#acid-droid

[just-bendy]

So Bendy, who was the lovely lady accompanying you at the new year's party? I think a lot of us here are excited to meet her, if you don't mind introducing them

That would be Sylvia~. Man, she's drop dead gorgeous! A real doll~! I thought you'd never ask about her but boy am I glad ya did! I'm kinda surprised actually. She's a great friend of mine! She's kind, classy, gentle, sexy, and an amazin' dancer! She's way too good fer me, I know that and even she tells me that, but that doesn't stop us from bein' friends that uh... "benefit" from eachother. Even if we have no plans of ever gettin' in a romantic relationship together, we still "hang out" every now and then. I mean, we just can't see eachother bein' together like that. And honestly, I ain't too interested in bein' her boyfriend. These feelings I have fer her ain't romantic, just the other thing, even if I do flirt with her. That ain't a problem fer her, I think she feels the same way.

She works at a club as a dancer and I've seen a lot of her shows. The type of dancer she is, I can't say here but I will say that she makes fer a good firefighter. The way her body moves is sexy and hypnotic and I can't look away! The outfits she puts on really gets me excited too. And there's plenty of stuff I love about her body that I can't even say here either! Let's just say that when I'm with her, I'm glad I'm so short, heheheh. It ain't even just about sex when I'm with her either, she's genuinely a great friend ta me. She listens ta my problems and I listen ta hers, we share a lot of laughs, and even helped me out durin' some tough times. I just feel better bein' around her, y'know? So that's Sylvia! I can't say I'm ever plannin' on invitin' her over here, seein' how some of ya are ta me, but I'm glad I could at least tell ya about her.

[jetii]

I love love love your style of writing, I’m so happy I discovered you. As I see you are well on your way with writing a bunch of fics for the bad batch already I would very kindly request a smutty fic with my favorite reg Wolffexf!reader maybe with “only one bed” 🥹

That's so lovely to hear, thank you so much! 💙 I've never written Wolffe before so I hope I did him justice. This started out as pure smut, but my angst goblin brain got me in the end.

For One Night

Pairing: Wolffe x Jedi!Reader / Wolffe x fem!Reader

Words: 10,745

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, reader is Plo Koon's former Padawan, protective!Wolffe, mutual pining, forbidden love, love confessions, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink, underwear kink maybe, biting, marking

Summary: When you and Wolffe are stranded during your first mission together in months, you're forced to confront the feelings between you that have been threatening to break through the surface.

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You’ve never seen a storm this bad.

The clouds are roiling and thundering above, but they aren't the typical gray you've come to expect. They are an ugly shade of yellow-green, as though there's an eerie, toxic glow coming from within. Lightning flashes across the sky, and with each successive burst you feel the rumble deep in your bones. The air is thick and wet, and the rain that pours down is torrential, but it isn't water.

The acid rains from the toxic atmosphere are a blessing and a curse. It washes away the filth of the world, but at the cost of further destroying the planet's natural ecosystem. It's the reason why all the humans are locked inside a walled city, why most of the animal species are extinct.

It’s also the reason why you and Wolffe are stuck here.

You've been assigned on a scouting mission, the first one for you since you were knighted. There was a group of battle droids sighted near the wall, and the Council didn’t want to take any chances. If there was an attack, the city would be completely defenseless.

A normal scouting mission would be simple enough, even during a storm. It would just require a couple hours of searching, and then you could report back. But you weren’t prepared for a storm this strong. The rain is so thick that you can barely see a few feet in front of you, the only light from the occasional flash of lightning. There are no signs of the droids, which means that the mission has become a fruitless endeavor. And with the acid rain threatening to burn into your skin, you can tell that it isn't safe to be outside for long.

Your comms have been down for hours, and you and Wolffe have no choice but to make your way back to the city.

"We need to find some sort of shelter," you say, shouting over the roar of the storm. "At least until this blows over."

Wolffe doesn’t look pleased. "We need to keep looking. Those droids—"

"They've either been washed away by the rain or they're gone. We'll head out again when the weather clears." You're the General now, so the mission is ultimately your responsibility. Wolffe grunts his displeasure, but you know that he'll obey.

There's a flash of lightning, and you shield your eyes from the glare. The rumble of thunder is louder than before, and you feel the vibration of it under your feet.

You shiver as another gust of wind cuts through your robes, the heavy material doing little to protect you from the elements. "I don’t have the protection you do, Wolffe. I can't stay out here much longer."

The tension in Wolffe's form eases, and he gives you a nod before turning. He begins to walk away, and you have to jog to keep up with his long strides.

The two of you stumble through the storm for what seems like ages. There are no natural shelters nearby, no caves or overhangs, nothing. You've made it back to the area where the droids were spotted, but you haven't found anything of note. Just dead trees, trees, and more trees. It's starting to become clear to you why no one has made an attempt to reclaim this part of the planet.

Then you notice a glint of metal in the distance.

"Wait." You hold up a hand.

Wolffe stops immediately, his hand dropping to his blaster.

You step closer, peering through the storm. There's definitely something there. You reach out, trying to get a sense of it. The Force is murky and turbulent, but you manage to get a vague idea of what you're dealing with.

"I think it's a bunker," you tell him. "And it's unoccupied."

Wolffe grunts, and he starts off towards the glimmer. You follow behind, trying to keep your footing on the muddy ground. The rain is starting to become too much, and you can barely see where you're going.

Finally, the entrance comes into view. It's a hatch in the ground, the metal rusted and corroded by time.

You're already kneeling down and reaching for it when Wolffe pulls you back.

"Let me go first," he says.

You huff and stand back, crossing your arms. You don't bother to protest. It's not worth the energy, and it's obvious that Wolffe won't be persuaded.

Wolffe kneels down, and you watch as he lifts the hatch, yanking it open with a grunt. You can see him hesitate, but after a moment, he lowers himself inside.

There's a long pause, and then he calls up. "Clear."

The ladder is slick and rusted, and you cling tightly to the rungs as you descend. You finally make it down, and your feet hit the concrete floor with a soft thump. Wolffe is at your side as soon as you're stable, his helmet sweeping over you from head to toe, his hand on your elbow.

You roll your eyes, but your annoyance is tinged with fondness.

"I'm fine," you say, trying to brush the hair out of your face. Your ponytail has come loose, and the wet strands cling to your face.

Wolffe just nods, but he doesn't move away. Instead, his hands come up, and he gently pushes the hair out of your eyes. His thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek, and he lingers for a moment before he drops his hand.

The movement is quick, so quick that you're not sure if you imagined it. But Wolffe's thumb was warm against the skin of your cheek, and the feeling lingers.

You're about to say something, but he's already turning away, moving to inspect the bunker. You let out a breath, and then shake yourself, pushing down the feeling in your chest.

The bunker is small and dark, barely illuminated by the faint glow from the emergency lights. There are crates scattered around, and a couple old terminals along the far wall. You can see the silhouettes of worker droids, but they're so covered in cobwebs and rust that they've long been rendered inoperable. A thick durasteel door is on the opposite wall, leading to another part of the facility.

"Stay here," Wolffe says, heading for the door.

You frown. "Why?"

"There could be enemies in there," he replies, already pulling his blaster.

“There isn’t,” you insist. You try to peer through the doorway, but it's too dark to make anything out. "If there were, I would sense it."

"I still need to check."

You cross your arms, letting out an annoyed sigh. You hate feeling useless, especially when you're a general, but you can't fault Wolffe for wanting to be cautious. It's the exact kind of behavior that has earned him his reputation.

"Fine," you mutter. You walk over to one of the terminals, trying to get it to turn on as you hear Wolffe wrench the door open.

It takes a few moments, but the terminal finally hums to life, the screen flickering before glowing a dull green. There's a few old files on there, some reports and logs, but you can't access them without the proper password. You didn’t bring your slicing kit, and even if you did, the terminal is far too old to use it.

Wolffe's voice floats in from the other room. "Clear!"

You stand and stretch, wincing as the rainwater sloshes in your boots. "Anything interesting?"

"A few things," Wolffe replies. "Looks like they were testing some kind of weapons system."

"Weapons? On this planet?" You raise your eyebrows. "Who would be stupid enough to do that?"

“Stupid enough, or desperate enough," he says. He walks back into the room, prying his helmet off his head and tossing it on a nearby crate. He looks at you, and his expression softens. "Find anything useful?"

You gesture to the terminal. "Some logs. I can't access them, though. Do you have the data drive? It’s a long shot, but it might be compatible.”

Wolffe pulls the data drive out from the pouch at his waist, handing it to you. It's a slim cylinder, the silver metal shiny and unblemished. You plug it in, and the terminal makes a faint beeping noise, the screen flickering before a login window appears.

"Got it," you say, typing in a command.

"Good work."

“Don't sound so surprised."

Wolffe huffs, and you hear the sound of footsteps as he comes up behind you. He stands next to you, and the two of you watch the progress bar creep along the screen, the connection to the nearest satellite weak, but stable.

"Looks like we might have to wait a while," he says, resting a hand on the edge of the terminal as he peers over your shoulder. His voice is deep and rough, and it rumbles against you. You're pressed up against his chest, and you can feel the warmth of him, his body heat soaking through his armor and into your skin.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing steady. "Looks like."

It's almost unnerving how quickly you fall back into this pattern. Wolffe hasn't even touched you yet, not really, but your skin feels too tight and hot. You're hyper aware of him, every movement, every breath. You've never wanted him this much, and it scares you.

The two of you have a complicated history. Before you were knighted, you and Wolffe were... close. Not lovers, but not quite friends, either. It was difficult for the both of you to define the nature of your relationship, but you were certainly more than coworkers. Master Plo had always said that you were a good influence on him, that you tempered his rough edges, but the truth was that he had tempered yours. You were reckless and impulsive, and Wolffe grounded you, kept you focused. You needed each other, in a way.

But when you were knighted, you were sent away, and you haven't seen each other since.

And now...

Well.

The progress bar continues to crawl across the screen, the green light flickering and casting an eerie glow. Wolffe lets out a frustrated sigh.

"This is taking too long," he says, stepping away from you. He turns, and his gaze falls on the crates scattered around the room. He goes over and begins inspecting them, his fingers prying the lids open.

"You're such a grouch," you tell him with a laugh, leaning against the terminal and watching him work.

He snorts. "And you're a brat."

"I didn't choose the mission, Wolffe,” you say, rolling your eyes. "Besides, there are worse places we could be."

"This place is a shithole."

"Maybe, but at least we're not in the storm."

"Hm."

There's the clang of a lid hitting the floor, and then the sound of metal scraping. Wolffe stands, a couple of water canisters in his hand.

"I found some water," he calls over. "And some ration packs. Enough to last us a few days, if we have to."

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that," you say as you turn back to the terminal. "I'd hate for you to have to put up with me for that long."

"It's not so bad."

You smile to yourself, ducking your head so that he can't see. "Don't lie. We both know you'd rather be anywhere else."

"I didn't say that,” he says, and his tone is oddly serious.

"Oh."

Wolffe doesn't say anything after that, and the silence stretches on, the only sound the whir of the terminal as it processes the data. There's a sudden loud crack of thunder, and the sound of rain drumming on the roof of the bunker is louder than before. You wince at the sound as you start to parse through the local files on the terminal, searching for a map. 

It's difficult to focus on the task at hand. The room is small, and you're hyper aware of Wolffe moving around. He's still investigating, and you hear him rustling around in the crates, the sound of the lids being opened and shut. You try to pay attention to the screen, but you're not able to concentrate.

"You okay?"

You blink and realize that Wolffe is standing right behind you.

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?" you reply, turning around to face him.

He crosses his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "You've been staring at the same file for ten minutes."

You flush, embarrassed, and quickly exit out of the menu. "I was just..."

You trail off. You were just what? Trying to figure out what you're doing? Trying to decide how to act around him, when everything is so different now?

Wolffe doesn't seem convinced, and his frown deepens.

"I'm fine, Wolffe," you mutter.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't bullshit me, jet'ika. I've known you for too long."

Jet'ika. Little Jedi.

The nickname was given to you when you first met, and Wolffe had called you that ever since. It didn't matter that you were already an adult back then, nearly twice as old as he was, or that you were a full-fledged knight now. It was just part of the banter the two of you had, and the fondness in the nickname made your chest warm.

"I'm not—" you begin, but the words die in your throat as you meet his eyes. His stare feels like a physical weight, and your stomach clenches as your gaze flicks over his face. The scar, the dark circles under his eyes, the harsh lines of his face. All the changes that time had wrought.

You've thought about this man almost constantly since you left, but now that he's in front of you, you feel almost... intimidated.

"You look tired," Wolffe says after a moment, his voice low and gruff.

"That's... a little rude," you say.

"I'm just saying." He shrugs, and then reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, and you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing.

"Fine," you huff. "I'm tired, and I’m freezing, and these robes aren't exactly made for the weather. But we're stuck here, and it's not like there's anything we can do about it."

"Thought so,” he replies, his voice smug. His hand drifts down to take the hem of your robes between his fingers. He gives them a little tug. "You know, you could always take off those wet robes."

You know he's teasing, but the suggestion still sends a jolt of heat through you. You glance up, meeting his eyes. There's an intensity in his gaze, and you have a feeling that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, unable to keep the husky tone out of your voice. You grin, giving him a sly smile. "You think so?"

"Yes, sir."

You let out a breathy laugh, and Wolffe's mouth quirks in a half-smile. It's been a long time since you've flirted with him, but it seems like he hasn't lost his touch. You can feel the tension crackling between the two of you. It's always been like this, and you can't deny that there's a part of you that wishes he would just pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

But you know it wouldn't be that simple. There are complications, complications that the two of you can't ignore. It's why you haven't acted on the feelings between you, why you've tried to forget them.

You're a Jedi Knight now. And Wolffe is a Clone Marshal Commander.

Neither one of you have the freedom to be together.

Still, though, you can't help but tease him.

"Well," you say, slowly taking off your robes, "if you insist."

It’s not as if you’re revealing anything by allowing your outer robe to slide down your shoulders. You’re still wearing armor, after all. But the effect is still the same, and you can see his eyes roaming over your body, lingering on the way your leggings cling to your thighs, the curve of your ass.

You smirk and set the wet material aside. "Better?"

"Yeah," he replies, his voice a low rasp.

You're tempted to tease him further, to see how far you can push him. But you know that there's only so far you can go before one of you breaks, and you're not sure either of you are ready to face the consequences.

So instead, you turn back to the terminal, trying to distract yourself.

The storm rages on, the thunder shaking the bunker. After a few minutes, you start to shiver. The room is cold and damp, and the temperature has dropped as the storm worsens. You wrap your arms around yourself, and the armor on your forearms isn't doing much to warm you up.

Wolffe steps closer, and his hand brushes against your arm.

"You're shivering," he says, frowning.

"Yeah, I'm cold."

He doesn't say anything. He just takes off his gauntlets and tosses them on the floor. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he starts undoing the straps and buckles of his armor, pulling it off and stacking the pieces on the floor next to him. You don't understand what he's doing until he pulls his chestplate off and drops it, and then wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you against his chest.

You don't resist, allowing yourself to lean into him. The undersuit he wears beneath his armor is made from a thick, insulated material, and the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of your tunic. He's so warm, and you relax, letting out a content sigh.

"That better?" he asks, his breath warm against your ear. You shiver at the sensation.

"Yeah," you say, closing your eyes. He snorts, his breath fanning over the top of your head. You can't stop the small smile from tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Thanks."

The two of you stand like that for a while, his arms wrapped around your waist. You try to keep working on the data, but it's difficult to focus with him so close. His chest is pressed against your back, and every time you breathe, the soft swell of his pecs is against your shoulder blades. You can't help but let your mind wander, imagining what he looks like under the armor, the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. You've always had a fascination with the strength of the clones, and Wolffe is no exception.

Wolffe doesn't move, his arms staying looped around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he shifts occasionally, his thumb stroking over the jut of your hip. After a while, he rests his chin on the top of your head, his stubble scratching at your scalp.

"Are you warm enough?" he murmurs, his breath stirring the hairs on the top of your head.

You hesitate. Wolffe runs hotter than most humans, his enhanced genetics making him a living furnace. You started to feel warm a while ago, and the air inside the bunker is stifling. But you can't deny that you don't mind having his arms wrapped around you, and you're reluctant to give up his touch.

"Not yet," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your voice.

He huffs, and his arms tighten around your waist. His fingers press into your sides, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't test me, jet'ika,” he grumbles, and his breath fans over the shell of your ear.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and you squirm against him. You feel his grip tighten on your waist, his hands flexing to keep you in place.

He’s right. You do. But down here, away from the prying eyes of the Council and the GAR, it's easy to forget all of the reasons why you shouldn't be with him. You can almost imagine a future where the two of you could be together, one where the war doesn't exist.

Almost.

"I know," you murmur at last, and you feel him relax slightly.

"Good."

There's a pause, and the air grows heavier, the tension becoming more palpable. You can feel the press of his chest against your back, and his hands have moved, his fingers tracing idle patterns over the skin of your hip. His nose finds the curve of your neck, and you can feel him breathing, the tickle of his breath on the sensitive skin of your nape.

You let out a sigh, letting yourself sink back into him. Your eyes drift shut, and you relax against his chest, giving in to the comfort of his touch. He's so warm, and it's so nice to be held. You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if things were different. If you weren't a Jedi, and he wasn't a clone. If the two of you had met in another life, another universe. If the two of you could just be.

You spend a long time like that, standing in the circle of his arms. The storm is raging outside, and the bunker is dark and cold, but his presence is enough to make you feel warm and safe.

Eventually, Wolffe pulls away, and the two of you move apart. The chill in the air is sharp against your skin, and you miss his warmth immediately. You want to lean back into him, to bury yourself in his embrace, but you resist.

You turn to face him, and he meets your gaze, his eyes dark.

"Come on," he says, his tone gruff. "Let's see what else we can find."

You nod, trying to ignore the way your heart clenches as you watch him put his armor back on, his back to you. You know it's for the best, but it still hurts. You shake yourself, pushing down the sadness. It's not a productive emotion, and it won't help the situation.

"There could be old tech down there," he continues. "It could be worth checking out."

"You're right," you say, forcing yourself to smile. "We might as well see if we can find anything useful."

You follow him deeper into the facilityy, taking note of the way his shoulders are tense, the way his helmet constantly sweeps the corridor, searching for any sign of danger.

The bunker is even colder now, and you shiver as you descend further underground. Wolffe leads the way, his flashlight cutting through the gloom and outshining the light of your saber.

After a while, you come across a door, the metal rusted and caked with grime.

"Think this is worth checking out?" Wolffe asks, looking at you.

"Could be," you reply, inspecting the door. "Looks like an old storage area. We should be able to find some supplies in there, at least."

Wolffe nods, and he grabs the handle, wrenching the door open. There's a faint creak of metal, and the sound of dust being disturbed. He nudges you aside, his arm brushing against yours.

"Wait here," he says. "Let me check it first."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, Wolffe?"

"Really."

"Fine."

Wolffe gives you a look, his helmet dipping down toward you. He doesn't move until you nod, and then he's stepping forward, disappearing into the darkness. You hear his footsteps receding, and then the sounds of crates being shifted and opened.

A few moments later, he comes back, his flashlight sweeping over the doorframe.

“What is it?” you ask, your eyes tracking his movement.

“Looks like a med bay. Nothing useful, anyways. Just a cot and some storage lockers. We should keep going, see if we can find anything else."

"Yeah," you say, and you let out a sigh. "Yeah, okay."

The two of you continue to search, but the other rooms are just as empty and abandoned as the first. The bunker seems to be a relic from the past, a forgotten piece of history.

Finally, after what feels like hours of searching, the two of you make your way back to the entrance. You can still hear the storm raging above, the thunder rattling the metal hatch.

"We'll have to wait it out," Wolffe says, and you can hear the frustration in his voice. "The ship can't land until the storm passes."

"Great." You groan, rubbing your forehead. "I'm sorry, Wolffe. I know this is a waste of time."

"It's not your fault, jet'ika. It's the kriffing weather. It'll blow over soon, and then we can get the hell off this planet."

You let out a breath and turn away, trying to quell the frustration that's bubbling up inside of you. You can't help but feel as though you're failing at your first official assignment as a general, that you're letting Wolffe down. It was a simple mission, and you can't even complete it properly.

"Hey."

Wolffe's hand lands on your shoulder, and he gives you a gentle squeeze.

"We'll be fine," he says. "It's not your fault. These things happen."

"Yeah, but—"

"Stop," he interrupts, and the harshness of his tone makes you jump. "Just stop."

"Okay, okay," you mutter. "Sorry."

He shakes his head, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. His thumb rubs soothing circles against your skin, and you feel the tension start to drain out of you.

"You're always too hard on yourself." His voice is softer now, and his grip on your neck loosens. "This is hardly the worst thing that could've happened."

You huff, leaning back against his chest. You can't deny that the contact is comforting, that his touch is grounding.

"Maybe," you murmur, and he lets out a sigh, his fingers digging into the skin of your neck.

"No 'maybe'. We'll be fine, and we'll get out of here as soon as the storm passes."

"Okay, Wolffe," you whisper, letting yourself relax into his hold. "You're right."

"Of course I am."

"You're also insufferable."

"And yet, you put up with me."

"For some reason, I do."

He snorts, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Must be my winning personality."

You laugh, and Wolffe's hand slides down your back, coming to rest on your hip. You shiver at the contact, your skin tingling where his palm presses against you, and you can feel him tense up behind you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, but he doesn't remove his hand.

"It's okay," you reply, and the two of you stand in silence for a long moment. The only sound is the storm outside, the thunder rolling and the rain pounding against the metal hatch.

"Are you still cold?" he asks eventually, and the rumble of his voice against your back sends a shiver down your spine.

"A little," you reply, and he sighs.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you warmed up."

Before you can ask what he means, he's pulling you back down the corridor. He leads you back to the first room, the one with the bed and the storage lockers.

"What are you doing?" you ask, and he lets go of your hand as he moves to one of the lockers.

"Found something earlier," he replies, and he pulls open the door. There are a few blankets and pillows inside, and he starts gathering them up. He tosses them onto the bed before he starts to unclip his armor, and your cheeks flush when you realize what he's doing.

"Wolffe, I don't—"

"Get over here," he says, and there's no room for argument in his tone.

You hesitate for a moment, but then he shoots you a look, and you obey. You cross the room, and he helps you remove your armor, placing the pieces carefully on the floor alongside his. The sight of the plastoid strewn about together makes something inside of you stir, and you quickly turn your attention to the bed.

The sheets are thin and worn, but they're soft and clean. Wolffe takes one of the blankets and wraps it around your shoulders, his hands lingering.

"Thank you," you murmur, and he nods, stepping back. He turns away and busies himself with the bedding, fluffing the pillows and spreading the blankets out. It's strangely domestic, and it makes something inside of you ache.

After a few minutes, he's finished, and he gestures to the bed.

"Come on," he says, his voice rough.

The mattress creaks as the two of you climb in, and it's not as uncomfortable as you expected. Wolffe lies on his back, and you tuck yourself against his side, resting your head on his chest. He pulls the blankets up over the two of you, and the warmth is immediate.

"Better?" he asks, and you hum in agreement.

"Yeah, much."

"Good."

You can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of his body against yours.

"This is nice," you murmur before you can stop yourself.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice a low rumble.

You nuzzle into him, and you feel his arm wrap around your shoulders, tugging you closer. The two of you lie like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. The sound of the storm is muffled, and the quiet is almost peaceful.

You know you shouldn't be doing this, that it's crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. But it's hard to care about that right now, not when you're warm and comfortable, wrapped in his arms.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here," you say, your voice soft.

"It's not your fault," Wolffe replies, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your shoulder. "I volunteered. We're soldiers, jet'ika. We go where we're told."

"Still."

He huffs. "Still, I've been stuck with worse people."

"Gee, thanks, Wolffe." You roll your eyes.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you fall silent again, the only sounds the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. You know you should leave it there, but the words are on the tip of your tongue, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt them out.

"Why did you volunteer? Why didn't you send someone else?"

Wolffe's hand stills, and you shift, pressing your cheek to his chest. You can feel the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat, and it picks up speed.

There's a long pause, and then Wolffe speaks again, his voice gruff.

"Because I wanted to see you," he admits, and your heart skips a beat.

"Oh," you say, your throat tightening. "Oh."

He clears his throat, his hand starting to stroke your shoulder again.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, jet'ika."

Your stomach twists, and the ache in your chest grows stronger. You press your lips together, trying to hide your reaction.

"You shouldn't have done that," you murmur.

"I know."

You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him. His face is half-shadowed, the dim light from the corridor casting strange patterns on his skin. His eyes are dark, and there's a vulnerability in them that you haven't seen in a long time.

"Wolffe, we can't do this. It's—"

"I know," he interrupts. "I know."

He sighs, reaching up and cupping the side of your face. His palm is rough and warm, and the calluses scratch pleasantly against your cheek, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"But I had to see you," he says, his voice rough. "Even if it was just once. I've missed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. You can't deny that you've missed him, too. That the thought of being with him has kept you awake at night, has made you ache in ways you can't name.

You lean into his touch, unable to resist. "I've missed you, too," you whisper.

He pulls you closer, his hand moving to the back of your neck. His grip is firm, and you can feel his desperation in the way he holds you. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, and the two of you breathe in sync, the air thick between you.

"Wolffe," you say, your voice strained.

"I know," he replies.

His fingers trail down your neck, his touch sending sparks of electricity across your skin. His hand moves lower, his thumb brushing over the curve of your collarbone. Your breath catches, and you can't stop the small sound that escapes you.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmurs. "About what it would be like, if we could..."

"If we could be together," you finish, your voice barely a whisper, and you reach up to trace the line of his jaw. His stubble is rough under your fingers, and you can feel the heat radiating off him.

"Yeah," he says, and the sadness in his voice breaks your heart.

You want to tell him that it's not possible, that there's nothing either of you can do, but the words die in your throat. He's so close, and the longing is too strong, too powerful.

"Me, too," you whisper, and then his mouth is on yours.

Wolffe's kiss is desperate, hot and demanding, and you can't stop the moan that slips out as the ache inside you finally, finally eases. Wolffe's hands move to your waist, and he pulls you into his lap, the blanket falling to the side. Your thighs bracket his hips, and you can feel the press of him between your legs, the heat and hardness of him.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping against the seam of your lips. You part for him, allowing him entrance, and he groans, the sound rumbling in his chest. His hands move lower, his palms splayed over the curve of your ass, and he grips you tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh.

You arch into him, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. He's everywhere, his scent and his taste overwhelming, and you're lost in the sensation of him, his kiss driving away all rational thought.

You know you should stop this, that this is crossing a line that can't be uncrossed, but the thought is fleeting, and soon, all you can think about is Wolffe, the heat of him and the feel of him under your fingertips.

You grind down onto him, and the two of you let out a groan in unison, the friction sending a spark of pleasure through you. Wolffe's hands tighten on your hips, and he rocks up, his erection pressing into the apex of your thighs.

"Fuck," he growls, his hand tangling in your hair. He pulls your head back, exposing your neck, and he presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

He trails kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping along your pulse point. You shudder, the sensation overwhelming, and your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Wolffe," you breathe, and he pulls back, searching your face.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"You. I want you," you gasp, and his grip on your hair tightens.

"Be specific," he growls, his eyes blazing.

You squirm in his lap at his command, grinding down on his cock. He hisses, his jaw clenching, and you can see the tendons straining in his neck.

"I want your mouth on me. I want you to touch me. I want— fuck, Wolffe, I want everything." You can't stop the words from spilling out, and you feel a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I want to pretend that you're mine, just for a little while."

He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving.

"Yeah, jet'ika. Fuck. You can have whatever you want."

"Kiss me," you whisper, and his lips crash onto yours.

His kiss is even more frantic now, and you can feel the heat rising between the two of you. He bites at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and you moan, your hips jerking. You're overwhelmed by him, his scent and his taste and the heat of his body.

You feel as though you're burning up, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your clothing, and the urge to rip the layers of cloth between the two of you away is nearly unbearable. You break the kiss, panting, and the two of you stare at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

Wolffe's eyes are dark and hungry, and there's a flush high on his cheeks, his pupils blown wide.

"Take off your shirt," he growls, and you don't hesitate.

You yank your tunic off, and the cool air of the room is a shock against your bare skin. By the time you've thrown it to the floor, Wolffe's pulled off his own.

His chest is broad and muscular, and the sight of his naked skin makes your mouth water. You've always known him to be bigger than the other clones, but seeing him like this is different. You've never seen him like this before, and the desire coursing through you is almost primal.

Wolffe seems just as eager, and he stares at you with blatant hunger, his eyes raking over your form. You reach out and run your fingers through the hair on his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, and he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs, his eyes hooded. "Let me see you."

You nod, swallowing thickly, and then the two of you are moving. He reaches up and undoes the bindings around your breasts, letting the fabric fall to the side. The air is cool against your nipples, and they stiffen, the sensation sending a shiver through you.

Wolffe's eyes darken, and his hands move to cup your breasts, his palms rough against your sensitive skin. You moan, arching into his touch, and his thumbs brush over your nipples, the friction making them pebble.

"Fuck," he mutters, and he pinches one of the stiff peaks, making you gasp. "So pretty. Look at you."

He continues his exploration, his hands roaming over your skin. He kneads your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples, and you let out a shuddering breath. You can't stop the whine that escapes you as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and squeezing. It's a delicious sort of pain, and you grind down, your clit throbbing.

Wolffe smirks, his eyes dark and heated.

"And so sensitive," he murmurs.

"Please," you whimper, arching into his touch.

"Patience," he says, and he pulls you closer. He wraps his arms around your waist and shifts so that you're lying on your back, and he's looming over you, his knees straddling your thighs. "If we're going to do this, I'm going to take my time with you. I've been waiting a long time for this."

You're tempted to tell him that it's the same for you, but the words are lost as his mouth finds your nipple. He teases and sucks, his tongue laving over the sensitive flesh. You moan, your hands gripping his shoulders. His hands are everywhere, touching and stroking, and you're lost in the sensation of finally having him so close.

It's only when his teeth nip the underside of your breast that you're jerked out of your reverie.

"Wolffe," you hiss, and he chuckles, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

"Sorry," he mutters, pressing a kiss to the spot. His tongue soothes the sting, and the dual sensations make your head spin. "Got a little carried away."

"It's okay," you pant. "Feels good."

"It'll bruise," he warns.

You shrug, running your hands over his back. "I don't care."

He looks up, his gaze searching. You meet his eyes, and he gives you a crooked smile.

"In that case..."

You whine as Wolffe presses his teeth to your skin again, and the pain makes your cunt clench around nothing. You've never been into this before, but the idea of Wolffe marking you, of being able to look down and see evidence of his claim, makes your blood sing.

"Fuck," you gasp, and he hums against you, his mouth hot and wet.

"Gonna mark you up, jet'ika," he mutters, and then his teeth are sinking into your skin, and you keen, his name tumbling from your lips.

"Oh, kriff. Wolffe!"

His mouth travels across your chest, leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks in his wake. The storm outside is a distant rumble, overpowered by the sounds of your gasps and moans, the slick sounds of his mouth against your skin, the harsh pants of his breath.

The heat of him is overwhelming, and your senses are on fire, the pain and pleasure intertwined, the two of you lost in a haze of lust. You can't stop the urge to rock your hips, desperate for some kind of friction, and you grind against him, his cock hard against your stomach.

"So good," you moan, and his hand slides between your thighs, cupping the heat of you.

"Impatient," he mutters, and he nips at the soft skin below your navel. You shudder, your hands fisting in his hair, and he gives a low chuckle.

"Need you," you plead, and he looks up at you, his expression heated.

"You have me," he murmurs, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the way they make your heart skip a beat, and the ache inside of you grows.

Wolffe leans back, his eyes roaming over your body, his gaze burning. He strokes the skin of your stomach, his fingertips tracing over the scars and marks. Even in the low light, the evidence of his attention is evident, and the sight of the red and purple marks against your skin makes something possessive flare in his eyes.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmurs. "I've always wanted to see you like this."

"Wolffe, please."

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crease of your hip. "I'm getting there."

His fingers dip below the waistband of your leggings, and you lift your hips, helping him peel the fabric off. You're left in just your underwear, and you can feel the wetness soaking the fabric, the need inside you almost unbearable.

Wolffe sits back on his heels, and he swears under his breath as his gaze settles on the apex of your thighs. He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes dark.

"Look at you," he breathes, and his fingers ghost over your sex, the feather-light touch making you shiver. His thumb hooks into your underwear, and he tugs, the silken fabric brushing over your clit. “I don’t think this is GAR regulation, jet'ika,”

"It's not," you admit, your cheeks heating.

He groans, his eyes falling shut. "Fucking hells."

He tugs again, the fabric slipping between your folds. It's damp, and you whimper, the sensation almost too much. You can't remember the last time you were this aroused, this turned on. The sight of Wolffe above you, his gaze dark and intense, is almost enough to make you come, and he hasn't even touched you yet.

"Soaked," he mutters, and the rasp in his voice sends a shudder through you.

"For you," you gasp, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

He leans down and presses his mouth to your clothed sex, the warmth of his breath fanning over you. His stubble is rough against your inner thighs, and you moan, his name falling from your lips.

He pushes the fabric aside, and then his tongue is sliding along your folds, the flat of it pressing against your clit. You cry out, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through you. He licks at you, his tongue hot and slick, and the sounds are obscene, his mouth wet and messy.

"Taste so good," he rasps, and then his fingers are joining his mouth, spreading your folds. He flicks his tongue over your clit, the tip tracing the sensitive bud.

You cry out, your hips jerking, and he groans, his hand wrapping around your thigh and holding you in place.

"Needy little thing," he murmurs against you.

"Only for you," you whimper, and the truth of it hits you like a slap to the face. It's never been like this with anyone else, the need for release so intense, the urge to give yourself over to him so strong. You've never felt like this before, and the thought scares you as much as it excites you.

"That's right," he mutters, and then he's pressing his mouth to you again, his lips sealing around your clit.

The pleasure is white-hot, and you can't stop the string of curses that spill from your lips. He's relentless, his tongue working over your clit, his lips and teeth adding a delicious edge of pain to the pleasure. It isn't long before you're trembling, your orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and you gasp his name, the sound falling from your lips like a prayer.

"Close," you manage to say, your breath coming in ragged pants.

He pulls back, and his thumb replaces his tongue, his mouth moving to your inner thigh. You whimper at the loss, and he nips at the sensitive skin, the sting making you jump.

"Not yet," he murmurs. "I'm not done with you."

You groan, your hands tangling in his hair. You tug at the strands, trying to pull him back, but he's stronger than you, and he ignores your attempts to get him to move. He bites at your thigh, his teeth leaving more marks on your skin, and then he's pulling away, slipping two fingers inside of you.

You gasp at the sudden stretch, the feeling of being filled after so long without it making your toes curl. You're so wet that there's almost no resistance, and his fingers slip in easily, the glide smooth.

"So fucking tight," he rasps, and you groan as his thumb presses against your clit. "You're going to feel so good around my cock."

The thought is enough to make you moan, and your inner walls clench around his fingers, the muscles fluttering. He chuckles, the sound rough and low as his lips trail across your hip.

"You like that, jet'ika?"

"Yes," you hiss.

He adds another finger, and the stretch is almost too much. It's been so long since you've had anyone inside of you, and his fingers are thicker than yours, his hands larger. You clench around him, and he hisses, his forehead resting against your thigh.

"So good," he murmurs, and he starts to move, his fingers sliding in and out of you. "Look at you, taking my fingers like such a good girl."

You whimper, the praise going straight to your clit. You rock your hips, matching the rhythm of his fingers, and the sound of his palm slapping against your cunt is almost enough to make you come undone.

"Just like that," he whispers, and his mouth returns to your sex, his tongue pressing against your clit. He swirls the muscle around the swollen bud, the pressure just enough to make your head spin. You're so close, the heat in your abdomen threatening to explode, and he can tell.

"You're going to come," he mutters, and his fingers speed up, curling inside of you. The angle changes, and the tip of his finger presses against a spot that makes you cry out. "You're going to come on my fingers, and then I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming."

"Yes," you moan, your head falling back. "Yes, please, Wolffe. I'm so close."

"Then come," he growls. "Come for me, jet'ika."

And you do, his command sending you over the edge. Your climax crashes into you, the pleasure blinding, and your whole body trembles, your inner walls spasming around his fingers. You sob his name, and his mouth moves, sucking at your clit, his fingers milking your release.

The sensation is too much, and you try to twist away, but his free hand moves to your hip, holding you in place. He works you through your orgasm, his tongue and fingers drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling and oversensitive, the sensation almost painful.

"Stop, please," you beg, and he does, pulling back and sitting up.

"Okay, okay," he pants. "That's it. Good girl."

Your cunt clenches at his words, the muscles still twitching. You take a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of yourself, and Wolffe slips his fingers out of you, the movement slow and gentle.

"Good?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah," you sigh. "Yeah, I'm good."

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks, the sight making your cheeks heat. He groans, his eyes closing, and he savors the taste of you, his tongue licking away every drop.

"So fucking good," he murmurs, and his hand cups the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the flavor salty and sweet, and you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The kiss is rough and hungry, the two of you clinging to each other, and the urgency returns, the need for more rising up inside of you.

"Please," you whisper against his lips. "I need you."

"Yeah," he rasps. "Yeah, I know."

You can't help the whine that slips out as he pulls away, his hands reaching for the waistband of his blacks, and he chuckles, the sound strained.

"Soon, cyar'ika. I'm right here."

The promise makes something inside of you clench, and you can't tear your eyes away as he pulls his briefs down, his erection springing free. He's thick and long, the head leaking pre-cum, and you swallow hard against the saliva pooling in your mouth. You want to taste him, to feel him stretching your throat, but that's not what either of you need right now. What you need is him buried deep inside you, fucking you until you can't remember your own name, until you can’t remember the world outside the two of you.

He kicks off his clothes, and he kneels between your legs, his hands moving to your waist.

"Let's get you out of these," he says, his voice a low rumble.

His knuckles brush against your clit as he slips his fingers into your underwear, and you gasp, your hips arching up. You feel exposed and vulnerable as he peels the damp fabric away, leaving you bare and naked before him, but the look on his face is one of reverence.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, and the raw emotion in his voice makes your heart clench.

You reach up and cup his cheek, the gesture tender, and his eyes fall closed, his breath hitching. He turns his face into your palm, his lips brushing against the skin.

"Wolffe," you whisper.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs against you.

"I'm ready."

He opens his eyes, the gold of his iris gleaming in the dim light. There's an intensity in his gaze, a fire that burns, and he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself. You watch, transfixed, as he teases himself, the head turning purple and shiny with pre-cum.

He reaches out and presses his hand against your stomach, his palm flat and hot against your skin. He rubs it in circles, and the touch is soothing, the ache inside you easing. You take a deep breath, and his nostrils flare, the muscles in his neck tensing.

"Tell me if it's too much," Wolffe says, his eyes searching yours. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur. "I trust you."

He leans down and presses his mouth to yours, the kiss soft and tender. It's a stark contrast to the urgency from before, and the gentleness makes your throat tighten. He pulls back, his hand still pressed against your stomach, and he reaches down, lining himself up.

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yes."

He slides in slowly, the stretch almost too much. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to relax, and he kisses your temple, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh.

"Easy," he whispers.

It takes a moment, but you adjust to his size, the pressure lessening as your body accommodates him. He's hot and heavy inside you, his length reaching deeper than anyone ever has, and the fullness is delicious, the pleasure-pain making your eyes water.

"Good girl," he rasps, his hand moving up your stomach, his thumb brushing against the underside of your breast. You whine, and he hushes you, his hand continuing its path up to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.

"Kriff," he groans, and the sound is pained. His eyes flutter shut, and his head drops down, his forehead pressed against yours. "You feel so good. Like you were made for me."

"Wolffe," you breathe, and he kisses you again, the contact searing.

He pulls out and then pushes back in, his movements slow and controlled. He's trembling, the tendons in his neck standing out, and you can see the effort it's taking him to hold back.

"Faster," you beg, and his hand tightens in your hair, the bite of pain making you moan.

"I don't want to hurt you," he grits out, his hips stuttering.

"You won't," you assure him, and the lie sits bitterly on your tongue.

Because it's not true, and you both know it. No matter how gentle he is, how careful he is, the fact remains that this is temporary, that the two of you can never be anything more than a stolen moment. You're going to hurt, and he's going to hurt, and the truth of it is enough to make you want to cry.

But Wolffe doesn't point it out, and neither do you. He does as you ask, his thrusts speeding up, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the small space. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his lips find yours, his tongue tracing the seam. You part for him, allowing him entrance, and his kiss is desperate and hungry, his fingers digging into your skin.

He fucks you with abandon, the two of you lost in a haze of pleasure and lust, the years of pent-up desire finally coming to the surface. He's everywhere, surrounding you, his scent and his taste and the weight of him pinning you to the mattress. You feel claimed, possessed, and the thought should scare you, but instead, it makes you feel safe.

His pace is punishing, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed, and you cling to him, your nails raking across his back. You can feel the sweat beading on his skin, the slick slide of him against you, and the pleasure is building, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you.

"Fuck," he growls, and his hand moves to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. "Look at me. I wanna see you when you come."

Your eyes flutter open, and his face is inches from yours, his eyes locked onto yours. There's an intensity in his gaze, a raw emotion that threatens to undo you.

"Wolffe," you whimper.

"That's it, cyar'ika," he says. "Let go."

And you do, the orgasm hitting you like a shockwave. It crashes over you, the pleasure white-hot, and your inner walls clench around him, the feeling of his cock rubbing against your sensitive spots enough to make your vision blur. You cry out, and his name is a chant on your lips, the syllables falling from your mouth over and over. The bliss so intense that it's almost painful, and you're lost in the feeling of him, the pleasure consuming you.

"So good," he mutters. "You're so good for me."

He fucks you through your release, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and his thrusts become frantic, his rhythm stuttering. You can tell he's close, and you tighten your grip on him, urging him on.

"Come on," you plead. "Come for me, Wolffe. Make me yours."

He groans at the desperation in your voice, and his hips snap forward, the force of his thrust pushing you up the mattress. You whine, and he grunts, his grip tightening.

"Say it again," he demands, his eyes burning.

"I'm yours," you repeat. "Yours, Wolffe. Always."

The sound that leaves him is a broken thing, the anguish in it clear. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and then he thrusts himself to the hilt. He groans, the sound muffled, and you feel his cock pulse, his release spilling inside you. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt, and you feel yourself coming undone again, a smaller, softer orgasm washing over you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl.

You cling to him, the two of you gasping and trembling, and the aftershocks roll over you, the pleasure making you shudder. You can't stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes, the realization that this is it, this is all you'll have of him, is too much to bear.

You feel him tense above you, his body rigid, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as he presses his mouth to your temple.

"Wolffe," you whimper, and he murmurs something against your hair, something soft and sweet.

You don't hear him, but you can feel the shape of the words, and it makes the knot in your chest tighten, the pain threatening to consume you.

The two of you lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, and the minutes tick by, the only sound the rain pounding against the roof and your breathing. Your heart is breaking, the grief and sadness threatening to overwhelm you, and you close your eyes, the tears falling freely now.

Wolffe brushes them away, his touch gentle, and he pulls out, the loss of him almost unbearable. You whimper, the sound soft, and he kisses you again, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"Don't move," he murmurs.

You watch as he gets to his feet, his movements slow and stiff. A few minutes later, he returns with a wet cloth, and he wipes the evidence of your coupling from your skin. He's careful, the strokes gentle, and the act is so intimate that it makes the knot in your chest grow. He tosses the cloth to the floor, and then he's pulling you into his arms, his hands smoothing down your back.

You let out a sigh, your head resting on his chest. "Wolffe, I—"

"Don't."

You look up at him, and his expression is grim.

"Don't say anything."

"Wolffe—"

"This was a mistake," he says, his voice strained. "We shouldn't have done this."

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to argue. "It's too late now," you murmur.

"No, it's not. We can still pretend it didn't happen. Just..." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just don't make it harder than it has to be."

The pain in his voice makes your heart ache, and you bury your face in his chest, unable to hold back the tears. He holds you tight, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, and the tenderness, the protectiveness, only makes you cry harder.

"Jet'ika," Wolffe says, his voice soft, "please. Please don't cry."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, "I just..."

"It's alright," he replies, and he cups your face, tilting your head back. His eyes search yours, and you can see the sorrow and regret in them, the pain he's trying to hide. "It's alright."

"I'm sorry," you say, wiping at the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Wolffe. I can't... I can't do this. I can't pretend like this never happened. I can't keep pretending like I don't care about you."

He lets out a ragged sigh, and his thumb traces the line of your jaw.

"I know," he murmurs.

"I love you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I've always loved you."

His eyes widen, and the two of you sit in silence for a long moment, the confession hanging between you. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and you wait for him to react, to say something.

"You don't mean that," he says at last, his voice hoarse.

"I do."

He swallows hard, and you can see the conflict on his face, the war between what he wants and what he thinks is right. He closes his eyes, his fingers trailing down the curve of your neck.

"Fuck," he whispers.

"Wolffe," you say, and his eyes open, the gold of his iris burning.

"This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done," he mutters.

"What?"

"This," he says, and his hand comes up, gripping the back of your neck. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever done, and it's probably the worst decision I'll ever make."

You're frozen, his words hanging between the two of you. The room feels as though it's been turned upside down, and you're spinning, the world around you tilting.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying..." He hesitates, and then his expression hardens. "Fuck it."

And then he's kissing you, his lips hard against yours. The kiss is bruising, his teeth catching on your lower lip, and the sting is enough to make you gasp. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and his fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight. When you part, both of you are panting, and his gaze burns into yours.

"Wolffe," you breathe, "what—"

"I'm saying I love you too," he says, the words spilling out in a rush. "And I'm done pretending like I don't. I'm done lying to myself, to you. I'm done."

The words send a shock through you, and you stare at him, speechless. You open and close your mouth, and he gives you a rueful smile, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"You love me," you say, and the words are thick in your throat.

"Yes," he murmurs.

"Even though..."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice low. "Even though."

"What do we do now?"

Wolffe sighs, and his fingers trail down your jaw, the touch gentle.

"We make the most of whatever time we have," he says. "And we don't look back."

"It's going to hurt," you whisper.

"I know."

"Can you live with that?"

"For you?" He looks at you, and the tenderness in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. "Yes. I can."

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. The two of you sit there, your breaths mingling, and you take comfort in the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hand against the nape of your neck.

"Okay," you murmur. "Okay."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you let out a shaky breath.

"Go to sleep, jet'ika," he says, his voice soft. "It's been a long day."

"Stay with me," you plead.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

He pulls the blankets up over the two of you, and you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. His warmth is comforting, the sound of his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear.

The rain continues to fall, and the room is filled with the sound of you breathing together. It’s peaceful, and for a brief moment, the two of you allow yourselves to believe that everything is going to be alright. That the universe isn't falling apart around you. That maybe, just maybe, the two of you can have this.

The truth, however, is a far more complicated one. And come morning, when the sun rises, you'll have to face it.

But as you drift off to sleep, held tight in his arms, you can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, things will work out.

After all, there has to be some kind of a happy ending.

Even in a galaxy as cruel as this one.

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@anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @ghostymarni

[nerocoin]

[HEADCANON] baby kraang / utrom tmnt 2012 lore because i love alien spec bio and also wanted to draw a little kraang. enjoy more text info [including image transcripts] under the cut. forgive me for any possible spelling/logical mistakes im tireddd

please click the images for high quality!

the kraang and utroms refer to separate colonies of the same species. the kraang / utroms lay soft, gelatinous eggs. [these] eggs need high humidity levels to hatch, and are usually kept in containers filled with dimension x "water" [safe for them, acid to most]. eggs float on [the "water"'s] surface.

baby kraang / utrom, around 1 week old : paler skin compared to adult specimens. almost blind, communicates with caretakers[* see last paragraph] through "chirps". usually seen spending time in the aforementioned "water". their skin is semi-transparent in some places and their bodies have many darker spots, which usually fade with time.

physical touch plays a big part in forming social skills. the kraang practice it too, but only so the babies get used to seeing and touching droids. this is the last growth period a baby kraang will experience physical comfort from another member of its species.

babies start to develop serious social skills [utroms] / psychic skills [kraang] at around a month old. eyesight gets stronger. once a baby kraang develops proper vocal communication skills, they are accepted into the hivemind.

the kraang tend to reproduce through parthenogenesis. their gene pool is very limited and almost all members of this colony are identical genetic clones. this ensures next generations will share the same psychic powers and will be able to stay in the hivemind. mutations are highly unwanted, visibly different specimens tend to be left alone without care. caretakers showcase agressive behaviors towards those. on the contrary, utroms form long-lasting relationships and do mate.

all members of this species are considered either female or hermaphrodites from a biological standpoint. utroms understand the societial concept of gender. the kraang [excluding fully sentient leader kraang prime and kraang sub-prime] are a hivemind without any sense of self identity. selected specimens play the role of a "caretaker", which in this context means a kraang that 1. can reproduce, 2. has basic parental instincts. caretakers are not a part of the army, as their only job is raising baby kraang.

--

okkkk thats all i have for now if you read all of this holy shit

[colibrie]

More jedi turtles! Again, all thanks and credit to @trilobitepunch for the spectacular art and inspiration.

Rise of the teenage mutant ninja jedi (working title)

Meetings

"Leo?" Mikey whispered, his heart skipping a fearful beat when his elder brother failed to respond. Swallowing hard, he carefully edged forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with his sibling, one eye on the armored duo while the other ran over Leo's form in search of injury.

No blood stained his clothes. No scratches or bruises marred his pale green skin. Yet their absence didn't prevent his heart from racing, rabbit quick beats slamming an SOS against his ribs as Mikey looked at his brothers face.

Leo, charming, affable, funny Leo, was gone. His expression was as blank as a piece of fresh paper, mouth hanging ever so slightly open as though he'd forgotten how to close it. Dark eyes that usually danced with mischief and mirth, sulked and steeped in petulance or sorrow, that blazed and smoldered so brilliantly in frustration and in wamth, had become empty and hollow. His dialted pupils were blackholes staring off into some fathomless mid-distance, chest barely rising and falling with the shallowest of breaths.

"Say. Something," the smaller armored figure hissed.

Where Leo was blank, this one could not seem to keep still. His facial features kept twisting and churning rapidly, flickering and warping too fast for Mikey to fully comprehend. Waves of dark energy rolled from his quivering shoulders, a potent brew of rage flavored with grief and disbelief that had acid creeping up the back of Mikey's throat. Horrendous pressure bore down from seemingly every direction, an unstoppable force that demanded the unmoveable to get out of its way or be subsumed.

"Keep it together Don," the big one rumbled, burnt eyes sliding predator sharp between Mikey and Leo and his companion. "Donnie..."

"Donnie" did not acknowledge his companion, attention lazer locked on Leo. The red glare of his saber added a slightly crazed sheen to his eyes and a corner of Mikeys brain, used to looking for the tiniest details, absently noted the way the red picked out beautiful highlights of purple. The greater part of his mind told that part to shut the shell up.

"Leo, we need to go," he mumbled under his breath, one hand sliding up to grab Leo's shoulder. "We need to go right now."

Leo remained blank, limbs locked and limp like a droid without a power source.

"Leo, please!" Mikey begged, panic dripping ice cold down his shell as the big one shifted restlessly. He stepped back, trying to drag his brother towards the safety of their ship. "We need to- MOVE!"

The last word came out in a half mangled shriek as the big one lunged, one red saber igniting and swiping out in a brutal arc that forced Mikey to shove Leo away as hard as he could to avoid getting dismembered.

"You two ain't goin anywhere," the big one growled, towering over them.

[awkward-tension-art]

Viral Vector Chp.1 (Echo X Reader)

Another addition to Caduceus. We've hit The Bad Batch now! This may be a bit of a brief series, but we'll see!

Enjoy!

Chapter 2.

Galactic Empire

TW: Order 66, death, shooting, Jedi genocide, mention of blood and gore, reader insert, Reader is gender neutral, Reader a medical scientist, Echo x Reader, a bit of a slow-burn though

Minimally proofread and edited LOL

Minors DNI

DNA.

Deoxyribonucleic acid

Definition: a self-replicating material that is present in nearly all living organisms as the main constituent of chromosomes. It is the carrier of genetic information.

Living organisms. Humans. Pantorans. Twi’leks. Togrutas. Many more species in the wide Galaxy.

And clones.

Clones of Jango Fett. a Mandalorian bounty hunter with a strong paternal instinct and superior fighting skills. 

Handsome too, but you try not to let anyone know. 

Kamino, your home and workplace as a medical scientist, did not see clones as living beings. Most of your colleagues viewed them as property. A notion that went against everything you knew with ethics and morals. 

Even if you weren’t technically a part of the cloning experiments, you still interacted with many of them daily. Afterall, along with your lab and research, Shaak Ti had put you and several others incharge of running a clinic for the clones. 

Your place was taken from a lower level Hospital on Coruscant and put all the way to Kamino at the Jedi’s request. Once the war had begun, they wanted several non-Kaminoan doctors overseeing the clones' health as they grew and trained. You, along with a few others, had volunteered to stay on the stormy planet. To you, this was an escape away from the dark, crime filled low levels of the Republic planet. 

Apparently the Jedi tried to stress ethics to the Kaminoans, only for their words to fall on deaf ears. So, the compromise was the clinic.

You mostly saw cadets with bruises from tussling with batchmates, training accidents and occasional sicknesses their rapidly developing immune systems couldn't handle. Rarely did you receive any true emergencies, but it was fine. Less emergencies meant more time for you to research. 

It was medicine. Created specifically to slow a clones ' accelerated aging.

It was a secret. One that you were careful not to tell anyone. 

Well…Except for Omega. 

The little girl was a helpful assistant. Nala Se didn’t like her going out of the lab, so you meeting her was entirely an accident. She hid in your office months ago during a surprise lockdown. Apparently a clone had triggered a false alarm, but no one knew that at the time. 

Ever since then, when Nala Se didn’t have her, she wanted to spend time with you.

Right now, she was with you and Rig Nema, a Jedi healer. The older woman had come to visit Kamino at the request of Shaak Ti. You weren’t entirely sure why, but she seemed interested in your clinic.

“How many patients do you see in a day?” The Jedi asked as she helped you tend to Rein, a Kamino guard who, unfortunately, was hit by the shrapnel of an exploded training droid. 

“It can vary,” You informed her with a smile, “depending on when specific batches train. Some are more prone to injuries than others.”

“Like Clone Force 99?” Omega chimed in from where she was organizing some medicine for you.

Rig tilted her head, silently asking you to explain. 

“Genetically different clones.” You explained quickly, “They had genetic mutations that gave them…advantageous traits.” They were your friends. Having developed a rather close relationship with them since they were often at Kamino. 

Especially Echo. The ARC trooper had always been polite and kind to you. He’d visit your clinic first whenever Force 99 had returned from a mission. You were already friendly with the other members of the squad when he officially joined them.  His addition was welcome, and you treated him with the same amount of respect as you did the rest of them. It helped him feel welcome, even normal after everything he went through on Skako Minor.

She nodded in understanding. The Jedi was about to speak before an alarm blared. The lights overhead turned red, bathing everywhere with crimson. In between the high pitched beeps, a gravelly, unfamiliar voice announced.

Execute Order 66. 

You looked around confused, stepping away from the clone on the medical bed. What the hell was Order 66? The beeping stopped just as quickly as it started, but the lights were still a deep red.

Beside you, Rig stumbled back, gripping her head. You were at her side, hands holding her arm firmly. She was weak all of a sudden, and worry washed over you.

“Ms. Rig?” Omega approached, looking concerned. She had abandoned her task, and approached the two of you. 

“I got her.” You informed the blonde child, “Omega, go to the back of the room and hide behind the scanner. Can you do that?”

She nodded and rushed back, getting out of sight quickly.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you’d be damned if anything happened to Omega.

“The Force…” The woman in your arms was trembling, “It's…It's weeping.” 

Your hands squeezed her arm, “Stay with me, Jedi.” You lead her to the bed across from Rein, who was already standing. He seemed ready, tense and prepared to fight if needed.

It was a relief, having a trained guard. Once he was up, you turned to see him holding a laser scalpel. Your brow furrowed and you spoke, “Rein…What are you-”

“Good soldiers follow orders.” He mumbled coldly, twirling the medical instrument in his hand, “The Jedi have committed treason against the Republic. Step aside or you will be executed.” His steps were slow and deliberate.

“Rein, what…?” Your confusion was palpable. You tried to get between him and the Jedi healer behind you, “Slow down, whats-”

The clone guard grabbed your shoulder and shoved you out of the way. He used enough force to cause you to stumble, hands and knees hitting the sterile white tiles. You looked up as soon as you heard the Rig and Rein scuffle.

“Get back!” Rig shouted. She raised a hand, lifting him with the Force. Her free hand activated her bright green lightsaber, “Why are you doing this!?”

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Rein repeated, raising a shaky hand to make a weak attempt at a stab. She, however, raised him higher before throwing him into the wall.

You heard a crack and Omega yelp from her hiding spot.

Before you could speak, the healer panicked. She ran out of your clinic, lightsaber ready. However before the door fully closed, you saw Kamino guards with their blasters aimed, as if waiting for her.

The sound of multiple rifles firing pierced your ears through the door. After the barrage of noise, there was the thump of a body hitting the metal floor of the hall. Then silence.

“What…” You scrambled to your feet and shot to the door. It slid open and you nearly tripped over Rig’s smoking corpse. She had been riddled with blaster bolt holes. Her eyes were still wide with terror, and her lightsaber was tight in her palm. Blood began to surround her, staining the once white floors.

All around you were clones. Those you recognized. Those you treated. But they looked…empty. Their helmets were on. Their blasters were steady. 

“Doctor,” Captain Silvo lowered his gun, “Did this traitor harm you?” 

“What…What is going on?” Even the Captain sounded unlike himself. It seemed like every clone had their personality stripped away, leaving only husks. 

What the fuck was going on!?

“The Jedi have committed treason against the Republic.” He answered, repeating Rein’s words. He motioned for the others to lower their own weapons, “We were given orders to execute them.” 

“The Jedi…as in…All of them?” 

“Yes, Doctor.”

It felt like the floor beneath you collapsed. The Jedi. Peacekeepers. Were ordered to be executed?

Omega had crawled from her hiding spot, and you turned, raising a hand to her, “Stay back. Close your eyes and stay right there.” You didn’t want her to see…Rig.

Kamino suddenly felt…cold. Empty. Everyone around you, your former friends, were now strangers. 

“I..I see Captain.” You swallowed. Your instincts were screaming at you to run. But Omega was behind you. She could be in danger if you acted out, “Well…I…I’m glad none of you were…hurt by the…traitor.” 

The word barely managed to leave your mouth. You swallowed thickly.

“There is still more out there. But they will be brought to justice.” He answered your statement with coldness. 

Your nod was stiff, “Thank you, Captain.” 

“Return to your duties, Doctor.” He turned swiftly before commanding his men, “Spread out, there are more Jedi on Kamino. Find them and execute on sight. You three, get this body covered and out of the way.” 

You were shaking when you turned back into your clinic. the door closed behind you, and there was silence. The light switched back and you blinked, adjusting your eyes to the sudden lack of crimson.

Omega stared at you, wringing her hands and looking so small. Wordlessly, you knelt and she ran into your arms for a hug.

You waited as you held her. Until you didn’t hear the plastoid boots outside. Until you didn’t hear the shuffling of Rig’s body being taken. Until you were certain the chaos had passed.

You waited until Nala Se walked into the clinic, “There you are.” She sounded as steady and emotionless as ever, “Come. There is still work to do.” 

Behind her were two clones, both wearing the identifiable Coruscant red. 

Shock troopers.

“Nala Se…?” You looked at the Kaminoan, “What…happened?” 

“The Jedi have betrayed the Republic.” She stated, repeating things you already knew, “They are being hunted and executed.” 

None of this made sense…

You squeezed Omega before letting her go to follow your boss. She gave you a sad look but remained silent as she stepped behind Nala Se. Wordlessly, you watched as the two of them walked out of your clinic. Once they were gone, you grabbed your holo, attempting to get a hold of your other colleagues. 

Silence. The others, those you came to Kamino with, didn’t answer. 

Assuming the worst, you tried to seek them out. Your assumptions were half-correct. Some of them were killed, either by interfering or cut down by panicked Jedi. Others you managed to catch in the hangar before they left to go back home. 

“The war is over, we’re leaving before Nala Se fires us officially.” Doctor Ulluk stated, stepping on the transport. You debated on going with them. Leaving the cloning facility behind, but before you could move, another ship touched down. 

The Marauder. Clone Force 99. 

You stepped back, watching your colleagues and friends leave Kamino.

The troopers, Guard, Shiny and Shock, shuffled and moved around. They resembled droids, emotionless and empty as they walked in line. Announcements rang out from the intercom system, directing them. No one bid you any mind.

Level five lockdown remains in effect. Security teams report to the command center.

You walked towards the ship slowly, waiting until the clone force stepped off. Once they did, you approached.

Hunter stepped down first, brown eyes scanning the area. He was alert, guarded yet calm. He gave a questioning look to you when he was on the Kaminoan floors. Wrecker was the same, but more curious than tense, he gave a friendly wave. Tech was beside him, unsurprisingly tapping a datapad. Crosshair looked uninterested, bored even, at the state of Kamino.

Once Echo Stepped down, he saw you and got to your side first, “You look spooked.” He was concerned, looking your form over for any injuries, “What happened?”

“Doctor, do you know what's going on?” Hunter got beside the ARC trooper, “This…isn't a drill.”

“Oh, man. What did we miss now?” Wrecker huffed, crossing his arms. 

A shock trooper, one with a datapad, stopped and answered, “The end of the war.”

The sergeant turned to him, “Say again, trooper?”

He answered, voice flat and emotionless, “General Grievous was defeated on Utapau. The Separatist leadership has collapsed. The war is over.” Behind him, two other clones were pushing a wheeled autopsy table. Draped over it was a white sheet, covering the body underneath.

Your eyes widened, watching as it passed. You were frozen, hyper focused on who was on the table.

“Just like I said.” Tech barely looked up from his datapad. His eyes roamed the screen, uninterested in the world around him.

Wrecker gasped, “It is like you said!”

Crosshair and Tech both rolled their eyes.

A lightsaber rolled from the autopsy table and hit the floor with a clatter. A hand, Rig’s hand, slipped out, confirming it was her under the sheet. 

Your throat tightened as the Shock trooper knelt and picked up the Jedi weapon, “Is there a problem?”

Hunter answered first, “No problem.” He looked to his squad before continuing, “We'll just head to our barracks then.”

The trooper nodded, continuing to walk, “Best hurry. There's a mandatory general assembly at 1500.”

Echo put a gloved hand to your shoulder, “Doc?” 

“That was Rig,” You whispered, “I watched them…they just…”

“Stay calm.” Hunter’s harsh, hushed tone snapped you out of your state, “Explain everything once we have some privacy.”

With a nod, you followed them to their barracks. Echo was at your right, and Crosshair was at your left. Occasionally Hunter would cast a glance back to you, as if making sure you were still present. Wrecker and Tech were behind you. The squad encircled you, as if intending to protect you. 

“Are you ok?” The ARC trooper leaned closer to whisper, “did anyone hurt you?” He was protective. Ever since you met him he’s always tried to keep you safe. 

Really all the clones had the drive to protect. To fight and defend. But after….after order 66….

That instinct was gone now. From all of them.

You shook your head and were about to speak when a shock trooper snapped, “Where do you think you're going, doctor?” He wore the standard painted red armor. There was a rifle in his hands as he spoke to you. 

You froze and damn near jumped out of your skin when he demanded an answer. Echo stopped beside you, as did the others of his squad. 

“I…They..” Your voice was lost, and after a quick clearing of your throat, you gave a proper answer, “Examining Clone Force 99. They’ve just returned from their mission and…”

“There is a Level Five Lockdown in effect.” The trooper stepped towards you, “All nonessential personnel are to go to their quarters and remain until the all clear is given.” 

You hated pulling rank, but in the hierarchy of Kamino, you stood above most clones, “Excuse me,” your tone became stern, hiding your shock from earlier. With a quick movement, you had your I.D out and nearly shoved in the clone's helmet, “I head the clinic in medical wing B. I am essential personnel. If it's such an issue for me to be out, you can take it directly to Nala Se.”

After a second, the Coruscant Guard stepped back, “My apologies Doctor. Continue on your way.”

Echo shared a look with you, “Are…you allowed to be with us?”

“No.” you admitted once the guard was out of earshot, “But I…I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone.” It felt like you were in the ocean, surrounded by predators. All they needed was a single drop of blood before they attacked.

Would they gun you down like they did the Jedi? Or would they opt to throw you in a cell? Would they try to mind-wipe you the same way many of their brothers had been? 

Your pace was hurried once you got to their barracks. The door slid open, and Crosshair damn near shoved you inside. Hunter caught you and gave the sniper a harsh look. 

Their barracks were messy but homey. There were posters and used targets on the walls. There were scribbles and doodles carved into the once shiny metal. Tables had droid pieces, tools and other projects that Tech most likely worked on. 

It was…personalized. Very Un-Kaminoan.

Hunter was about to speak when his comrade cut him off.

Wrecker walked past you, letting out a small cheer, “Ah! Good to be back!” He stretched his large arms above his head, entirely missing your state, “Well, I'll get the board. Eleven more successful missions.”

“Kaller wasn’t a win,” Hunter softly chastised his brother. He wanted to hear what you had to say, but Wrecker chimed in again to argue.

“Says who?” The larger clone turned, facing the team leader, “We completed our objective.”

“Not every objective.” It was Crosshair that spoke, not allowing you to talk, “Hunter let that Jedi kid escape.” His arms were crossed, glaring at the long haired sergeant, “Or do you want to keep lying to us?”

“E-even the padawans?” Your throat tightened. Horror washed over you all over again. Nausea slammed into your stomach, and you nearly dry heaved. You slapped your hand over your mouth and bent slightly. 

Children were executed too?

Echo’s arms were around you, “Everyone, shut up!” He snapped, “None of this makes sense!” His angry gaze was trained on the sniper, clearly not happy he wanted a padawan dead, “Those clones served alongside General Billaba for years. How could they have turned on her like that?”

“Because of the regs programming,” Tech finally spoke up, hands tinkering with a small robotic project.

Programming…

You looked up at the intellectual clone, realization dawning on you. 

Months before this, Kamino was put on lockdown. A clone and a Coruscant doctor had infiltrated the labs and went through genetic files searching for something. To your knowledge they were trying to cure another clone from a disease of some type. 

The trooper had died anyway. And according to the news from Coruscant, once the ARC trooper and doctor left, the clone had gone insane and killed the doctor before trying to assassinate the Chancellor. 

It was shared with the medical team that every clone had a bio-mechanical chip in their brains. You were told that the chip was planted to help the clones deal with the stresses of war. What caused the ARC trooper to go insane was a breakdown of said chip. In his insanity, he killed the doctor.

But now it was clear, you had been lied to. 

“It's been well documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the cognitive functions of clones to engineer them to follow orders without question,” Tech continued, “The good doctor here can confirm.” His eyes were on the small trinket he was working on.

You nodded, “I…I think…Yes. But I’d need to confirm. Check some records…” You straightened, still feeling sick to a degree, “All the clones were programmed to kill Jedi after being given an order.”

Wrecker furrowed his brow, “If that's the case, why weren’t we affected?” 

“Obviously, we are different,” The intellectual clone picked up a small screwdriver and continued to tighten something in his project, “They manipulated preexisting aberrations in our DNA, resulting in your brute strength, Crosshair's sharpshooting skills, Hunter's enhanced senses and my exceptional mind.”

“Those differences make you immune.” You looked at Echo. He still kept a hand on your shoulder, something you appreciated, “And Echo, most likely what happened to you on Skako Minor…it might have affected the chip. So the order didn’t affect you either.” 

He sighed and looked down, “Lucky me…” However, his eyes met yours again, “All the Jedi executed, even…”

“Most likely General Skywalker too. I’m sorry, Echo.” You raised a hand to squeeze his shoulder before pulling him into a comforting hug. 

He told you stories of Skywalker. How he was a good, if adventurous general. How he cared for his men deeply enough to risk everything for them. 

And now…the Jedi general was most likely dead too. Shot in the back by the very troopers he fought alongside.

You hoped, for Echo’s sake, he was alive and in hiding. 

The former ARC trooper accepted the embrace before he pulled away, turning to look out the window. You could see the storm of emotions in his soft brown eyes. Hunter was about to speak, most likely offer words of sympathy, but he had been cut off by an announcement over the PA system.

All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic.

You shared a confused look with Wrecker. That was sudden…

“This is one meeting I don't want to miss,” Hunter shrugged and began to walk out of the barracks. 

“First time for everything.” Crosshair snarked, following the sergeant. 

You followed the others before bidding farewell and going to your designated place. Your thoughts overwhelmed your mind and you nearly walked right into Nala Se’s back when you met up with her and Omega.

The young girl greeted you happily and grabbed your hand. She smiled up at you, “Good to see you, doctor!” 

Your smile was small but you were relieved to know that she seemed to handle the rapid change well enough, “Glad to see you, Omega. Are you alright?” 

She nodded, but remained silent when Lama Su joined you three.

You were behind the heads Kamino. The scientists and leaders you reported to walked steadily to the observation deck. None of them seem bothered from the chaos just hours before. No one seemed to care that Shaak Ti was gone…

Was she dead? Did Commander Colt shoot her down? Or did she escape and survive? 

You were so deep in thought you missed the entirety of the beginning of the briefing. In fact, you didn’t even register that it was Chancellor Palpetine announcing the news. By the time you snapped into focus, he was already giving a speech. 

“and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.” The holo echoed around the large staging area. “The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed. But I assure you. My resolve has never been stronger!”

Troopers stood in line. You could easily spot clone force 99. Their black and red armor was stark against the white plastoid of the other soldiers. 

“In order to ensure the security and continuing stability the Republic will be reorganized,” Palpetine continued, and you perked up. 

“into the first Galactic Empire!”

Immediately troopers began to cheer. Many raised their fists in celebration, however, some of them looked around as if confused, entirely shocked by the news.

Your head spun, no longer hearing the speech. 

Galactic…Empire…?

[lamaenthel]

Solitary Confinement

[read on ao3][Febuwhump prompt: Solitary Confinement]

After being captured alongside General Kenobi by the Seppies, Cody holds out hope that rescue will arrive in time.

Characters: CC-2224|Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka Tano Word count: 1575

The cell is damp and near-freezing. With Cody's vision robbed by whatever contraption they'd bolted over his eyes, his other senses have sharpened. He has to be careful not to breathe with his mouth open. The smell of rot and open sewage had him gagging when they first dragged him into the stronghold. He's gotten used to it. Mostly. It's only gotten stronger in the last few days.

Soft tapping from the other side of the room is the only point of contact he has with General Kenobi.

"Take heart, Cody. The beacon was launched before we were captured. I don't expect we'll be here long." General Kenobi gives him one last encouraging smile from the floor, his wrists chained above his head, before the clankers bring out the drill and start attaching the metal blinder to his temples. "This should be entertaining at least, my dear."

Their chains give them just enough leeway to stand, though if they do it more than a few times an hour they're shocked into unconsciousness. It happens if they speak, too, which seems idiotic as the Seppies would have a better chance of overhearing something than extracting it. He marks the days by torture sessions; by his best estimate, there's a full rotation between visits. The chains hum and go warm with promised electricity. The door opens and one of them is dragged out of their cell for uncountable minutes to be interrogated.

Cody much prefers being strapped down to the table over his General. At least he knows what's going on when a droid asks him for GAR secrets in a monotone buzz, right before the needles go into his neck and what feels like acid fills his veins. Its agony, but they'd started training him to withstand torture at five. At least when they're torturing him he can breathe.

The waiting is the worst. Those dreadful seconds when metal footsteps approach them and he doesn't know who they'll choose are worse than anything they can inject him with. General Kenobi has no such training, just his strength of will, and while it's indomitable, Cody knows it will give out eventually.

Maybe that's why they haven't taken him for three days. Kenobi taps on his chains every few minutes so Cody knows he's still alive, but he can't hear the reassuring sound of his Jedi breathing over his heart's own drumbeat pounding in his ears. There's nothing else to hear in the gluttonous, bloated silence.

He's dehydrated. Water wasn't provided—deemed unnecessary when every day the droids held his head under a steady stream of it until he passed out—but they haven't been fed since they arrived. Not food, anyway, just leathery balls of surprisingly sweet jelly during their torture sessions. They get angry when he chews them, so he keeps doing it, figuring it's the right call. His stomach cramps violently, squeezing acid up into his throat and eroding delicate tissue. His body is starting to cannibalize itself. Every torture session leaves him weaker, but it doesn't matter. He will survive, force his heart to keep pumping blood even when every other bit of him wastes away, because that's what he was made for. He's a Marshall Commander to a High General, not some wet-behind-his-ears shiny who's never known a night without Kamino's thunder. He knows how to withstand any torture, no matter how brutal.

Kenobi taps again. Cody taps back. It's all they can manage. It's enough to keep going.

Take heart, Cody.

He will. He'll let them rip him up from the inside out if that's what it takes, but he will not lose hope. Not if his General still needs him.

He feels the hum of electricity in his teeth right before his chains warm and come alive again. He steels himself. Any moment the door will open. They'll drag him off again to ask the same questions that he won't answer, flay him like a nerf left to rot in the sun, then throw him back in his cell once they deem it to be another wasted day.

The door doesn't open. Instead, the chains go cold. Cody frowns; that's never happened before. The floor vibrates, and he's thrown violently to the side with the force of an explosion somewhere below them. The rushing roar of blood in his ears intensifies. "General Kenobi?" he whispers, taking a chance that their captors are occupied with whatever the hell that was. He can't speak properly anyway. Between the screaming and the stomach acid, his voice is virtually gone. "Can you hear me, General?"

Kenobi taps again, unwilling to risk it. Cody accidentally sucks a deep breath in, gagging from the stench of rot. It's all he can do to not vomit, even though he doesn't have anything to bring up except acid. He ignores the burning in his throat. DC-17 carbine fire echos through the vents, a song as reassuring as a mother's lullaby to a clone trooper. "They're here, General," he says, adrenaline jumpstarting his weak heart. "We did it." We survived.

Kenobi taps again.

Waiting for his brothers to find them is more painful than anything their captors have put him through. He can hear boots thumping, blaster fire getting closer, the hum of a swinging lightsaber. He twitches in his chains, weak muscles begging to join the fight. Who came, the 212th? Undoubtedly they'd come in some capacity, but he would hazard a guess that there's a fair amount of blue mixed in the golden orange. Skywalker never was one to sit on his hands and wait patiently where General Kenobi was concerned.

"Just hang on, General. They're almost here." Cody licks lips that taste like sour old iron. First thing he's going to do after seeing to his General and getting debriefed is grab the bottle of tihaar he confiscated from Wooley. There aren't many perks of being in command, but if he had to make a list then sampling the contraband for “safety reasons” would definitely be near the top.

The blaster fire gets closer, along with the subsonic buzz of a lit saber. Cody fidgets in his cross-legged sit, his legs on fire and cramped from being bent for days, barely able to contain himself. The door beeps and slides open. Cold air that smells like corpses is sucked into the room, shocking him. He hears a single, sharp inhale, high-pitched and young. "Cody?" a trembling voice asks after a few pregnant seconds.

"Commander Tano," Cody rasps. The words scrape his throat like rusty sheet metal.

The sound of her footsteps scuff across the floor. "Oh, Force, what is this?" She touches the metal band that the droids had bolted into his skull. He jerks in his chains as a lightning bolt of sharp pain zaps through his temples, accidentally smacking his head against the wall as he does. "It's okay. Don't move, everything is going to be fine." Her commlink beeps. "Rex, cell 117. I found them. I need a medic here, now." Her voice shakes. “E-Everything is going to be okay.”

"General?" Cody tries to clear his throat, tastes blood instead. "It's alright, General, we can talk now. The chains are turned off."

Kenobi taps.

"Don't… don't let Anakin up here." Cody's blood freezes. A soft, trembling hand runs across his brow, mindful of the bolts this time. "We tracked the beacon." Her voice cracks. "We came… we came as fast as we could."

Cody leans into her soft touch, for her comfort as much as his. She's always been so sensitive. "I'm alright, Commander. Go check on General Kenobi."

He hears a humming fwoom. She cuts his chains with her lightsaber, rubbing his bloodless hands briskly like he'd been out in the cold once they're free. "It's going to be okay, Cody," she says again. She's crying.

"General, please say something," Cody says hoarsely. The stench of rotten flesh is so overpowering that he can taste it. "Obi-Wan?" Why hasn't he said anything? Why hasn't he greeted Ahsoka? When did the tapping stop?

The tapping resumes; relief floods his system. "Get off of him!" Her lightsaber ignites, swings, and a wet chitinous thump follows a moment later. "I'm sorry." Ahsoka whispers it over and over again until the words slur together.

Cody reaches up to the metal blinder and starts turning the bolts that keep it attached to his skull with numb fingers. The screws take forever to twist out of his swollen, infected skin, but he doesn't stop even when Ahsoka grabs his wrists and begs him to. He shoves the sobbing girl away and rips the blinder off with an agonizing scream.

It takes a few seconds for his vision to adjust. Even in the near pitch-black his eyes hurt. General Kenobi sits cross-legged exactly where Cody had seen him last. He's still chained to the wall, mottled hands cuffed above his hanging head. A pile of something shiny and wet glistens in his lap.

Cody creeps closer on his hands and knees, unable to trust his weak eyes. His hands slip in the slick blackness that covers that side of the room. The smell of rot and sewage is almost unbearable. Cody reaches out a quivering hand, confirms with a touch what his eyes refuse to see.

The bisected insect that's been eating its way through the General's guts taps weakly on the floor one last time before finally dying with a hiss.

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump , @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[dickarchivist]

Grave squad of the 404th.

This is the biography introduction for Grave Squad, clone OCs made by me. They're part of a fake battalion, the 404th. The jedi mentioned are for context only at this point, and are also my OCs.

Jedi of Note: Jedi Master Dax'Malkin Valka. Zebrak. General of the 404th. Padawan Athena Bello, near human. Master Dax's last Padawan.

Word count: 2815

Minors DNI 🔞 there is the N S F W alphabet for Grave Squad toward the bottom.

Meet The Clones!

Ghost, Phantom, Specter, Banshee, and Wraith!

Clone Captain 1313: Ghost

Nickname: none

Ghost is the oldest of the Grave Squad Clones. He's a mission focused and goal driven soldier, but this doesn't stop him from making time to check on his men. Ghost is known to be incredibly kind hearted, making sure that everyone in his command is taken care of before he takes care of himself.

During a field mission, Ghost sustained acid burns to his eyes while protecting natives. Ghost lost his eyes, but Master Dax saw to it that he be given cybernetics to stay in the fight and prolong his life. Ghost's eyes are predominantly white, with a gray iris and white pupil. The splash like scars remain across his eyes like a mask. Ghost has short hair, shaved on the sides with a slightly longer top. After his accident, Ghost starts growing facial hair. The dark hair is mixed with patches of silver, fading in some places.

ARC Trooper 1404: Phantom

Nickname: Tom/Tommy

Phantom's a little cocksure and brash. He likes to think himself the leader despite his place in the Squad, and will sometimes challenge Ghost for his position. He's never beaten Ghost, even when his Captain was blind. Phantom is extremely competitive, keeps count of Droid kills on missions, and is known to cause bar fights.

When he's in the field, Phantom earns his name. He moves silently and follows the orders to a T unless the situation calls for quick thinking, which it often does. He's best with long range assault, yet remains a vital assent in melee situations. Phantom sports goatee facial hair with longer locks. He ties it back with a beaded ribbon given to him by Athena.

ARC Trooper 1551: Specter

Nickname: Specs

Lovingly nicknamed "Specs" by his brothers, Specter is the more technologically inclined of Grave Squad. His area of expertise sits with improvised weaponry, often making explosives or blasters with anything he can get his hands on. Creating gadgets and hacking systems are his second favorite hobbies. His first is photography. Specter takes photos every chance he gets, and when asked why, he simply says, "Proof that we lived." He's a little harder to get to warm up than his brothers, very blunt, but he understands when gentleness is needed.

Specter has a shock of white hair on his head, fluffy and wild, a broad Mohawqk. The sides of his head are shaved, decorated with tattoos of intricate swirl patterns.

Clone Ordnance Specialist 1666: Banshee

Nickname: Ban

The scars on Banshee's throat tell many stories, but you won't hear them from him. His brothers can tell you a million different stories, but they always change, and Banshee won't tell you which one is true, if any of them. He's quiet, yet despite his role in demolition, he likes it quiet too. He wears in the ear headphones near constantly to drown out the tinnitus from explosions. some say he's deaf, but even so much as whisper his name and he'll look your way. But he's not mute. On the battlefield if you hear his voice, you either duck for cover or you run. Things are about to get loud. Banshee communicates in hand signs more than anything else.

Banshee is often seen with a neutral expression, and half hooded eyes, making him appear sleepy despite how high alert he always is. Aside from the scars across his throat, Banshee's hair is his most defining feature. Near shaved bald, the fuzz on his head is blonde. Sometimes, for fun, Banshee and the rest of Grave Squad will draw on his head. Athena once drew a heart near his temple. He had it tattooed there shortly after.

Clone Medic 1789: Wraith

Nickname: Ray/Rai

One of the hardest Clones to pin down, Wraith is always running from place to place without end. He's a worrier, much a mother hen, and consistently double checking to make sure everything is in order. He's one of the few people that can get Ghost to sit down and take care of himself before others. Wraith is incredibly firm when it comes to the safety of his brothers, and has been threatened with a court martial numerous times for disobeying jedi orders in favor of the preservation of his brothers. Luckily, Master Dax never let them take Wraith, always saying that the medic was indeed following orders, his orders.

Wraith loves flowers. He pressed them when he can, collecting new ones on his missions and preserving them between the pages of a hand bound book with blank paged that Master Dax made for him. Wraith has a slight mutation in his genetics, giving him one green eye, and one standard brown. He has a well kept beard, and a slightly longer, natural curly hair cut.

Some Spicy ABC's beyond this point 👀💦

NSFW ALPHABET FOR GRAVE SQUAD

A note: All of Grave Squad is Pan, they like everyone and everything. However, unless requested, I tend to write fem/afab partners for them. With that in mind, that's how these will be answered.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ghost: As with everyone under him, Ghost makes sure your needs are met. He'll man handle you, clean you up, had make sure you drink some water within the hour. If you're really messy, he'll take you to the shower and clean you up himself.

Phantom: he's shockingly clingy afterwards, asking if it felt good, if it still feels good, do you need a safe word next time, are you sure it was what you wanted, etc. For a man as outwardly confident as Phantom, he's very self conscious and craves your approval.

Specter: less so for after care. Specs would, with your permission, take a photo of the mess he's made of you, chuckling that it's his best work yet. Out of the 5 of them, Specs is the most likely to eat you out as a form of after care.

Banshee: he just wants to hold you. Keep you close, listen to your panting, the intense beat of your heart as it comes down. He'd enjoy Feather light touching, Whispers of kisses on warm skin. Soft, quiet, warm and safe. He'd want to stay in you as long as possible.

Wraith: he would stay as long as you wanted him to, but wouldn't be the most romantic for Aftercare. He'd wait for the body high to fall before taking you into the shower to clean up. He'd change the sheets before allowing you back into bed, only afterwards would he cuddle with you again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ghost: he's a lips and breasts kinda man, that oral fixation. He thinks his hands are nice.

Phantom: thinks he's the maker's gift to the galaxy, all of him is his favorite. He loves soft tummies and thighs on his partners.

Specter: takes pride in his arms and hands, they're quick, strong, and skilled. Loves to look you in those pretty eyes of yours

Banshee: he likes his tummy, its not rough chisled, but solid still. He likes that when he's not flexed, he has a little belly roll. Its not a body part, but he loves your voice. It's the only sound in the galaxy he'd want to hear all day long.

Wraith: his eyes and nose are his favorites on him, making him unique from the very start. He takes his time appreciating your whole body, stating that every part is his favorite, though you do catch him looking at your ass and chest very often.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Grave Squad: they all enjoy spending themselves inside their partners, but even more when their partners cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ghost: He gets jealous so quickly. He doesn't have personal possessions, but you belong to him, and if anyone makes him feel even the slightest insecure about that, he's quick to remind the galaxy who you belong to.

Phantom: he'll try to deny it, puts on a convincing act, but Phantom likes it when his partner takes control. He'd never ask for it, but he craves it.

Specter: when he's in a creative rut, Specs will wear a pair of your panties that he stole from you. Sometimes he'll wear them just for fun.

Banshee: listens to a recording of the two of you having sex almost every single day. His headphones are always on, no one is the wiser.

Wraith: once accidentally exposed himself to a powerful aphrodisiac he was researching and pretended to be sick because he couldn't get his boner down for 8 hours. Spent that time furiously going solo.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ghost: he's had his fair share of flings and one night stands, but yearns for more.

Phantom: first of Grave Squad to fuck, and has not stopped since. He's here for a good time.

Specter: much like Ghost, he's experienced the throws of passion.

Banshee: he's selective, and needs connection before making a physical one, but has had a handful of goes around the bases.

Wraith: someone draw this man a map, he can't find a date

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Grave Squad: any position they can see their partner's face in

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ghost: knows when to make a joke during sex, knows when to be heartfelt

Phantom: makes jokes afterwards, to cover up his insecurities

Specter: does not joke, but will chuckle if you do

Banshee: barely talks. If he does make a joke, it'll likely go over your head in the moment.

Wraith: jokes when he's nervous, so very often at first, but less and less the more serious the relationship.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Grave squad: all very well kept, Ghost doesn't let them get nasty (neither does Wraith). And yes, the carpet matched the drapes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ghost: he gets wistful, thinking of the future almost breaks his heart, because he doesn't know if he has one. But he wants to, with you, and he'll tell you that over and over. "I want a life with you."

Phantom: once you've broken down his fuck boy walls, Phantom is actually really romantic. He does stereotype romance when he thinks you're just in it for the sex, but once you've actually started to get serious he puts in the effort.

Specter: his romance is in subtle ways, like calling you by your first name when he only ever calls you by a pet name or your title. He may be softer with you, or come to you for creature comforts without the need or want for sex.

Banshee: if he speaks around you, fuck everything else, that's how you know he loves you. He uses his voice.

Wraith: his version of romantic interaction is a strange meld of his brothers, but above all else, he'd bring you flowers. Not just pressed ones, but live flowers, even ones he made with metal or papers.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Ghost: he doesn't do it often, but when he does he makes sure with 100% certainty that no one will hear, see, or interrupt him. Ghost is very private.

Phantom: has no shame, but at least has the decency to wait until he thinks his brothers are asleep.

Specter: will go solo to relieve stress, but otherwise doesn't unless it's part of sex with you.

Banshee: once a day, no one knows that he does.

Wraith: very bad at hiding the fact that he does, because he can't keep quiet.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ghost: breeding, marking/possession, over stim, nipple play, oral fixation, being called "daddy", body worship, Achluophilia (darkness/blindfold)

Phantom: punishment (recieving, light when giving), sub/Dom play (both ways), wax play, praise, public sex, teasing,

Specter: bondage, recording, edging/denial, over stim, public sex, lingerie, underwear

Banshee: Akophilia (arousal through sounds), body worship, shower sex, face sitting (partner on him), Somnophilia (sleeping sex (with consent))

Wraith: Vicarphilia (hearing of other's exploites), breath play, medical play, shower sex

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) (other than the bedroom)

Ghost: over his desk

Phantom: in any risky spot

Specter: in front of windows/ mirrors

Banshee: in the shower

Wraith: exam chair/table

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Grave Squad: their partner, always.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Grave Squad: non-concent, dehumanization, age play

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ghost: loves both

Phantom: likes recieving, loves giving

Specter: doesn't like recieving, enjoys giving

Banshee: loves both, especially giving

Wraith: likes both, getting better at it

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Ghost: depends on partner's desires

Phantom: rough and fast until bonds are made, then slows down sometimes

Specter: sensual, but hard

Banshee: slow and sensual

Wraith: clumsy, slow, and giggly

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Ghost: enjoys them, but not as much as feature length fun

Phantom: loves em, but less when youre serious with him

Specter: he'll give you oral for a Quickie but doesn't like them for himself

Banshee: would only do it if you asked him to and seemed absolutely desperate

Wraith: so excited about the idea, would love to, as often as you'd like.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Grave Squad: they'll try damn near anything at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ghost: 4 rounds, 10-15 min each, 2-5 minutes between rounds

Phantom: 3 rounds, 8-12 minutes each, 3-5 minutes between first 3 rounds, 6-10 minutes between final rounds

Specter: 3 rounds, 10-15 minutes each, 1-3 minutes between each round.

Banshee: 3 rounds, 15-20 minutes each, 2-3 minutes between rounds.

Wraith: 2 rounds, 5-8 minutes each, 3-5 minutes between rounds (he'll get better with practice)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ghost: doesn't use toys, but wouldn't be adverse to trying for his partner

Phantom: loves toys, uses them for both

Specter: uses toys on partner

Banshee: loves a good cockring, anything to prolong the process

Wraith: doesn't know enough, but would be very excited to try them out

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ghost: teases a little (until you tease back/make him jealous, then all bets are off)

Phantom: teases until you tell him to stop

Specter: King Tease, doesn't stop until you use the safe word

Banshee: doesn't tease verbally, only touch, and only until you're in the mood and say you're ready for him

Wraith: would try to tease, but wouldn't be good at it. Unknowingly teases most of all.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ghost: moderate, doesn't get too loud but can be vocal. Grunts and moans, growls. Checks in throughout, light dirty talk sometimes

Phantom: moderate to loud. Talks through the process, shouts when he climaxes unless he's going solo. Dirty talk and check ins veiled as dirty talk

Specter: low to moderate, brief check ins. Dirty talk in a whisper, will call you names if you're into it.

Banshee: silent for the most part. Breathy panting, soft grunts. Focusing more on the sounds you make. Eye contact for check ins

Wraith: moderate to loud. Panting, moaning, grunting, begging and praise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Ghost: watching you ride him is one of his favorite sights

Phantom: makes sure you climax at least twice while with him

Specter: gets off on you getting off, way more than anything else.

Banshee: wants nothing more than to slowly fuck you for an entire day, would spend hours worshipping your body if given a chance.

Wraith: has a fantasy about having sex on a beach, but wouldn't do it because it's very risky health wise. Thinks about it often, though.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Ghost: above average length, average thickness

Phantom: average length and thickness

Specter: average length, slightly above average thickness

Banshee: above average length and thickness

Wraith: average length and thickness

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Ghost: 8/10

Phantom: 8/10

Specter: 7/10

Banshee: 10/10 (surprise)

Wraith: 5/10

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Ghost: doesn't fall asleep until after you do

Phantom: falls asleep within 20 minutes of finishing

Specter: falls asleep within 30 minutes of finishing

Banshee: stays awake as long as he can just admiring you

Wraith: once his Aftercare routine is finished, he's out within moments unless you keep him awake.

[piers-official]

Are y'all ready for the CARNIVAL?

New album out NOW on your listenin' devices...

((OOC I do not own these songs. This is a mock album and was made purely for fun))((Some of these videos may contain flashing images, sexual themes and blood/injury. View with caution!))

Hymn for a Beldum (Hymn for a Droid - Psychedelic Porn Crumpets)

CARNIVAL (MAMMAMIA - Måneskin)

Want (I Want to be Your Slave - Måneskin)

Free (Free - Mother Mother)

Panic Button (Dilemma Us From Evil - Psychedelic Porn Crumpets)

Lonely Nature (Lonely - Palaye Royal)

Mx. Sinister (Mx. Sinister - IDKHow)

Acid (Absinthe - IDKHow)

Captivate (Obsession - Joywave)

Psycho Cut (Feat. Roxie) (Papercut - BennyTheGhost)

Baby's Got a Gun (Hayloft II - Mother Mother)

Major thanks t'my favorite bloke @rockstar-roxie for the help. Couldn't have done it without you.

[robobirdie]

Arts for my Ninjago short

I made some illustrations for my story Anatomy of a Droid.

This illustration goes with this part of the story:

As Pixal had stated most of his systems had been shut down so were not making noise but it wasn’t quiet in his body. To indicate its healthy alive state Zanes power source not only gave off a quite low hum but a slightly electric toned sound that mimicked a normal hearts beats. Outside his body the sound along with the many other sounds his body made when active and functioning normally generally couldn’t be heard unless you pressed your ear against his body near the sounds source. His synthetic muscles and skin helped dampen the sounds to keep his functioning quiet both for his hearing and others. The sound from his heart had Jay and Kai unsettled. The others found it a bit unnerving but were pleased to hear it. The sound meant he was still alive and that his heart was okay. Zane’s power source was unique; none of them had a clue what exactly it was though in their investigations of it Jay and Nya found several very rare materials it could be but they weren’t sure which it best matched with. All they knew was outside Zane, Pixal who shared half the material from Zanes heart and a few other droids they had come across through their travels were the only ones to have and use this substance and Zanes father had never told them what it was or how he came to get it. They were guessing he wanted to keep the source secret and they felt that was probably a good thing. Whatever it was this material was very powerful able to not only give life to those of artificial make functioning like a battery for the energy that gave them life but had the potential to give great power under the right circumstances. When used as the power source for a droid it could give a long lifespan as long of course if it was taken care of properly such as not letting energy outputs get too low which was why Zane and others who shared his style of power source had a specially designed digestive system which could convert matter into an energy format their hearts could use and store. While this power source didn’t have the dangers of highly corrosive acid like a typical battery it had the great risk of exploding if overworked or overloaded by something like Jays powers. Because of this and not wanting to get electrocuted as well as Zanes body was very conductive they all agreed that Jay should refrain from using his powers while they were inside Zane. They didn’t want to do anything that could hurt his power source; while not entirely sure both Nya and Jay who understood Zanes anatomy best as they frequently worked on him and Pixal in order to keep them healthy were pretty sure if his power source stopped working for whatever reason it would not start again and without it they would lose Zane. They defiantly didn’t want that. 

When they got to the area of his left shoulder they could see some of the damages Pixal talked about but none of them could see one of these worms. The synthetic muscle that attached from the replica collarbone to a prong on the replica of an upper arm bone to help pull his arm up had been de-attached from the upper arm. They inspected the site.

“This doesn’t look too badly damaged. Some minor cuts to the synthetic fibres but some synthetic re-grow should fix it,” Nya noted and Kai wondered, “is that what that weird sickly yellow green liquid stuff I’ve seen you and Jay use while working on him is?”

“Yha, you should always use gloves when working with it cause if you get it on your skin it really burns; it makes synthetics re-grow while it de-grows organics,” Jay noted and Cole commented, “yha I can attest to that. I mistook it for peroxide once and boy was that a mistake. Made the cut worse and gave me blood poisoning. That was an unpleasant week. To be fare it was in the same bottle as the peroxide… I guess I should have read the label though before using it.”

“And that’s why we now keep the first aid equipment for Zane and Pixal in separate different looking containers and we don’t keep them in the bathroom with our first aid supplies,” Nya commented before Lloyd wondered, “what does that stuff do exactly?”

“Basically it makes synthetics re-grow and repair themselves. Unlike our fleshy makes the materials that make up Zane and Pixals make generally cannot repair themselves without an external aid. Only components of their digestive tracts can do that but that’s because those parts are made from tougher more complex self repairing synthetics unlike everything else which lack that ability. That’s where that stuff comes in. It’s a bit dangerous to work with and takes a few hours to complete its work but is much cheaper, just as efficient and I’m pretty sure Pixal and Zane prefer that method over other methods especially just removing and replacing parts. Unless something gets too badly damaged we use that method to fix things for them,” Nya explained and Cole commented while they continued to inspect the site, “yha I’m probably with them. I don’t know about you but it probably isn’t a nice feeling to just have a part of your body removed and thrown away if some things wrong with it. Like that was a part of you, part of your being and it just gets thrown away like some piece of trash. Sure it was damaged but it was still part of you part of what made you well you. Having that done probably would make you feel disposable; like your being means nothing like your life is almost meaningless and fake if someone does that. I know that’s how I would feel having something like that done.” They all looked at Cole a little taken back by his rather morbid comment.

“Yha I could see how that would really bother them; that’s not something pleasant to think about,” Kai agreed and Jay stated, “by the looks the only damage done here is to the fibres. Everything else is fine.”...

This one is for this part:

“You should recognise these structures brother, you had to help replace parts from them remember that?” Nya regaled and Kai stated, “yha don’t remind me; it was uncomfortable seeing and working on his insides. I never meant to hurt him, it was an accident. I didn’t realise he was there when I made that fire storm. I was just cutting off the bad guys so they couldn’t escape I didn’t mean for him to end up breathing in incredibly hot burning embers. To be fair Zanes disguise was really good, a little too good I didn’t know he was there.”

“How hot did you make that fire? It melted many of the sensors in his lungs and damaged most of the rest plus some of its tissues. We had to replace the whole things! Zane just wanted to repair what was there but it was all too badly damaged,” Jay explained and Kai noted, “I helped out with the cost and work in the repairs to show I was sorry. I prefer not knowing what his insides are like but I felt so bad especially since he spent a week in pain, with off sounding and weird breathing and frequently coughing from what I did. It was so sad, like seeing a sick kitten or puppy. He can shut off systems so why did he keep his breathing going if it was causing him such problems? It was to make me feel bad wasn’t it?”

“No more like the opposite. He didn’t want to unnerve anyone. He knows when he doesn’t breathe it unsettles some of us especially you and Jay…” Nya began and Kai commented, “there is just something unsettling seeing someone who’s living and so human like not breathing…” Nya continued, “yha that plus when he had his breathing off so he could get some sleep Lloyd had a bit of a panic thinking he was dead when he went to check on him so Zane kept them active to not scare or worry anyone despite the problems they were giving him.”

“Hey he was unnervingly still, he’s normally a restless sleeper so that wasn’t normal plus he wasn’t responding to me when I tried to wake him, that’s usually not a good sign. I was worried,” Lloyd commented as they inspected the area for the worm or signs of where it had gone. The only thing they could see was a rip in the side of his synthetic lung just large enough for one of these worms to pass through.

“He wasn’t responding because he was in a deep sleep being very tired from the days events and from having trouble getting to sleep because of the damages to his lungs. He didn’t want to be disturbed so set his body to basically a sort of do not disturb mode so he could get some sleep,” Nya regaled and Cole commented, “Yha cause Jay has a rude habit of disturbing others while they’re trying to sleep.” Jay added while they inspected the tear in Zanes lung, “I’d say sorry but there is no need for anyone to be sleeping till noon; sure I sleep in late but I’ve rarely gone that late besides it’s not fun having to wake any of the rest of you up. You can all be rather rude. You’ve punched me, thrown me across the room, thrown stuff at me, hit me with blasts of fire ice dirt water or energy not to mention set my clothes on fire, freeze me from the waist down to the floor, sent the chicken after me do I need to go on?” 

“I think I’m with everyone when I say when you’re sleeping it’s not pleasant to be awoken especially by your loud babbling and frantic shaking when you do it. Maybe we should wake you up in the same way,” Cole expressed and Jay commented, “hey what I do is not as annoying as some of you. Flipping my bed on its side, dragging me out of bed, making an earthquake, freezing my room, playing pranks on me like lighting off those little loud firecrackers in a metal bucket oh and how could I forget the time you dragged my bed outside and left me in the courtyard… during a rain storm! Again do I need to go on?”

“Hey sometimes you deserve it besides your reaction to some of those methods is hilarious anyway change of subject why is his lungs different colored from his synthetic muscles?” Cole wondered and Jay noted, “really you can tell it’s a different color.”

“What do you mean by that?” Cole wondered and Lloyd noted, “you have a tendency to mis-describe colors or not recognise them properly.” Jay added, “yha did you ever take that test we suggested you to?”

“I did,” Cole commented uneasy about talking about this and Jay wondered, “and what answer did you get?” Cole took a moment to respond.

“I have something called due-ter something. I forget the name it just means I can’t really tell the difference between red and green very well,” Cole noted and Jay commented while Lloyd cautiously approached the tear to look into it, “that explains some things like often mixing up Lloyd and Kais clothes or not following our instructions in video games like hit the red button and not the green.”

“Can we not make fun of my problems,” Cole commented annoyed by Jay who replied while Lloyd looked into the tear, “I’m not making fun just surprised you could tell his lung is a different color. As for why it is like that it’s to help differentiate the various components of his anatomy that way when you’re working on him you know which parts are for what system. You don’t want to accidently hook the wrong things up to each other. That really won’t help him and could cause problems.” Lloyd couldn’t see anything; it was too dark. He wasn’t wanting to venture deeper to get a better look unnerved by the dark and the fact the tear led to inside one of Zanes organs but as he tried to back up so someone else could take a more thorough look into the structure he was knocked off balance by Kai who unnerved by where he was wasn’t watching where he was going bumped into him. Lloyd tried to catch his balance but fell through the tear. The next thing he knew he fell a few steps down landing face down on a slightly elastic surface. The others quickly rushed over to the tear to get a look at what happened.

“I’m fine just watch your step,” Lloyd commented as he got on his knees and looked around. The others cautiously made their way to him Kai commenting nervous and trying to hide his feelings, “great we’re in his lung aren’t we? I was really hoping we wouldn’t end up in any of his organs.”

“Trust me this is probably the nicest and safest place you could end up in his body. Not much can hurt us in here. Trust me there is way worse places in Zanes body to end up in,” Jay commented and Kai quickly noted, “please don’t tell me I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know about them.” Compared to what they had been dealing with so far with relatively cramped conditions Zanes lungs were quite spacious and they were able to fully stand up. The place looked to be no more than an elastic synthetic made sack that in its resting state as it currently was it was only about a half its potential volume but it was still more spacious than what they had been dealing with...

Finally for this part:

“No no this is real bad! We’re in Zanes stomach! We’re going to get digested! There’s no way out we’re doomed! This can’t be happening it can’t be!” Kai was panicking causing Lloyd to give him a smack to knock some sense into him. It snapped some sense into him silencing him but he was still on edge and freaked out.

“Of all the places we could end up in this is the worst! There are only two directions we can get out of here and I’m not wanting to get out through the other direction especially if it involves having to go through the rest of his system!” Jay began to panic and Nya stated, “Jay chill Pixal will help us out of here. We’re not going to have to go through the rest of his system… I hope.”

“There are ways of getting out of here without having to go through his entire system right?” Lloyd worried and Nya explained, “yha. To make it easier to work on his digestive system is split into four main parts which can each be separated separately for work; his throat, stomach, small intestines and large intestines. Unfortunately though the worm could lock them preventing Pixal from operating them or if the worm went further in his system we might have to go down there to get it.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to do that,” Cole commented. They took a moment to look at their surroundings as they all cleaned themselves off a bit having the slimy substance which was Zanes equivalent to mucus, some of his digestive fluids and some matter that was in it on them. It was grossing all of them out. The synthetic material that made up Zanes stomach was the same color as his throat a green tinted dark purple color. It was dark and would have been pitch black in there if it wasn’t for the lights on their attire. Since he was laying on his back everything in Zanes stomach was orientated so everything in it was lying on the back of the organ. They were situated by the top of his stomach by the entrance and their lights didn’t reach very far preventing them from seeing much in there. They took that as something relatively good as they were pretty sure they didn’t want to see what else was in there or the other end. What they were already seeing was gross and unnerving enough for them. Further hindering their lights and visibility was a slight haze in the air which they were guessing came from some of the gasses being produced by his digestive process. They were also guessing these gasses were partially responsible for the strong, unpleasant and chemically tainted smell that burned their noses a bit. Unfortunately their masks were only partially blocking the smell. While not too bad none of them found the smell very pleasant. Along with making their noses burn they felt a bit sick from it.

“This is the worst place we could have found ourselves in! So gross and dangerous! Very dangerous! At least it doesn’t smell too bad rate now,” Jay complained trying to calm down and not lose it making Lloyd who was unsettled wonder, “What do you mean not too bad, it can smell worse in here?”

“Yha, Cole and Kais cooking can make it way worse like that time Cole made that stuff before Wu got lost after battling the time twins that made us all super sick…” Jay began and Kai commented looking around terrified at where he found himself, “how could any of us forget that. It was nasty. All of us except for Zane and Wu spent the night in the bathroom so we didn’t have to rush to the toilets every time we had to throw up. You spent most of the night thinking we were dying. Wu was smart not to have some of that stuff.”

“Hey it felt like we were dying didn’t it! Anyway Zane didn’t escape from that stuff either. Pixal warned him it was dangerous but he didn’t listen not wanting to be rude. What it did to him was nasty! Zanes system made the stuff into this very sticky dough looking stuff that got stuck and clogged up his stomach and like the first 20 centimetres of his intestines. It was not only disrupting and obstructing his system but causing him quite a bit of pain. It smelt horrid, one of the worst things I’ve ever smelt. To make it worse we had to use our hands to clean a good deal of it out of his guts…” Jay regaled and Cole expressed, “please don’t remind me of that. If the smell hadn’t been bad enough you making me clean the stuff out with my bare hands just made it worse… just remembering it makes me want to throw up.”

“I considered that your punishment for making us all sick and having caused Zane such a problem. That stuff was nasty to clean up and it took over four hours to clean it all out. Luckily we put Zane offline so he wouldn’t feel anything. The whole thing would probably have been more unpleasant not to mention painful for him than us especially since we had to use some non conventional tools to clean it out like one of the bottle cleaners from the kitchen. That probably would not have felt good having that used to scrub your insides. Luckily the sensors in his digestive system have a thin coating of the systems synthetic tissues coating them so the stuff didn’t get into the structures to cause damages or clog them but the stuff was defiantly interfering with their proper functioning and irritating them. That whole ordeal is why you started taking cooking lessons isn’t it?” Nya expressed and Cole stated, “yha that and some other things. You guys always making fun of or complaining of my cooking is another.”

“You know sure it normally is not nice smelling in here it’s not supposed to but I think the smell is stronger and fouler than it should be. I also don’t recall a haze in here. I think because his systems have been off for a few hours but there is still stuff being broken down in here the gasses made by the process have built up a bit instead of being emptied or moving on in his system to then be emptied like they normally would making the smell worse than it should be,” Nya noted. Despite Zane not having anything for breakfast there was still some stuff in his stomach. Most of what was in his stomach was the leftover scraps from the previous night’s dinner that hadn’t moved on yet in his system with tougher materials like bones that were still getting broken down being the only things still relatively intact. Most of the bones which looked to have been from two or three bones had been broken bitten into various sized chunks with one that looked like it had just been swallowed partially whole probably by accident. All were scattered about the place floating or sitting in the acid and all showed heavy signs of acid damage and had bits and chunks dissolved from them. Most of the softer matter was largely to fully dissolved making it hard to really identify what they had been and was just stuck in there because his system wasn’t active preventing it from being able to move into the rest of his system. The peach pit was from a peach Zane had been given for lunch two days earlier and was half broken down. Whereas the others not even Cole would eat a peach pit Zane wasn’t bothered by eating it sometimes swallowing a peach whole. It wasn’t healthy for him to eat the pit and even though he could break it down he was unable to convert most of the matter from it into energy so they were not entirely sure why he had a bad habit of eating them.

“Why are there bones in here? Feels like I’m in a gator with them here. I made enough for everyone to have their fill last night he didn’t have to eat the bones as well,” Cole commented looking around at their surroundings and Lloyd agreed unsettled, “why are there bones in here?”

“I’m not sure; I can’t see how Zane would enjoy them so I think he does it by accident or maybe he doesn’t understand he’s not supposed to eat them or that he doesn’t need to eat them. He also tends to eat other things that you’re not supposed to like peach pits, the skin to melons and pumpkins and the whole of a corn cob though he can’t turn most of the matter from those to energy even though he can break them down. I know he can not only break down bones but is capable of converting some of the materials from them like the marrow into energy unlike the other things he eats that he’s not supposed to so it’s not bad for him to eat them. He’s just not supposed to purposely eat them. His ability to digest bones is meant to be a safety precaution to prevent damages if he was to accidently swallow some after all with his jaw strength and metal made teeth and bones it’s very easy for him to accidently eat bits of bone every now and then and when broken bones often develop sharp edges which could cut up and damage his system so his system dissolves them so they can’t hurt him. Eating them on purpose isn’t going to hurt him but it’s not the healthiest nor is necessary. Pixal doesn’t do it very often nor does she ever do it on purpose but then again she better understands what it means to be a nindroid and understands human ways much better than Zane does. If he is doing it on purpose then all I can think of as a reason behind it is maybe he doesn’t want to waste any of his food or maybe he doesn’t realise he isn’t supposed to eat them on purpose,” Nya noted and Lloyd noted, “I could see him not wanting to let them go to waste. He doesn’t eat everything like Cole but unless he doesn’t like it or it makes him sick or from what he says it has no use for him or is dangerous or causes him problems he’ll eat most things including things people can’t eat or drink like motor oil and unlike some of us he always tries to eat all of his meal especially if it’s something someone else made and gave him; he thinks its rude to refuse it. He might not eat it all at once like Cole will but will save it and finish it later. He also has a habit that when someone gives him something to eat or drink as a gift he'll have it even if he doesn’t like it, it hurts him or makes him sick; he thinks it’s really rude to not have it even if he doesn’t like it or it hurts him. Remember that fermented fish stuff someone gave us once?”

“Dude how could we, that smell was horrid!” Cole commented and Kai regaled, “that was one of the worst things I’ve ever smelt! Just the smell made us all nearly barf! Pix and Zane were lucky they could turn off their sense of smell around that stuff.”

“How could we not forget that stuff!” Jay agreed and Lloyd regaled, “yha, none of us were going to have the stuff but not wanting to let it go to waste Zane had it… well him and Cole after we dared him to have some.”

“Yha the taste was slimy and gross even after rinsing them and it did not make me feel very good after that. I am never having that stuff again. We should have just taken the stuff to a zoo or park and fed some gators the stuff,” Cole regaled and Nya added, “yha Zane didn’t feel too good from it either. The chemicals and bacteria from the fermenting of those things upset his system. A droids system doesn’t handle fermented matter very well; the chemicals and bacteria from it upsets and irritates their systems and they can’t process the stuff very well.”...

To read the full story you can go here: archiveofourown.org/works/4469…

You can also view the images here: https://www.deviantart.com/robo-birdie/gallery/90881021/anatomy-of-a-droid-works Story synopsis: Something is attacking Zane from the inside. To save him the ninja are shrunk and sent inside him to find the culprits who are scattered throughout his insides and stop them before they can destroy him for good. Will they be able to save him in time and who is responsible for this attack? Along the way the others learn about the anatomy of droids like Zane and a bit of how he sees the world. You also get some tales of daily shenanigans from everyone.

[doublydaring]

can u say more about the monkee killjoys because i am so intrigued.... i love killjoy-ifying my faves and the drawings of yours that ive seen are so intriguinggg

hiiii I am working on making more art of them but it is going to take too long so and I am too excited to not respond so here goes.

davy is called Raggedy Andy and he is a droid. i AM born sexy yesterdaying him. He was built in some sort of bli facility and never made it to battery city. he has never been activated when the boys find him, hes some sort of song and dance droid, i have him in his little violin playing outfit from head. the boys discovering his pod can be seen in my little comic. they have to teach him how to be a person. hilarity ensues.

micky is called Shorty Blackwell. he is a zone rat if there has ever been one. idk the timeline of killjoys anymore sorry gerard but if its plausible his parents were zone rats too, they were! he is happy-go-lucky, carries a blaster but very rarely uses it, that being said, is pretty desensitized to shooting dracs, doesn't really seem to comprehend hes killing people because of how he was raised. knows his ways around the zones and is really into astronomy and geology, pockets FULL of rocks.

mike is Carlisle Wheeling. hes sort of a classic dark gunslinger type but god guilty guilty guilty about everything. he doesn't say that though. of course. anyway. he was born in battery city and loves to moralize about it. hes always like, you know you guys should be grateful cuz back in battery city and theyre all like groan mikeeee we just want to eat our freaking beans without a lesson okay?????? he is sooooo fucking DRAMATIC. wears a leather duster in the desert and complains about it being hot.

lastly my beautiful wife peter - moniker, Free Love, but they call him love because that is very cute. heart. will not carry a blaster. uh huh. absolute doozy of a right hook though. <- guilty about that too. talks a big game about pacifism but gets really overwhelmed easily and starts lashing out. then he feels bad -> the cycle continues. he doesn't talk about where he's from which could mean nothing. always wearing as few clothes a possible, much to mikes chagrin. serial pontificater. always got a tab of whack ass zone acid if you need one.

[slytherinbarnes]

back to you

pairings: established relationship!poe dameron x reader, kylo ren x reader

warnings: pwp, smut (18+), language, cheating, recreational drug usage

word count: 3.4k

summary: what happens when your rational thoughts get locked away, leaving only your inhibitions?

author’s note: this is based loosely on a bucky barnes miniseries i wrote on a previous blog (props to you if you know the og!) and it kinda popped into my head while I was working on my choose your own ending star wars series! 

Your eyes sweep over the lowly lit underground club, searching for any familiar faces. 

The crowd of people gathered near the all droid band is thick, and it seems to sway and move in time with the heavy beat thundering through the room. You toss back the neon green drink in your hand, nearly sighing in relief at the acidic burn sliding down your throat, your mind grateful to focus on anything other than the disaster of a mission you just returned from. 

Poe was furious at the way you risked your life to save a family from the clutches of the First Order, but you couldn't help it. It had happened almost entirely on instinct, some silent force guiding you to them before your brain even caught on to what you were doing. He and Leia gave you an earful when you got back to the hidden Resistance base, and Poe had stormed off in the end, heading straight for the hangar, the way he always did. He was in the cockpit of his X-wing and in the sky before you could even finish calling out his name. 

You didn’t mean to end up here, in one of the seediest spots in the galaxy, but old habits die hard. You spent most of your teenage years in this very same spot, wrapped up in backdoor business deals and illegal weapons trading after you fell in love with the wrong girl. It was too easy to fall into her lifestyle, to make a million credits in back rooms with all the wrong people, then blow a quarter of it in a single night at bars just like this one. You learned how to find the best underground spots with the worst types of people, and Sasha loved you for it.

But that war years ago, and you thought you left places like this behind when you joined the Resistance. Guess you were wrong. 

You feel a drink nudge your hand, and you turn to look over your shoulder at the bartender, a glowing blue drink in his orange hand, held out to you. “From the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

You take the drink, turning to look at the figure hunched over in the seat at the end of the bar. He’s in all black, his face shrouded in shadows, and you raise the glass to him in a toast, tossing it back in one swallow without another thought. You feel the liquid warm your body as it moves through you, and you feel your mind sink deeper into your inhibitions, shutting the door to your rational thoughts. 

The droid band near the center of the room changes songs, the sound turning to something fast and bass heavy, the crowd getting excited by the change. You feel yourself heading to the dance floor, your body already moving to the beat of the song. You lift your hands above your head, smiling and throwing your head back as you sway to the music, forgetting everything that happened earlier in the day. 

The band transitions to a different song, the beat slowing down and the bass thrumming beneath your feet. You close your eyes and sway your hips, letting the music move through you and take over. You feel yourself start to get thirsty, and you tell yourself that you’ll head to the bar at the end of the song, but salvation comes in the form of a tall man dressed in all black. 

“Thirsty?”

You look up at him, getting a better look at the face that was previously hidden in the shadows. A scar runs over his right eye and down his cheek, and his dark hair brushes his broad shoulders. His large hand is holding a drink out to you, this one a dark red color. You take the drink with a smile of thanks, the rim of the glass coated in something spicy, making the drink burn even more as it moves down your throat. 

You hand the drink back to the man, and he looks you up and down. Normally, you’d shrink under a gaze so intense, but the drinks in your system have you confident, your body still unconsciously swaying to the beat of the music. 

“Open your mouth.”

The rational thoughts bang on the door, begging to be heard, but your inhibitions are strong and loud, and you open your mouth like the man asks, completely unconcerned as he presses a pill to your tongue, his finger dragging over your lip as he pulls it from your mouth. You see him put a pill on his own tongue as the one in your mouth dissolves quickly, something sweet mixed in to mask the bitter taste of spice. 

It hits you quickly; your whole body feels light and warm, and the music is no longer just moving through you, it’s a part of you. It’s in your head and in your bones and it moves you on its own, swaying your body around and moving you closer to the tall man. His hands reach out to pull you closer, your back pressed to his front, his hips bumping against you as you grind into him. 

You feel him everywhere that you feel the music, his scent wrapped around you as you move in tandem. You feel a sheen of sweat across your forehead, but you aren’t bothered by it, too focused on the sensations building within you. There’s a warm fire growing in the base of your stomach, electric pulses running up your spine as you start to grow hotter. It takes you far too long to recognize it as the burn of arousal, your mind too focused at first on the sensations of pleasure that it brings you. 

The man’s hands are running up your body, over your abdomen and up to your breast, his fingers skating along the edge of your tank and brushing the tops of your breasts. His head is dipped so his mouth is near your neck, his warm breath spreading across your neck as you move in sync. You feel his arousal at your back, and you make yourself taller so you can grind against it, eliciting a moan that is breathed across your neck. The sensation sends a tingle down your spine and right between your legs, and you feel the man adjust his height so your butt is pressed against him. 

You grind against his erection, eyes closed as you take in the soft moans he breaths across your neck before his mouth dips to kiss the sensitive skin there. He nips at you, his tongue instantly swiping across the spot to soothe the pain and stoke the fire burning within you. You turn your head towards him, using one of your hands to lift his chin and envelope his mouth in a kiss, and his tongue is in your mouth almost as soon as your lips touch. You’re ashamed to say that you don’t think of Poe once; you’re too wrapped up in this man and the music and how they’re making you feel. 

The man spins you around in his arms, turning you to face him, his mouth devouring yours as soon as you’ve turned around. His hands continue roaming your body, one of them sliding beneath your shirt to touch the skin of your stomach. His hand moves towards your breast slowly, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him, but you never do. And when his fingers grasp your nipple and give it a small pinch, you moan into his mouth, the nerves in your body lighting you up with arousal. The spice pill he gave you has awakened every single cell in your body, each sensation feeling more powerful than the last, and you want nothing more than to lose yourself completely. 

You grab the man’s erection as his teeth grasps onto your lower lip, and you pull away slowly, suppressing a moan as your lip slips from his teeth. “Take me somewhere.”

He gives you a smirk, understanding what you’re asking, and it seems unusually playful on his serious face. He pulls his hand out of your shirt and takes your hand in his, leading you towards the bar so he can grab his cloak. He tugs you down a dark hallway, stopping to turn and press your back into the wall and kiss you. Your hands and mouth are hungry, roaming, trying to take in as much of him as you can and he lets out a little laugh when he finally pulls away. 

He clasps the cloak around his neck and tugs a black scarf from the inside pocket, placing it around your neck and tugging it over your head and across your face to protect you from the air outside. You’re grateful for it, because the wind is strong when he tugs you outside, the air dry and sandy, tossing sharp particles around and around. You hadn’t brought anything with you, because you never intended to end up here, and you remember the many nights you and Sasha would stumble out of this same door, drunk and unprotected, the sand leaving scratches all over you both. 

The man leads you around the corner to one of the many hotels in the area, just another seedy location to conduct illegal or illicit activities, just like you’re about to do now. He pulls you into the first hotel you cross paths with, straight into a brightly lit lobby and a too small front desk. The man digs in his pockets for the required credits while the creature behind the desk finds a key, and you reach out for the man, unable to keep your hands off of him as the drinks and spice flow through your veins. 

You haven’t once stopped to think about who could’ve seen you in the club or in this hotel; and you know the man in front of you hasn’t either. Few people would recognize him without the black mask he wears or the modulator that changes his voice. You tug the scarf away from your mouth and lean forward to kiss Kylo’s neck in the way that you know he likes. The creature behind the counter takes his credits and passes him a key, and Kylo’s hand goes to your throat, squeezing lightly as he guides your mouth to meet his. His tongue sweeps into your mouth and fights with yours before he pulls away and leads you down the hall to the room number attached to the key. 

He unlocks the door and swings it open, pulling you into his arms as he lets the door fall shut behind him, and he turns you to press your back into it. The wait to the hotel was clearly excruciating for you both, because Kylo tugs the scarf off of you, one hand held around your throat and the other underneath your shirt again, playing with your breasts. You reach up and tug off his cloak and his shirt, both of you pulling away for a second to get the shirt over his head before your lips collide in a kiss once more. 

Your hands roam over his bare chest, his skin warm and muscles tight, and you moan when his mouth drops to your neck and nips and sucks at your skin. You feel yourself grow hot, every part of you alive and involved in this moment, and it almost feels like too much, just kissing him. 

Kylo pulls away from you to tug off your shirt, and he drops and pulls your left nipple into his mouth, making you moan. His other hand plays with your right breast, teasing the nipple and sending zaps of arousal to your core. You reach out and palm Kylo’s erection, smiling when he thrusts into your hand, searching for friction. Your hands grab his waistband and tug his pants down, almost moaning when his dick springs free. He kicks his shoes off and pants free and you lower yourself to your knees in front of him, grabbing his dick and licking up his shaft before pulling him into your mouth. 

You look up and lock eyes with Kylo, and he moans at the eye contact as you bob on his dick. His right hand moves to your hair, fisting into it and guiding himself deeper into your mouth, and you suppress the urge to gag. He moans as he watches you, forcing himself to keep eye contact though his body just wants him to close his eyes and surrender to the feel of you sucking his dick. 

You can tell he’s getting close when he uses his grip in your hair to slow your pace down, holding his orgasm at bay. He guides your mouth off of his dick and up to meet his in a kiss. It’s intense and frantic, and Kylo has the rest of your clothes off in seconds before he pulls you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, his dick pressed between the two of you, pulling a moan from your throat that Kylo swallows greedily. 

He turns and lowers you onto the bed, kissing you hard before his mouth drops to your neck, and then your breasts, your stomach. He passes right past the apex of your thighs, the place you want him more than anything, and down to press a kiss to your knee, then the middle of your thigh. He uses his large hands to spread your legs wide, and he moans a little when he gets a good look at you. His eyes are dark with desire, and he’s looking at you hungrily. You don’t shrink beneath his gaze, you grow beneath it, feeling powerful for being able to bring a man like him to his knees. 

When his tongue swipes over you and taps against your clit, your back arches off the bed, a long moan pulling from your lips. It's everything you thought it would be, the spice making the experience 100 times better, brighter, every part of you involved in the moment. He sucks at your clit as he presses two fingers inside of you, and your eyes squeeze closed as you focus on the sensation of Kylo eating you out. He adds a third finger, curving them inside of you to hit that spot just there, an explosion of arousal hitting you like a TIE fighter. 

You cry out, the sensation almost too much, and you open your eyes to look at Kylo, your hand reaching up to push him away. But he uses his free hand to grab you before you can stop him, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, the gesture oddly intimate despite the way he’s sending you hurtling towards your orgasm. Every brush of his fingers over that spot of pleasure has you seeing stars, and he is relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure. He watches you intensely, and you try to keep your eyes on him the way he likes you to.

It only takes a few more seconds for your orgasm to build to its peak, soft cries falling from your mouth as you near the top. Kylo picks up the pace, and one nip to your clit is all it takes for you to fall over the edge. You hold his gaze as long as you can, but your orgasm is strong, and it pushes you back into the pillows as you cry out, everything exploding with stars. You feel yourself twitching with pleasure as Kylo continues to eat you out, refusing to miss a single drop, until finally, it is too much, and you push him away, overstimulated. 

Kylo crawls up your body and kisses you, his tongue in your mouth, your taste all over him. Pleasure is still rolling through you, and you want that for Kylo too, so you stretch your legs out and wrap them around him, using the heels of your feet to tug him closer. He pulls away and laughs softly under his breath, his smile tugging at something in you. It hits you like a punch to the gut, but you don’t have time to process it because Kylo plunges into you, forcing a moan from both of you. 

Kylo leans down to kiss you as he pulls out and then pushes back in again, swallowing your moan. There is no slow build up in the pace; he’s slamming into you within seconds, unable to hold back any longer. He pulls away to keep his eyes on yours, while one of his hands reaches down between you and moves to your clit, trying to build up your second orgasm before he can reach his own. His pace is almost punishing, but your orgasm begins to build regardless, unable to resist his expert fingers. 

You feel your eyes close as he fucks you, and his voice nearly startles you when he says, “Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”

Your eyes open to meet his, his gaze as intense as his pace, your body climbing and climbing until you can see that peak. You try to hold back, wanting to see Kylo come first, but you know he won't let you. You keep your eyes open as long as you can, but everything goes white when you orgasm for the second time, and you throw your head back again as you fall apart beneath him. 

Kylo’s pace moves faster, though you didn’t think it possible, fucking you through your orgasm, until finally, finally, he comes too. His head drops to your shoulder, a long moan falling from his lips before he mutters your name over and over like a silent prayer. His hips finally grow still, though his body continues twitching with pleasure as he sags against you, and you can feel his heart thumping in his chest where it’s pressed against you. 

You run your fingers up and down his back, both of your eyes closed as you try to let your heart rates return to normal. The moment is oddly intimate, though you try not to think about it, refusing to let the rational thoughts out of their tightly locked door. 

-

You search the floor for your discarded pants, unsurprised to find them kicked under the bed. You snatch them up, pulling them on, all while Kylo watches you from the bed. He’s completely naked, sprawled on top of the sheets, his arms resting behind his head, completely relaxed. He watches you quietly as you tug on your clothes, and when you sit on the bed to pull on your shoes, he slides off and grabs the scarf he gave you earlier. You stand in front of him, and he reaches up to run his finger down a cut on your face, one you forgot you had until this moment. But it reminds you how you got it, a mission nearly gone wrong, and you mutter, “You nearly killed me today.”

“Hardly.” You both know he’s right. The force that guided you to save that family? It was the knowledge that Kylo would never do anything to hurt you, despite the fact that you left him for the Resistance. He drapes the scarf around your neck and you start to argue against it, but he cuts you off. “Where does flyboy think you are?”

You shrug. “Dunno. He stormed off after he gave me an earful about my dangerous actions today.”

“He won’t notice the scarf.”

“He might.”

“He won’t.”

Right again. You won’t admit it though. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know.”

You both know you aren’t going to stop. 

Kylo leans down to kiss you, and it’s soft. Affectionate. It tugs at you the way his smile did earlier. You can feel the door holding the rational thoughts back shaking, the hinges getting loose. You don’t want to leave, but you know you have to. Everything will fall apart if you stay any longer. 

Kylo pulls back, pushes your hair out of your face, and pulls the scarf onto your head. He crosses the bottom part of the scarf over your mouth and nose, leaving only your eyes exposed. You look up at him as he presses one last kiss to your forehead, your heart aching, and then you move past him, refusing to look back because you know it’ll only break your resolve. 

You slide out of the hotel room, closing the door softly behind you, before heading back to your ship, back to the Resistance, back to Poe, and away from the man you can’t seem to leave behind.

-

[feruslands]

My sketch fanfic "Vader/Ferus"

For @la-sopa and @reconstructwriter, who inspired me to continue, and for everyone who loves "Vader/Ferus"

Warnings: rape

"Daddy Feri", part 3

When Ferus Olin woke up, he touched the Force and was relieved to realize that Vader was not nearby. But his child was here. Ferus decided for himself that no amount of disgusting truth about Leia being Darth Vader's daughter would make him give up the baby.

He and Leia were still in the medical ward, equipped with technology and all amenities. The droids provided him with medical care, and Olin was recovering from his wounds. Everything was fine as long as he could spend time with Leia. But all these days were poisoned by thoughts that Darth Vader would definitely return.

And it happened, a week passed and the Sith returned.

Vader entered the isolated medical unit where his prisoners were being held. He ordered Olin to take Leia to the new premises. When Leia saw Vader, she began to resist and cry - the monster in black armor scared her very much. Ferus would sense that Vader was in a bad mood, he realized that it was better not to test the Sith's patience, so he silently picked Leia up in his arms, and she instantly calmed down. The rooms where Vader brought the prisoners looked like a technological prison, but there was a lot of space and several rooms connected by corridors. Vader tells Olin that they will live here now, but any attempt to escape will end in death. Ferus tries to explain to the sith that Leia is still a child, she will not be able to live in prison, she needs walks on the street, communication with other children, as well as thousands of different things that any child needs for full development. Vader suggests that he take a walk in the acid rain and chat with the local cubs of ferocious predators. The Sith leaves them alone, and sets up several droids to spy on them. Ferus guesses that the Sith is too busy right now to bother with them. He wasn't surprised by the fact that Vader didn't really care about baby Leia and her well-being. But fortunately, the Sith wasn't going to starve them out. So Ferus concentrated on taking care of the baby.

Olin correctly guessed that Darth Vader was in great irritation. The Sith did not expect that Palpatine's new tasks to destroy the rebels would be so difficult and exhausting. Vader was in great need of rest and medical rehabilitation procedures. But Darth Sidious seemed to be testing his apprentice's strength, so he ordered him to go on a new assignment. Such a consumerist attitude made Vader hate his Master. But it was good, hatred gave him energy.

Vader managed to hide the existence of Leia and Ferus in his fortress from Palpatine. But there was even less free time, he had to deal with erasing the memory of serving and guarding droids, as well as falsifying statistics on the provision of his fortress, so that no summary of the figures could conclude that the building consumes energy, food and water, more than is required for one person.

In addition, he was angry at how easily Olin was able to calm his daughter, and how trustfully she clung to Ferus.

Baby Leia was still set against her own father, which caused him to be angry at her. She was afraid of him. But she was still too young to understand the motives of his actions, accept him and take his side. Vader understood that it would take a long time before she grew up and realized everything.

But even on the emperor's new assignment, a lot of things didn't happen the way Vader wanted them to, again.

As a result of heavy fighting, he suffered extensive damage to his suit, and this confused his plans and forced him to carry out long-term and global repairs. The waste of time infuriated him. He was one of the most powerful Force users in the galaxy, but he couldn't heal his injuries on his own. 

On the way to the Vjun, he reported to his Master. He hoped that Palpatine would encourage him and give him the opportunity to perform a series of complex medical operations that would improve his overall health and make him less dependent on the suit. But Palpatine obviously wasn't interested in that.

This caused him to grow furious. He felt like he was on Palpatine's leash, and he hated being dependent on anyone, that is, being weak.

The only nice thing about the situation was that he could take it out on Ferus. Vader knew he had done the right thing by keeping the Jedi alive. In the future, he could use the Jedi to force Leia to do what he needed.

And now he had enough reasons to treat this dumb cunt the way he deserved to be treated.

Ferus felt the tension in the Force that day. There had never been a steady, calm feeling of the flow of Force in Vader's fortress, but this time the Jedi felt something wrong, some kind of warning in the Force. He put Leia to bed, kissed her on the forehead when she fell asleep, and left the room himself.

Ferus didn't think Vader would come to Leia. He noticed that for some reason the Sith avoided the baby. The Sith made her his prisoner and hid her from the whole world, but at the same time he ignored the existence of his child.

Olin hoped that the Sith would ignore him too, but instead he felt a growing darkness. Suddenly, Ferus heard a hideous wheezing voice, duplicated by the voice filter in the mechanisms of Vader's suit.

Ferus saw Vader standing in the doorway. The Sith was without a helmet and was giving orders into the transmitter.

Noticing the Jedi, Vader grinned nastily and turned to face him.

Ferus saw Vader's face, disfigured by a burn and looking like a plowed field, and he unconsciously winced. He knew that many Sith were unsightly, but he did not think that Darth Vader was so physically ugly.

Vader, like a predator chasing its prey, felt jedi's incipient fear, and enjoyed it. He also felt his disgust, and this disgust caused him cold rage. He knew a great way to punish a Jedi.

Many of Anakin Skywalker's memories have faded. But Vader still remembers that perfect, brilliant Padawan all too well. That boring handsome boy always looked at Skywalker with arrogance and condemnation. Now the Sith knew perfectly well that the time when he felt impotent anger at that arrogant boy had long passed. Everything has changed. Now Ferus was his thing, without the right to his own opinion.

Ferus, as if reading his thoughts, shuddered, and this tremor made Vader feel his triumph.

Vader, filled with self-satisfaction, approaches the prisoner and puts hand on his shoulder.

“What's wrong, Olin? Are you that afraid of me now?" Vader asks mockingly.

“Don't touch me!” Ferus, with great disgust, throws off the heavy metal arm of the Sith and pushes him away.

Vader grins even wider, and watches his former rival closely with a mocking sneer.

“I've been too merciful to you, even though you don't deserve it. You still don't understand who is the Master and who is the miserable slave. I'll do whatever I want with you. And no one can stop me!”

Ferus is horrified to see the glee in his hideous yellow eyes. The Jedi understands what is about to happen.

“Come closer, you cowardly Jedi whore." Vader barks.

With the help of the Force, Vader attracts the Jedi to himself like a puppet, he strangles and beats him. When the victim can no longer fight and resist, Vader throws the beaten Jedi to the floor, and rapes him right there on the floor.

Vader forcibly possesses the old enemy, causing him to scream in pain.

"That's for you, asshole." says Vader

It was not only revenge for disobedience, it was also revenge for the past.

Ferus loses consciousness from the beating and violence.

Vader summons a cart carrying corpses so that this weakling can be sent back to the medical unit. Vader knew that raping his old enemy would give him pleasure, but he did not even imagine that it was so huge. This bastard will get what he really always deserved more than once.

Meanwhile, little Leia is crying silently, she is afraid to leave the room. She knows that something very bad is happening to Daddy. However, she promised him not to leave the room, no matter what happened.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 16: Spontaneous

SWTOR

Time: Sometime during KotFE

Word count: About 1200, but Lana does ultimately have fun.

~~

Lana Beniko cursed the day she had met Theron Shan and Eva Corolastor.

She should have drowned both of them at Manaan.  Taken their intel and proceeded apace to stop the Revanite conspiracy –

…and as always, her internal rant stopped there, because Lana remembered how green she was at spy games and all the skills she lacked before she went on the run.  She had learned all the things she could live without.  She also learned about the things that could and did kill her. 

As Theron later indicated, it was always important for a spy to know their weaknesses and know when they could not be compensated for in a mission. 

The Empire was expert at limiting free will and spontaneity. The Republic apparently tolerated a certain amount of improvisation, which explained not only Theron’s own high-flying achievements but also a good number of his injuries.  Nothing truly needed to be said about the constant state of chaos that existed among smugglers; Eva traveled along the ebbs and flows of business and adventure in the galaxy, fluctuating and ever-changing.

Lana did not tolerate spontaneity well, as it gave her ulcers.  Eva was the absolute top source for them.  Her rescue and insistence upon saving every wayward Zakuulan en route had depleted the bismuth supply Lana kept with her in her medkit. 

Eva’s improv skills prevented Lana from accompanying her to the Star Fortresses.  Praise the stars for Bowdaar’s return; the Alliance wouldn’t have gotten its kick-start into active operations without Eva having a partner that wasn’t currently guiding her remotely (Theron), an easily disabled droid (HK-55), incapable of doing stealth (Koth), or cramming antacids down her throat in fistfuls (Lana). 

The antacids supply in medbay dwindled when Eva went on walk-about; she’d disappear from the base, only to reappear when she felt like it… or when Lana couldn’t take the absence anymore and sent Theron to retrieve her. 

This was also why Lana could never own a cat; the requirement to let it do as it pleased at any given moment was overly indulgent, in Lana’s opinion.

The current cause of Lana’s churning stomach acid was Eva’s impromptu decision to say that, as an exercise in counter espionage, the entire base was required to play The Assassins Game.  Everyone had a packet of purple dye, and they were to squirt it on their target, assigned to them by the Master Assassin.  Those who survived the first round proceeded to the second, until someone was declared the best assassin on base and was rewarded with their choice of liquor from Virtue’s Thief and a three-day leave pass.

That wasn’t the problem. 

No, it wasn’t even that Theron Shan was the Master Assassin who had helped Eva arrange the game and the target assignments.

The problem was that Lana Beniko accompanied the liquor with the winner on their three-day leave pass. 

This idea apparently had been born overnight, in the short 7 hours Lana had taken to sleep. 

She stormed into the war room only to find those two jokers sitting at the war table.  “YOU.”

The pair had the audacity to smile at her.  Theron’s expression was more akin to a smirk, while Eva smiled with all of her teeth, a bit feral.  “In our defense,” Eva began, “it was the only way to exempt you from the Assassins Game.”

Theron indicated Eva.  “She can’t play, because she’s the commander of the base – unlimited access anywhere at any time.  I can’t play because … well, first, I’d win, and second, I had to make the assignments; I know who has which target.” 

Lana could feel the heat just radiating from her eyes.  “And you couldn’t come up for anything for me?” 

“We did!” Theron and Eva said in unison.

“I’m the prize,” Lana said with dismay.  “Along with a bottle of liquor and a shuttle pass.”

Eva waved a finger back and forth.  “No, no.  You have the most important job of all, Lana.”    She exchanged a knowing look with Theron and gave him the floor.

Theron squared up, datapad in hand.  “The winner of the competition… has already been contacted.”

Lana tilted her head to the side, wondering if she hadn’t heard correctly.  “What?”

Theron launched into his briefing.  “You will be accompanying a young Quarren pilot to his planet of choice, which will be Kamino, an ocean world.” 

The planet flickered to life on the war table, with a few finger taps from Eva.  “And just to remind you, much like Mon Cal, Quarren are biologically incompatible with humans!”

Lana growled at her as Theron continued, unfazed.  “Your mission there is to investigate some … disturbances among the local wildlife…”  Theron gestured to Eva.

Eva ran her fingers along the edge of the table, summoning up an image of… a Jedi?  “So, around 300 years ago, the planet Ossus got trashed by a supernova, caused by our old buddy from Yavin 4, Exar Kun.  On the way out, a Jedi master from the Swimmer race called ‘Qalsneek the Bull’ smuggled artifacts off Ossus before the whole place was irradiated.  He supposedly hid the loot on Kamino.”

The light went on in Lana’s head.  Aha!

Eva cocked an eyebrow at Lana.  “I have my suspicions about how ‘Jedi’ this guy was, with a name like that and a bolthole on Kamino readily available to store this stuff.”

Lana nodded.  “The entire Exar Kun affair… was highly disruptive to the Jedi Order and the galaxy at large.  The histories may not be complete…”  She stared at the planet then turned to Theron.  “What’s caused the artifacts to activate and cause the disruption, thus attracting our attention?”

Theron gave her a smile, appreciating how she’d knit everything together promptly.  “That’s what we need you to find out.  And if it’s safe, retrieving the artifacts would be helpful for our little enclave …though we might be able to use them strategically to generate goodwill with the Jedi Order at a later date.”

“Oooor the Sith Order – whoever is the highest bidder in terms of credits or war materiel,” Eva piped up. 

Theron gave her a look.  “We’ll talk about that later.”

Eva hopped off the edge of the war table.  “You’re the only one of us that’s Force Sensitive among us, so you’ve got to go…plus you’re the least believable to have cooked up the Assassins Game –”

“I’ll remind you I made you a cannibal on Rishi,” Lana retorted. 

She could be spontaneous!   …if she planned it well enough…

“So you’ll take your hot date and your nice booze in stride and … put up a good show for the base, one way or another?” Eva dangled out there.

Lana sighed and blew a puff of hair up at her bangs.  “I will be appropriately devastated by my doomed romance with a biologically incompatible Quarren.  But I will enjoy the liquor.” 

“Thanks, Lana,” Theron said, already burying himself in the next round of Assassin assignments.

“Can’t do it without you!” Eva added.  “So, wanna go up to the observation deck and watch our idiots chase each other all over Odessen and squirt each other with grape juice?”

“Absolutely!”

~

@fluffyfebruary

[firewoodwander]

Hi, I'm loving your Kiss prompt fics so much :D You're making me FEEL things 🥰. If you're still taking Kiss Prompts, how about: Fives/Tup: 39. Kissing tears from the other’s face. Thank you

Thank you so much for your request & your patience, finally I can write now that I can hear my own thoughts again!

Kiss prompts

Fives feels like he’s been walking around in a daze since it happened. The medstation hallways are empty and echoic—different to Kamino in that the walls and rooms are grey and free from blaster scoring, and sometimes have a brightness that comes from the stars, but similar in enough ways to trigger the familiar feeling of being hunted.

Fives slipped himself into the crew and visiting quarters as soon as the medics signed his discharge. Technically with a clean bill of health he should probably be going back to the 501st, but no one has asked any questions yet and no one has kicked him out. The medics don’t mind him as long as he stays out of the way, and the droids only complain if his visits coincide with their rounds.

The days have been long, monotonous cycles of staring at white sheets and IV tubes and listening to heart monitors. The warfront is a long way from here. At least half of the Jedi Council has come and gone since they arrived. Tup has slept through all of it.

So, reasonably, Fives notices the second Tup so much as breathes differently. His fingers and hands start making flinching little movements almost a two weeks ago, and the muscles in his face began to twitch a day or so after. When he first opened his eyes he can’t have been fully conscious, but he’d smiled when he’d seen Fives, and that had been enough to finally abate the gnawing pit of horror rooted firmly in Fives’ chest.

Today Tup is sitting up and fully cognisant when Fives turns up at his bedside. Fives already commed Rex since the fallout to keep him updated, but he feels the urge to vent all of the pent-up anxieties to him just as keenly now.

“Hey,” Tup greets. His voice is gentle where intermittent screaming and disuse has made it brittle, but he smiles in the way he always has when he felt he needed to comfort a brother. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Fives echoes. “You’re looking bright.”

His body doesn’t feel quite like his own as he moves the three feet across the room to Tup’s bedside. He ignores the chair he’s spent too many nights in and perches himself right on the edge of Tup’s bed.

Tup is tired, visibly unwell and what’s left of his hair left limp, unwashed. But Fives thinks he looks strong, right now, intelligent, and defiant. He picks his words with care and follows the shape of each of them with his lips, slowly, and Fives thinks he’s incredible.

“Healer Falle sends her regards. She says… she is impressed with my responses.”

Fives lets his gaze trail the drip line up to the bag like it’s a compulsion to check it. “I’m glad. They didn’t know if you’d be able to speak at all.”

“I’m lucky,” Tup agrees. And then he frowns at Fives, or something in the middle distance. “You’re too far.”

He turns over his palm in his lap. Fives isn’t going to deny him anything right now, and especially not this; he dutifully shuffles closer and slides his fingers over Tup’s palm, folding away the deep ache in his chest to examine later, smiling even wider when Tup’s hand squeezes his and tugs him even closer.

“Hey,” he chuckles, “any more and I’ll be on top of you.”

Tup smiles, and Fives is desperately hoping the burning sensation behind his eyes isn’t showing on his face. It feels like acid on the back of his throat and nose and his breathing has gone all wonky, the way it never did when their ARC instructors dragged them through frustration and anger until they felt what it was like to crumble.

Tup sits forward, resting weight through their joined hands, and tips his forehead to meet Fives’ brow. If Fives hadn’t been a goner before—the simple pressure and warmth has ruined him, now.

“These are good?”

Fives doesn’t really know his response to that, but Tup doesn’t seem to be waiting. He lifts his free hand and wipes (carefully, for all that’s he’s wobbly he’s so patiently careful) at the tears clinging to the inner corner of Fives’ eye with a thumb. Fives wants to laugh, but all that comes out is a kind of ragged huff, and Tup tilts his face and kisses his other cheek, right over the tacky tear-trail.

“I think we’ve got this backwards,” Fives points out shakily. He clutches at Tup’s hand, though, braces his shoulder to keep him closer.

“It’s okay,” Tup tells him. And it is. Or it will be. It has to be. There’s a spool of iron wire sitting behind Fives’ ribs that’s slowly unwinding itself from its tense, impenetrable tangle with every one of Tup’s breaths across his lips. “We’re okay.”

[prettyacademia00]

where does the headcanon of anakin and Cody hating each other even come from?? like seriously, Cody may act like a tired dad annoyed with his son and anakin thinks Cody is just a boring reg manual follower, but remove obi-wan out of the equation and general vicinity and all bets are off

anakin "trouble is my middle name" skywalker and commander "punch METAL DROIDS with my bare hands" cody can and will team up to match up kenobi-skywalker levels of madness

i can't find it but reminds of that person that said that they'd team up, both do something ridiculous like anakin fighting with his hands tied without a lightsaber and cody jumping into a vat of acid to prevent a bomb from detonating and making the other promise to not say anything to obi-wan (edit: here's the link)

just give me chaotic dumbass anakin + fake poised equally chaotic cody

*plus rex in the corner crying about his stupid general and brother*

[withinthecode]

The Alpha Code (10 androids)

The alpha code was the first successful code group after the prototypes and Null. They were designed to blend in to humanity, and as such could develop scars, as well as were allowed to experiment with presentation and style. Their design was not standardized, leading to malfunctions in certain droids. The Alphas were programmed to experience emotions and be able to feel love, an error corrected in later code groups. The droids present in this code are as follows:

A-1(Onnie)(she/it) -> Specializes in interrogation and analog information gathering

A-2(Roo)(he/hir/it) -> Specializes in close combat/knives

A-3(Tress/Sureshot)(it/its) -> Specializes in snipers/ distance shooting

A-4(Del)(he/him) -> Specializes in hacking and digital information gathering

A-5(Ives)(ze/zem) -> Specializes in personal infiltration and sabotage

A-6(Izz)(they/it) -> Specializes in corporate infiltration and sabatoge

A-7(Sev/Glitch)(it/its) -> Specializes in close combat/martial arts

A-8(Valo/score)(cir/cirt/cirts) -> Specializes in tracking and hunting

A-9(Nina)(she/her) -> Specializes in acids/corrosives

A-10(Tor)(all, as in use any and all and mix it) -> Specializes in bomb (de)construction and other explosives