#I'M YEARNIN' YA'LL

[chicknstripz]

∘₊✧ [[ Bake me a cake ]] ✧₊∘

Pairing|| GN!Reader X Corr Word Count|| 863 Tags|| Self-Deprecation, Self-esteem & Confidence issues, Disabilities, Fluff & Angst, Domestic Fluff, Slice of life, Suggestive theming, NSFWish. Synopsis|| Corr attempts to make you a cake, but his intrusive thoughts get the better of him 'Don't eat that' prompt for @clonexreaderbingo

The counter is an absolute mess! Flour covers every inch of space, egg is (somehow) splattered on the ceiling, and don’t even get him started on the sink! He despairs every time he looks at the pile of dishes, the shame and guilt eating him from the inside out, but he’s determined to perfect this maker damned recipe! Determined to show he can provide just as well as any other man!

But kriff, are the prosthetics making life difficult! The synth-flesh does not give the same kind of feedback as normal flesh.

He can’t tell if he’s applying the correct amount of pressure to the eggs, the splatter on the ceiling a testament to his struggle. Can’t grip the slick surface of your knives, the cheap synth-flesh not having the correct depth to either the skin or fingerprints to let him grip it properly. The kaminoans only cared that he could hold a gun, he was a soldier not a civilian, so what if he couldn’t cook for himself? He grumbled to himself as he narrowed his eyes, concentrating the whole time as he transferred the pan to the oven.

The consistency of the batter looks right this time, the surface rising in the heat of the oven, and the smell? It’s less eggy and more sweet - his nose flaring as the familiar scent of Uj fills the air. He won’t tell the sergeant that it took him five attempts, can’t even think of the latest failed attempt that still sits behind him on the counter. It’s flat - he knows it - the dense slab making his stomach churn as he starts to clean up his mess. Perhaps if he’s quick he can go to the bakery down the street and beg a worker to tell him what he’s doing wrong?

Alas fortune didn’t favor him.

You walked in the door with a sing-song ‘I’m home’, the sound of which filled him with dread rather than comfort. Not even your smile could appease his worried heart, his eyes watching you close the space between you. In his heart he knows he shouldn’t worry. You’ve never treated him any differently, never seen him as ‘less than’, but as he stands there watching your eyes light up at the sight of the cake? He’d never felt so useless in all his life. All he can think of is some Kaminoan slapping ‘defective’ on his file.

“Smell’s amazing in here, watch’a cooking?”

You speak around your key fob as you relieve yourself of your work satchel, the little quirk making his heart flutter despite his concern.

“Uj cake .... wait ... no! Don’t eat that!”

You’ve broken off a corner before he can stop you, the shameful product slipped between eager lips and chewed on in short order.

“Mmmmmm, that’s so good. The vanilla really adds to it.”

Wait! You liked it? But it was flat and horrible! He looked at the cake, to you, then back to the cake with the distinct feeling that you might be lying to him

“You don’t need to lie to me mesh’la, I’m a grown man - I can handle constructive criticism.”

You give him an odd look, brows furrowed as you lean your hip on the table.

“But I’m not lying. That’s the best cake I’ve had in weeks, like seriously.”

He watches you slip your fingers between your lips, enraptured by the way you clean the sticky coating from your skin. If he thinks hard enough he can remember what that felt like, his jumbled thoughts drifting between aroused and melancholic.

“Really?”

“Yeah really.”

The sensation of your damp fingers touching his face, palms cradling his head as you lean across the table to reassure him, is electrifying. He doesn’t like to use the words ‘touch starved’, hates the implication that he’s missed out on formative experiences, but sometimes? Just sometimes. He feels no better words describe the feelings in his body as he leans into your touch.

“I know you don’t always believe me cyare, but you’re kriffing amazing. The things you do for me? They mean so very much - especially on days like this.”

“Bad shift?”

You shrugged casually, as if what you’d faced was meaningless.

“I wouldn’t say bad, just busy.”

He knows what that’s like, or at least had. It had always been one thing after before he’d started special ops, the number of IEDs outstripping the hours he had to deal with them. Not that special ops was quiet either, but it was a very different beast to front line work and he at least got down time now. He’d had to thank Skirata for that. He’d have never met you if the wiry little chakaar hadn’t hand picked him to be Fi’s replacement.

“Then it’s a good thing there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Corr nods back toward the oven, earning a laugh from you that makes his heart sing with delight.

“There's more? Corr I could kiss you right now!”

“What’s stopping you?”

You continue to laugh as you throw yourself into his arms, the feel of your lips on his the only medicine he needed to cure the ills that plagued him. 

#Corr X Reader #republic commando #star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #drabble #bingo prompt #cfb2023 #I'm SOFT for him #I love one thoughtful bean #fertilising the 'obscure clones' field #it needs some lovin' #This man deserves it! #I'M YEARNIN' YA'LL