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beckbucket · 1 year

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♦ just following orders ♦ (jedi! reader x wrecker)

summary: when wrecker's chip activates on bracca, he lunges for you instead of one of his brothers

warnings/tags: angst, order 66, inhibitor chip activation, choking, crying, pain all around, jedi! reader, no use of y/n, gender neutral reader

author's note: this was heavily inspired by this post by @zoeykalluss ! i haven't written in a very, very long time... but i couldn't find any satisfactory wrecker whump, so i guess i had no choice but to write it myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ un-beta'd, so be kind!

Ever since the painful day that your squad of troopers turned on you, you hadn’t truly felt safe. Constantly looking over your shoulder and constantly moving forward had become the routine- until you met the boys of Clone Force 99.

You barely escaped your ship after Order 66 with your life. After a lifetime of living on Coruscant with the Jedi Order, you found yourself on shady Ord Mantell with no credits and extensive injuries. In exchange for a discreet place to sleep, you’d agreed to research missions for Cid to pursue. Your whole body constantly ached, but it was better than having to fight for scraps in the street. She never asked you to be involved in the action. That is, until Cid suggested one day that you should travel as backup with her “team”. Funnily enough, she never actually mentioned that the team was made up of clone troopers...

When you were first introduced, you nearly bolted from Cid’s bar on the spot. Somehow, the unexpectedly kind words of their largest member somehow convinced you to stay. You honestly never thought you’d ever be able to look another clone in the eyes, let alone work a mission with them. Over time, though, you came to appreciate the many quirks of the team- especially of one batcher in particular.

Though he looked brutish, Wrecker was the most caring soul you’d ever met. He didn’t have the exceptional intellect or enhanced senses of his brothers, but Wrecker had a special gift for reading people. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he had a midichlorian count off the charts! His joy bled over to everyone around him. After your life as a Jedi had crumbled, you finally felt hopeful. Falling in love with him followed easily. You’d agreed to join them permanently, which led to your latest mission.

You and the other batchers tried to get some rest, while Tech piloted the Marauder down to the surface of the junk planet. You could feel Wrecker’s large form behind you in your shared bunk, strong arms curled around you. Something in the air felt off, but it wasn’t worth disturbing anyone’s sleep over. You cracked a bleary eye, and through your blurry morning vision, you could see the other batchers safely sleeping. You nuzzled back against your partner, enjoying the few quiet moments you had before the team had to move out. After all the pain that had happened in your life, Wrecker was the one person you felt truly safe with.

Wrecker’s force signature was bright and warm, a constant anchor in the back of your mind. But since you dropped into Bracca's orbit… something felt strange in your connection. While Tech had done extensive research on the Jedi order, none of the boys really understood what it meant for you to be connected with the Force. You didn’t want to panic the team based on a hunch, so you tried to keep your feelings to yourself. Those days, with all the suffering throughout the galaxy, something always felt wrong in the Force.

Hunter and Rex led your team down the dim hallways of the ship’s wreckage, Omega and Echo following close behind them. Wrecker followed up the rear of the formation due to his larger stature. Ever the gentleman, he always insisted that you stay safely in front of him.

The sounds of your feet hitting the metal flooring was the only noise to be heard on the abandoned starcraft. Rex’s insistence that the chips needed to be removed created a tension that the group couldn’t seem to shake. The knowledge of the inhibitor chips loomed like a dark shadow over the team, just like the dark shadows obscuring the path to the ship’s medbay.

A quiet grunt broke the silence, coming from the large man behind you.

Every head whipped around to look at him, and Wrecker paused, rubbing the side of his head.

“-’ts just a headache”, he awkwardly chuckled. His attempt to break the tension didn’t set anyone at ease. He’d never been much of a liar; it was clearly bothering him more than he was letting on.

The rest of the group continued moving forward, but you paused to look back at your lover’s face. He met your eyes and tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. Looking at his tanned face, you felt a disturbance in the Force.

You started to speak, but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. You wanted to wonder if it had anything to do with the inhibitor chips… but you quickly shoved that thought to the back of your mind.

"There’s no reason why the chips would suddenly engage for no reason", you thought to yourself, shaking your head. Trusting too heavily in Force visions and hunches was foolish. Wrecker’s eyebrow crooked in confusion as you hesitated, but you tried to give him a reassuring look.

Rex’s muffled voice broke your thoughts, calling you both to move forward. The rest of the team had already ventured forward to the next room. As you walked forward to cross the threshold, a cool shiver ran up your back. You tried to shake it off, and continued to rejoin the group.

The faint red emergency lights around the floor provided just enough illumination to make out the layout of the large room. Clinical furniture and medical equipment had been toppled and cast around the room haphazardly. In the center of the room was an older med chamber, dusty but largely undisturbed. Despite the room’s eerie appearance,

Rex stopped and nodded at the group- that dusty equipment could do the job. Hunter spoke up first, his gruff voice addressing the group.

“Which one of you wants to go first?”. A sea of awkward and anxious expressions looked around at each other. After a moment, the smallest batcher stepped forward.

“How do we know that this surgery is safe?”, doubted Omega.

“Just because Rex’s surgery went well doesn’t mean that you all will be okay”, she added, the worry clear in her voice. Her eyes flickered to Rex, but he didn’t provide any reassurance.

Tech started to speak, but a low grunt interrupted him.

All eyes were on Wrecker, who was again holding the side of his head. Unlike earlier, he remained silent, his closed eyes slightly twitching.

You could feel the pain start to roll off him through the Force, as he held a tight grip on his head.

“Wrecker?”, you worried, nerves creeping up into your throat.

You took a step towards him without thinking, reaching for his face, but he didn’t move. Something was very wrong for him to be so quiet.

You cradled the smooth curve of his jaw in your hand, running a thumb across the side of his cheek. He let out a low moan, clenching his jaw but otherwise remaining motionless.

Suddenly, another cold chill ran up your skin. A deep sense of danger surged through the Force. It startled you into drawing your hand back, your heart jumping up into your throat.

Louder, you tried to coax an answer out of the larger clone.

“Wrecker…,” you ask, concern shaking your voice, “What’s wrong?”.

Wrecker’s warm presence in the back of your mind was gone in a split second, replaced with a null, dark void. Sharp panic ran through your veins as another disturbance rippled through the Force. You stepped back, watching how Wrecker’s form became even more still.

His vode around him tensed, watching your reactions with caution. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hunter step in front of Omega to shield her. Your clouded brain didn’t understand- what would he shield her from?

Wrecker’s arms dropped lifelessly to his side as his eyes slid open. You could sense the other troopers starting to move, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Those deep brown eyes that you loved had glazed over, no sign of the laughter they usually carried.

Like a droid powering up, Wrecker straightened to his full height while looking around the room. You were reminded of just how imposing he really is, towering over you and the other clones. His gaze finally fell on you. You both stood at a standstill, a few seconds seeming like an eternity.

Without warning, Wrecker suddenly reached for his blaster. Your breath caught in your throat, fear bubbling up in your chest. Hunter was one step ahead of him, rushing forward to pull the weapon from his hands before he could wield it against you.

His deep voice was gruff when he grunted out against his brother, but his gaze didn’t leave you.

“Jedi are traitors”, Wrecker growled.

He lunged for you, but you were able to jump back just in time. Hunter called out before Wrecker could reach for you again.

“Wrecker, stand down!”. The leader brandished his blaster, stepping forward to provide you some cover.

“This isn’t you,” he protested.

“That’s just the chip talking. You don��t really believe that”. The large clone hesitated at the sound of his brother’s voice. For a moment, you could feel a small flicker of Wrecker’s Force signature in the back of your mind.

You froze, searching for any sign of the man you loved behind those dark eyes. A deep snarl cut that hope short as a warning left his mouth.

“Good soldiers follow orders”.

another chapter soon to follow! please enjoy and share your thoughts :) i will finish posting this work here, then clean up the final product for ao3 :3

#wrecker x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb wrecker #the bad batch #star wars #jedi!reader x wrecker #jedi!reader #my sweet baby boi #time to crush his feelings >:)

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t3mpest98 · 2 months

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The Coruscant Detective Unit

This was really just a silly little idea I had a while ago and I ran with it. Anyways, I thought I’d share with the masses (tho not sure if anyone will see it akskdk) Be warned, it does contain my personal headcannons on the Corrie’s and their commanders

Shoutout to @varpusvaras who has enabled all of this and helped me figure many things out akdjfj

Commander: CC- 4477 “Thire”

Captains: CT- 6687 “Spade” and CT- 6799 “Noir”

The CDU is a secret unit of Coruscant Guard troopers living deep inside Coruscant. At the beginning of the war when the first clones were assigned to Coruscant, this unit did not exist. It was only about half a year into the war that it was even ever considered, only after the Commanders realized that the CSF handing off cases to them wasn’t just a once in a while thing. That combined with the unrest growing under the surface was something that would only continue to get worse, and eventually affect the Senate if the people down below grew restless enough.

With Fox already busy handling everything at once, overseeing everything that happens on Coruscant, he wasn’t able to be personally responsible for this unit. Thorn, practically being SIC while also handling most of the patrol duties, was also unable to take the responsibility. With Stone off world most of the time it wouldn’t make sense to have him handling a unit of troopers he would never get to see. Thire, being stationed over the prisons and the youngest, therefore having been kept from taking too much at once, offered to take care of it. And so it was decided that Thire would be their commanding officer.

Now the question was, where would they get the troopers? This unit wasn’t supposed to exist and any attempt at asking for it got shot down by Palpatine since “they did not have a need for one. They oversaw Senate security and nothing more”. They had to have multiple troopers to form this group so the process was slow, subtly sneaking troopers declared KIA down to the lower levels one at a time.

Thire can't be there at all times, or at all really, to directly lead any missions so he would need someone to help him. Luckily he had just the trooper for it. Or rather, he had the troopers for it. ARC twins Spade and Noir were then elevated to the status of Captain. The rest of the Guard knew about this but none of the GAR could. No one really wanted to deal with what would come out of that conversation.

Most of the unit's source of supplies comes from whatever they can steal, salvage, and buy (the last being rare). Anything they get from the Guard is used sparingly. With the limited resources all of them have to begin with, the last thing Spade and Noir want is to put more stress on their commander by making Thire figure out where they got everything they needed. They don’t complain even when the shinies get lightheaded or when breathing gets a little harder.

But when it comes to technology and some extra help outside of their capabilities they have a good friend made a couple months after this unit was formed. Her name is Kasai Cyra, a human from Corellia who’s really good at hiding and even better at putting together scrap. She lives on some of the deepest levels of Coruscant, why that is no one knows. She took one look at them and for some reason couldn’t ignore the fact they needed help.

These three combined are a chaotic mess that somehow are able to succeed more often than not. Of course every mission comes with its casualties that the twins have to bury down deep to keep themselves afloat. Neither can remember how long it had been since they’ve cried with how much they blocked out their emotions. Cyra isn’t much better but the main things she blocks out is the overwhelming helplessness. The fear that she’ll be found, that she’ll be killed, that she will lose everything if she isn’t careful enough.

The only way any of them do not get any terrible side effects from a vitamin d deficiency is by helping out those who run the circle of the supplements. In exchange they get gummies that are easier for the whole of the unit to eat (also Noir is picky). The masks they have to help them breathe down there aren’t really top notch either though. Basically everyone is barely surviving.

They (try) to keep as much peace down below as they can, whether that be by taking care of a group that needs to go or striking deals and helping out those that really need it. The entire unit knows that if they see a teenager stealing any kind of necessity on the street, no they didn’t. Life is hard enough for everyone down there as it is and they don’t want to make it worse for those less fortunate.

That’s all I’ll share for now (I have soooo much more but that can come out later after I am ready) but I hope you like it!

Taglist: @homemade-clones @kimiheartblade @the-bad-batch-baroness @thestarwarslesbian @the-toskaverse @techs-stitches @matchademi @shahrezaad @commander-sunshine @orange-twilek-guy @king-chaos-world @wackylurker @dukeoftheblackstar @kairakara101 @tazmbc1 @sunkissedclones @galaxyofjedi

#star wars #the clone wars #tempest’s ocs #the cdu #coruscant guard #corrie guard #corrie guard oc #oc: spade #oc: noir #oc: cyra/kasai #my ocs <3

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paperback-rascal · 2 years

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Few weeks ago an anon asked me for some : "(...) wrecker tbb episode 7 angst”

Yes, I draw Omega’s clone trooper doll as Fives almost all the time - it’s a thing many of you noticed but with question mark at the end. Yes, your sight is fine. it’s intentional.

I’ve decided to screw the canon at that slight instance because first of all I hate how the creative team sidelined the trope and also how they watered down the possible emotional weight it could have had if handled properly.

I can easily see Omega painting the doll as Fives and even sewing the mini-Kama for him from cloth scraps lying around Cut and Suu’s homestead (Suu was definitely helping her!). I mean... come on! I’m sure Echo told her about his and Fives shenanigans at least few times! and she instantly connected with her fallen brother!

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STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

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wrencatte · 8 days

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Do you have a fav whump trope for Cal? Or my beloved Jason Todd if you don’t have one for the trauma Jedi

There is sooooo much overlap if I'm being completely honest. I have my preferences yanno? Trying to pick a favorite whump trope for a specific character would just be listing my favorite whump tropes in general (and I have soooooo many). BUT you asked a question so I'll do my best to answer....

Cal: electrocution definitely, there are a bunch of canon instances across both games from the stim introduction in fallen order, the 'trooper weapons, the Bedlam raiders, and those shock grenades that even Bode uses (did somebody say friendly fire???).

Also, falling. First off, falling is so broad. Why did he fall? Slip? Animal attack? Trooper attack? Seizure? Echo? Whump him before the impact. Second off, what did he fall onto? Water? Impact and drowning risk. Tar? Same. A creature's den? Oh boy. Into a room full of Imperials or raiders? Craggy rocks? I read a fic where someone pushed off a scrap ship on Bracca and he got impaled. The options are endless. (Also, what did he climb? One of my wips his forcing him to climb orange hot metal grating >:3c)

And then seizures and echo induced emotional breakdowns and/or catatonia, I have a fic planned where he's in solitary confinement for like a few hours at most but he gets to experience echoes of dozens of people whose confinements lasted much, much, MUCH longer - and they all died in the end. Having to experience first-hand hours, days, weeks of being utterly alone condensed into just a few hours? Echoes are soooo ripe for whump

OH AND ORDER 66 TRAUMA. That's my jam. I like it when time travel stories (I've read them all I'm 99.99% sure because I looovvveeeeee time travel fics) have him understandably freak the fuck out around clones while also struggling with the knowledge about the chips.

Jason: *gestures to all of my posted stories* How can I pick just a couple as my favorite? Can I pick a favorite fic or two and extrapolate from there? Cos let me tell you wiretrapped and dragged along were some of my favorite straight-up whump fics to write, and oh just hangin' out. I also like giving Jason panic attacks, too, I'm now realizing. Fear toxin is also so much fun - Sheila being the starring member of those hallucinations is just so good.

Thank you for the ask!! Have an avcacdo 🥑🥑(have them all! I'm allergic)

#asked and answered #cal kestis #jason todd #i talked more about cal lmao whoops

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themaridenstationchronicles · 7 months

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Inktober Day 2: Spiders. Dagger fears no spider. Granted, he wouldn't want one as a pet, but he's fine with them crawling on his person. Now Scrap on the other hand...

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ailani-reillata · 6 months

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word to the wise

Summary: “Men are fools, oh, men are frail, give them the rope and they'll hang themselves”

Word Count: 2,265

AO3

———

When had she started screaming?

Ailani couldn’t remember a time before the screaming. Her throat was so raw and sore, burning air rubbing against aching skin as she heaved in painful breaths. There was nothing but the screaming and the blood in her mouth.

And everyone’s eyes were on her back.

She didn’t care. They didn’t matter. None of them mattered. None of them cared about her enough to speak the truth, so Ailani found that she didn’t care if she scared them or made their ears bleed. They should be grateful she wasn’t screaming at them and was instead taking out her rage on the furnishings. They should all be thankful that she didn’t have the strength to look at any of them. Especially Wolffe.

The former Republic outpost was long empty, dust over every station and chair, and so no one was left to protest as Ailani smashed another control station, sending glass shards across the room. The sound of its shattering didn’t dull the tearful headache that threatened to overwhelm her, so Ailani screamed another list of profanities as she slammed her foot against the table in the center of the room, forcing it to top over as she tried to drown out the words that threatened to overtake her.

This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The recording resurfaced in her mind, and Ailani reflexively covered her ears with shaking hands as if the memory could be removed by clouded hearing. It couldn’t.

I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place.

She must have fallen to her knees because now she was on the floor. Her legs curled into her chest as she rocked on the floor with trembling fingers scrapping at her ears, peeling the soft skin and digging at her eardrums.

This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain.

Her lips were moving, but Ailani couldn’t be sure if she could speak anymore. She only knew how to scream. It couldn't be real. None of it could be real. She wouldn't let it be real.

Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret... but be strong. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships.

Friendships.

How had Ailani lived? What had she done that deserved life? Aayla was a better swordsmith. Stass Allie was a better healer. Shaak Ti was smarter than Ailani. Depa was a better warrior. And Caleb? Oh, Maker, what about little Caleb?

But we must persevere, and in time, I believe a new hope will emerge.

Hope. What a horrible word that had been. Each syllable slowly dragged out in Ailani’s mind as she remembered the flaming footage of Plo Koon’s ship. She felt herself scream something unintelligible, but the sound was muffled against her knees.

May the Force be with you always.

It did not feel like the Force was with her at all. It felt as if the Force had died the moment Ailani had heard Obi-Wan’s words. But the message was not the worst of it, for Master Kenobi’s words had only played as background noise as Ailani had slowly unraveled the thread.

File after file. Faces she knew. Faces she had taken for granted. Faces she had foolishly ignored. Relationships she would never get to repair.

Deceased after every name.

Footage of every murder. Security cameras, blurry photos, and, worst of all, clone trooper helmet recordings.

Obi-Wan’s message playing over and over.

Ailani had sat with the holotapes on the floor, unable to move, unable to look away, and unable to cry.

Only Wolffe calling her name had woken Ailani up from the daze, but his voice had filled her with an emotion much worse than shock.

And before she could even think, Ailani had pulled her blaster and trained it on the doorway, waiting for him to enter.

Her Wolffe, who had killed his own General. Her Wolffe, who had authorized the murder of his mentor. Her Wolffe who had helped burn her Order down. Her Wolffe who had killed Jedi. Her Wolffe who had never mentioned any of this. And when he entered the room, and when he had seen the message playing behind her, her Wolffe had pulled his blaster, too.

They had stood like that for an unmeasured amount of time, holding the other hostage with mind and weapon. Last night, she had slept beside him, basking in his eternal warmth, and now, Ailani wondered how many times Wolffe had thought about strangling her to death in her sleep. Was that all this was? Was that the real reason he had defected? Had he grown sick of killing Jedi? Or had there simply been no more Jedi to kill? None of it made any sense, but Ailani kept seeing Plo Koon’s ship explode and Wolffe’s authorization code on the death certificate.

She couldn’t help but imagine her name written there instead.

He had tried telling her to calm down, tried saying that there was an explanation, but even his reassuring words set her on edge and made her hands tremble.

And then she was screaming, always screaming, demanding answers to questions she could barely force from her throat. She was crying so loud, so frantically, he could hardly speak in between her words. And before she knew it, the yelling had drawn both Rex and Sabé from their own investigations. The four of them yelling in an abandoned outpost. The Jedi who was Jedi no longer, the handmaiden with no Queen left to serve, and the two soldiers who had lied.

Sabé had taken her side instantly. All it took was a mere glance over the dusty records. The woman was brave but twice as distrustful as Ailani, and despite their rocky relationship, it seemed a former Jedi was now a safer bet than a secret killer, even if that killer was Sabé’s only living best friend.

Rex had done his best, speaking in words that barely registered. Behavioral modification. Inhibitor chips. Tiplar. Tup. Fives. Chancellor Palpatine. The scar on Wolffe’s head, the scar she had traced her fingers over a hundred times, the scar that he had claimed was from a fall—the scar that Rex shared, hidden by bleached hair. They were safe now, Rex claimed. It was all fine now.

Sabé, ever the analytical, took in the words with skepticism but logic, and she had relented. But Sabé didn’t know the Jedi who died. And she hadn’t shared a bed with their killer.

And so Ailani hadn’t lowered her blaster. Though it had fallen from her hands when the sobbing started. And then the screaming started. And then she was kicking over electronics.

Part of her, some distant part of her, knew that she was being unhinged, unreasonable, and uncooperative. But nothing in the world was fair any more, and she had been lied to, and she had missed everyone so much, and she had held onto so much hope, so much hope that someone else was alive out there. And Wolffe had listened to her delusions, and he had known the entire time that no one was left. Nothing made any sense, and everything hurt so deeply that Ailani feared that she would never rise above the waves again.

Maybe none of it had been willing. None of it had been conscious. The blood and the shock and the manipulation. Maybe he hadn’t done it intentionally—if Rex was to be believed. But it had happened. And Wolffe had known. And he had never felt the impulse to share.

She had known him to be a liar, or at least someone who kept secrets closer than tattooed kisses—reserved and distrustful—hidden and cunning. Smarter than her, and stronger, and braver. And much more deadly.

In horrible admission, Ailani knew that all of these things had made her adore him so. She got dizzy off of the bloody kisses he placed on her face after battles. She liked the morbid inside jokes. She needed the wartime stories and the shared horror of their own survival. They were both survivors. Bleeding and broken and lone survivors. Alone together. But she had never felt the need to ask how he survived. She hadn’t cared until this moment. She hadn’t cared about anything but him. Because he was everything she needed, she needed his strength and knowing, and she needed him. She needed his survival like it was her own life, her own breath.

But now, everyone else she had ever known was dead so that he could live. And it all felt very different.

But the need remained.

The screaming had stopped. Ailani looked up and uncurled herself from the cavern she had crafted in her mind. When had she stopped screaming?

The destruction of her despair littered about the room, and suddenly, Ailani felt the strain in her muscles and the cuts on her hands and face from the outburst. Everyone was gone besides Wolffe.

Wolffe.

The man she kept needing.

He sat in the center of the room, leaning against a broken control panel, glass and rubble laid around his legs. His expression was blank, almost like he was empty and turned inside out.

Before she could even register what she was doing, Ailani struggled to her feet, letting her wobbling legs carry her towards him until she fell into place beside him.

Flashes of smoke flooded her vision and glimpses of the tapes, but the smell of blaster oil and dust was stronger and lingering on his shirt. He had betrayed her, and he had stayed. And Ailani knew that was just how the two of them worked. That need between them, that survival they shared, it was stronger than betrayal, even if it didn’t always feel like it.

A mere hour ago, she had seriously wondered if he wanted her dead, and they had stood in a stalemate, blasters in hand. And it had taken so long for her to stop screaming. And she still saw dead mentors and burning corpses in her mind. But she fell into him anyway. And he didn’t stop her.

Wolffe seemed lost in thought, somewhere far beyond this room and somewhere far beyond her. That beyond place was somewhere he visited often, but only when he thought she wasn’t looking. Sometimes, when she pretended to sleep, Ailani caught glimpses of him from underneath her eyelashes, his mind somewhere else as he traced invisible maps into her side.

“There’s a whole room full of things you can break over there,” He said hollowly, tilting his head to their left but refusing to meet her eyes, “If you’re not done.”

“I’m done,” Ailani said, the wind and fight knocked out of her as she rested her head on his shoulder. Her voice was coarse and strained from the screaming, but even if she whispered across the galaxy, Ailani was certain that Wolffe would always hear her.

That was the trouble. He was the only person in the universe that could hear.

“What are we going to do?” Ailani asked after a long moment.

He was the one who had betrayed her, and yet Ailani found her heart yearning to go nowhere else but beside him. For no one else in the galaxy knew her like him, no one else understood her like him.

Rex had the heart and the logic to tell her the truth. But truth was not what Ailani needed.

She needed whatever Wolffe was willing to give.

“I don’t know,” Wolffe said, still refusing to meet her gaze. He stared ahead, lost in the beyond place. His voice sounded just as broken as hers did, and briefly, Ailani wondered if he had been crying, too. Would he even admit to her if he had?

Ailani thought back to the past weeks they had spent together. Five years of knowing him and mere weeks to memorize the sound of his breathing as he slept. How had she lived before the nights beside him? How would she live after?

That thought struck a strange cord in her chest. She had felt that way after their first kiss. Desperate and drowning. Lost without him and the battlefield.

Wasn’t this always going to kill her? Wasn’t that the deal?

Ailani drank in his profile, watching his dim and glossy eyes, tracing the lines of his face in her mind. Every sunspot she had kissed and every dip of skin her fingers had glazed over. His hair was tousled like it always was when he got nervous and repeatedly fiddled with the strands. The dark circles under his eyes, which had been more prominent lately, looked almost like bruises now. He looked like hell, and she probably looked worse.

And Ailani found that she could love no one more than she loved him in that moment.

“Tell me it’s not true.” Ailani whispered hoarsely, “What I saw, tell me it’s not true. And I’ll believe you, and we’ll never speak of it again.”

Her words brought Wolffe back, and he turned his face to her, expression dark and unreadable. His eyes scanned her momentarily, and she watched him return from that beyond place as he spoke, “It’s not true.”

Ailani nodded slowly, digesting the words. Then she swallowed hard, placing the last nail in her own coffin, “Tell me we’re going to be fine.”

“We’re going to be fine.”

#First fic on the new blog moment #ailani réillata #wailani #Writings

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somedaylazysomeday · 3 months

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Aim - Part Three

Crosshair x fem!reader (no use of 'y/n') (pre-O66)

Crosshair meets you at 79s while you're both on leave.

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: Jealousy, depictions of alcohol consumption, misunderstandings, unprotected sex, creampie

Previous | Masterlist

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Clone Force 99 hadn’t been an active part of the GAR for very long, all things considered.

Yes, they liked to brag about their “100% success rate”, but they had only started participating in the war effort after it had been raging for over a year. It had been a little scary to be assigned to the commando squad when they were still green, but they had needed a communications specialist.

Not that they had wanted you there, of course. Hunter could track better than any human in the galaxy, Crosshair didn’t see the value of communication in general, and Wrecker had already been able to program his explosives to detonate at the same time. Tech probably could have functioned as a commspec, but he had his hands full serving as pilot, translator, and occasional medic.

At long last, they had warmed up to you - other than Crosshair, who had been an ass since the moment you met him. But you functioned as a solid member of the team, counted as one of them by anyone who mattered.

All of that was a long way of saying that you were thrilled to participate in the Batch’s leave.

You had likely been the only one looking forward to being on Coruscant. The rest of Clone Force 99 was too used to combat. They didn’t want, like, or trust the idea of being on leave, no matter how long it would be before the opportunity came back around.

Hunter hated Coruscant. His sensitivity to noise and electrical signals made the ecumenopolis a special kind of hell for him.

Wrecker was fine with all of it. He liked the stimulation and having plenty of people to talk with.

Tech had immediately found several shops with scrap parts he wanted to tinker with and libraries with books on how to do certain things with those scrap parts.

When you had asked Crosshair if he was excited, he had simply glowered and continued cleaning his Firepuncher.

Before you landed, you had talked up going to 79s. The Bad Batch had been skeptical, but you had insisted that the clone-friendly club was a great place to drink and dance and have a good time. Yeah, it was subject to GAR curfew, but you also knew that the Coruscant Guard purposefully left it until the end of their patrol so drunken troopers could stumble back to the barracks in peace.

Hunter had begged off because of the noise level, but you were hopeful that the others would show up at least once during their time planetside.

79s was one of your favorite places to spend time on Coruscant. Most of the friends you had left behind spent their free time at some club or another, and it wasn’t a stretch for them to come to 79s instead of going somewhere else. A few of your friends were seeing troopers, so they often ended up at 79s even without you asking for them to be there.

You enjoyed your time assigned to Clone Force 99. Crosshair was difficult to work with - a fact you knew he enjoyed - but you had managed to form friendships with each of the troopers. However, you nearly forgot them in your first two days planetside.

You never seemed to be alone in that time. Friends you hadn’t seen in months appeared to spend time with you, taking you to favorite restaurants or going to see a holofilm. You shopped for new clothes and visited a museum you loved. You drank and ate and laughed and danced, doing your best to forget about the war while you did. Other than your time at 79s and the occasional Coruscant Guard sighting, you were nearly successful.

Your efforts were stymied a little since military fever seemed to have swept through your friend group. At least three of your friends were in serious relationships with clone troopers. Whatever the others knew about those relationships, they wanted something similar, so they went to 79s every night the club was open. And, due to recent efforts to boost morale, 79s was open every night of the week.

“What about you?” your friend Naalna asked, leaning in so you could hear her over the thumping music pounding through the 79’s speaker system. “You aren’t dating anyone right now?”

“I-” A dozen images flashed through your mind: Crosshair snarking at you. You grinding against Crosshair’s thigh armor to get off. Crosshair staring up at you as you rode him. You beaming when you coaxed a reluctant compliment out of him. “No, I’m not.”

Naalna shook her head. “It’s because you’re stuck with a commando squad. Commandos are supposed to be super hot, but there’s only four of them in a squad. Arro is on a Star Destroyer and he’s cleaning up. Maybe you should ask to be reassigned.”

“Maybe,” you echoed weakly.

“Wait, wait,” she rushed out, catching at your arm. You stared at each other for a beat, Naalna’s mouth working noiselessly for a moment before she managed, “Are any of them hot, though?”

You smiled despite yourself. Tipsy Naalna was a force of nature. “Yeah, they’re all hot.”

“Well, yeah, I mean…” she gestured around where you were standing, “Clones, I know. But are they hot?”

“I promise you, they’re hot,” you repeated, laughing openly then. “The sergeant has a tattoo of a skull on half his face and gorgeous long hair. And that’s just one of them.”

“Never mind,” your friend decided. “You can’t transfer. I need you to introduce me to them. Right now. Especially that sergeant you were talking about.”

“Three seconds ago?” you teased. “I would love to introduce you, Naals, but none of them are here right now. They’re not really 79’s kind of people.”

She pouted. “Well, in that case, you should go dance with that guy. He’s been watching you all night.”

You tilted your head quizzically, turning to look where she was pointing. A crosshair tattoo on an angular face flashed with a beam of colorful light and you swallowed reflexively. “Yeah, maybe I will. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Nah, go get him!” Naalna pounded the rest of her drink and a nearby trooper immediately offered to get her another, so you took her at her word.

Of course Crosshair had chosen a place across the dance floor from you. He was always looking for the best vantage point he could find. Still, you made your way over to him easily enough. There was an art to making it through a dancing crowd, and you considered yourself an expert.

“Thought you weren’t interested in 79’s,” you said by way of greeting.

Crosshair lifted a single eyebrow, glancing purposefully around the room. “Knew I wouldn’t see you this week, otherwise. You’ve been spending all of your time here.”

“Not all of my time,” you protested, shaking your head at yourself when you realized that he had purposefully put you on the defensive. “But a lot of it. I’m glad to see you, even if you’re not being fun right now.”

“Fun?” he repeated, disgust dripping from the otherwise pleasant word. “I’ve never been fun.”

“That’s not something most people brag about.” You glanced at the bar behind you. It was still packed, but the emptiest you had seen it all night. “Aren’t you going to offer to buy me a drink?”

Crosshair scoffed. “I’m the guest here. You should be buying me a drink.”

“Fair enough,” you agreed. “What do you want? Actually, never mind. I’ll guess.”

You saw just enough of his darkening expression to make you smile as you sashayed toward the bar.

The bar really wasn't as busy as it had been earlier and you tended to be served faster due to the fact that you stood out from among the gathered clone troopers. You had chosen a Corellian whiskey for Crosshair. He seemed like the type of person who would enjoy it, and you wanted to treat him. Not that he could ever know that, of course. Even something as simple as mid-shelf whiskey would be seen as unacceptable charity.

When you were back with the drinks, Crosshair had managed to find a table. That was a trick in the crowded club, but a single look at his glowering face told you exactly how he had done it.

You set the whiskey down in front of him before you took a seat, smoothing your skirt under you so your bare skin wouldn't touch the sticky chair. By the time you were settled, there was a careful blankness on Crosshair's face.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

With narrowed eyes, you watched him take another sip of his whiskey. “You don't like it, do you?”

“It’s fine,” he bit out.

“You don’t have to like it,” you informed him. “In fact, here. Switch me. I’m in the mood for a whiskey tonight.”

Before Crosshair could object, you had swapped glasses with him. He stared down at yours in concern and horror. “What is this?”

“I think they called it a Felucian Flower.” You shrugged. “It’s pretty good, especially if you’re in the mood for something sweet.”

Crosshair studied the drink like he thought it held a trap of some kind. You were getting ready to tease him in an effort to push him into trying it, but he squared his shoulders and took a cautious sip of his own free will.

You had to bite back a chuckle at the picture he made. Crosshair had managed to scrounge up a set of civvie clothes somewhere, and they leaned heavily toward dark, muted colors. Between the outfit and his perpetual scowl, Crosshair presented a certain picture to the galaxy, and it was decimated by a glass of bright-colored alcohol.

Felucian Flowers were almost always layered drinks in vibrant colors. Sometimes they were garnished with fruit, flowers, or glitter, or had different candies mixed into the drink itself. By those standards, Crosshair’s drink was fairly tame, but it still made you smile.

He caught you grinning at him and immediately lowered the drink so he could glare unencumbered, but you saw the lack of tightness in his expression. He had liked your drink, after all. Of course, you couldn’t say that or he would get upset.

“Well, like it or not, you’ll have to finish that,” you said instead, nodding at the Felucian Flower. “I’m drinking the whiskey and I’m not making another trip up to the bar right now.”

Crosshair muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary, but you chose to ignore him. It helped that your friend Mori appeared toward the dance floor, waving you over.

“I’ll be right back!” you promised, rushing off toward her.

After you had finished saying hello, Mori leaned in. “Who is that trooper you’ve been hanging out with tonight? He’s delicious.”

You glanced back at Crosshair. You agreed that he looked delicious, but you got a great deal of pleasure imagining how he would react if he knew you were discussing him in those terms. “That’s one of the commandos on my squad.”

“And how long have you been hooking up?” she asked casually.

“Mori!” you protested. “What are you talking about?”

“Please.” Mori looked from you to Crosshair and back, then nodded to herself. “We both know I’m right. And if you haven’t slept with him, it’s happening soon. You’ve been staring at each other all night.”

“Mori, you don’t… I’m not going to… Crosshair is an asshole.” You made your declaration at a lull in the music - not loud enough to be heard any further than a group or two away, but enough that a few people nearby started to laugh. You smiled awkwardly. “I’m not hooking up with him. I hope I have more self-respect than that.”

Mori gave you a skeptical look, but a nearby Devaronian male took a step closer with a smile. “In that case… Can you give him my comm frequency? He sounds like my type.”

You took a beat to recover from that redirection. “Uh… sure.”

The male beamed, scrawling digits onto a piece of flimsi. He folded it neatly and handed it to you. “Tell him I’d love to see him. Thank you!”

“Not a problem,” you said through lips that had gone numb.

You said goodbye to Mori and went back to Crosshair, the flimsi still clutched in your fist. Crosshair didn’t greet you when you came back, his eyes flicking from your face to your hand and then to the dance floor. You sat beside him, taking a healthy draw from your whiskey, and looked at the dance floor, too. The Devaronian preened, clearly putting a little extra flair in his dancing in an attempt to entice Crosshair.

You drained your glass.

“Ready to go?”

You arched a brow at Crosshair, who nodded down at your empty glass. “Looks like you’re in a hurry to get out of here.”

“Maybe I’m going to get another one,” you countered, adding in a mutter, “Or five.”

Crosshair frowned at your petulance, but you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the Devaronian. He was gorgeous and tall and his horns gave him an air of dramatic strength. Compared to him, you felt small and boring and petty. Very, very petty.

You tucked the flimsi in your pocket. You would decide what to do with it after you’d had a few more drinks.

“Don't let me keep you.”

Crosshair's tone was enough to push you into a truly reckless mood. You wheeled to face him directly, already glaring. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

His eyes searched yours, flicking back and forth until he found what he was looking for. “Yes. Come on.”

Crosshair stood and started winding his way through the people who immediately stepped in to steal your table. You trotted at Crosshair’s heels, snagging his wrist when the crowd got thick enough to cut you off. When someone collided with your linked arms, almost pulling you apart, Crosshair caught at your hand, threatening them even as you thrilled at the realization that you were holding hands.

Thankfully, he didn’t lead you somewhere romantic. You ended up in a storage closet. Well, presumably it was used for storage. It was empty when you stepped inside, and you glanced around for a confused moment.

“Probably used to store the cleaning droids,” Crosshair muttered, jerking his chin toward the docking station that ran along one wall. “Good enough, princess?”

You shrugged. “Not the best place, but it’s private and clean enough. Works for me, I guess.”

“You don’t have to sound so excited.” Sarcasm dripped from Crosshair’s voice as he closed the door behind you both. There was the faintest echo in the empty room and you worried about what would happen when you started getting loud.

Then Crosshair’s lips brushed the side of your neck and it got harder to care about who might hear what. You leaned backward against him, and his length pressed against your ass. You were fueled by jealousy, irritation, and stark desire. Since those emotions were exactly what seemed to fuel Crosshair every day, you couldn’t be shocked that he was equally ready to go.

Blindly, you reached behind yourself and cupped him. Even through the barrier of his grungy civvie clothes, you could feel him jump at the attention. Crosshair’s hand wrapped around yours, keeping you away from him for a moment before he pressed your palm against his cock.

Crosshair thrust twice into your grip before he pulled himself away and began to strip. You took your cue and got to work undressing. Your club outfit left little to the imagination and didn’t take long to remove, but Crosshair still managed to be faster.

He studied you with a critical eye - almost enough to make you self-conscious - and began to arrange his shed clothing into a oblong shape on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you asked, after observing him for a beat and failing to figure it out yourself.

“Floor would be too cold. Fixed it,” he grunted. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m not laying down here,” you objected. “There’s not enough cloth on the planet to make me put my bare ass on this floor.”

“It’s your turn to be on the bottom,” Crosshair reminded, squinting up at you.

“I didn’t realize we were taking turns,” you snipped. “Why don’t you lay down and I’ll let you be on top the next two times?”

“You don’t let me do anything,” he spat. “If anything, I let you be on top last time. If you have such a problem with the idea of your ass on this floor, get on your hands and knees.”

You crossed your arms, smirking at the way Crosshair’s gaze flicked helplessly down to look at the way it had pushed your breasts together and upward. “On a duracrete floor? That would last a minute, maybe two, then I would have to move. Maybe that’s all the time you need, but I-”

Crosshair stood, planting a hand on your shoulder. His fingers curled around the nape of your neck as his thumb pressed into the base of your throat. He pushed with his palm, walking you slowly backward until your shoulder blades met the chill of the wall.

“You,” he growled, “are such a pain in my shebs. I don’t know why I put up with it.”

“Well, the sex is pretty good,” you reminded with an impish grin, swallowing convulsively when his thumb dug deeper into the base of your throat.

“It is,” he conceded. His hand left your neck, but only so it could skim down the front of your body. At last, both hands seized your hips and shoved them violently backward, pressing the curve of your ass against the wall as well. “Ready for me, princess?”

“Yes,” you said, half in answer to his question and half because Crosshair had finally dipped his hand between your legs. He didn’t do anything mind-melting, to your utter disappointment. Instead, he swirled a tight circle around your entrance as if to check that you had told the truth, then urged your thighs wide enough for him to fit between them.

The lights were too bright, the angle was awkward, and the room smelled faintly of chemicals and engine oil. Somehow, your desperation was enough to overcome all of that, and you pressed impatiently against Crosshair as he tried to line himself up.

“Hold- still,” he bit out, hissing as the head of his cock slipped between your folds without catching on your entrance.

You were trying to stop moving, but the feeling of his length running across your sensitive clit was too strong. Your hips jumped helplessly as he tried again, and you managed to line up with each other the second time.

The head of him pushed inside of you, all that such an abrupt thrust could manage. Crosshair pressed you back against the wall and followed you there, sinking into you until your hips were flush. Your head fell back, thumping gently against the wall behind you as you stared blankly at the too-bright lights.

You and Crosshair hooked up occasionally, but it was never often or regular enough for your body to get used to his. The feeling of him stretching you was delicious, falling perfectly between ‘not enough’ and ‘too much’.

“You good?” Crosshair asked roughly.

It made you pull your gaze down to him and you found Crosshair watching you with dark eyes. You grinned at him in a silent dare. “Yeah, just waiting for you to actually get started.”

The smirk took a moment to form on Crosshair’s face, coming together slowly but with intent. “Oh, princess… You aren’t ready for me.”

You had just parted your lips to make a comment when he ground himself as far inside of you as he could manage. The simple motion put pressure against your clit while stretching your channel around him. It pushed the pleasure in a new direction, twisting it into something intense enough to empty your thoughts entirely.

Crosshair gave a short, mean laugh. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t feel like waiting for you to catch up.”

And that was all the warning you got. You braced the moment you saw the determination on his face and you still felt like you were too late.

The force behind his thrust was strong enough that it rattled your teeth and made you clutch at his shoulders for balance. Even the wall against your back seemed less steady than him, and both seemed steadier than you. You widened your stance, both to accommodate Crosshair and to give yourself a better center of balance.

It still managed to be awkward. Not uncomfortable, and certainly not enough to stop, but the pose was killing your spine and your knees were already irritated. Crosshair was probably feeling the same way with the way he had to half-squat so he was at the right height.

You raised one leg, wrapping your thigh up and over his hip. That adjustment immediately made things better for you. It wasn’t perfect, but your leg was out of his way without you having to fall into a split to give him access to you.

Crosshair’s next thrust was a little smoother, and he made a small noise of surprise when he bottomed out in you. You were busy congratulating yourself on your spatial reasoning when Crosshair tapped your other thigh.

“Jump up.”

You laughed at him, and it wasn’t until his eyebrows lowered that you cut it off abruptly. “You were serious? You can’t hold me up. I would break you in half.”

Crosshair started to look a little pissed off - unflattering, since he was buried in you at that particular moment. “Jump up.”

He repeated the exact same words as before in exactly the same tone, but the second time, they were punctuated with a sharp smack against your ass. You jerked, forcing him a little deeper with it, and you glared.

“Fine,” you grumbled. “It’ll serve you right.”

You didn’t give him much time to brace, thinking that he would deserve it if he did fall. It wasn’t until your foot had left the ground that you remembered that you would fall, too, but it wasn’t as if you could stop.

Crosshair caught the back of your thigh, supporting you with his grip as he adjusted his stance. The slight wobble he gave made your heart pound as you clung to him, but he corrected his balance in a second or two.

The sudden show of strength was surprising and arousing. A soft, “Oh,” escaped you, almost a sigh as you watched the muscles of his abdomen and arms tighten.

Crosshair looked down at you from inches away, a smirk curving his lips. And then he was fucking into you with everything he had.

You were pinned against the wall almost immediately. Crosshair didn’t need the help keeping you positioned, but his hands had drifted to your ass, leaving you to cling to him as best you could. Your leg muscles were strong - even stronger since you had been assigned to a commando team - but you were struggling to stay wrapped around him with the pleasure turning your limbs to jelly.

Crosshair’s fingers sank into the cheeks of your ass, gripping and squeezing to hold you on him. Occasionally, he would move back to your hips so he could hold you a certain way to reach deeper inside of you, but he seemed to enjoy the way your hips were bucking and pumping to match his thrusts.

He was deep in you and stayed deep. There were no sharp stabs with his hips, no violent suddenness to his movements. There really wasn’t room between you for that. This managed to be just as intense. He was spearing into you, his cock never leaving you even when he withdrew. Instead, he pulsed his hips against yours, forcing the muscles of your core to clench and spasm around him.

It was an interesting sensation, all-consuming. Instead of vacillating wildly between emptiness and fullness, there was never a moment when he wasn’t inside of you. The intensity was all that shifted, and you had never felt so… claimed.

Your head sank forward until your forehead bumped his shoulder. You leaned forward just enough to nip at his collarbone, smirking when he hissed. Crosshair smacked your ass again in revenge, grunting, “Brat.”

Despite the intensity of it all, you weren’t sure you were going to come that way. The pleasure had risen quickly to a fever pitch inside of you, but it had plateaued. Still, you were enjoying yourself, and you could tell that Crosshair was getting close. His motions were jerkier, less rhythmic.

It wasn’t neat or elegant. It was fucking, plain and simple - furious and possessive and a little mean, but it was exactly what you had needed.

“Hold on, princess,” he warned. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t for him to let go of you.

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders as your legs gripped tighter around his waist. Crosshair seemed unconcerned with your struggle, gripping your jaw and angling it to one side. He pressed his lips to the taut line of your neck, sucking fiercely. At the same time, he dropped his other hand between you to rub frantically at your clit.

The sound you made was loud and plaintive, a perfect soundtrack to accompany the tightening of your core around Crosshair. “I’m going to-”

He hummed against the tender skin of your neck, and it even managed to sound sarcastic. Instead of answering you, he applied more pressure with his lips and rubbed at you even faster.

Which, you supposed, could be considered an answer.

You choked on air as your body clenched around Crosshair’s still-thrusting cock. Half a wail burst from you, and the only way to cut off the rest was to bite him again.

Crosshair cursed loudly, hips stuttering against you as he spilled heat into your core. He stumbled once, leaning more heavily against you as his knees wobbled. You dropped your legs, trying to catch yourself if he fell, but his hands had gone back to your ass and he kept you pinned there, stuffed full of him while your feet dangled helplessly.

Thankfully, he caught his balance again, lowering you slowly to stand before he withdrew from you. Liquid immediately started trickling down the insides of your thighs. Crosshair didn’t seem to notice, studying the bite mark you had left on his chest.

“Really?” you asked irritably, gesturing between your legs. He hadn’t asked if he could come inside of you. But honestly, you had been too far gone to tell him to pull out even if he had asked.

“I should be the one saying that,” Crosshair snarked back, fingertips coming up to trace the mark. You hadn’t meant to center your teeth around his nipple, but it was perfect. As you snorted, he looked up at you, and it got even funnier.

“Now, you’re doubly Crosshair,” you said between giggles.

His expression was stern for a moment before he cracked a small smile. “This is more of a bullseye than a crosshair.”

“Consider it a nickname, then,” you said, wincing as shifting your weight had pushed more cum from you. “Can you hand me that towel?”

Crosshair picked up the small towel you had gestured to, but crouched in front of you instead of handing it over. He stared between your legs for a moment, then longer, until you started to feel uncomfortable. “Crosshair?”

He glanced up at your face, then back at your pussy. He began cleaning you up with gentle strokes up your thighs until he had gathered the worst of it. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’ll just be a little sticky until I can get to a refresher.” Crosshair nodded slowly, watching you shiver as he stroked the towel over your swollen lips. “Are you good?”

Crosshair’s expression smoothed, turning back into the indifferent mask he wore every day. “Of course. Get dressed. We need to get out of here.”

You both got dressed in silence. To your surprise, it wasn’t tense or cold or dismissive. When had you and Crosshair grown so comfortable in each other’s presence?

It wasn’t until you had worked your way back into the main room of 79s that something broke the peace: Mori.

Your friend approached, a slight unsteadiness to her gait that told you she was working her way through tipsiness and toward being drunk. “Hey! Where have you been?”

“Around,” you answered evasively. “Where have you been?”

“Here, looking for you,” she said, tilting her head suspiciously. “That’s a pretty big hickie for someone who’s been ‘around’. Thought you didn’t like him?”

“She doesn’t.” Crosshair sounded like he couldn’t have cared less about it, either.

“He’s okay,” you hedged, feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

“Then are you going to call that Devaronian guy?” Mori asked.

Crosshair’s expression darkened, glancing at you as if waiting for you to respond.

“I said, are you going to call that Devaronian guy?” Mori repeated, leaning closer. She was obviously speaking to Crosshair by that point. “He seemed really interested in you. Didn’t she give you his frequency?”

“Yeah, she did,” Crosshair confirmed, glancing at you slyly. “I’ll probably comm him later. He was attractive.”

“He was hot,” Mori corrected. “If you decide to pass, give me his frequency. I’ll let him down easy, maybe see if he likes girls, too.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Mori smiled at him, gave you a quick hug, and rushed off toward the dance floor. You watched her leave, trying to prolong the time you had before Crosshair started to gloat…

“So.” It was a single word, but the smugness dripped from it. Your shoulders slumped. This was going to be bad. “He was interested in me all along. And you withheld the frequency he gave you for me.”

“You want it?” you asked, fishing it out of your pocket and holding it out to him.

Crosshair plucked the flimsi from your fingers, eyes gleaming. “Is that why you bit me, princess? Staking your claim? Marking your territory?”

“And you’re so selfless?” you shot back. “How bad is this hickie?”

“Barely noticeable.” He was self-satisfied enough that you wished for a scarf. Clearly, it was terribly obvious.

“We have to go.” You tugged fruitlessly at your low collar. There was no way it could stretch far enough to cover the mark, but it made you feel slightly better to try.

“Why?” Crosshair asked, lifting a single brow. “Worried someone else will try to snap me up?”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe I won’t. Now that I know you’re jealous, I can-”

“We can leave now and I’ll let you be on top for real,” you interrupted, watching his expression heat once more. “Or you keep talking and I’ll let you find someone else to torment. Your choice.”

“I commed for a transport five minutes ago, princess,” Crosshair told you, pointing to the comlink on his wrist. “Let’s go. I hate clubs.”

---

Author's Note - Welcome to the first post of Fanfic February 2024 - The Final Year! There are 28 more fics from various franchises on the way, one for every day of the month. The tag is #fanfic february 2024 if you want to follow along (or block).

Thanks for reading! I, like all authors, thrive on feedback, so feel free to let me know what you thought!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars the bad batch #sw tbb #tbb crosshair #crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair bad batch #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #fem!reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fic #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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twinkyssideblog · 2 years

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The Mariden Station Boys CT Numbers

Sarge: CT-6520

Claptrap: CT-5702

Rocker: CT-5040

Dagger: CT-2346

Scrap: CT-2921

Visor: CT-3437

#because i wanted to share this random knowledge #here you go #the mariden station chronicles #tmsc #star wars #claptrap #rocker #sarge #scrap #dagger #visor #ct numbers #clone ocs #clone trooper ocs

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breakfastteatime · 8 months

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Today's request is 'Nightmare' for @blueflowertea

Someone trips the derelict Venator’s alarms, and Cal’s no longer on a half-scrapped ship on Bracca. He’s on the Brave, running for his life. The clones are coming. They’re coming, faster, faster, and Master Tapal is there, he’s fighting, but he can’t hold them back and –

“Whoa there, where d’you think you’re going?”

Prauf’s voice is so out of place, Cal can’t begin to answer. He’s on the Brave –

He’s on Bracca –

He’s… he’s…

The clones. The clones are coming and Prauf is here, so it’s Prauf who’s going to die, shot to death trying to defend a useless –

“Cal!”

He is bodily shaken, head whipping back and forth. Cal snaps upright, looking at Prauf who stares back with blatant concern. Cal blinks hard, sweat stinging his eyes. He’s not where he just was, he’s not… but he is on a ship… the alarm… the clones…

“We have to go,” Cal says. “We have to get out!”

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s just…” Prauf tuts and looks over his shoulder. “Someone turn that damn siren off!”

Seconds later the siren chokes off. The sound of work resumes, but Cal’s still looking for the exit, body poised to fight, to run, to –

“Hey.”

Prauf’s voice is low and gentle. Cal looks at him, trying not to lose himself in Prauf’s concern. “I’m okay,” he says. He clears his throat to crush the tears, takes a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Those alarms are the worst, huh?” Prauf says with an awkward chuckle.

“Yeah,” Cal says with an equally awkward laugh. “The worst.”

The rest of the twelve-hour shift passes harmlessly enough, although Cal can’t get warm despite not being in the rain for once. When his day ends, he lugs himself off the ship and plods the lengthy journey back to the station. He nods along as Prauf chats, his friend’s words a woolly nonsense of noise. Cal’s eyes dart across the crowd. He won’t be safe until he’s home with the door locked.

At the station, they step aboard the train. It’s a quieter carriage, and the faces Cal sees are all familiar ones from his crew. He drops into a seat, slumping. The panic is finally fading. He’s safe. He just needs to get home. Get some sleep. Settle himself as best he can.

How he wishes he could meditate and not –

“Wanna stop off at the Broken Spanner?” Prauf asks. “It’s Taco Taungsday.”

Normally Cal would go. Tacos are about the only thing that have any taste on Bracca. But he can’t. Not today. It’ll be too busy. He won’t be able to keep watch. “Not today. Next week.”

“Yeah, okay, sure thing.”

Cal slumps. The motion of the train, the familiar hum of chatter and propaganda flickering from the busted screens lulls him. He is so tired. So –

The door at the far end of the carriage opens. The clones storm in, weapons firing, riggers flailing and falling and –

“There he is.” A trooper stops ahead of Cal. He knows that armor, knows that voice, sees the end of the blaster and knows his end is coming. “Thought you could get away, huh?” The barrel of the blaster presses against Cal’s forehead. “Traitor.”

Cal jolts back, head cracking against the train wall. He’s gasping for breath. Everyone’s alive. There are no clones. Dream. Just a –

“Nightmare?” Prauf asks.

Cal sits straighter, sharply awake. He runs a hand over his hair and lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The train pulls into their stop before Prauf can say anything, and Cal’s up, calling a quick goodbye over his shoulder before throwing himself into the crowds heading home. He moves through the district, hood pulled over his head to protect him from the driving rain. He reaches his building, risks the ‘lift to his floor, and slides into his apartment, more grateful than he’s ever been to close the door and lock it. He takes off his poncho and hangs it up to dry, grabs his towel and dries off his hair. He kicks off his boots and leaves them out to dry by the small air vent. He switches out of his sodden work clothes into a dry set. The wet set he drapes over his tiny table.

He knows he should get something to eat, and his stomach growls at the thought of tacos, but he’s so tired, down to the very bones of himself, that all he wants is his bed. He doesn’t have the energy to cook, to –

There’s a knock at the door. “Hey, Cal, it’s me.”

Confused, Cal opens the door and finds Prauf on the other side.

Prauf holds up a takeout bag. “You looked like someone in need of tacos.”

“Prauf, you didn’t have to.” Somehow, Cal smiles instead of breaking down into sobs. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, kid.” He slides in, ducking down to fit. “Grab the plates and let’s eat.” Closing the door, Cal does as he’s told, and for the first time since the alarm went off, he finally feels secure.

#fic requests 2023 #star wars jedi: fallen order #jfo minific #jfo headcanon #cal kestis #prauf #bracca #seriously those venator alarms are NIGHTMARE fuel

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hanasnx · 8 months

Note

187 and 7 for anakin 😈

prompt: #187

prompt list | rules

minors dni 18+

word count: 0.9k | character(s): tcw!anakin skywalker x f!reader

notes: specifically written for the clone wars' characterization of anakin. i chose to go with #187 bcos ive been needing an excuse to make this specific idea happen lmao i hope u like it

warnings: light gambling, no smut, strip game, youre barely clothed in front of clones (implied), you're wearing a bralette mention, commander!reader, no y/n

"General Skywalker,” a trooper beckons, catching up with the striding officer to fall into step with him.

“Lieutenant.” Anakin greets with a nod. The pair pass by compatriots, ignoring the bustle of their surroundings as they share a conversation.

“Some advice, sir?”

Anakin quirks a brow, regarding the lieutenant with a side glance. “You’re asking?”

“The Commander, sir, she cleans us out every time we play scraps, and we’re almost sure she’s—“

“Cheating?” That’s well within your character, so much so it makes him scoff. You’re clever, and not to say his boys aren’t. They have more integrity than you.

The trooper remains uneasy, as if he’s implicated a higher ranking official by tattling to his battalion general. “Yeah… Er, yes, sir.” The only reason he came to Anakin was because of the close nature of his relationship with the Commander.

“It’s loaded dice, Lieutenant.” Anakin replies, certain without the need to check. He’s aware of your past, and how you use it to take advantage of those too trusting. Playing dishonestly in some light gambling isn’t the worst thing you’ve gotten away with. The thought of it pulls the other end of his lips into a smile. A devious plan forming in his head while his clone trooper bangs his fist against his palm in eureka.

“Ah, ha! Perfect, I’ll go tell the boys—“ That tone of triumph within the trooper, paired with his near escape, snaps Anakin’s mind to the present. His hand shoots out, clutching onto his subordinate’s upper arm, effectively arresting him.

“Lieutenant.”

Again, he’s nervous in his answer. “… Yes? Sir?”

Anakin’s close, lowering his voice so as to keep the matter between them. “Why don’t you let me handle this?”

“Oh, no way I’m playing scraps with a Jedi.” you interject as soon as your eyes lay on the smug face of Anakin Skywalker entering the room, cutting through the group of clones. You slump in your chair, crossing your arms.

“Not to worry, Commander,” Anakin draws a chair to sit down. “You have my word I won’t cheat.” he pronounces the word while holding your gaze, and you jerk your head away. Aside from being suspicious he’s remarkably accusatory, you’re worried his disapproval is driving him to expose your operation to humiliate you. It’s annoying how high of a horse he sits on. Anakin glances between the others at this little table, “Mind if I join?”

“—Not at all, General,”

“—‘Course not.”

The troopers reply, however you can smell the tension caused by their superior catching them in the act of partaking in a gambling game. Not just their boss, but a force sensitive as well. His word may be currency within the Order, but here it means jack when real money’s on the line. Luckily, the game only needs two to play.

You roll your eyes in reluctant compliance, and land all four legs of your chair onto the ground with a bang. Anakin remains unperturbed. In fact, he’s unwaveringly staring you down, awaiting your next move. So you oblige him, leaning forward to sweep your red pair of dice off the table into your hand. “Alright, well, you know the rules. Roll a seven, and you get the pot—“

Quick to interrupt you, you frown at the General for his outburst, “Unfortunately, I don’t have any money.”

You slow, and scoff in disbelief at his audacity. “So, why are you wasting my time then?” The foul disposition he created by inviting himself to this table is worsened by how obvious it is he’s keen on tripping you up.

“I thought we’d roll for a strip.” he responds. His body language is cool, and open. Curled forward with a palm on his thigh and his elbow resting on the surface. As if he’s so comfortable with offering that up, as if you’d take it. You roll your jaw while you consider it. When you take too long, his gaze sweeps across the crowding onlookers of clones. “Don’t you wanna give the boys a show?” There’s murmuring amongst the throng, and now you’ll look like a coward for refusing. Besides, there’s no way Anakin would win with a pair of dice like these.

You straighten, the dice noisily shaking in your fist, “Get ready to leave in your underwear, Skywalker.”

On dramatic cue, Anakin tucks his hand in between the layers of his robes, to retrieve a pair of white dice from his breast pocket.

“Actually, Commander, I want to use these. They’re lucky.” A phrase that derailed your confidence as easily as tipping over the first domino. Talking a big game, winning as much as you had before, it’d be obvious you weren’t playing fair as soon as you roll with these. However, you can’t deny it now or else look completely guilty.

Anakin witnesses you visibly shift in expression, adjusting in your seat to call attention away from it as you clear your throat. That cocky energy dissolves before his eyes as you shove your own lucky charms into your pants, and silently ask for his with an outstretched palm. He pours them into your hand.

It isn’t long at all before you sit, cold, in your metal chair. Disrobed and bare, save for your panties and bralette. You tap your arm impatiently, the stressed vein pronounced in the skin of your forehead as you pray on Anakin’s downfall for revenge. He cares not, delighted even, as he collects his winning die from the table one by one.

It’s what you get for taking advantage of his battalion.

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