You forgot you had those in the conservator, so you're happy they finally got put to good use. After dinner, you clean up the kitchen and Fox takes his shower.
It’s just about bedtime as you see the sun peeking through your curtains. You’re already in your pajamas, so you crawl into bed. The cool sheets cause you to shiver slightly as you wait for the bed to get warmer. Fox returns from his shower, his curls still a little damp from toweling them. He removes his t-shirt and tosses it onto the chair, leaving him in only his gray sweatpants, both of which you bought him a couple months ago, then settles in on the other side of the bed.
With Fox under the duvet, you know the bed will get warm soon, but you’re still cold, so you scoot over to him to leech off of his warmth. His body radiates heat, which is why he can sleep without a shirt and not freeze to death, unlike you, who needs ten different layers, plus extra blankets to keep warm. Without opening his eyes, Fox lifts up his arm to give you access, and you eagerly take the invitation and snuggle closer to him, instantly feeling warmer.
You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but your thoughts from earlier are nagging at the back of your mind. You start thinking about Fox drinking your blood again, and how pleasurable it might be for you. The thoughts are only compounded by being so close to him, the warmth emanating from his body, the musky scent of his skin and hair, and the feeling of his toned back muscles beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much to bear, and once again your curiosity is getting the better of you.
“Fox?” you whisper into his shoulder.
“Hmm?” he mumbles into his pillow.
“Do you want to drink my blood?” you ask, a twinge of nervousness escaping through your question.
Fox opens his eyes as a jolt of lightning goes straight from his stomach and into his fangs. The thought of drinking your blood arouses them, and they quickly become engorged and primed for penetration. He curses to himself at just how fast they were ready when you asked. Almost, embarrassingly fast. The familiar pressure begins to build and Fox shifts his body in discomfort. He doesn’t know if you’re just curious or if this is an invitation, but he prepares himself for either.
“Yeah,” Fox admits as he rotates from his stomach to his side so he can see you better. “But not unless you want me to.”
“What if I do want you to?” you ask.
Fox stifles a groan as his fangs throb in his mouth, desperate to pierce your beautiful skin. “Are you sure?” he asks.
You hesitate for a second. “Will it hurt?”
Fox picks his head up and props it up on the palm of his hand, elbow bent and leaning on the pillow. He looks into your eyes, glides his hand from your covered waist to your exposed neck, and brushes his knuckles against the soft flesh. The skin there is so supple and inviting. His fangs throb harder as he envisions himself drinking your sugary sweet blood. Fox leans closer, as he continues to caress the side of your neck, and rests his forehead against yours to reassure you.
“You’ll feel a sharp pain as they sink in,” he explains with a gentle whisper, “and they’ll throb under your skin, but the pleasure will take over soon after.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you say softly.
Fox smiles, then continues. “It’ll drip a little when I pull them out, but I’ll clean it up. You might be drowsy afterwards and a bit cold. It might ache for a day, since it's your first time, and form a small bruise.”
Your heartbeat quickens at all the information and Fox can smell your growing fears.
Fox cups the sides of your face in both of his hands and looks deeply into your sparkling eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid, cyare,” he soothes. “I won't hurt you.”
You nod your head in acknowledgment.
“Tell me that you want it, cyare,” he whispers, his hands moving from your face to your shoulders.
“I want it Fox,” you answer.
“How do you want it?” he asks, nuzzling the side of your cheek with his own. “Do you want to lay down or sit on my lap? Whatever is more comfortable for you.”
You think for a moment, and if you’re going to be drowsy, then you’ll want to be laying down, so you pull back from his touch and lie back against your pillow. “Just like this.”
Fox leans over to give your forehead a small kiss, then rips the duvet off the both of you. A slight shiver runs down your body at the loss of your warm covers, but it’s soon replaced with a new warmth. Fox straddles his legs overtop yours, hovering over your prone body as his hands plant themselves at the sides of your head. Your anticipation grows as he stares down at you with lustful eyes, and a knot forms in your stomach as you wonder what his fangs will feel like as they penetrate your soft skin.
Fox can hear your heart racing and he gently places his left hand on your chest. "Relax for me, mesh’la. Your heart is beating too fast. I don't want this to hurt."
You nod your head and work to get your breathing under control to slow your heart rate. You take deep, slow breaths as Fox guides your breathing to be in sync with his. His brown irises have been replaced by blown pupils and his fangs protrude from their hiding spot, dripping with their pleasure inducing secretions. His dark curls drape around his face, accentuating his hooded eyes and parted lips. You stare into his eyes, letting your breath match his, as you finally calm down.
"Good girl," Fox praises.
He tilts his head to the right and ghosts his lips across your supple neck as he searches for the perfect spot to penetrate your flesh. It has to be just right. Too far to either side, and he might hurt you. He takes him time, even as you whimper impatiently beneath him, because he needs this to be perfect. You’re putting all of your trust in him, that he won’t hurt you, and he refuses to break that trust. He continues to nose around your neck, before he finds his mark.
"Right there," Fox breathes against your neck, causing the little hairs to stand on end. “That’s where you’ll feel me.” He nuzzles the side of your face for reassurance. "Are you ready, mesh’la?” he whispers against your skin. “To feel ecstasy?”
You release an involuntary moan at the sultry words. "Please, Fox. I want you to– Ah!"
Your words turn into a whimper when you feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck. You instinctively raise your left hand to touch the pained area, but it instead finds purchase in Fox’s hair. You clench your fist around his curls, your other hand digging into his back, as you wince at the stinging sensation. It’s just as he described, but as soon as the pain came, it went. Now all you feel is the throbbing of his engorged fangs under your skin as he drinks your blood.
Fox pulls away from your neck to catch his breath. His head rises to meet your wanton gaze and you can see your blood on his fangs and lips as he pants above you. Your own breath becomes rapid as the endorphins released from his fangs invade your system, reaching every corner of your body, causing you to elicit the most salacious moan. The feeling is euphoric and your eyes roll back in your head. He’s not even touching you, and your body feels like it’s on fire.
"How do I taste?" you ask between labored breaths.
"Intoxicating," Fox moans. "So sweet. So perfect."
Fox reinserts his fangs into your delicate skin, desperately needing to taste more of you as he becomes drunk on your sugary blood. It’s delectable, addicting, and too good to part with. A pure delicacy that he wants to drown in. His own pleasure is only magnified as you fall apart beneath him, moaning his name in the most obscene ways while taking chunks of flesh out his back. If anyone were to overhear you right now, they’d never once think that you’re being devoured by a vampire.
The flood of endorphins overpower your body. You dig your nails further into Fox’s back as you curl your toes into the sheets, trying not to scream from the tension building and releasing in your body. You understand now, what he meant earlier when he said it would be pleasurable, and you wholly underestimated just how pleasurable it would be. You’ve never felt like this before, like you're floating in a cloud of weightlessness, and you never want it to end.
Fox knows he has to stop before he drinks you dry. The urge to stay here forever, tasting you and lapping up every drop of blood you have to offer, is overwhelming. He wants to indulge in your sweet nectar and get drunk on your blood for hours, but he can't. He can feel your skin growing chilled as your blood recedes your vital organs. He’s out of time and he needs to let you go. It won’t be forever though. He has a feeling that he’ll get to drink your blood again.
With a soft whine, he releases you, panting heavily from the long drink. He looks at the two holes in the side of your neck, little pools of blood forming at the surface. He licks the droplets until they begin to clot and close, and kisses the spot for good measure before picking his head up to look at you. He licks the remaining blood off his lips and smiles down at your disheveled state. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes half open, and mouth parted. It must have been a wonderful ride.
“Fox,” you moan as your body continues to ride out the last of the endorphins.
“Cyare,” Fox purrs as he nuzzles the side of your cheek.
You look up at him with hooded eyes. “How was it?”
Fox chuckles. “I should be asking you that.”
“It was really really good,” you groan.
Fox smirks. “I’m glad.”
You groan at your body’s response. With Fox’s fangs gone, the euphoric feeling in your body slowly begins to dissipate and your senses return to you, as well as the side effects. You roll your head to the side and close your eyes. “I’m so tired.”
Fox carefully gets off of you, stretches out beside you, and strokes your hair. “That’s normal.”
“I’m cold, too,” you add with an involuntary shiver as you try to curl into a ball.
Fox frowns and pulls his fingers away. He moves toward the edge of the bed and grabs the duvet that he flung off earlier. He rolls you over so you’re facing him and gently presses you against his chest. He then wraps the duvet snuggly around you both, making sure that you are completely covered, with just enough of an opening so you can breathe. He runs his hands up and down you back as you bury your face into his neck and cling to him for warmth. “Better?”
“Mhm,” you mumble against his skin.
Fox places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Rest now.”
“Fox?” you whisper.
“Yes, mesh’la?” Fox answers.
You look into his eyes and smile. “You caught me.”
Fox chuckles and holds you tighter. “So I did.”
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sinfulsalutations · 6 months
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𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣 ⋆*・゚ 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖
⋆ ★ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2023 ʟɪɴᴇᴜᴘ
➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ʜᴀʀᴅᴄᴀꜱᴇ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴠɪɢᴏʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛ… ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ (ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ)
⋆ ★ ɪᴍ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇᴅ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀʀ (ᴅᴀʏ 4)… ʟᴍꜰᴀᴏ
➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ
⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*・゚ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ
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The two of you have been fucking for hours now.
Hardcase’s grip on your thighs keeps you in place while he ruts into you like a rabid animal, desperate for release, desperate for you. You’re keening, hands left strayed by your sides and fingers twitching, unable to do anything else but moan and encourage him enthusiastically while he continues resolutely to get his fill.
He isn't done with you, somehow, even after rubbing one spend all over your chest and the other on the insides of your thighs. You wonder what will finally satiate his passionate need to keep you impaled on his cock for as long as possible.
Crumpled sheets cling to each of your skin, drenched fabric molding to your naked figures. There’s a sticky consistency, an uncomfortable feeling of detaching as you lift your neck up from the pillow. Each of you drenched in the droplets and sudor of sex, disheveled panting the only thing let out between your enthusiastic cries.
“Oh, fuck cyar’ika,” Hardcase groans on and on, eyes fluttering close for split moments of respite while he hunches over you, “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He peels back his eyelids fully and flashes you the most wicked smile. You just manage to reciprocate before tilting your head back with another moan as he pushes back into you again, slower and rougher than before, making you feel him entirely before returning to the original pace.
“Yes,” You squeal, ending with a breathy exhale. A droplet of sweat treks down your forehead, dropping from your temple to your cheek. There’s another on your neck and the crook between it and your shoulders, more collecting on the expanse of your chest; you’re suddenly uncomfortably aware of it.
Hardcase suddenly dips down, mouth falling ajar and giving your neck a kitten lick, collecting the bead of sweat on his tongue. He smacks his lips, staying there for a minute. His pace doesn’t falter.
It does when he trails his tongue over more of your collected sweat on your chest.
You blink, tipping your chin down and raising an eyebrow. Hardcase notices the change in position, and his eyes move up to look at you; the rest of his face remains.
“Did you just… lick off my sweat?” You ask incredulously.
Hardcase pouts obliviously and nods.
“...Yeah?” He’s genuinely baffled at the question.
Suddenly, you’re giggling with a heaving chest, and forcing him to move up again. He’s still seated in you, pushing in a little further as he leans over your body. You’re too busy tittering on to really notice. Hardcase raises an eyebrow.
“What?” He questions again.
“Babe, that’s so gross!” You remark, eyes blowing wide. He blinks at you, once, twice, trying to understand your perspective. 
“Really?” Seems like he hasn’t got it. Shrugging dejectively and slumping, he curls further into you and tilts his head. “`Kinda thought it was hot.”
With a snort, you slap his chest, rising and falling with his soft, self-deprecating laughs. You’re gazing away, but his eyes have never left your pretty smile. That joy of yours dissipates into a blissful sigh when Hardcase decides to thrust into you again, and again, slowly building up the pace again.
He’s back to fucking you like you never stopped.
Your hands drift up to his neck, interlocking fingers at the back of his neck. More beads of sweat drip down each of your bodies. After he’d done such an abrupt thing, lapping up your sweat like a delectable meal, almost how he’d kitten lick your sex after giving you a mind-shattering orgasm, you got curious.
So you lean up and lick the sweat off his neck, eyes fluttering close as you get a penchant, and oh. This isn’t nearly as bad as you thought.
Above you, the sound of Hardcase’s deep chuckle catches you off guard, and you gaze up. You hadn’t said anything purposefully just to avoid this boy’s frustrating smugness in any situation that plays out in his favor; he gets to be smug anyway.
“Gross, huh?” He taunts.
“Shut up,” you snap back.
The sound of your squeal and his deep rumble flood the room as he pinches your hip and turns you over.
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anakinskywalkerog · 10 months
Text
My Very Soul (Chapter 32)
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Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader
Link to Chapter 31
Warnings: grief, mentions of death, some dissociative symptoms etc. thank you everyone for indulging me in some of my mystical bullshit, which is my favorite thing ever haha
Summary: You are rescued, but not without consequences
Word Count: 2k
You didn't know where you were. You didn't know what you were—you couldn't feel any sense of self, anything embodied. You floated between sensations. You were the rustling of a creek, the sound of a whisper, a hand held up to the cover a mouth; you were a sleeping beast, some alien shape, its breathing loud and heavy; you were a seed floating down to its new resting place; you were the darkest parts of a deep ocean, a sea floor mouth sucking in; you were the creatures traveling through deep space, somewhere far away. Except they weren't far away—you weren't anywhere. You were everywhere at once.
         You couldn't remember yourself, what shape you were supposed to take. You were the pleasant breeze in a warm place, and suddenly you remembered what it felt like to breathe. You were a breath. You felt the darkness hiding inside the minds of those too far gone, felt it in the shadows beneath a dead tree, and shuddered in fear. You remembered fear. You felt the dark side and the light in a continuous tug of war, each fighting to overthrow their own delicate balance. You were the Force.
         It was then that you heard a voice. Emotion filled you, and you realized that somewhere, somehow, you were able to be filled. You remembered that you had once had a body. You heard the voice again, and you felt yourself shrinking. You knew that voice. You wanted to get to that voice.
         "Y/N!" the voice was agonized, and you pulled against the boundaries of your presence, trying to bring yourself closer to the voice.
         "Y/N!" the voice continued, pleading. "Y/N, please wake up, please look at me. Can you hear me, Y/N?" You felt the voice's sadness and you remembered sadness.
         "Obi-Wan, what's wrong with her? Look at her eyes! What—"
         "She's breathing steadily," a different voice responded, and you found you remembered this voice too. "And she doesn't seem to have any major wounds." You felt this other voice's pain, so understated, so controlled compared to the pain of the voice you remembered now to be the most important voice in the universe. You struggled within yourself. Who were you? Where were you? Were you dead? You remembered death.
         "Y/N," that most important voice asked, gently, in supplication. "Y/N, can you hear me? It's going to be okay, we're here, we've got you." You found you could feel this voice's body, feel the sweat dripping from the forehead, feel the energy as it changed forms. The body expended energy in a swift motion, and you felt the hum of a long blade of light. You felt, somewhere, shackles being broken, felt their entropy as they fell to the ground.
         "Anakin..." the second voice said, in a tone that sounded appalled. You felt this voice's energy, too, felt the inertia as the leg moved and kicked something on the ground, something hard. "It looks like someone's been tortured."
         You felt yourself withdraw at the word, felt a heaviness descend over you that you associated with the memory of having a body. You were no longer floating. You tried hard to feel yourself, your arms, your lips, because you remembered now that you had arms, had a voice, too.
         "Y/N," the beautiful voice sobbed, "Y/N, please wake up, please come back to me."
         "What's that she's whispering?" the second voice asked, and you felt in the Force the voice's dread, anxiety, terror. These emotions descended on you, and you began to remember yourself.
         "It sounds like, "Master"..." the wonderful voice responded, anguish ripping through the Force in his presence. You wanted to call out to him, to locate him in this fog. You tried to use your voice, but you couldn't find it.
         "Yuma..." the second voice spoke, barely more than a whisper. The voice sounded farther away from you now. You felt the energy expenditure it took this presence to reach down, grab something, something light. Something empty.
         "What?" Anakin asked, and as his name broke through your fog, you struggled against the heavy feeling, trying to find him.
         "I can feel it...Yuma...she's...gone," Obi-Wan's voice choked. The memory came back to you swiftly, excruciatingly, and as it did, you descended further into the deep darkness, losing your feeling, losing all sensation and thought.
         You were in some deep abyss, somewhere, if somewhere existed. You were floating in it, pressed in by it, but somehow, you were the abyss, the pressure. You felt the sense of beginnings and endings, continuously existing side by side.
         "Y/N," you heard the voice say again, and you remembered again the importance of finding him. You felt leaden, but you worked to push through your memories, push through to find your body.
         It seemed like some time had passed. The energetic impressions had changed—there were lots of voices, a hum of anxious presences. This jogged your memory. You felt great disturbances in the Force, heard the sound of booms and blasts. The disturbances caused you to fear. Where was he? Was he okay?
         Ani you thought firmly. Ani. This thought repeated, and it encouraged you. Suddenly, you felt your arms, your legs, felt your head as someone was cradling it. You felt hands touch your face lightly.
         "Y/N?! I'm here, little flea, I'm here." The voice said hurriedly, amidst the sound of more booms. You felt the rush of air as a pair of lips met your ear. "I love you," Anakin's voice breathed, in barely a whisper, right next to your temple. "Come back to me."
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Anakin was dazed. His head stormed, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He couldn't believe it—it didn't seem possible.
         Yuma. She's gone, Obi-Wan had said. The words repeated over and over again in Anakin's mind as he hurried toward the command center. A blast from the separatist advance caused Anakin to stumble, but he kept his balance, hurrying after Obi-Wan and carrying you in his arms.
         There was no time to get you, even, to a medical base. No time to try to follow your absent attacker, or attackers, wherever they might be by now. Anakin had argued with Obi-Wan, trying to convince his former Master to let him pursue them, but in the end, Obi-Wan's reasoning had won out. Anakin wasn't about to leave you—not in this condition. The front at the Guild headquarters was crumbling, the battalions of clones unable to hold the line against new separatist platoons that had recently landed, heavily armed. The headquarters shook again under Anakin's feet.  
         Anakin hastened after Obi-Wan, looking down at you, trying to gauge if he could see any improvement. You looked much the same—your eyes were white, clouded over, their normal color obscured by a foggy, milky film. You moved your irises back and forth, but what you were seeing, Anakin didn't know. You occasionally whispered things—Master, over and over again, when he had found you, and now, nonsense, nothing in any tongue Anakin had ever heard. You wouldn't respond to him, didn't seem to know that he was there. The sight of you, imprisoned within yourself, like this, made Anakin's entire body go cold.
         The Guild shook again in response to another blast as Anakin and Obi-Wan rushed into the crumbling command center.
         "We need to get her off-world," Anakin barked at Rex, his Captain immediately springing into action at his side. "Once we've transported her to a medical base, we can—"
         "It's too late for that," Cody interrupted, joining Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Rex as the headquarters shook on their foundations. "The front is hopeless. We need to order an immediate evacuation."
         "What is our status?" Obi-Wan asked quickly, looking, with Cody, at the chrono on the clone's armor that showed the number of troops subsumed by the battle.
         "If we lose the Guild headquarters," Rex began, evidencing his unwillingness to give up on a fight, like his General. "We lose the Perlemian route. We can't back down from this fight." Anakin would have smiled at Rex's battle-readiness, had the situation been different. Instead he scowled further, gripping your immobile figure more tightly.
         "What happened?" Marlo asked, looking shocked at your motionless body in Anakin's arms. The building shook again, rubble falling from the ceiling.
         "It will take some time to discover that," Obi-Wan responded quickly, looking back at you with worry before facing Marlo head on. "I agree with Cody. An immediate evacuation of our remaining troops is top priority. The front is theirs."
         "Yuma?" Marlo asked, breaking protocol by calling his General by her first name. Anakin swallowed, hard, his head feeling heavy.
         "Lost," Obi-Wan uttered softly, turning his face away from the group to hide his reaction.
         Anakin gripped you more firmly still, the heavy feeling in his head turning hot, turning to anger, to rage. Whoever had done this would pay, Anakin thought, this anger settling deep within him. Anakin would make sure of it. He would discover who had harmed you. Their days were numbered.
         Anakin allowed the anger to wash through him, feeling the command center shake as Cody, Rex, and Marlo ordered their troops to fall back to the rendezvous point, while Obi-Wan contacted the command ship, ordering the landers to begin the evacuation. Everyone took on the tone and the demeanor of soldiers, but Anakin felt the grief beneath their focus. The daze he had felt at the news of Yuma's death had turned sour, turned to militant concentration, turned his thoughts toward the kill, toward revenge.
         He looked down at you, feeling, in the view of your face, his anger fade to a small flicker, a flame that would become necessary later. Your eyes were still clouded, your mouth slightly parted. He touched your face tenderly, cradling your head with his other hand. You would be okay, he told himself. He would make sure you were okay. He would not leave your side.
         "Ani," you sighed softly. Anakin jumped slightly, looking into your eyes, trying to see whether or not you might be beginning to rouse.
         "Y/N?!" he asked excitedly, cradling your face closer to his. "I'm here, little flea. I'm here," he told you fervently. Anakin knew that whatever was happening to you was some great mystery of the Force, knew that he could not understand the way your mind encountered that great energy barrier. Still, there were some things of which he was sure, and that you and him were, and would always be, connected in the Force, he knew in his whole being. His love for you was more powerful than any curse, than any poison.
         Anakin glanced up at his former Master and the other clones that still littered the command center. No one was looking his way, except for Rex, who, when meeting Anakin's eye, very plainly and intentionally turned away. Anakin pulled your form closer so that he could whisper in your ear.
         "I love you," he told you fervently, trying to infuse a power into his words, breathing the living Force into his lungs. He looked at your face, cradled in his hands. "Come back to me."
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hopefully some of this makes up for the previous chapter.
NEW CHAP UP NOW GO READ
if you care about this story I 🖤 you
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I also 🖤 purrgils
divider credit to @racingairplanes
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petrifiedforests · 5 months
Note
For the hurt/comfort prompts, and since you mentioned Fox... him and Thorn plus "Sorry, I'm being so difficult for you," perhaps? Or, if you're in the mood for something shippy, Waxer/Boil and "I'm going to be here when you wake up." 🥹🥰
Thank you @cacodaemonia! I went with platonic Fox & Thorn after the war. :) This is a fic written for a prompt from @creativepromptfills who makes amazing prompt lists. There be cursing but nothing else to look out for.
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Thorn is done. He spent the day wrangling senators and aides and political advisors and he is done. 
He smashes the keypad to their apartment with more force than necessary but the door does not slide open any faster than normal. Stupid, slow-ass thing.
It should be different, now that– well now in the after but they need the votes and the always fickle support of the general public. So he’s out there as “Important member of the Guard, the right hand man of the clone that brought peace”. Like fuck that, they’re not even calling him by his rank. He’s not expecting his name, but Commander would have been nice.
Nice, hah! The whole day he was stuck listening to them talking without the safety of his helmet, nodding along and making appropriate facial expressions.
So now, he’s absolutely done with moving his face. No more smiling or frowning or raising eyebrows or anything. 
His shoes go on the little rack, his jacket goes on the hook and his frustration…stays. Grumbling under his breath he follows the soft music into the living room where Fox is sprawled out on the sofa. He looks like he’s being eaten alive by the plush cushions and Thorn’s lips twitch upwards involuntarily.
Fox lifts a lazy hand in greeting, abandoning the movement halfway through as if it’s too much effort.
Thorn can emphasize. He takes the last remaining steps and collapses on him. A high pitched squeak is startled out of Fox and Thorn snorts.
“Shut it, I’m not emoting anymore today,” he grouses into Fox’s chest. It’s vibrating with Fox’s near silent laughter under him. Thorn is not going to join.
“Seriously?” he laments the betrayal from his closest brother.
Amidst the laughter Fox chokes out an incredibly insincere "Sorry, I'm being so difficult for you," before the shaking intensifies and Thorn has to whack him with a cushion. 
It’s the best for his mental health, really, he promises. Fuck the senate, it’s Fox’s fault for slaying the Sith anyways.
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Text
Where's Mommy?
Wolffe x Fem!Reader
Part 1
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Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader
Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Cara (child OFC)
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 807
Author's Note: I came up with this sad short fic while I was on hiatus. If I have to suffer, then y'all are going to suffer with me. It's sad. It's really sad. I might make this into a full-length reader fic at some point, where Wolffe hires a nanny (reader) for his daughter and they fall in love, or something sappy like that (pssst, I did). As always, please enjoy 💚
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8
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Wolffe stands frozen in the medcenter hallway, staring down an endless sterile corridor with a small hand wrapped tightly around his finger. A pulmonary embolism, they said. A blood clot in the lungs, they said. She was so young, they said. Could've happened to anyone, they said. But it didn't happen to anyone. It happened to his wife. Within moments, and by no choice of his own, he's now a single father in a galaxy torn by war. The light of his life, snuffed out like a candle. 
"Daddy?" his daughter says while tugging on his hand. 
Wolffe snaps out of his daze and looks down at her. "Yeah, baby?"
"Where's mommy?" she asks.
"Mommy…" Wolffe pauses, biting his lip as he looks anywhere but his daughter's face. "Mommy had to go."
"Go where?" she asks. 
"Far away," he says.
"But why?" she asks. "I love mommy."
"I love mommy too, baby," he says, barely able to keep his emotions at bay. 
"Then why'd she leave?" she whines. 
"Listen to me, Cara," he kneels on the ground in front of her. "Sometimes… sometimes people have to leave and there's nothing we can do about it."
"When's she coming back?" she asks. 
"She's not," he chokes.
"I want mommy!" she yells.
Wolffe picks up his crying child and holds her against his chest, letting his own tears fall silently out of her view. "I know, baby. I know. I want her too."
"I'm not leaving without mommy!" she wails.
"Please, baby," he soothes as she cries inconsolable.
"Hush little one," a soft voice says from behind Wolffe.
Wolffe turns around and sighs in relief. "General."
"I came as soon as I heard," Plo says. He places a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Wolffe says while bouncing his daughter to try and calm her down. 
"Come here little one," Plo says as he stretches out his arms to take Cara from Wolffe. 
Wolffe peels his distraught daughter off of his chest and hands her to Plo, then collapses down onto the bench against the wall. He hangs head in his hands and sobs quietly. His first real moment to fully process the loss of his wife. 
Plo turns away from Wolffe to give him some privacy and continues to bounce Cara to soothe her. 
The little girl's crying echoes throughout the hallway, sending sharp pains through Wolffe's already broken heart. He wants her to stop crying so he can stop crying. She's just a child, and she doesn't understand what's happening, which is making the situation all the more difficult. How can he console her when he can barely hold it together himself? The last time he felt this helpless was the Malevolence incident, and even then he held it together better than right now.
He doesn't know how to be a mother. He's a soldier, a commander. How is he going to fight in the war and raise a child? It's practically impossible. He can't just quit the war either. No clone can. His wife was a saint. She took care of everything while he was away on campaigns. The only thing he needed to do when he came home was hug his little baby girl and dote on her until he had to leave again. He gave his family everything he had, and everything he didn't have. 
He always knew he was going to be an absent father because of the war, but he didn't in his wildest imagination think his wife would die before him. They had contingency plans for if he died, but they didn't make any plans for if she died. This entire scenario came out of left-field and blindsided him. They were eating dinner like they always did when he goes on shore leave. How in the universe did they go from eating dinner to her being dead? He'll never understand it.
"General," Wolffe says through his tears. "What do I do now?"
Plo studies the devastated commander and softens his eyes. "You take each moment as it comes."
"But what do I do?" Wolffe pleads with a hitch in his throat. "The funeral, my kid, my troops, my–"
"Arrangements are being made as we speak," Plo interrupts. "You are not alone in this despair, Wolffe."
Wolffe looks up at the general and a menial, barely noticeable smile forms at the corner of his mouth, but it's betrayed by the streaks of tears that line his flushed cheeks. He says nothing in response, afraid that if he utters even one more syllable, he'll lose the last bit of composure he's maintaining. However, the words of his general ring true. He's not alone. He's never been alone. He has his general and an entire battalion of brothers to lean on. His family is here for him. 
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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8
Masterlist
AO3
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clonesuperiority · 6 days
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Every Clone Legion needs a general in charge of his dumbasses :3 Eka'rulle is the jedi general of Kick, Boxer and Isle ^^
(feat Kit Fisto and his abs - the most handsome Nautolan out there)
Alright, now back to drawing clones
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dystopicjumpsuit · 5 months
Note
because I’m a greedy ho, may I also request:
the hands. on the waist. oh my god.
with Neyo 👀🫣 do not perceive me pls
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A/N: My friend. When I tell you that this awoke me out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night last night. I instantly bumped it to the top of the queue. Who has deadlines? NOT THIS SIMP! Please enjoy, and thank you for the ask!
Pairing: Commander Neyo x Reader (GN)
Rating: T but minors DNI as always
Wordcount: 1,556
Warnings and tags: fluff; minor injury; mention of blood; kissing; Neyo identifies as a warning
Summary: Marshal Commander Neyo takes his favorite medic for a ride. It’s not as sexy as it sounds… or is it?
Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list
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“Commander, we’ve lost contact with CT-2639 on the eastern perimeter.”
Marshal Commander Neyo swiveled his head, pulling away from your hands as you cleaned the cut on his forehead. Head wounds always bled like a mudscuffer, and this one had made an unbelievable mess, but it wasn’t severe enough to be life-threatening. You silently followed his movement, continuing to work as Neyo replied to the trooper.
“Send a BARC trooper to reinforce his position,” Neyo snapped, clearly irritated that the situation had not already been handled several rungs down the command ladder.
“They’re all out on scouting missions, sir,” the trooper said nervously.
Neyo nodded shortly, then turned back to you. “You, medic. Grab a medkit. You’re coming with me.”
It galled you slightly that he hadn’t bothered to learn your name, even though he had refused to allow any of the other medics in the 91st treat him since the first time you’d patched him up months ago, but given that he was one of the highest-ranking clones in the GAR, you weren’t about to call him out.
“Yes, sir,” you replied, quickly sealing the laceration with a spray bandage. Luckily, you were nearly finished treating him before the trooper had interrupted; otherwise, you had no doubt the commander would have simply shoved his bucket back onto his bloody head and jumped on a BARC speeder.
You shrugged the heavy medpack onto your back and followed Neyo to a BARC speeder with an auxiliary stretcher, watching him nervously, dread swirling in your gut.
“Well?” he asked, his tone clipped and impatient.
“I’m not speeder trained, sir. Sorry, sir,” you admitted, hoping that he wouldn’t reassign you to a different unit as he tended to do when his subordinates weren’t up to his frankly unrealistic standards.
His sigh was audible through his helmet’s speaker. “Climb on the back.”
“Sir?” you asked, startled. It was going to be one hell of a tight fit on a speeder designed for one.
“Secure the medpack to the bike and get the kriff on,” he growled. “We don’t have all day.”
“Yes, sir,” you said, snapping rigidly to attention.
You squeezed in behind him, trying very hard not to think about the way his hips pressed your thighs open, or the way his strong back felt against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and hung on for dear life. The BARC speeder was unbelievably fast, and the landscape whizzed by in a dizzying blur as Neyo expertly navigated to CT-2639’s last known position. The bike turned abruptly, and you unconsciously tightened your arms harder around his torso. He dropped his hand briefly from the controls and settled it over yours, adjusting your position so you gripped his belt instead of the slick plastoid of his chestplate, then raised it back to the handlebar.
The bike slowed as you approached your destination, sweeping the terrain for any sign of the missing sentry. A flash of white and red plastoid at the bottom of a ravine drew Neyo’s eye.
“There.”
The speeder came to a halt, and you jumped off, grabbing the medpack and running to the downed trooper. He was unconscious, but his vitals were strong enough—for the moment—and Neyo helped you stabilize his spine as you carefully transferred and secured the patient to the stretcher on the side of the BARC.
“Bike isn’t powerful enough to carry three,” Neyo said as he mounted the speeder.
You nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir. I’ll make my way back on foot. He needs more care than I can give him here, and the base medics are equipped for it.”
“Negative. Hold position here. I’ll send someone to extract you.”
“Yes, sir.” You hesitated, and Neyo looked up at you, his helmet blocking his expression—not that you’d ever been particularly good at reading the commander’s cold, hard eyes. “What’s his name?”
Neyo was silent for a beat. “Boey.” His helmet tilted as he surveyed you from head to toe, as if suddenly realizing he was about to ditch you in an active war zone without armor or weapons. He handed you his DC-15 and climbed back onto the speeder. “Try not to get killed.”
Luckily, no battle droids appeared to ruin your day. You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the whine of a speeder approaching your position, but you were surprised to see not one, but two BARCs appear, and one of them was the commander himself. He drew to a halt, and you immediately surrendered the blaster to him. The other trooper looked back and forth between you and Neyo, but stayed silent.
“Boey?” you asked.
“He’ll make it,” Neyo replied, sliding forward to make space for you. “Get on.”
You obeyed, feeling very thankful that it was a short trip to the base as you once again straddled Neyo’s hips and tried to think unsexy thoughts. 
For kriff’s sake, he doesn’t even know my name. He’s kind of a dick. Why am I like this? Maybe when he reassigns me for not having achieved every single karking qualification in the GAR, I’ll end up in the 212th—if I’m going to have an unprofessional and inappropriate crush on a superior officer, Commander Cody seems like a nice, safe choice. Why do I always seem to go for the dicks? Some mysteries may never be solved.
Neyo started up the speeder and took off at top speed, leaving the other BARC trooper behind to secure the position. Unfortunately for your sanity, it seemed that Neyo had decided to inspect the entire perimeter, because there was no sign of the base anywhere, and the ride seemed interminable. As you gradually became accustomed to the speed of the bike, you tore your eyes away from the center of his back and began to look around at the landscape as you hurtled through the air.
It was actually a beautiful planet, when there wasn’t an active battle going on. Neyo drew the bike to a halt at the edge of a cliff with a stunning view out over the lush forest. He pulled off his helmet and set it on the bike, then dismounted, holding out his hand to assist you off the speeder.
When you met his eyes, they were as hard, cold, and unreadable as ever, and you couldn’t help wondering if he’d decided to just dropkick you off the cliff instead of bothering with the hassle of reassignment paperwork. Well, if this view was the last thing you ever saw, you couldn’t deny that it was breathtaking.
“What is this place?” you asked, unable to keep the awe out of your voice.
“Western perimeter. Cliff provides a natural defense.”
You looked down over the cliff and immediately regretted your decision, feeling dizzy and lightheaded at the distance to the bottom. You swayed dangerously, and Neyo grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back from the edge, your back colliding with his armored chest.
“Damn, that’s a… hell of a drop,” you managed to say. 
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, his voice low and close to your ear.
You couldn’t resist asking, “Is this where you dispose of medics who don’t know how to ride speeders?” 
“What?” You felt his head turn as he observed you closely. “Why the kriff would I expect a medic to be BARC speeder certified? Do you know how much training BARC troopers have?”
You cleared your throat, trying not to dwell on how very, very close he was; or the deep, quiet rumble of his voice next to your ear; or the way his hands still rested on your waist. “So… you’re not going to reassign me?”
“I should,” he said quietly.
Your heart plummeted and your stomach twisted. You stared down at the ground in front of you, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment and disappointment.
One of his hands slid forward, flattening over your belly and pulling your body back against him. You felt the rough fabric of his glove move softly across your jaw as he tilted your face toward him with his other hand. His thumb brushed your lips, and then his hand drifted down to rest at the base of your throat, your pulse racing wildly beneath the gentle pressure.
“I shouldn’t—” His lips were so close to yours that you felt his breath ghost over your skin as he spoke. “—with a subordinate…”
You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his mouth. It was all you could see as you whispered, “You’re a marshal commander. Everyone is your subordinate.”
He drew a shallow breath, but made no move to close the tiny distance between you. The moment stretched out unbearably, until at last you could no longer resist the temptation. The tip of your tongue barely grazed the corner of his mouth before he snapped, crashing his lips into yours, clutching your body against his as though, if he only held you tightly enough, he could feel your warmth through the cold, unyielding plastoid of his armor. He kissed you with a passion that left you breathless and reeling, and when at last his lips parted from yours, he nuzzled your face gently as he whispered your name.
“Wait…” you breathed. “You know my name?”
For the first time since you’d met him, Neyo smiled. “I’ve always known.”
---
Want some spicy Neyo content? Check out my fics Everybody Hates Neyo Part 1 and Part 2!
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echoedcrosshairs · 7 months
Text
Unseen Scars ~ p.2
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Summary: Female Jedi survived order 66 hides out in the underground of Ord Mantell. Hiding out in Cid's parlor keeping your head down you see Rex's face and get sent backward in time. (Gif by @dreamswithghosts)
Warning: Order 66 Jedi Trauma, Feeling Haunted, Soft Rex, Angsty and Love
Word count: 2.7
Masterlist part 1
Facing all that you fear will free you from yourself. Your nerves were still on edge tempting you to flee being around the rest of clone force 99 even if their chips weren't activated they were still at risk at going nuclear at any moment. Although the walk back to the parlor soothed your nerves being Echo and him again but going into the parlor into such a cramped space didn't help. Rex positioned you behind him hoping it would help sooth you, his arm went around your waist ready to shove you away if necessary. Nonchalantly Echo had placed himself between Rex and the rest of his brothers, he may have trusted them with every bone in his body since they rescued him but you were still the commander to him. They both wanted to protect you even from a non existed threat. It was comforting that after all this time Rex and Echo just had to look at each other to know what the other was thinking. The 501st may be gone but the bond between them lives on.
"Do you think the Commander will rehabilitate?" Tech said flatly looking at you then back to Rex mind conversation, "Obviously I disagree with the systematic eradication of the Jedi, she does not possess the same mental fitness as we clones have been bred to endure and the order has seem to take a heavy toil on her mental aptitude for returning to the fight."
"The Commander-" Rex started, "Can speak for herself," you cut in.
You swallowed looking at Tech, "A wise man once said Truth enlightens the mind, but won't always bring happiness to your heart. It is a lot to accept and understand but it doesn't heal the fact my own men, men I trusted with my life and fought beside for years, tried to terminate me nor the death of so many allies. That same man also said 'Ignore your own instincts at your own peril," you paused to look at them and up at Wrecker before your eyes shot back down, you couldn't help feel that something was wrong but the force was beckoning your silence, "I am not ready to find myself in that position again."
"Well get them out," Echo said defiantly, "We'll never be a threat to you, ever."
"I'll be in touch," Rex nodded pulling you away from them towards the exit but waited to speak until he put a decent amount of distance between you and Hunter, "The force is telling you something isn't it?"
"They have to get them out, soon. How did you get yours out?"
Jesse... Vaughn... Your mind wandered to the battlefield, having the 501st at your side. The boys always wanted to die in battle but never like that. You wiped the corner of your eyes, "They were good men," you choked out when he was done.
"The best."
The both of you continued down the street in silence, at some point your hand found his. It still hurt to look at him but his presence helped the pain, "Now what?" you whispered.
"You can stay here... or you can help me save my brothers, I have to try."
You looked at him, the conviction as dedication across his face was the same one he had before a battle, "I'll come," you whispered before you had time to think it through, "Don't know how much use I'll be, Tech has a point."
"It doesn't matter, just having a Jedi with us is enough especially you Commander," Rex said squeezing your hand, "We should gather your belongings, the boys are destined to pick me up shortly."
Weaving between side streets it was an easy back track to your tiny place, Rex found a bag and quickly packed your clothes as your hand rested against the slats in the floor concealing your past.  You scooted up lifting the slate with the force letting your free hand dig out the pouch after putting the board back you opened it retrieving the saber. The weight felt foreign in your grasp, the metal cool to the touch. You flicked it up into the air catching it with the other hand, just like riding a speeder. Looking over you saw Rex observing with a small smile before he returned to packing, you tucked the saber away.
"Are you sure about this?" he said slinging the bag over his shoulder but not looking at you trying to hide the grim expression. He would keep giving you a chance to go back to a normal life if you wanted one even if it hurt him, the war took so much from you he didn't want to be the reason you lost any more.
"Facing all that you fear will free you from yourself," you stated with a heavy breath, it wasn't the simple answer you knew Rex wanted but it was the truth, "If you remember Anakin and I were never one for running when things got tough. I think I've hidden in the shadows long enough." That statement was the first sliver of hope you had in a long time. Your eyes found Rex's, fondness had swept over them at the mention of the old days, the simple days. Keeping eye contact you took the short steps across to him tucking your face in his neck holding him. Your body still screamed run but your heart told you not to let go.
His hand found your back rubbing it, "We should get going," he sighed not wanting the tender moment to end, "Let's meet the 105th," he smirked.
"Did you really just switch the numbers?" you said with real genuine laughter.
"No, but I think I'll start calling us that if you make that beautiful sound again," he said putting your arm through the crook of his, "Let's go."
Finding the ship wasn't hard, it was discreet for the most part in the back of the docking station. The only tell tale sign that it was different then any of the standard ships around the port had been a barely noticeable white mark barely indistinguishable in the shape of Ashoka facial mark hidden near the bottom of the haul by the ramp.
Rex squeezed your hand tightly finding the nervous expression on your face, "None of these men will ever be a threat to you," he said giving the ship three solid knocks.
Your heart shook as the anticipation grew, these are Rex's men. Deserters of the Empire, they could be trusted. Right? I trusted my men... Clam grew over your skin as the ramp finally touched the ground. Looking up you found a green trooper looking down at you, one of master Yoda's men? You watched the trooper salute, standing at attention coughing to get the attention of the other trooper hanging near by who repeated his attention.
"Commander, this is Nemec and the brother over there is Fireball, at ease," Rex said giving them a stiff nod.
"Nice to meet you, Sir," Nemec said as you walked on board after Rex.
"She's a little skittish around us clones so give her breathing room."
"Don't blame her," Fireball murmured, "I barely ever want to see our face again," he heard Nemec cough finding the glare he was giving him, "Just saying, I can barely stand to look at it after what our brothers did."
"His chip's defective, deteriorated but unlike Tup's it didn't execute the order early. It's out now. He took the loss of his General hard and found me soon after," Rex whispered.
"Let's get out of here, I'm going to show the Commander around," Rex said gesturing away from them, "Refresher, their room, my room, mess... sorta," he shrugged, "storage closet, I could turn that into your private room if you want one," he shrugged again nervously rubbing his neck at the unspoken question hanging in the area.
"I think I should share yours Captain, I'll want my own bed of course."
Rex's heart skipped a beat, "I can arrange that," he tried to keep his stern dignified expression but felt like a cadet, of course their had been nights together but never like this coexisting in the same place, "Sorry," he coughed finding the responsive blush across your face. "Anyway, you can take my bed for now. I'll go grab a spare mat from the storage room," he said setting the pack down on his bed excusing himself so you to get settled in. It's not like before di'kut, the reminder settled in his bones wondering if all of the closeness had been to much. He tried to steal himself to that possibility. Taking a seat outside the room, he forced himself to clear his mind until Nemec walked over.
"You sure about this, Captain," he said jetting his chin towards the door, "We need a Jedi on our side but are we sure being in these cramped quarters is good for her?"
Rex understood his brothers concern, he looked at the door for a moment before placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "She was always the backbone holding the men together after every major loses and always giving us hope. It's time we do the same for her." His tone was firm, "I trust her, she choose to come with me for a reason. I believe she knows she can work through this."
"Did you ever think she came because she loves you?"
"Trust her judgement, Vod," Rex smiled taking his hand off his shoulder, "Let's head to base." Turning on his heel Rex rummaged through the storage closet grabbing the rolled up mat before heading back to his room. Our room, he thought smiling. When he returned all of your belonging had already taken up the spade signifying your stay with him.
"I haven't seen or slept on one of those in ages," you smiled softly looking at the poor express for a bed as he laid it out, "I'll take the mat if you want the bed-."
"Don't even think about taking the floor Mesh'la," he said bringing his gaze to yours, "We'll head to our base to plan to get The Bad Batch's chips out and you can see everyone else, I know their's a couple other 501st troopers who'd love to see you," he smiled.
"Who?" You asked going wide eyed.
"Hawk and Dogma," his grinned widen, "I definitely didn't expect it either," he cautiously said walking forward letting one hand fall to your hip, "A Jedi and a captain, whatever are they going to think," he jested hearing you laugh melting some of the burdens in his heart, "I've missed you every passing moment, Cyare," his grin faltered for a second before returning, "No matter how long it takes I'll wait for you to be ready again," he said letting go, "the rest of my life if need be. Now I have to try to figure out how to get their chips out."
"Captain?"
"Yes, Mesh'la?"
You took the step back towards him wrapping your arms around his neck, the familiar scent, feel of him and the warm tiny tug through the force, "Thank you for being patient," you pulled away wrapping your arms at your side, "We can use the republic scrap yard, their were rumors of a ship being delivered."
"And you know this how?" Rex smiled crossing his arms.
"I did have a salvaging job to get by."
"I'll let the boys know and we can devise a plan, welcome back Commander."
You followed after him, skin prickling at Nemec and Fireballs presence. They each offered a small smile as you took the sit next to the Captain as he started planning. He was quiet for what seemed like forever when he hand stretched out and rested in your thigh as he kept working. You looked down at it, lip quivering as tears threaten to fall again. It's a different time, you placed your hand over his as you chimed it time to time with what little information you had.
"Rex?"
"Yes, Mesh'la?" he said not lifting his eyes from the task at hand.
"I'll love you the rest of my life too," you whispered squeezing his hand, "I think we're getting ready to land again," you said feeling the ship slowing down.
Rex gave a tiny nod standing up interweaving his fingers with yours, guiding you towards the cockpit finding Fireball bringing the ship down. You observed the low tech handmade building and the small cluster of troopers already waiting outside, greens, greys, a red and then the 501st blue. You saw the familiar valiant tattoo across Dogma's face and then the red hawk wing tattoo's on Hawk's temples. Walking off the ship Rex placed himself between you and the rest of them, each set of eyes noticing the hands bound together. You felt like you were going to be sick being around this many troopers, it apparently must have paled you.
"Commander, you're not looking so good," Hawk pointed out.
"Let's get some air Cyare," he said softly, "Hawk, Dogma both of you are coming with me to help a couple of our brother's get their chips out."
"Yes, Sir."
Gently you felt Rex stir you away from the crowd away from prying eyes towards the edge of the small base, guiding you towards a crate to sit on overlooking the forest, "Better?" he asked quietly.
"Do you think Tech's right? What if-."
"A wise woman once told me when I was losing faith in myself; A soldier's most powerful weapon is courage. Courage begins by trusting oneself. You choose to come with me, Commander, you could have stayed on Ord Mantell and lived out a regular civilian life but you didn't."
"You've been waiting since Tibrin to toss that back at me, haven't you?" you said with a smile sad laugh, your gaze travelled to the sky remembering other sayings you were taught; Who we are never changes, who we think we are does. One must let go of the past to hold on to the future. To seek something is to believe in its possibility. I was- I am Jedi, a Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic and partner of one of the most highly decorated Captain's. I do not run when the battle get's rough, I stand beside my men and face evil head first. I am survivor of Order 66, I lived to fight another day. You exhaled a breath you were apparently holding. Turning your head, you took his appearance forcing your mind to calm down and body to still. The familiar earthly tone of his eyes; the arrays of brown to shimmering golds, the short blonde hair, the expressive eyes just for you and a smile that puts very sun to shame. While your body tried to fight but your mind had already come to terms with reality, it might take for your body to catch up but it would be worth it. Rex would be worth it. You watched his hand come up and caress your cheek, your breath hitched as you leaned into it bringing your hand to his.
"Possibly," he smiled finally answering the question, "Ready to go back?"
"Yeah, I want to see the boys," you smiled.
Rex pulled you closer to him, "Let's go see the boys," he affirmed keeping his hand around your waist stirring you around troopers until he found the two other blues in the back rolling up their sleeping packs.
"Sir," Dogma saluted before staring down at Rex's arm, "Regulations-"
"No longer exist," Hawk pointed out, "Called it," he chuckled.
"Nice to see you too, Dogma."
"Sorry, still getting use to it," he added nervously.
"Me too," you mumbled.
"I am happy for the two of you," Dogma quickly added, "When are we leaving?"
"In a couple hours," Rex said feeling your body slowly continue to tense. His mouth fell agape when you reached out hugging the two of them, "I've missed you, boys," you whispered before pulling back. Rex's hand found your waist again feeling the muscles constrict themselves into knots. He stirred both of you back to the ship to your's room, "That was bold," he murmured eyeing you cautiously as you climbed onto the bed.
"With great risk comes great rewards," you offered, gently tugging his hand towards the bed smiling as redness flushed across his face. Sheepishly he removed his poncho and armor discarding it to a regulation neat pile on the floor, “How about until we leave I try to get use to being next to you again?”
“There is no other place I rather be then next to you, Commander,” Rex smiled climbing into the bed, “Just tell me when it becomes to much, I don’t mind taking my time with the scars I can’t see.”
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freesia-writes · 10 months
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OMG congratulations on hitting 500!!!!
i love these prompts and its so hard to choose lol.
definitely Kix and i'm thinking i like #16.
"I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not looking. You don't think I've noticed…"
thank you darling, and here's to 100 more! 💜🧡
Thank youuuu! I appreciated your suggestions on this one! :D Hope it's a fun read. <3
Kix x GN!Jedi!Reader Word Count: 3k Content Warnings: PG-13 battle stuff, medical treatment, and kissin. Dividers courtesy of @djarrex
GORGEOUS KIX FACE by @rosemarynightmares-art (though this story takes place when he still had his short buzz cut, I had to share it cause his eyes and lips are just... *MWAH*)
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Your lightsaber was a blur in front of you, deflecting blaster bolts and sending them flying back toward the rows of droids. The sound was deafening, lights flashing everywhere, shuddering blasts rocking the ground, but you were honed into the Force, silencing all but your own path through it all. The Separatists were retreating, scattering and falling back to the canyon beyond, and you and the 501st were pressing forward. 
A pained yell to your left caught your attention, as you heard and felt the trooper get shot in the thigh. He collapsed, still trying to level his DC-17 at the droids ahead, and you leapt in front of him, providing cover as the rest of the squad continued to force the retreat. As the air slowly cleared, the battle dying down for the time being, you turned to place your hand on the fallen trooper, heart aching at the pain you felt radiating from him. You channeled all the energy you could into a peaceful, soothing presence that you directed toward him, feeling his breathing slow just a little bit. It wasn’t much, but it was all you could do. 
You saw Clone Medic Kix running from body to body, working at the speed of light. You marveled at his nimble fingers and singular focus, triaging the injured clones, treating some on the spot, and organizing the transports back to a medical bay. You heard Captain Rex giving orders for the squad to reorganize and report to the staging area, and you gingerly lifted the injured trooper to your shoulder, draping his arm across to support his one-legged hobble back toward safety. 
You’d been with the 501st for a number of months; shifting needs of the war had stolen you from your previous post. But you’d been grateful for the camaraderie and truly unique brotherhood that existed within the boys in blue. You’d grown incredibly fond of them, feeling each one’s unique presence in the Force and enjoying the way they all meshed together while being so incredibly different individually. One in particular was nestled close to your heart… 
Lowering the injured trooper onto a gurney, you met Kix’s eyes as he arrived to scan the clone, making notes on his datapad and instructing the transport. 
“Thanks for your help,” he said, too focused to smile but emanating gratitude and affection nonetheless. You could feel his spirit -- kind and fearless, determined and intentional -- and your heart fluttered, sending some alarm bells ringing through your head. 
“No problem,” you answered, jerking your eyes away at the sensations that his soulful gaze was causing within you. You gave him a formal nod, then left to attend to your own matters. 
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“Come on,” Jesse poked, both literally and figuratively as he jabbed his elbow into your side. “We hardly ever get to come to Alderaan’s surface. It’s not only fun, but easy on the eyes too, and you’re way too uptight.” 
“I appreciate the beauty, but the Quint sector isn’t really my scene, Jesse,” you deflected, feeling Kix’s eyes on you from across the transport, along with a prickling sense of anticipation from him. You were all strapped in, shooting toward the planet’s surface as you watched the star cruiser fade into the distance behind you. There had been a special exception made (most likely due to the Organas' extreme kindness and generosity) for the clone squads to enjoy a couple days of rest and relaxation while their cruiser picked up some supplies and waited for the next destination. The gently curving buildings flying past the window were clean and light, sparkling in the sun, and it felt as though the war didn’t even exist here. 
“Have you ever been?” Jesse prodded, leaning forward with a knowingly arched eyebrow. You knew he had you there, and pressed your lips together firmly, sending him a look. “Ha! I knew it. Well, it’s just irresponsible to not explore a new place. Maybe it’s extra strong in the Force or something. It’ll make your magic even more powerful. Or supercharge your lightsaber…” 
A wave of mirth rippled throughout the troopers in their seats, and you grinned, unable to be mad at Jesse’s indomitable spirit. You were warmed to the core at the energy among the 501st -- they had accepted you easily upon your arrival, they trusted you fully, and they had warmly welcomed you into not only their battles but their free time. You’d learned some details about heavy artillery from Hardcase, enjoyed a lecture about the discrepancies between certain manuals from Echo, and had even been taught by Fives how to never leave the bar alone at night. Not that you’d asked for any of these, but you couldn’t resist the earnest delight of each clone as they shared their various interests and insights. 
You’d worked alongside Kix only briefly, feeling deeply unsettled by the inexplicably different vibe you got from being in the same room as him. He’d started off with a few cheesy pick-up lines, which immediately fell flat, and then stuck to strictly business. There was something about his soul that called out to you, though, and you tried to walk the thin line between enjoying his company, working shoulder to shoulder, and keeping things professional. You were grateful he wasn’t Force-sensitive, able to pick up on your feelings and thoughts, and were constantly torn between removing yourself from his presence altogether or refusing to miss out on an opportunity for connection. 
You shook your head, bringing yourself back to the present, where the clones had moved on to other topics of conversation. Apparently, it was decided that you’d be joining them to the Quint district on Alderaan, which was nothing like 79s but was as close as you could get in this sector. 
Hours later, after some time to clean up, you met the clones at the address they’d sent you, surprised to see them in their civvies. You couldn’t help but rake your eyes over Kix, who was engrossed in conversation with Echo and looked more diminutive without his armor, more inviting somehow. You pushed the thought from your mind, waving to the group and taking a seat next to Dogma, who sat silently at the end of a large table. 
“Ha! I knew the Jedi would come!” Jesse announced triumphantly, smacking Fives on the chest. “You owe me!”
“Well you basically bullied your way into that one,” Fives grumbled, elbowing Jesse right back. “You clean up nice,” he commented, giving you his infamous eyebrow waggle, which broke a bit of the tension you were feeling at not knowing quite what to do with yourself. You grinned, giving a playful shrug, and allowed yourself to soak up a bit of the joviality of the room. It was so different from 79s, even though the general purpose was the same, but it was absolutely beautiful. All of the furniture and walls were gently curved and boasted cool, tranquil colors of white, gray, blue, and green. The volume wasn’t too loud, but the place was filled with comfortable tables and chairs at different levels, each organized into little conversation areas that were cozy and welcoming. 
“I’m going to grab a snack. Anyone want anything?” you offered, met with a cacophony of eager responses. You made your way to the counter to place an order, barely opening the menu before feeling a warmth beside you. 
“Figured you’d need a hand carrying it all back,” Kix explained, a small smile curving his sharp features. You felt a rush in your chest, smiling and nodding in return. The feelings were growing, and you’d managed to keep them strictly under wraps, but every interaction with him was fanning the flame. It felt precarious… and enticing. You made a mental note to spend more time in meditation, to release any attachments and stay true to your singular commitment to the Jedi code. 
Once the order was placed, there was nothing to do but wait, and you found yourself lost in conversation with Kix within minutes. You had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and he was more than happy to share some of the most baffling, unique, and tragically disgusting cases he’d come across in his medical career so far. You laughed and questioned, fascinated by his adventures so far, and found yourself thoroughly elated as he finished a story that you were fairly certain was heavily embellished. 
The discussion took a turn after a little while, moving to more serious and heavy things. How he managed to keep cynicism and disillusionment at bay, you didn’t know, as he recounted brother after brother who had been lost in the war efforts. Your heart ached for him, feeling the complex emotions washing over him in wave after wave. He fell silent for a moment, running a hand over his intricately shaved and tattooed head, and you found yourself wanting to do the same. Tenderly, intimately… 
A sharp inhale brought you back to your senses, and you turned promptly to return to the table, “Just come get me when the food is ready?” you called over your shoulder, desperately needing to flee his presence. You plopped into your seat next to Dogma, who cast an inquisitive glance your way.
“Empty-handed?” he asked, expression softening the intimidatingly sharp tattoo across his face. 
“Kix is waiting for the food,” you explained dismissively. “So… I have yet to hear your tattoo story…” Anything to take your mind off of the slightly confused medic, still standing by the counter, watching you with a furrowed brow. 
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This battle was not going well. Plasma cannons echoed all around as blast after blast rained down where you and the 501st were hunkered in some of the flimsiest cover you’d ever seen. Rex and Jesse were quickly discussing an alternate plan, as shot after shot whistled through the trees around you. You made a few suggestions, revised the final strategy, then Rex announced it to the squad. On his signal, you charged in two groups, left and right, sprinting for the identified landmarks that might allow you to curb the frontal assault that was far more than intelligence had suggested it would be. 
Suddenly, a huge cannon explosion landed nearby, causing one of the massive trees to crackle and waver. You looked up in horror as it teetered, roots ripping up from the earth, and began to crash through the forest canopy above as it fell… right toward a group of clones who were running toward their designated target. They were almost clear of its path… but one fell, shot in the stomach, and Kix was right beside him in an instant, scrambling to drag him clear. Horror clenched your chest, and without thinking, you ran toward them, using every tattered bit of energy you had to Force-throw them out of the way. As they landed on a nearby bush, the injured clone yelling in pain, you leapt over the tree as it smashed onto the ground where they had just been.
As you jumped down, focused entirely on the clones below, you missed the sizzling blaster bolt that was headed straight for you, tearing through your upper arm. A yelp escaped your lips as you landed, grimacing at both the searing pain and your own lack of awareness that could have prevented it. 
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The steady beeps of the equipment in the room were soothing as you dozed, comfortably bandaged and bacta-d up. You’d made it through the rest of the battle, reaching the drop zone and being lifted back to the ship with the squad. Fortunately, you’d been shot on an external limb, so the outlook wasn’t so dire as it would be from a direct torso hit. As you slowly woke up, feeling rummy and warm, you suddenly became aware of a presence beside you. 
Kix was laying out a few items on a tray, not even looking at what he was doing in favor of watching you regain consciousness. His amber eyes were deep with concern and care, and you were flushed with sheepishness all of a sudden. Why did it have to be him… 
“Sorry to wake you,” he said softly, his smooth voice a caress to your ears. “It’s time to change the bandage and place another injection before the last one wears off.” He was strictly business, but you could feel the internal conflict within him, realizing how much it matched your own. None of it was allowed. It couldn’t end well. There was no possibility… 
“It’s ok,” you answered, trying to sit up as best you could with only one arm. He was beside you quickly, lifting you up, and the faint whiff of his unique scent reached your nose. Sterile, musky, clean, and… manly. You were quickly spiraling down a path that you knew was not a wise one. “I’m just going to… uh… meditate… while you do that…” you muttered, needing an escape from his intoxicating closeness. He smirked, nodding without a word, and slowly began to unwrap the gauze around your bicep. You closed your eyes, reaching for that place within, trying to sink deeply into it and release all the thoughts and feelings that were buzzing around your head. But you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried, your senses were holding you firmly to the present. Kix’s gentle hands. The quiet sound of his breathing. The smell of him as he leaned over to unwrap the last bit.
You suddenly felt a weight on the side of the bed, next to your legs, and opened your eyes in surprise to see that he had taken a seat next to you. So incredibly close. And was leaning forward with a furrowed brow and intense squint as he examined the wound. Your heart flipped in your chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It all felt so intimate, even without any overt affection… 
“I’d warn you that this will hurt, but I know you’re a tough one,” he said playfully as he readied the bacta injection to ensure there was no long-term bone, muscle, or ligament damage. You flinched as he placed it, but he was right -- you’d been through much worse. And the internal torment was completely distracting. As he moved to apply a light layer of gel across the stitched-up shot, he leaned closer and spoke quietly, feather-light fingers tracing over the gnarled flesh. “Tough… and kind… and brave… and intriguing… and beautiful…” he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on your arm as though he’d explode if he looked anywhere else. 
“Kix,” you breathed, studying his intensely focused face, “What are you doing?” His words reverberated within your very soul, shocking you with their unveiled honesty and affection. He fell silent for a moment, placing a patch over the wound and smoothing the adhesive around its edges, then finally lifted his eyes to yours. It sent a jolt of electricity through your body that continued to be amplified as he scooted slightly closer, picking up your hand in both of his. 
“I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not looking. You don't think I've noticed…" he said, voice barely above a whisper. Your mouth fell open slightly, completely stunned. You’d thought you’d kept it under wraps, keeping everything on a formal, friendly, professional level, and had also assumed that you were the only one privy to the thoughts and feelings of others. Clearly you hadn’t been as subtle as you thought. You searched for words but had none, eyes darting back and forth between his, tingles radiating up the arm from the hand he was gently holding. 
“I can’t… I don’t…” you began, and he smiled faintly, looking down at your hand, nodding silently to himself. 
“I know,” he whispered, taking a deep inhale before lifting his head to yours again. “But…” his voice grew stronger as his eyes took on a roguish gleam, “We may all be dead tomorrow, so…”
His sudden levity burst through the tension, and you surrendered to the ecstatic flurry within as he leaned in, careful to avoid your injured arm, reaching one hand up to gently cup the side of your face. He drew closer, confident yet unsure, eyes intently searching yours for a response. He leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, and your ragged breathing seemed disproportionately loud. You could feel yourself opening up to him in a way, releasing the strict control of mind over body, leaning into the warmth and connection that was radiating between the two of you. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting slightly, and you tipped your chin upward to bring your lips together. 
A sharp inhale through his nose signaled his surprise, but within a split second, he was melting into your kiss, hand roving down your neck to cup the back of your head. Your good hand pressed into his back, tilting your head to bury yourself as deeply in his face as you could. He pulled away, keeping his eyes closed for an extra second, smiling serenely, before meeting your gaze again. You lifted your good hand to his face, brushing the backs of your fingers along his pronounced cheekbone before tracing careful fingers along the side of his head. He basked in your touch, eyebrows arching up in the center, simultaneously blissful and pained at the reality of the situation, but that could be dealt with later. 
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you whispered, gently raking your fingernails down the back of his neck, earning a shudder from him that made your heart sing. 
“I know,” he answered, with a smug grin in your direction. “You don’t need the Force when you’re that obvious.” 
“I thought I was being subtle,” you laughed, drowning in bliss as he leaned in again. 
“You thought wrong,” he murmured against your lips, and you lost yourselves in each other once again.
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