#swtcw x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arctrooper69 · 3 months

Text

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 1:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Jealousy. Brief mention of blood. Canon violence.

--------------------------------------------------

You couldn't even look at her.

That thought alone made you sick to your stomach. The fact that you couldn't bear to look at a woman simply because she was interested in the same man that you were, made you want to cry.

Am I really that shallow? You thought bitterly as you slammed the hydrospanner into the damaged component of the landing gear you’d been trying to dislodge.

I can’t believe I was so stupid! You jammed the point of the tool violently into a crack, trying to pry it out. Of course he’d go for her. She was prettier than you - funnier too.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.

Hunter is his own man. He likes someone else. Not a big deal.

Except for some reason, judging by the heavy ache in your chest, it was a big deal, no matter how much you tried to fool yourself into thinking that everything was fine.

The landing gear piece was still stuck fast. You set down the hydrospanner and picked up the plasma cutter.

This better kriffing work or I’ll have Tech up my ass for a month about it. Not to mention having to tell Hunter that I broke the ship. Again.

You ran your fingers over the healing scar on your cheek and looked at the carbon scoring around the piece that stuck fast, fused in place by laser fire.

A smile made its way across your face as you remembered how it all happened. You were providing cover fire so they'd have time to escape - more exposed than you'd like to be, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle - until a stray shot hit the ship at just the right angle.

Hunter had tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the blast with his own body.

Despite the chaos around you, being in his arms felt safe.

“Don’t ever do that again!” It was meant to be an order but it felt different than any of the others he’d given over the past year. The way he’d taken your face into his hands, carefully examining the small, insignificant wound on your cheek. His face was unreadable but as you’d looked closer, his eyes were a whirlwind of relief that you hadn’t been hurt worse. There was something else there too - something that fed the hope hidden away in your core that your feelings toward him were reciprocated. He’d kept his hand on your arm as you stood up. They were strong, steady hands that kept you warm and stayed on your arm seconds longer than the moment demanded.

But then you’d found him in a closet with Phee’s sister only hours later at Cid’s parlour.

I’m so stupid. How could I have read him so wrong? What made me think I’d ever have a chance with a man like Hunter? You shook your head, angry at yourself for letting your guard down. For the first time since the beginning of the Clone Wars, you’d felt alive in a way that didn’t involve throwing yourself into violently dangerous situations. You felt at home with this band of misfit clones. You had finally allowed yourself to feel and acknowledge the emotions that came with it. Now you remembered why you hadn’t done that before. It was stupid and you would make sure that it wouldn’t happen again.

Finishing with the plasma cutter, you brought a wrench down hard with a loud clang. The piece barely moved an inch and you threw the tool down with a frustrated groan.

“You okay over there?” Phee poked her head around the corner, eyebrow raised.

“I’m good!” You grinned, hoping the faux smile would keep her from asking anymore questions. “Just trying to get this stubborn kriffing piece out so Tech can replace it when he gets back.”

Phee chuckled as you glared at the offending part. She walked over to the side of the ship, looking up and down at the stripped landing gear.

“Damn… what’d you guys get into this time?”

It was your turn to chuckle, grateful for the distraction from your spiraling negativity.

“That is a very complicated story,” Tech answered for you as he rounded the corner, “However, I do not currently have the time to tell it. We have another mission from Cid and should be leaving as soon as we’ve made our repairs.”

Good, you thought. Another mission might be just what you needed to get out of your head and back into the groove of things. Back to normal.

Tech stopped next to Phee in front of the landing gear, surveying the mess of tools and ship components. He frowned. “Although, it seems as though that may take a bit longer than I originally thought.”

He grabbed the hydrospanner from the ground by your feet and began prying at the piece you’d been working on. “I will fix this. You pick up the tools and get that carbon scoring off of those panels.”

Phee grinned as she began helping you scrape. “I love it when you get all bossy like that, Brown-Eyes.”

Tech’s cheeks darkened, the only indicator that he’d heard her at all.

You smirked. Tech and Phee were so different from each other. Her carefree sense of adventure and aptitude for playing fast and loose with the rules seemed opposite to Tech’s academic personality and rigid structure. But despite their differences, they seemed to bond over an innate sense of curiosity and wonder. They belonged together.

Like Hunter and I should be, you thought bitterly.

The silence that fell on the group as you worked was deafening. Every so often you caught Phee pausing to watch as Tech worked his magic with the repairs.

Tech remained oblivious, but found himself sending subtle glances towards her as she worked. Every glance felt like daggers through your chest. A reminder of what could have been yours.

“How’s it looking, Tech?” Hunter walked around the corner, setting a crate of explosives down for Wrecker to load onto the ship.

The knife you’d been using to scrape the panel suddenly felt heavy and clumsy in your hand. It slipped through your fingers as you frantically tried to catch it but failed as it hit the ground with a dull thud.

You gasped as a thin line of blood blossomed across your pointer finger and the palm of your hand.

“Kriff!” you grumbled under your breath. Hunter stepped forward quickly only to be intercepted by Phee who grabbed your injured hand, inspecting it.

“Eh, you’re fine,” she pulled a bacta patch from her pocket, quickly wrapping the injury as though she’d done it more than her fair share of times. “Be more careful with that next time,” she chided. You looked up expecting to see Hunter but he was gone.

--------------------------------------------------

@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades010 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rogue @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @sev-on-kamino @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @temmiegailg @skellymom @freesia-writes @trixie2023

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

448 notes · View notes

fvck-the-patriarchy · 9 months

Text

*on Tatooine*

Y/n: I am so hot.

Hunter: Yes you─ I mean, yeah, it's hot in here.

Echo: *snorts*

#incorrect clone wars quotes #incorrect star wars quotes #clone wars incorrect quotes #star wars incorrect quotes #clone wars #star wars #swtcw #the bad batch #the bad batch incorrect quotes #clone force 99 #hunter tbb #hunter tbb x reader #tbb hunter x reader #echo tbb #clone trooper echo #the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader

817 notes · View notes

erosmutt · 17 days

Text

☆ thinkin' bout . . .

. . . just arguing with husband!anakin.

𖦹 cheating, make up/hate sex, anal, doggy, asshole anakin, anakin refers to reader as 'bitch' once, specifically season 7 clone wars anakin (i won't be taking questions)

𖦹 accompanied by All I Need ⋆ Lloyd

"here we go," anakin mutters. you two had been at each other's throats for who knows how long, yelling like you'd lost your damn minds.

you glare at him from across the room, arms crossed over your chest. "yeah here we go anakin," you begin pacing again. "you aren't even listening to a goddamned word i'm saying, anyway!"

anakin, also with his arms crossed, shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes narrowed. "you're acting out for no reason and you know it. you always want something to fucking complain about. always mouthing off. i could barely get in the house before you were bitching at me." well, that was true. you were waiting, itching to see him come through that door so you could lay into him.

about what? his infidelity. you knew while he was 'at war', he was fucking girls left and right. the smell of perfume you most definitely didn't own would cling to the fabric of his robes when he got home, and his bitchass didn't even try and hide it. he had no reason to, because he knew even if you did stand up for yourself and stop taking his shit, you'd come crawling back. because no one could fuck you like he can.

"am i wrong, anakin?! am i wrong for wanting to confront my husband about his little wartime adventures?" you yell, making him roll his eyes. "you're delusional, you know that? delusional!" when he says that, you immediately get in his face. "delusional, anakin? so i'm just imagining the stench of another woman's tacky perfume on you?" he chuckles and shrugs. he puts his hands on his hips. "might be. you're always cooped up in the house, probably starting to hear things."

"oh fuck you," you turn away. "those girls can have you. see if they put up with your shit like i do." he just smirks as he watches you, head tilted as his gaze fixes onto your hips and ass. "they don't," he begins in a murmur. "i don't stay long enough to give them a chance to."

he was so fucking cocky it made you want to bash your head into a wall. or his.

"is that your poor attempt at reassuring me?" you scoff. "spare me. just go away." anakin walks up to you and puts a hand on your shoulder. "come on baby, don't be like that." he caresses your shoulder, moving his hand down your bicep, to your elbow, pulling your arm back. "i'll stop, i promise." you knew better than to believe him, but he had a way of reeling you back in. no matter what you did, no matter how far away you went, you always ended up back on his dick.

he uses his gloved hand to move your hair out of the way and leans down, his soft lips pressing against the nape of your neck. "anakin, i know you-" he exhales softly. "you don't wanna give me a chance baby?" you feel him smile against your skin. you place your hands flat on the counter in front of you, voice wavering, "anakin,"

"ah-ah," he chuckles, a low vibration that draws a shudder from you that most definitely isn't lost on anakin. "i don't wanna hear anything from you." his hands end up at your hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your pants. "don't you think you've done enough talking?"

getting the hint, you go quiet, but still try to resist. after all, he did just come home after bending over who knows how many girls. with a heavy sigh, he pulls away from you. "so you're really gonna play it like this, huh?" anakin laughs quietly to himself. "you're such a bitch, no wonder i'm the only man who'll put up with your stubborn ass. i do so much for you, and you can't even give me the time of day?" he scoffs. "seems like every goddamned time i come home," he once again hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, and snatches them down. "always giving me a problem," he mutters under his breath.

"maybe if you didn't give me any reason to, i wouldn't have to sleep around." was he really pinning this on you?! "you act like you don't run me away. it's like i have no other choice but to find comfort in another woman." he was removing his glove, discarding it on the counter along with his belt. his mechanical hand was cold as always as he grabbed your asscheek, artificial fingers digging into your flesh.

"anakin," you try again, but he doesn't let you get a word in. "yeah, anakin anakin anakin, you don't know what else to do with yourself besides bitch and whine." he spits down onto his flesh hand, then lubes up his cock. he smacks it onto your lower back, then spreads your ass to see your puckered asshole. "never letting me get a word in."

as his tip prods at your tiny hole, you gasp. "anakin, 's not gonna- aughh..." your words get caught in your throat as he tries to push in, and he can't help but smirk as he's met with resistance. "maybe you're right, but that's nothing a little force can't help. is it?" you swallow down a moan, and shake your head. "no, no, it can't," you let out a strangled moan as anakin pushes his round tip into you. you felt like you were already stretched to the brim, but his tip wasn't anywhere near the thickest part of his cock.

he leans over you and smiles, then presses a soft kiss just below your earlobe. "now let's try that again."

ᝰ.ᐟ @102hannah

195 notes · View notes

momojedi · 9 months

Text

➪ Babysitting

501st x GN! Reader

You are a researcher working with the 501st and it's exhausting. This one isn't that good since I was merely just dabbling about, but if you like it, I'll make a proper story about this :)

"Again?" I sighed.

There they were, the troublemakers of the 501st, properly lined up and eyes bashfully glued to the floor, like a bunch of school boys. Captain Rex cleared his throat tensely. "Yes, sir." I shook my head, strictly staring down each and every one of them before taking the notes on my datapad. "You boys are going to be the death of me."

I hadn't known what I was in for when the Senate requested me to keep tabs on clone behaviour, especially when they sent me off to General Skywalker's troops. I should've known better when they mentioned the infamously unorthodox Jedi Knight but the job seemed to be paying well and I could perhaps even offer a study to speak for better treatment of the GAR! What I ended up with however was anything but what I had expected. The 501st was a... pain in the ass, so to say. Constantly getting into trouble and costing the Republic more than the war had itself. From fighting each other to breaking or damaging things, I started to feel like I was putting up with kindergarteners than adult soldiers.

And that's exactly where I was standing with them right now. A destroyed speeder bike in flames, two non-functional blaster rifles and a broken nose on Hardcase's account that Kix was now desperately trying to tend to. I lowered the datapad after finishing my notes and looked around for anything else. "I'm - we are very sorry, sir," Fives stated respectfully, a hint of sheepishness lacing his voice. "We... we weren't expecting things to go this bad." Hums of agreement resounded among the troopers. Echo backed his brother up. "He's right."

I rose my brows, unconvinced at all. This had to be a joke. "In what world did you think trying to shoot your brother off while he's driving an active speeder bike wouldn't go - and I quote - this bad?" I scolded them like a babysitter would. Rex, who had taken his place behind me in an authoritative manner, crossed his arms and glared at his brothers disapprovingly. Fives, who had taken the stand for his brothers, grinned sheepishly at that. "We were testing out our new blasters...?" It sounded more like a question than a statement. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. A bunch of idiots.

94 notes · View notes

euphoriacafe · 17 days

Text

I made a playlist on Spotify

And I’m actually super proud of it!

#sw fluff #sw the clone wars #sw clone wars #swtcw #sw tcw #clone trooper smut #tbb oc #tbb spoilers #tbb #The bad Batch #clone trooper x reader #star wars x reader #the clones wars #Trooper x reader #star wars scenarios #star wars headcanons #clone trooper headcanons #tbb headcanons #spotify

27 notes · View notes

frostycatblr-fandom-files · 7 months

Text

Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone.

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return.

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief.

"I'm not that pale."

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…"

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay.

That's more than okay.

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter.

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk.

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk.

Wolffe.

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief.

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor.

Maker alive let's just get this over with.

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks.

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?"

"Looked like he was about to."

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive.

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself."

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within?

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches?

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us."

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry."

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye."

The kri-?

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color.

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?"

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.)

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…"

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course.

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly.

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist.

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers?

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder.

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see.

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil.

"Getting painful?"

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage."

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia."

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe."

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you.

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers.

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war.

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done."

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to."

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?"

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either."

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation.

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood.

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor.

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later.

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell."

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?)

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them.

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words.

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line.

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general.

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals.

Terrible blue flower.

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough.

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant."

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!"

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General.

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach.

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control.

I will carry out your judgment.

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers.

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General?

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you?

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?"

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.)

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion."

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?"

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least.

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?"

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here."

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift."

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment.

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have.

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary.

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color."

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?"

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit."

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip.

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage.

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really.

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing.

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal.

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please.

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

68 notes · View notes

thegalaxys-edge · 1 year

Text

fallin' for ya

Crosshair x GN!reader

pre TBB, pre Echo :(

sum: you aren't watching where you're going and crash into a very handsome clone

wc: 1k

-✰-✰-✰-

You were rushing down the hall, quickly unclipping your datapad from your belt and checking the chrono on your vambrace. Three minutes. Three minutes to make it halfway across Tipoca city to the debrief room for some last minute meeting that you really shouldn't have to attend. After all, they were only armory stats, which you could send over in 2 seconds flat, but no. The commander insisted you be there. Just in case.

You were so focused on checking the files you had just uploaded for the meeting that you failed to look up when rounding the corner past the hangar bay, leading you to slam hard into the side of a passerby. The victim of your distraction must have caught their leg on yours, because their weight quickly shifted forward. In a moment of uncharacteristic grace, you managed to swing your arms around to catch their weight, leaning heavily on your left leg, your datapad clattering to the floor.

And then you saw him. He seemed to be a clone, but not like any clone you’d seen before. His hair was a sleek silver, closely cropped, and his gaunt face was marked with a tattoo over his right eye. Your hands wrapped around a rather slender waist as the gravity of your positioning settled in. Whoever this unfortunate clone is, you just dipped him in the middle of the hall; your cheeks started to heat up. At least, you noticed, he had grappled onto you also. One hand gripped at your shoulder, right at the junction of your neck, his thumb grazing your collarbone over your GAR issued uniform, while the other dangled a large rifle just brushing your calf.

But what you really noticed was his eyes. Their chestnut color shone with surprise at the vulnerable tilt he had just been swung into. You vaguely registered his squad standing in your periphery, and, after what felt like minutes but couldn't have been more than a few seconds, pulled him back into an upright position.

Gazing up at him, you also clocked that he was taller than the average clone. He was certainly taller than you, and standing rather close since your hands had yet to leave his waist. Your uniform felt quite tight on your skin.

“You okay?” you questioned, trying to make some sort of recovery from that embarrassing display, while slowly drawing back your arms from around him. Hopefully he didn't catch the breathless tone of your voice. His shock seemed to have subsided some, and the previous gaping look he held morphed into something closer to a sneer. He opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly your vambrace crackled to life.

“Y/L/N!” You cringe at the tone. The commander was not happy.

“On my way, Sir,” You spare a final glance to the man before scooping up your datapad and skirting around him and the rest of his black and red-clad squad, retreating from the scene you no doubt created, not daring to look back.

You made it to the durasteel doors without any more incidents, your eyes staying straight ahead to avoid any further collisions. Scanning your badge, you attempted to sneak into the meeting without much fuss. The commander’s bucket snapped to meet you from across the room, and you could feel his glower through the expressionless helm. Quietly sliding to the back of the room, you tried to keep your focus, but your mind kept slipping back to your altercation, the feeling of your hands circling his waist and the grip of his hand on your shoulder. Through the long meeting, your cheeks never quite lost their warmth.

xxx

Crosshair watched their hastily retreating form until they were out of sight before donning his best grimace and shifting to look at his brothers. All of them had barely contained glee at his misfortune. Hunter was obviously biting his cheek to hold in a laugh and maintain some decorum, but his eyes were gleaming with laughter. Tech had a small smirk, sparking a slight twist of fear in his stomach that that whole ordeal may have been recorded. Who was he kidding, Tech was always recording. He was ruined.

Wrecker, however, did not show restraint, letting out a hearty laugh and clapping Crosshair on the back with a heavy hand. His scowl intensified as he shoved Wrecker’s arm from where it rested and began to stalk back to the barracks. He vaguely registered Hunter, hopefully asking Tech if he was recording, Tech’s short “obviously” sparking further laughter from the bunch he was leaving behind him.

After settling on his buck to begin the process of cleaning his rifle, his mind flickered back to you. The shock on your face, seemingly surprised that you caught him, the way your eyes raked appreciatively across his face, the way your arms settled snugly around him. He adjusted himself on the bunk, unsettled by how quickly you had invaded his thoughts. He added more grease to the rag as your features flashed through his mind. You had looked so pretty above him. That thought had him stopping in his tracks. A light blush settled across his cheekbones and he decided to tuck that mental image away for later, before returning to his work with a new sense of vigor.

After what must have been only a quarter hour, Crosshair heard the swishing sound of the door opening. He had since finished with the barrel and had moved on to inspect his scope when a name flew through the air. He turned his head slightly to see Tech leaning against the doorframe. Tech repeated the name when Cross didn’t respond, elaborating:

“Your hero,” snark dripping from his voice, “A Weapon Systems Repair Officer in the level 3 armory. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't,” he hissed, his mind turning the new knowledge over in his head.

“Checks have been completed and Hunter and Wrecker have left for the Mess.”

And then he was gone, leaving Cross alone with his rifle and his thoughts. Very softly, he tested your name out on his tongue. Maker, he was going to regret this.

Though, now that he was really looking at it, his scope did seem a bit off. Perhaps he needed to get it adjusted. Perhaps he knew a very pretty officer who could help him out.

#crosshair x reader #crosshair x gn!reader #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #reader insert #gn!reader #swtcw #the bad batch #my writing #clone wars

200 notes · View notes

waterlilyspad · 2 years

Text

wolffe appreciation post

based on this drawing I made last year 🥺✨️

yes they evolved up an evolution, just a couple of good boys 🥺❤️✨️

704 notes · View notes

zoeykallus · 9 months

Text

Rex – In Love And War 16 - Give Me Orders

Warnings: Smut/Strongly Suggestive/Dom Rex/Sub Reader/ Kinda Role-play/ Oral Giving/18+ NSFW

____________________

You won't let Rex break his promise. To ensure that, you don't shy away from unfair means.

____________________

AC: Been asked to continue this story asap repeatedly, so finally here it is, the next chapter. Let me throw some dirt at ya 😁

____________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE:

In Love And War

Part 2 -Noises In The Dark

Part 3 - Sinful Dreams

Part 4 - Mesh'la

Part 5 - Old Friends

Part 6 - Unspoken Things

Part 7 - Lies And Other Things About Love

Part 8 - Guilt And Forgiveness

Part 9 – Love At First Sight

Part 10 – Mine At Last

Part 11 - Unpleasant Surprises

Part 12 - Moving On

Part 13 - Hunted

Part 14 - On The Run

Part 15 – Healing And Foolish Ideas

>MASTER LIST<

______________________________

16 - Give Me Orders

When Rex returned from the shower, he had the gall to appear half naked, clad only in the bottom of his Blacks. "You're a monster," you half grumbled into your pillow as you watched him climb into the bunk across from you. Sitting in his bunk, he looked at you in confusion. "What?" "I'm not allowed to get into bed with you, but you're walking around here half naked". Rex laughs softly and says, "Oh come on, you can't be that horny" "That has nothing to do with horny. Okay, I may be touch-starved, but I think you're hot too." You heard Gregor from one of the other bunks with his unmistakable giggle, Gregor and Wolffe were in the same room, you had forgotten all about that. "And you should be happy as hell about it, Rex" Wolffe grumbled. "Shut up and above all, stay out of it," Rex growled. Gregor got up from his bunk and said to Wolffe, "Come on, let's go to the other compartment and close the intermediate door, give them some privacy." Wolffe sighed in annoyance. "Are you serious?"

"There's no need for that," Rex said stoically "She still needs to recover.... Activities of this kind are not advisable". Wolffe rolled his eyes, "You're exaggerating again, Rex" "But-" Gregor ignored Rex and pulled the tired, grumpy Wolffe along with him. Before closing the door behind them both, he said with his typical chuckle, "Have fun, kids." Rex dropped back into his pillow with a heavy sigh. "Are you coming to bed with me now?" you asked sweetly. "No" Rex grumbled stubbornly, wearily running both hands over his face. You said sourly, "You're a liar, Rex." He still had his hands in front of his face and grumbled, muffled by his hands, "I'm not a liar" "Yes you are, you promised" you insisted.

He put his hands down, sat up and turned in your direction, about to launch into an explanation when he saw you standing between your two bunks, completely naked. "Oh boy..."

For a long moment, he couldn't help but stare at you. "That's not fair," he said softly. "Breaking promises isn't fair either," you said with a cheeky little smile. Rex stood up, his expression stony. He was annoyed that you were so eager to draw him out. "Who's the monster here?" he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You smirked, unimpressed, and said, "Still you." He rolled his eyes, which kept darting to your breasts. After a long moment of silence, he sighed again in annoyance, looked down at himself and growled angrily, "Maker, I'm so damn hard right now. This is your fault!" You nodded and said, "I know." His Blacks were very clearly bulging. "Are you really upset?" you asked him sweetly. "Yes... a little. You just don't listen to me" "I'm the ranking officer, after all". With raised eyebrows, he said perkily, "Not anymore" "So you give the orders now?" you asked with a suggestive smile. You felt yourself slowly getting him where you wanted him, and your pulse began to race. "Yes," he said grumpily.

You licked your lips suggestively, emphasizing before you said, "Then punish me, give me orders". You saw his pupils dilate, his breathing become heavier. He knew exactly what you had just implied, and he was more than tempted. His voice a low growl, little more than a raspy whisper, but it went tingling under your skin as he said, "On your knees" Without thinking about it, pulse racing, you carefully got down on your knees in front of him. His eyes followed your every move. He reached into the waistband of his Blacks and pulled them down, not completely, just until his hard length plopped out from behind them. For the first time, you looked at his cock up close. Beautiful, like the rest of him, big, strong. You kissed his tip and heard him sigh softly, excitedly. As your tongue glides along its length, from base to tip, you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Rex watched you fascinated, his eyes half closed, his mouth slightly open. He saw your lips open, his pulse racing in aroused anticipation. When your mouth finally closed around his tip, tongue pressed to the underside of his cock and sliding down on it slowly, he groaned out, deep from his chest. "Fuck," he murmurs, "Feels good."

You bobbed your head back and forth, your mouth, tongue, lips closed tightly around his thick cock. Your hands claw into his firm buns, eliciting another moan as you suck greedily and eagerly on his hard length. You looked up, seeing the completely overwhelmed expression on his face, the tense muscles as he reached with both hands to his sides, to the top bunks to support himself and keep his balance. He kept quietly, almost breathlessly, uttering little curses. In between, you are sucking extra intense on his cock until his thighs trembled with aroused tension. Rex couldn't stop watching your lips close around his hard length, sliding along it. The feeling of the moist warmth of your mouth was delightful, the sight a real thrill.

Normally Rex was always cautious, gentle, but today he was hungry, you had drawn him out. He glared at you, watching for any reaction, as he let go of one of the bunks and reached for your hair.

Rex seemed desperate for you as he tugged your hair slightly, pulling you to take him deeper into your mouth. A thing he had never done before. You started bobbing your head up and down, a little faster than before, each time you tried to slip him deeper into your mouth, when he hit the back of your throat his hand pressed firmly holding you there, almost like a reflex. He moaned, „You are such a bad girl, aren't you?“

A small whine was muffled by his cock in your mouth, and you heard him moan again, before Rex growled out, “Oh, but you are making things better, aren't you? Taking me so well in your mouth. Are you doing okay, love?”

You nodded as best you could and at your consent, Rex slowly pulled his hips back before thrusting forward. He never fully pulled out before pushing back, into the wet heat of your mouth and when he realized you were taking him pretty well, he sped his pace up.

Rex was usually such a tame, tender guy, it was such a hot change of pace for him to use you like this. Your pussy was wetter than wet.

His hand tangled in your hair, encouraged your head forward to meet his thrusts and you were trying to keep your choking noises to a minimum, as you knew that he would stop right away as soon as he thought you could be struggeling.You wanted him to go on. This was new, a little challenging, but hot.

Rex was quite a mouthful, and you did your best not to scrape him with your teeth as he fucked your face, sinking as deep as possible. As you grew more confident with what you two did, you relaxed your throat, so Rex was able to sink in even deeper. At the feeling he moaned, holding you there, careful yet barely able to contain himself, with shaky thighs, breathing heavily.

„Oh maker...“, he grunted.

Your throat spasming around him caused his hips to jerk and your eyes shot up to his face as you looked at him pleadingly, you needed oxygen. Another moan slipped past his lips at your expression and he was pulling fully back, giving you a look of concern.

„You okay?“

"Keep going," you urged him, "Don't stop, just give me little breaks when you go in so deep, so I can breathe." You could tell he wanted to disagree, but before he could say anything, you promptly took his cock back into your mouth and started sucking. It was messy, saliva dripping down your chin since it was so big, and you could barely swallow around his cock. He pulled back again, though, looked at you and asked, "Are you sure you want me to keep going?" "You're in charge," you reminded him, "Remember?" Rex smiled and said, "I want to cum in your mouth."

You couldn’t help slinking your hand down your body to rub at your pussy, a moan left you as you toyed with your wet folds and Rex cock slipped back into your mouth, his hips stuttered once he realized what you were doing. Your swollen clit, pulsed under your fast rubbing fingers.

“Oh I see, couldn’t even wait for me to finish could you?” he mocked you, „So needy...“

His words faltered as you took him back into your throat again and he forgot what he was about to say when you moaned. Bucking his hips as his head fell back making barely contained noises of pleasure, his semen shot down your throat.

Another muffled moan from you again as you swallowed down his hot cum and looked up at him as you frantically plunged two fingers into your pussy, felt your walls spasming around your fingers as your orgasm made your whole body twitch.

When Rex left your mouth, he was breathing heavily. "Good girl," he said breathlessly. You wiped your mouth, swallowed the rest of his cum, and finally asked, still kneeling and looking up at him, "Can we cuddle now?" Rex pulled his blacks up, then carefully helped you up and said with a smile, "Okay, you win, we cuddle."

@ttzamara

@chxpsi

@andyoufollowyourheart

@the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond

@brynhildrmimi

@nunanuggets

@clone-whore-99

@misogirl828

@tech-deck @rexandechosandwich

@flyingkangaroo

@stardusthuntress

@ladykatakuri

@graciexmarvel

@arctrooper69

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

@punkpirate82

@greaser-wolf

@hated-by-me

@malicemercy

@echos-girlfriend

@jediknightjana

80 notes · View notes

arctrooper69 · 14 days

Text

Mine

Here's my piece for the wonderful @isaidonyourknees for the @cloneficgiftexchange! So sorry it's a day and a half late! 😂😅

Warnings: Suggestive spice (nothing explicit), unwanted advances, jealousy, angst

--------------------------------------------------

"Leave me alone, Crosshair." The order meant to be snappish slipped out instead with a tired sigh.

"No," came the reply.

You sighed again as you felt him shift and sit down a few feet away. No more words were exchanged - the silence felt both peaceful, yet suffocating.

"Why are you up here pouting?" He finally spoke.

You glanced at him sharply. "I'm not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not!"

He huffed dryly. "Sure looks like it to me."

"Hunter benched me!"

Crosshair shifted and sighed, "It's for your own good."

You scoffed, "And how would you know what's good for me?"

"You're exhausted. You're off your game."

"I'm fine. I feel fine."

He sighed again and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. "That constant tapping of your foot and the way you're shaking tells me you're trying to run on stims and caf."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "And how would you know?"

He was silent. "Because I've done the same thing."

"So that makes you think you're better than me?"

"No."

You crossed your arms, turning away from him. “I’m still not pouting.”

“Sure.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just go away.” This time the words did deliver the sharp edge you’d wanted before, but now you weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted.

“Fine, came the equally snappish response. Crosshair stood and headed back down the wooded trail. A sudden disappointment threatened to overtake you and a heat burned in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it back.

“Crosshair wait…” you called out, turning to face him as he paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I…” You stopped. No. Crosshair had better things to do than to deal with emotions that you yourself couldn’t even decipher. “Nevermind.”

For a second he paused, almost as if waiting for you to once again change your mind. He shook his head and turned around once again, disappearing into the woods, leaving you on your own.

Fine. It’s fine. You’d asked for privacy and that’s exactly what he gave you. Yet, it felt lonely nonetheless.

Crosshair was confusing to say the least. One moment it felt like he was trying to make an emotional connection, and the next he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you.

The roar of engines echoed through the trees from the base of the hill as the Marauder soared into the sky and disappeared into the atmosphere.

***

It seemed like forever ago that you'd met the surly sniper on a job. It was forever ago. So much had changed since a heated exchange of angry words led to a moment of heedless passion. One night. A romance ignited by the very intensity that divided you. The same fingers that rested pompously on the trigger of a rifle soon pulled through tangled hair and moved with purpose against your warmth. Tongues once sharp and taunting, now slotted through parted lips with desperate pleas for more.

And then it was over. Back to the cold realities of war. No words were spoken, only awkward avoidances and inverted eyes.

Talk to me, you'd wanted to say. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

Perhaps that's all it was to him. Maybe you'd given him everything he wanted in that moment. Maybe that's all you were to him - a distraction - a soldier's relief from the stress of a never ending war.

You'd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. Then the galaxy changed and as the Republic fell, so did your hopes.

And now after so long, he was back.

***

It was nearing dusk before you finally pushed yourself from the ground and headed back down the path.

Fueled by a growing sense of hunger and the need to be around others, you found yourself walking towards the local cantina.

The music blared from somewhere above, pumping a bass that rattled your bones.

Despite the club-like atmosphere the lighting was dim, illuminating the same bar scene that haunted almost every planet in the galaxy.

The air was thick with the scent of spice and the sound of raucous laughter. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Despite the bustle, it still felt lonely.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

Fingers ran across your back as you spun around to face the unfamiliar voice.

A large nikto smiled drunkenly over at you as he leaned against the bar.

“You look lonely. You here alone?”

His breath reeked of alcohol. “You're real pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to grab your arm.

You jerked away, shooting him a glare. "Back off," you growled, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

The nikto persisted, his grip tightening. "Come on, don't be like that.”

“Dude,” you rolled your eyes, “leave me alone.”

He sighed, seemingly annoyed at your refusal.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this. Let me at least walk you home, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grip.

His jaw stiffened as he stood up straighter.

“You should be more grateful that I'm even giving you the time of day, bitch!”

Now it was your turn to stand. The nikto grabbed your arm again. Your fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike the stupid smirk from his drunken face.

"She's not yours to touch."

A familiar voice growled from behind as the nikto’s hand was wrenched from your arm with a cry of pain.

Crosshair.

What was he doing back already? You turned to face him standing behind you, expression dark and dangerous. His hand rested on the blaster at his hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The nikto's eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, asshole?”

Crosshair glowered, taking a menacing step forward. “I'm the guy who's going to put an extra hole in you if you don't leave immediately.”

The nikto paused, unsure if he was bluffing or not.

Crosshair clicked the safety off, loosening the blaster from its holster.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he said, voice low and threatening.

The nikto had enough. “Geez, okay fine! I'm leaving!”

Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood silently watching as Crosshair stepped forward, his practiced eyes scanning every inch of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You let out a shaky breath, “No,” you murmured, “I'm fine.” A smile flitted across your face as you looked up.

Honey brown eyes stared sharp, pierced with concern and something else.

Jealousy?

“Good.” He replied. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the courage to do so.

But this time something rose within your own chest, warm and encouraging.

“Crosshair?” The words came timidly despite their bold intent.

He looked sharply, “What?”

“What did you mean by that? ‘She's not yours to touch’?” You asked. His hand, still on your arm, gripped a bit tighter, pulling you close. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn't the hardness you'd come to expect from him.

“It means you're mine. You've always been mine.”

--------------------------------------------------

@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @the-rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades6 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rogue @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @sev-on-kamino @sol-the-otter @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @ghostlyembassy @skellymom @freesia-writes @trixie2023 @jedipoodoo @reader6898 @all-mights-babygirl @arcsimper5 @red-robin-yum08 @wintersnnowie @whore-of-many-hot-men @theeyesofasoldier @griffedeloup @starswhores @totallyunidentified @waytooldforthis78

342 notes · View notes

fvck-the-patriarchy · 9 months

Text

Rex: I put a wee note in your bag to tell you that I love you.

Y/n:

Y/n: Rex, this is a ten page letter.

#incorrect clone wars quotes #incorrect star wars quotes #clone wars #clone wars incorrect quotes #star wars incorrect quotes #star wars #swtcw #captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex x y/n #tcw rex #rex x reader

735 notes · View notes

brrmian · 1 year

Text

UNDERSTANDING ──── echo.

summary: in the middle of the night, echo finds you, hurt and exhausted and in need of an apology. with the prompt "you want a bite?" / requests are closed!

pairing: arc trooper echo x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none! just a sprinkling of angst and grief.

a/n: so…. i kinda went crazy with this one….... it's a bit angsty but i hope you like it anyway! to me, this prompt felt like it would be awkward, maybe used as a way of proposing a truce, or a peace offering. also, i listened to “waves” by chloe moriondo while writing this!

You’re not sure what to think of Echo.

Most of the time, he’s quiet. When he does speak, it’s usually to enforce a rule, remind the group of their current plan, or to keep Wrecker in check.

Officially, Hunter is the group leader; ever since Clone Force 99 accepted you into their squad, that much has been clear.

You’re the only non-clone—or “natborn” as the others refer to you—living on the Marauder. It’s been several months since you saved Omega from bounty hunters on your home planet of Pantora, and now, you’re as much a part of the Bad Batch as anyone else.

Except, you’re not a batcher. Not really.

Despite how much you care for your squadmates, it’s easy to feel separated from them at times. Easy to feel different.

Most of the others have picked up on this by now, and often go to great lengths to make you feel like one of them.

Not Echo, though. He seems wary of you, and you’re not sure why. Once, you brought it up to Tech, who simply waved you off with one of his shrewd, knowledge-filled comments. “You are new here, you know. Some people are simply slower to open up than others.”

You, however, know that’s not the case. You’ve seen Echo with his brothers, and with Omega. He can be kind, and funny, and even angry. But to you… to you, he’s nothing but quiet.

For some time, you tried your hardest to be yourself around him—to crack your usual sarcastic jokes at his expense, to be friendly, like you are with the others. But the constant avoidance and clipped answers leave you increasingly confused and hurt.

So you withdrew from him, too.

It still bothers you, sometimes. But you’ve learned to brush it off.

Now, you sit in the cockpit, feet resting against the control panel. A ration bar—one of the good ones—rests in your hand. Every so often, as you watch the blue glow of hyperspace streak past the viewport, you take a bite of the ration bar.

You’re on first watch. Someone has to stay in the cockpit to oversee the ship’s journey back to Ord Mantell—and, since you still can’t fall asleep in hyperspace, you keep volunteering for the job. The cockpit is mostly dark. All the lights are off, and the viewport is dimmed. Anything brighter reminds you of how sleep-deprived you are, and so you’re content to sit in the blue gloom.

Leaning your head against the headrest of the pilot’s chair, you close your eyes. Your entire body feels heavy with exhaustion, but every time you try to drift off, the rumbling of the ship’s hyperdrive jerks you awake.

The sound of footsteps startles you. You open your eyes, leaning around the back of the chair to inspect what little part of the ship’s corridor you can see. You can hear the sounds of someone moving around by the small common area, but you can’t tell who it is.

Tech’s probably experimenting again, you think wryly, and settle back into your comfortable position.

Soon, though, the footsteps grow closer. Someone enters the cockpit with a tired sigh, placing something on one of the chairs nearer to the door. It sort of sounds like Hunter, but with the similarity between everyone’s voices, you can’t be sure.

The footsteps halt suddenly. You look up to find honey-coloured eyes surveying you with apprehension. In the dim light, awash with blue, you register the glint of a cybernetic headpiece.

“Oh,” you say, blinking up at Echo, “hi.”

Echo only grunts.

You frown, looking down at your hands, at your half-eaten ration bar. “It’s late,” you say quietly. “You, um—you should get some rest.”

When Echo answers, you don’t look up. “I slept for a couple hours.”

Slowly, you nod, fiddling with the foil wrapper of the ration bar. The cockpit falls silent; you wait for Echo to leave, but he stays still, his shadow falling over your tired frame.

You want to ask why he’s still here. You want to be rude, to ask him to leave so you can have some peace and quiet. But truthfully, he isn’t saying anything, or causing any disturbances, so instead you hold up your unfinished ration bar. “You want a bite?”

Echo blinks. It seems to take him a moment to process your question. Then, to your faint surprise, he nods. “Thank you,” he says as you hand him the ration bar wordlessly.

It’s a peace offering, of sorts.

He sits in the co-pilot’s chair and takes a hesitant bite, chewing slowly. You see his expression brighten—probably at the realization that this is one of the good ration bars, the kind that Hunter always says not to hog—then return to his usual neutral one.

You watch as he swallows. He hands you back the bar, holding out his hand, but you don’t take it.

“Why… why are you here?” you ask quietly.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Echo drops his arm and breaks eye contact, looking almost—embarrassed. Or maybe even ashamed.

Still, you wait for his answer. Several long, painful seconds pass before he says anything. When he speaks, it’s like he’s forcing out the words.

“I wanted to—” he pauses. His flesh hand fiddles with his metal one. “I wanted to apologize.”

You feel your breath hitch. Staring, you try not to gape. “What?” you say, whispering without meaning to. “I don’t—”

“I’ve been horrible to you,” Echo continues, voice steadier. “I didn’t mean to be so… withdrawn. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I… I hope you can forgive me.”

Instead of acknowledging his apology, you bite the inside of your cheek with uncertainty, then cross your arms over your chest. One of the others must have put him up to this. Probably Omega, or perhaps Hunter. Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “Who sent you?”

“No one!” Echo replies hurriedly, then presses his lips into a thin line. “I mean, Hunter told me that you—he said that—” He sighs. “I didn’t realize it on my own. But I came because I wanted to.”

You blink, cursing yourself when you feel your eyes sting. With a start, you realize that this is the most Echo has said to you since you joined the squad.

Taking in a breath, you wring your hands anxiously. “I just… I just don’t understand why.” You shrug. “You’re not the same with me. Not like how you are with the others.”

Echo swallows. “It’s not—”

“I just want to know what I did wrong.”

At that, Echo falls silent. Guilt permeates the air, enough that you can feel it.

“Hey,” Echo says, kinder than you’ve ever heard him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes, like lava, or maybe liquid gold, bore into you. It almost hurts to look.

“This,” he continues, gesturing to the space between you, “is not your fault.”

Against your will, a lone tear slips down your cheek. “So whose fault is it?” you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the ship’s engine

It’s obvious from the look on Echo’s face that he’s thinking of something—or someone—specific. Despite how much you want to, you don’t ask.

You just wait.

“It’s my brother,” Echo finally murmurs, and you raise your eyebrows, quickly cycling through the rest of your squad. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech… maybe Crosshair? You can’t think what any of them, even the one who’s no longer a member of your group, have to do with you.

“Your... brother,” you repeat dumbly.

“Yes.” Echo nods. “Fives.”

Oh. A fellow soldier, then. Probably from before the war ended… and probably long dead.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you hastily wipe your cheek with your sleeve. “What—what about him?”

“You…” Echo shakes his head, then lets out a humourless chuckle as he turns to look at the viewport, at the swirling blues and whites and greys of hyperspace. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “You remind me of him.”

You blink.

Truthfully, you have no idea what to say to that. Luckily, Echo continues, saving you from having to come up with an answer.

“Your sense of humour, I mean. The sarcasm, the jokes.” He shrugs, and the light from the viewport catches on his cybernetic headpiece, glinting in the otherwise dim cockpit. “And… and the way you know people.”

“‘Know people’?” you echo, confused. “I’m not following.”

“You understand people,” Echo says, and finally looks at you again, eyes impossibly sad. “Somehow, without ever having experienced what others have gone through, you understand their pain—and you feel it with them.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again. “Fives used to do that too.”

And suddenly, as though a switch inside you has been flipped, it all makes sense. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me,” you realize, and Echo winces. “It’s because I remind you of him.”

“See?” The barest hint of a smile graces his lips. “You’re doing it now. And you’re not even trying.”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“I’m sorry for everything,” Echo says. “I am. It just…”

“Hurts,” you finish, and Echo blinks, surprised. You smile softly. “I know you too, you know.” Reaching out, you take his flesh hand, gently prying it open and taking the ration bar. As Echo watches, you split the remaining piece in half and hand one to him. “And for what it’s worth—I forgive you.”

The shadows colouring Echo’s face suddenly seem lighter. He smiles, then—really smiles.

You take a bite of the ration bar and smile back.

click this link to add yourself to my taglist!

taglist: @sarasxe @buckethead-over-heels @frietiemeloen @leotatombs @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hoeneyhoeney @lightning-wolffe @living-that-best-life @readeity @itspauvr @my-own-oracle @xlovingheartsx @seriowan @blueberry-9-pancakes @lucyysthings @mandosboobiez @bloody-valkyrie @obaewankenobis @rollyjogerjones @mikaslobby @neekid @bloody-valkyrie @spacegiirl @dindadjarin @pinkiemme @dont-trust-humanity @danger-xylophones @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @the-lady-of-stars @gaylucanis @kriffclone @sweetsunflowerkisses @snoji @ur-trash-brock @illiniana @generaldumbbitch @raekixsworld @aquaamethyst96 @stormweather99 @arctrooper69

#500 followers for vizslasaber!#echo x reader #echo x you #arc trooper echo #the bad batch #tbb #tcw fanfic #swtcw fanfic #my writing #old writing

208 notes · View notes

danger-xylophones · 1 year

Text

Games (Maul x reader) smut

Warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, afab reader, bdsm, reader is wearing a dress, inappropriate use of the force, praise kink, fingering

Set late game Mandalor's Gambit

..........................

This meeting was boring. Beyond boring, even. You sat to Maul's right, perched on the arm of the throne - one leg crossed elegantly over the other with your hands settled primly in your lap. You'd joined the meeting late as you'd been busy finishing a meeting with the trade federation on behalf of the man on the throne. That one had been long and vexing but the grateful smile that had slipped onto Maul's face when he next saw you made it worth it. And the dark look that had flickered through his eyes at the sight of your dress hadn't hurt either. But as a result, you now had a rather uncomfortable seat.

Almec's voice was droning as he read out the latest fiscal reports from the Pyke's exploits. But, you supposed you should be grateful that it was easy to tune out.

Your gaze had long since gone lazy, focused on the far off mural of Satine that Maul still hadn't replaced when you felt the first touch. It was a whisper, cresting along the outside of your thigh. It was just faint enough you thought for a moment that you'd imagined it. Or that the fabric of your dress had just moved strangely. So, you brushed it off.

Until it happened again on the inside of your thigh. This time, you jumped - startled by the light feeling, which unbalanced you and nearly made you fall off the arm of the throne. But you were quick and uncrossed your legs to catch yourself, creating a level plane for your weight to settle on.

You chanced a glance at the gathered dignitaries and representatives to see if anyone had noticed your startle and near embarrassing loss of balance. But they were thankfully focused on Almec.

Just as you went to heave a sigh of relief, the touch returned - this time cresting along the juncture where your leg meets your body. Much too close. Instinctively, you almost moved to slap the feeling away. But a subtle shift and a look to the man responsible for the phantom touches would prove more effective.

As nonchalantly as you could, you leaned back, supporting your weight on one arm so you could look back at Maul. The movement caught his attention. His golden eyes flicked to you and he met your gaze with a questioning one of his own. But you saw through it. "What are you doing?" You asked in a soft voice, not wanting to be overheard.

Your answer was a grin, small and smug. And a raised hand for you to take. You did, settling your palm in his. His grip tightened and with a small tug of his arm (and a discreet push through the force) you slid onto the throne, between Maul's legs with your back pressed against his raised knee.

He released your hand to wrap both his arms around your waist, securing you to him. You thought, foolishly, as you settled into his embrace that Maul would be satisfied with holding you - that the teasing touches were all just a bid to get you in his arms for the remainder of the meeting. And, for a moment, that looked to be true. As you settled so did Maul. With his grip secured around you, his focus returned to Almec and the meeting pressed on.

Once or twice an attendee would sneak a glance to the throne and note the change in seating but no one dared to make a comment. And the meeting almost passed without incident.

Your warning sign was a squeeze at your hip. The sudden change in pressure didn't make you jump this time, but it did make your focus snap back to Maul. He was looking a head, almost ignoring you. Until he did it again, harder, pushing his grip to the point of aching. Your breathing changed, spiking in time with the sudden rush of alertness that flooded your system. And Maul let up. You shifted uncomfortably, chancing a glance at the still gathered attendees who were blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

You turned back to Maul, angling your head to meet his eye. His eyes gleamed back at you, an all too familiar spark dancing in the flaming depths. You tried to subtly shake your head, to tell him that this was a bad idea. His reply was a sharp pinch to the delicate skin around your hip. You jumped in his hold, causing a nearly feral grin to break out on Maul's face. Turning to rebuke him, you unwittingly opened yourself to his next attack on your will-power. Another pinch made you keen into him, face buried in his neck to hide the change in your countenance as your clit ached from the sudden stimulus. You could feel the laugh he stifled as it shook his shoulders. But Maul wasn't entirely cruel.

Bringing one of his hands up, he held your head in place to help you better hide from the potential onlookers. But the other snuck down to sit just below what was proper - resting testily on your inner thigh.

And then...nothing. Maul didn't move, didn't manipulate the force to cause more touches, he didn't even press at your mind to fill it with images of just what he wanted to do to you. You waited but nothing happened.

A soft voice in the back of your mind warned you not to trust it. This was a trap. He was waiting for you to make a move before he did more. This was a trap and you weren't going to fall for it.

Except you did. The very moment you lifted your head from his shoulder to try and return to your earlier position, the touches returned. It felt like your head had been locked down to his shoulder, you couldn't turn it one way or the other, let alone lift it up. His real hand moved from your head, trailing down your body to your lap, to sneak beneath your dress.

You were expecting another pinch and thus when instead Maul offered a delicate brush to your clit through the fabric of your underwear, a shocked gasp nearly slipped from you. But Maul was quick on the ball and you found your jaw held shut by the same force keeping your head on his shoulder. "Not a sound, starlight." His command only served to excite you further and you couldn't help the immediate frustration you felt for enjoying this approach of his.

He waited for you to move, to show your agreement to his terms or make a sign that you truly wanted him to stop. After a moment of considering the options, you settled your hands in your lap.

You couldn't see the grin that stretched across Maul's face at your quiet submission but you definitely felt the next sweep of his thumb over your still clothed clit. This time it did not pull such an illicit reaction from you but as he continued, each stroke slow and evenly timed and so light, you had to close your eyes and grit your teeth to keep from letting a frustrated whine escape. He was playing with you, that was all. And it was maddening.

Each gentle sweep of Maul's thumb made you more sensitive to the next and before long your arousal had outgrown the gentle stimulus. And he knew. That was the worst part. He knew exactly what he was doing by winding you up this way, frustrating you just to leave you wanting. All on purpose. And all you could do was let out a displeased huff and try to time a wiggle of your hips to force a stronger touch. But one squeeze of your thigh from Maul's unoccupied hand was warning enough. "Patience," Maul rebuked into your ear, "I will give you what you want but only if you behave."

Bastard. You thought. And received a pinch in kind.

And now that he'd worked you up, the ache felt all the better. A moan pressed at your lips but you forced it down with a drawn out breath. He'd stop, you knew, if you broke the first rule he'd established. "Very good." He purred and tugged your underwear down enough to slip his hand in. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"My lord, do you have anything to add before we adjourn?" The sound of Almec's voice startled you and you instinctively tried to snap your head up to look at him. Only for Maul to keep it in place.

"No," Maul's voice projected around the room just as his finger made contact, "You are all dismissed." the leather of his glove was absolutely frigid against your warm cunt and it sent a delightful chill through you. "Almec," Maul began to circle your clit, dancing on top of the delicate bud as he spoke, "I expect the minutes from the meeting to be sent to me immediately."

With your head still held against Maul's shoulder you couldn't see what happened next, but you had to assume Almec offered a nod before making some gesture to the gathered parties to dismiss them - going by the distinctive sound of many shuffling feet and swishing robes.

The entire time, Maul did not stop slowly circling your clit - still at a maddening pace. And nothing changed until the last person had left. "Saved by the bell, it would seem." Maul spoke low in your ear, and released his hold on your head to let you raise your face to his.

Still unsure if the no sound rule was still at play, you didn't dare speak and instead only tilted your head to show your confusion. He smiled fiendishly, "Very good," he hummed, speeding up his ministrations, chuckling to himself as he continued, "I was prepared to make you come undone in front of them all but now," with a bow of his head, he sealed his lips over yours for a moment, "I get to enjoy that beautiful sight alone."

#darth maul x reader #maul x reader #darth maul #star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #star wars x reader #x reader

203 notes · View notes

momojedi · 8 months

Text

Imagine: You're Count Dooku’s apprentice and Uncle General Grievous has to watch over you

Type: Headcanons; GN! Reader (platonic) Character(s): General Grievous, Count Dooku (mentioned) Notes: I love Grievous so much and since in my opinion, he doesn't get enough love as a character, I decided to write something for him ! The reader is referenced to be younger than any of Dooku's usual apprentices but whether they're a child or not is really up to you.

Let’s be clear: Grievous is not a good babysitter. In fact, he’s so bad at it that, instead of watching over you, he will send a batch of battle droids to take care of you.

The second he sees you after Count Dooku approached him, he’s already mentally retreating. Grievous is a general, a separatist myth that leaves Jedi alike fearing him, someone who’s destroyed the lives of legends. In what world would someone like him waste his time babysitting some lousy Sith padawan?

Needless to say he’ll be biting back the urge to insult and offend his superior for merely suggesting this kind of job and accepted it, leaving you to trail behind him as you and your master go separate ways.

But don’t get any ideas! Just because Grievous sweetly nods and agrees to anything Dooku says, doesn’t mean he’ll treat you with the same respect. You are below him, a mere apprentice. You are at the absolute bottom of the food chain in his eyes and that's exactly how he’ll treat you.

Well, he will at first.

The first few weeks, he won’t give a flying kriff about you. Instead, he'll send some battle droids your way to keep you occupied while he takes care of his war duties, such as bitching and moaning about General Kenobi.

It is only when he sees you fight for the first time that he's a bit taken back. You're by far one of, if not the, youngest apprentice he's ever seen trailing behind Dooku. Naturally, he was already mocking you internally, after all you were nothing but a meek, feeble leech in his very eyes.

Or that's what he expected, at least.

But when he sees you standing your ground when you engage with some troopers as things once again get a bit heated with the GAR, he has to admit he's quite impressed. He intently watches you, your timed moves and has to admit to himself; you do know what you're doing.

So, once the fight is over, he decides to keep you around until further notice, taking in the position of second-in-command until Dooku calls you back.

However, despite your new role, he's still distant and his usual grouchy self. He doesn't talk to you unless it's a briefing or necessary information for an upcoming battle/mission. Still, he starts to notice that he can't help but enjoy your presence.

He starts to care about you, your health, your well-being even.

You got injured on your last mission? Grievous is going to tear apart whoever is responsible for that.

You are stranded on some inhabited planet? Not to worry, Grievous will personally locate and gather you this instant.

Some pirates kidnapped you to get a ransom out of the separatists? Hondo. Grievous will set aside all his duties, track down where they're hiding you and blow that place into pieces once he's made sure you're safe and sound.

Once your time on his ship has come to an end and you're off to learning at your master's sides again, he's definitely going to miss having you around though he'd never admit that.

"Looks like the general's missing someo-" That battle droid was turned into scraps before it could even think of finishing that sentence.

With the Seperatists' leaders having somewhat developed a soft spot for you in general, even Dooku can't help but notice your slight sorrow as you're taken away from Grievous' base.

And so, whenever there's a chance for you to see your favourite General again, he won't think twice about taking you along so you have a chance of seeing him again.

And despite his cold and wicked exterior, there's still a glint of joy in his eyes when he catches sight of you.

65 notes · View notes

ironmandeficiency · 2 years

Text

random poly bad batch hc’s

pairing: poly bad batch / reader

word count: 1038

summary: just a cluster of random hc’s that kinda link together. i’m just soft for these boys

a/n: another piece retrieved from c&m but with extra content bc i used to not be very comfortable writing for echo, but i feel like i’ve kinda become ready to delve into him deeper

tech:

tech??? a flirt??? more likely than you’d think

it blindsides the boys bc like everyone else that meets the genius, they think he’ll be a shy, bumbling fool when trying to impress someone

but he ends up being a smooth motherfucker who uses some random study that says “eight hugs a day is recommended to keep the mind and body healthy” to get you to cuddle in bed longer or to stop doing something that isn’t holding your boys

”how many hugs have you today?” “um…” “unacceptable. to be safe, we’re starting the count over” you were close to eight but since you couldn’t recount them when he asked, he takes it as zero (even if he knows he was at least two of the day’s recommended hugs)

they’ll never admit it but the others are extremely grateful bc his tactic works every time

echo:

echo gets cold much easier than anyone else in the group for obvious reasons, but hates to make it known

you were quick to catch on to his shivering in the few nights he would let you sleep next to him during brief breaks & decided to do something to help: get him a heated blanket

during a brief refuel stop on coruscant, you made your way into the shopping district and bought him a 501st blue heated blanket that had considerable weight to it. not enough to smother him, but just enough to feel like he’s wrapped in a hug

the heating and ventilation system in the marauder went kaput in hyperspace which turned the ship into a flying icebox. echo was already an icicle on the best days, but this level of cold would be almost unbearable for him

the boys had commed you to let you know the situation & that they were a couple hours out

you cranked the blanket to the next highest setting and let it warm up before they got there, and made sure to have some food ready for all five of them

an echo-shaped blanket burrito was carried through your front door by wrecker, the others trailing behind the hulk of a soldier like lost tookas

wrecker knew to bring echo to your bed where you wrapped him in the new blanket, waiting until you knew it was warm before sliding all but two blankets out from underneath the heated one

before leaving him be, you smoothed out his brow with your thumb and kissed his forehead gently, careful to not wake him

when he finally woke up, he wrapped you in the biggest hug he possibly could with a smile that nearly overtook the rest of his face

wrecker:

wrecker would be the most obvious when missing you, more open with his emotions than the others (which doesn’t say much, i know)

he’ll be the one in the middle of a mission talking about how comfy your bed is and how much he misses your cooking

absolute cuddle bug. no one even comes close to his strong need to constantly have some sort of physical contact with you

he keeps an arm slung around you at nearly all times, whether it be around your shoulder or your waist he’s always wanting to hold you

if one of the others has themselves wrapped around you, he’ll resort to having a hand in your back pocket or even a couple fingers hooked into your belt loop

the grumpiest and poutiest wrecker is the one not around you

crosshair:

crosshair quickly becomes a food critic whose ratings seem quite biased toward the cook

he would praise every dish you made not just bc the rations were depressingly bland, but bc you make everything with love and the intention of taking care of your boys.

crosshair is the most likely to shoot a bitch for just a bite of your cooking (he’s most likely to shoot a bitch period but that’s beside the point)

so you started cooking in bulk and freezing it so they can have a taste of home when they’re half a galaxy away

since each one has different preferences when it comes to some ingredients (crosshair loathes corn while hunter enjoys extra), you always put their names or draw their symbols on the top so they don’t get mixed up

when you draw a crosshair for him you always put a heart in the center of it and it makes him smile every time, especially when he lifts the foil top and sees the secret note you always leave him

he’s nonchalantly checked the others’ containers and doesn’t find a note for them, and to him it makes him feel special that there’s something solely his in the universe, no matter how trivial it may seem

hunter:

speaking of the word “home”

hunter’s the first one to use it out of the four of them

he’s giving a pre-mission of what they need to do and casually says “the quicker we get this done, the quicker we get home”

crosshair calls him on it and hunter tries to say he didn’t say that but tech recorded it and he very clearly said-

there wasn’t anything wrong with hunter saying it, it just came as a shock bc the only “homes” they knew were kamino (terrible first experience) and the havoc marauder (not terrible but i hey were just alone together 24/7, they get on each other’s nerves sometimes)

but then they met you, and you turned their world topsy-turvy. suddenly they have someone that sees them as people & is so absolutely genuine that it makes them ache when they suddenly remember “hey, there’s this person i would do anything for and apparently they’d do the same for me, holy shit”

the first time they saw photos of themselves hanging in your apartment, it caught them off guard. it wasn’t a grand gesture that required a lot of fanfare, it wars a simple thing you did to have pieces of them be with you when they’re worlds away

plus, there’s no way you can be sad when looking at a picture of wrecker using a disgruntled crosshair as weights

these boys love you to the ends of the galaxy and then even farther & will make sure you don’t forget

841 notes · View notes