#clone oc fanfic

[therisingdarkness]

5 Times Ghoul Left the Bar Alone, and One Time He Didn’t

Written for @cloned-eyes and for Ghoul, with love and affection <3 (this is like 11 pages, be warned)

PART ONE

Odessa knew the face of every soldier who walked into 79s. How could she not, when they all wore the same face? The same deep brown eyes, the same tanned skin, the same dark hair—the fun came with finding ways to differentiate between them. Most clones did the job for her, marking themselves with tattoos (on the face!!), or shaving designs into their hair. Those were the easy ones and she had no trouble remembering the names they gave her, often spoken loudly, with pride, as if to say Look at me! I found myself!

She could tell how important it was for them to hold onto the little things that made them all individuals. She admired that about them. Made to be tools for war, but determined to be seen as people. It touched something inside of her, something soft and sweet that made her give out free drinks every now and then when her boss wasn't paying attention. She couldn't help herself even if she tried. She just liked them.

But her favorites had to be the ones who came in for the first time, the shinies who had no idea what to expect because they had never taken leave on Coruscant before. She loved seeing the looks on their faces: excitement and a bit of wonder, wearing broad, bright smiles that made her heart melt. It made the job worth it, even if the pay wasn't much to brag about. 

She looked forward to learning their names and their quirks, loved watching them change each time, eager to show off new tattoos, piercings, scars—they were good men, all of them.

A group of shinies entered now, loud and rambunctious and barely held in check by a seasoned patron, who looked just about as amused as she felt. Odessa caught his eye and waved enthusiastically, her lekku already twitching in anticipation of meeting the newbies. A couple waved back shyly, and another stared with wide eyes. It was also easy to tell when a clone hadn't ever seen a Twi’lek in the flesh—they always stared at first. 

"I’ll be with you shortly!" she called out as she ran three cold mugs beneath the tap for spicebrew. The clone in charge of the shinies gave her a thumbs up—Hammerhead, she thought to herself, only Hammerhead gives me the thumbs up like that—and herded his brood into one of the large booths. 

Behind the group was another familiar face, once she didn’t see too often—Commander Wolffe, still outfitted in his white armor and carrying his helmet under his arm. He had been a tough one to crack at first, too austere and always ‘switched on’. Odessa used to think he didn’t know how to relax because he never seemed to smile, but bit by bit she had managed to get him to let down his guard—not a lot, but just enough to know that his way of letting loose and having fun was just as simple as showing up to the bar and having a stiff one before returning to the barracks. He didn’t engage in a whole lot of small talk but he was polite, if a bit short with his words. 

Odessa put on her best smile and waved at the Commander, who gestured toward two empty seats at the end of the bar before making his way over. Too late, Odessa realized he had arrived with someone else; she hadn’t seen him at first, perfectly hidden behind Wolffe’s armored bulk, but the second Wolffe moved out of the way Odessa sucked in a sharp breath.

He was average clone height and wore the same scuffed armor as Wolffe, but he didn’t look like a clone at first glance. Beneath his heavy facial scarring there was the telltale shape of his nose that gave it away. Beyond that? 

She didn’t mean to stare—and it seemed like she wasn’t the only one having trouble. As Wolffe and the newcomer made their way past the occupied tables and booths, more than a few clones paused their conversations and drinking and turned their heads to watch. He moved like he didn’t notice the way they looked at him—or if he did notice, he just didn’t care. Maybe he was used to it. Odessa couldn’t blame anyone…he was missing half his face.

Her heart skipped a beat and she didn’t know why. She had seen more than her fair share of war wounds—excited shinies fresh out of the medbay shoving their still healing skin grafts in her face and informing her they weren’t shinies no more, shy soldiers asking her if she thought they still looked like themselves after getting hit in the side of the face with shrapnel, and the bolder ones, like Hammerhead, asking for a kiss to ‘make it feel better’ while holding out a finger that had only been reattached a few hours ago—but the cybernetic component grafted in place of where his lower jaw should have been…it was so gruesome. Worse than anything that had come before it.

"Ah, fierfeck!" Odessa cursed as the spicebrew spilled past the rim of the mug she was filling and all over her hand. It dripped down her arm, off her elbow and onto the floor, making another mess she'd have to clean up before it dried sticky and tacky. She hadn’t even realized the mugs were so close to being full.

“That’s what you get for not payin’ attention!” Slackjaw laughed, leaning his torso across the bar to snatch one of the mugs from her hand. Odessa glared, but shook her head at him. His squad mates, Mooch and Piston, snickered, but adopted the most innocent expressions when she turned her eye on them.

“Shut up,” she grumbled good naturedly, setting the remaining two mugs in front of them.

They all chuckled and took their drinks with them as they sauntered off with the easy confidence of men who were looking to forget the entire evening by the time the sun rose. Odessa sighed and nervously rearranged her lekku before crouching down to mop up the worst of the mess. 

“Sorry Commander,” she shouted toward the end of the bar, where Wolffe was now seated with his companion. “I will be there in a moment!”

Down on the ground it was easy to drown out the noise and clamor of the bar. The music filled the space between conversation and the clink of dishware and bottles, but so close to the speakers it was easy to get distracted. That's all she was—distracted by the usual noise and hustle and bustle. It was a busy night with a lot of clones clamoring to get in before last call and drink their fill. More than one unit was on leave, which made for good tips and fascinating stories. If she was lucky, they'd all run the bar dry early and she could convince her boss to close up. At least it wasn't a night where she was supposed to dance at her second job too.

With a huff, Odessa sat back on her heels and surveyed the floor, checking for any other major spills she might’ve missed. Then, on instinct, she looked up to see if Wolffe had heard her…and almost fell right over when she caught the immediate gaze of the other clone. 

He was staring right at her, both his eyes the same, strange pale color as Wolffe’s cybernetic implant. Odessa swallowed and felt a flush work its way through her lekku and over her forehead, until her cheeks burned dark with the rush of blood to just beneath the surface of her skin. Caught you, his expression said, right before he sneered and turned his attention back to Wolffe. Shame filled her in that moment; it was so unprofessional to stare, not to mention rude. She should have known better and yet allowed herself to get caught up on it, like she’d never seen a prosthetic before in her life.

Stupid! Idiot! What were you thinking? she chastised herself as she climbed back to her feet. With her cheeks still aflame, she ran drink menus to the first table that had sat down and told them—begged them to take their time because as they could plainly see, she was a bit overrun and the only one at the bar. Hammerhead smiled his gap-toothed smile and told her not to worry about it, his shinies could barely fall in line, let alone order off a drink menu—he’d call when they were ready.

Taking a deep breath, Odessa hurried back to the bar—“Just one moment,” she said to the clone asking for a refill of whatever cocktail he had already had too much of—and grabbed another set of menus before hustling over to where Wolffe sat, his helmet taking up an appropriate amount of space to keep anyone else from occupying the seat next to them. A second helmet sat on the table closest to the wall, next to the other clone. He wasn’t looking at her this time, at least, but the burn of his earlier glare had left its impression. She smiled brightly and bounced in front of them, holding the menus out.

“Sorry for the wait, gentlemen,” she chimed, “it is so busy tonight and Rumi called out.”

“It’s fine,” Wolffe said in his usual sharp tone. He didn’t mean to be brusque, that was just the way he spoke. Odessa had learned not to take offense a long time ago.

“We won’t be needing these,” he said, waving his hand at the menus. “We’ll both have the Oryxxian Catsblood.”

“Very good choice,” Odessa smiled. “We just got a fresh shipment in, I believe. You want it on the rocks?”

“Sure.”

“Not me,” the other spoke up, his voice gravelly and soft. “I take it warm.”

“Sorry,” Wolffe said, “this is an old batchmate of mine. We came up together, but our rotations haven’t aligned until now. We’re just here for a couple drinks.”

“A pleasure,” Odessa said, meaning it and hoping to make up for her earlier rudeness. “I am Odessa, though you may call me Odie; all the boys do.”

He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge that she had spoken to him at all. She thought she saw a shadow of annoyance pass over his face, but it was difficult to tell with his prosthetic.

“What about you,” she pressed, leaning her hip against the counter and watching him closely. “You have a name, or should I just call you ‘trooper’?”

His nose wrinkled in a definite sneer this time, and the look he gave her was almost poisonous. Odessa recoiled, hugging the menus against her chest like a flimsy shield. She hadn’t seen that look on a clone before, so hateful and angry. 

I insulted him just now, she thought to herself, frantically trying to assess what it was that could have incited such a look from him. Was it the ‘trooper’ comment? That’s what she called every clone she did not know by name, and none had ever taken offense before now. She almost apologized, but Wolffe beat her to action, reaching up and flicking his gloved finger against the other’s exposed ear.

“Cut it out!” the unnamed clone hissed, slapping his hand over his ear. At least his glare wasn’t affixed to her anymore, but his aura remained hostile.

“Stop mean-mugging the pretty lady before she’s poured our drinks,” Wolffe shot back, unaffected by the other’s glare. He turned back to Odessa and offered her a small, tight smile, the only kind she had ever seen him give before. 

“I apologize for my brother,” he said. “Ghoul doesn’t get out much unless I got ‘im leashed. It’s been so long he’s forgotten things like manners.”

Ghoul.

Looking back at his face, it was a fitting name; he certainly looked like he had crawled out of the grave, with the ribbons of scars leading up over his upper lip and surrounding his eyes. The detail work on his prosthetic was very intricate; instead of a sculpted lower lip he sported a row of teeth, and the carbon black material stretched all the way back to his ears, which also carried heavy scarring. He looked like Death itself. Odessa forced herself to look away and shrugged at Wolffe’s apology.

“It is no trouble,” she said. “I have only not seen him before. First time at 79s?”

For a moment she didn’t think he’d answer. He seemed determined to ignore her, like she was an inconvenience. Perhaps she was intruding? It wasn’t often that Wolffe graced her bar with his presence, but she remembered the last time he came he arrived alone, sat in one of the back booths by himself and nursed his drink for well over an hour before taking his leave. Now he had brought someone with him…it was different.

“No,” Ghoul growled. “Not my first time. Just been a while.”

“Probably before my time, eh?” Odessa said. “Very well, I will get your drinks. Anything else, Commander?”

“I think we’re set,” Wolffe said with a nod. “Thanks, Odie.” 

She gave a little salute with two fingers and removed herself to the middle of the bar, standing on her toes to reach the bottle of Oryxxian Catsblood. She knew she should leave it alone, leave Wolffe to deal with his friend and check in with them only when she saw their drinks getting low. She hadn’t been bartending for too long, but one of the first lessons she had learned was how to tell when a patron wanted or needed a little more attention than the bare minimum. Ghoul may as well have a neon sign over his head, blinking DO NOT APPROACH in bright warning colors. He gave off all the signs of not wanting anything to do with her.

She could respect that…but when she looked over her shoulder, she caught sight of Wolffe’s face, his mouth stretched into the widest grin she had ever seen on him, until he almost didn’t look like Wolffe anymore. He slapped his hand on Ghoul’s shoulder and actually laughed. That was as carefree as she’d ever seen the Commander.

He can’t be that bad, if Wolffe likes him so much, Odessa thought to herself. He will just need time to warm up.

~~~

“You didn’t have to drag me out here to catch up,” Ghoul said, keeping his voice to just above a murmur. “Could have had a drink in the barracks.”

“You know it’s against regulation to keep alcohol on base,” Wolffe said, side-eyeing him in a way that meant he was either teasing or deadly serious, and Ghoul found himself a little pissed off that he couldn’t tell which it was.

“Since when do you care about regulation?”

“A lot’s changed. Gotta set a good example now.”

“Tch. You’ve turned into such a good soldier. Nice and regimented, exactly how they want us to be.”

“You need to relax. I didn’t come here to talk politics, I brought us here to see how you’re holding up.”

Ghoul stiffened at his words, an immediate influx of paranoia almost causing him to look over his shoulder. But his back was already pressed against the wall and he could survey the entire lay of the bar without any blind spots. He had insisted on it, not with words, but the way he had almost bodied Wolffe out of his way to get to the corner seat first. That was normal though. Most of them would have preferred to keep their backs against something solid…just in case. He wasn’t losing it. He was perfectly held together, he—

“You’re doin’ it again,” Wolffe chuckled.

“...doing what?”

“Tensing. We’re not headed into a warzone. Loosen up before you snap a muscle.”

Ghoul wanted to argue, but it was true. His shoulders felt so stiff from the way he was holding himself and it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been in his kit for more than a full rotation. He wanted to shower and sleep and try to forget about the last mission he had just returned from. He needed a smoke more than anything, but his last pack of cigarettes had been confiscated and he hadn’t had the chance to pick up a new one before Wolffe had hit up his commline with the offer of drinks on him if they met up at 79s.

He had almost refused. Going out to a crowded bar full of idiot, idealistic clones plastered three sheets to the wind wasn’t his idea of fun, but it had been too long since he had last seen Wolffe, and there was an ache inside of him that could only be assuaged by the presence of his batchmates. He’d never say it, but he’d follow Wolffe into an active volcano if it meant spending a little bit of time with him where they didn't have to worry about being shot at or blown up. The softest parts of Ghoul had already been stripped away; the only bits of care he had left existed outside his own body, in the forms of Wolffe and Fox.

He didn’t say no, or complain, just asked what time and then bullied his way onto the nearest planetside transport. 79s had stayed the same, for the most part. The decor saw a few more additional neon lights, but the layout of the bar was still the same—a small comfort, really. The only real thing that had changed since the last time he stepped foot inside was the bartender.

He wanted to dislike her. Civilians, with their soft hands and the carefree way they went about their lives, ignorant to everything that didn’t affect them directly. He had been able to ignore the stares other clones gave him as he had walked in—he was used to the way they looked, knowing the whispers that followed him wherever he went. He would have worn his helmet all the way up to the bar if not for the policy plastered all over the doors— ‘No Helmets, Face Coverings, or Masks! Area Under Surveillance!’—but Wolffe had elbowed him right in his chestplate and would have wrestled it off of him regardless. He could handle it though, it was nothing he didn’t have to deal with back on Kamino.

But then the way she stared at him…he wanted to crawl over the bar and throttle her. Stupid Twi’lek should have stuck to serving drinks and minding her business. He could see it in her eyes, the shock and horror…and then pity. He hated the pity. He didn’t need it, didn’t want it. He wasn’t some broken thing to be sorry for. He didn’t want or need thanks or accolades. He wasn’t doing it for them. 

But civvies didn’t know any better. They had no grasp of the war, safe as they were on Coruscant. They saw the armor and the helmets and they thought the same thing everyone else did, parroted back whatever hot new catchphrase the propaganda channels blasted over the airwaves, thinking they were providing support and rallying the troops. It was annoying.

They were annoying.

She annoyed him, with her cheerful smile and her questions, trying to pry his name out of him when he didn’t feel like giving it. But now she had it…and it wasn’t earned. He didn’t like that. It made him want to march right back out the door before his drink had even made its way to his hands.

“You gonna brood all night or what?” Wolffe said, snapping Ghoul out of his inner thoughts. “Come on…it’s not that bad here, is it?”

“No…no, it’s not,” Ghoul sighed. The Twi’lek bounced back over, a short, sturdy glass in each hand filled damn near to the brim with a crimson liquid that smelled as spicy as it tasted.

“Here you go,” she said, her accent thickening every word. “On the house, as a welcome back gift. You must come by more often, both of you.”

“You’re not gonna get in trouble, giving out free drinks all the time, are you?” Wolffe asked as he picked up his glass and gave it a swirl, so the ice cubes clinked against one another.

“I do not give them out all the time,” the woman said with a smile, “just to the customers I want to see more often!”

She winked, and it made something inside of Ghoul curdle. He didn’t know what it was, whether it was disgust or something else. He just…wished she’d go away and leave them alone. He didn’t bother thanking her, but picked up his drink and took a long, languid sip. The fiery brew only burned where it touched the roof of his mouth; he could feel a residual warmth as it slid down the undamaged parts of his throat, but the taste was all but lost to him, except in memory. It was rich and sensual, heady with its spiced aroma and the way it warmed every crevice of the mouth…from what he remembered, at least. He tried not to watch Wolffe clearly enjoy the drink, envious of the way it was so easy for him to taste. The things they all took for granted….

“Sorry,” Ghoul said after a moment. “I haven’t been out in…a long time. I’m glad you invited me. Really. I don’t want you to think—”

“Hey,” Wolffe interrupted, “you don’t have to apologize to me. I know how you are. I wanted to get you out of the barracks. You spend too much time holed up and isolating yourself, you’re gonna go crazy. Now…you doing okay? And don’t lie.”

Ghoul shrugged.

“Same as usual,” he admitted. “Mission after mission, trying to keep myself alive, trying to make sure more idiot shinies don’t bite it. You know how I feel about the war.”

“Then let’s not talk about the war. How are you doing? Just you.”

Frustrated, Ghoul shrugged again. What was he supposed to say? Downtime between skirmishes was best used for sleep and kit maintenance, scarfing down whatever rations were on hand, and stealing time to himself for a smoke while he tried to remember what nicotine tasted like. He didn’t have hobbies. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t know what it was that Wolffe was looking for.

His brother sighed and took a sip of his drink, looking at the liquid swirling in the glass before looking over at him.

“You been going to therapy?”

“...no.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”

Wolffe rolled his eyes.

“Sure,” he said, “we’re all ‘fine’. I know what that means. I’m worried about you, Jenot. I don’t want to see you end up like the others who survive a traumatic mission, just to wind up staring down the wrong end of your own blaster.”

“It’s Ghoul,” he growled, the sound of his chosen name making his heart ache. “I told you, don’t call me that. And I said I’m fine. You think I’m suicidal, just because I had one bad day?”

“It’s more than that and you know it,” Wolffe said, his voice softer. “I know you’re not shy—just talk to someone, see if they can’t lighten the burden you carry.”

“You’re so stupidly paternal,” Ghoul spat, tempering his ire. “Being in command has gone to your head; I’m not part of your ‘wolfpack’. You don’t get to patronize me.”

“I’m not patronizing…I just hate seeing you like this. You’re wound so tight it’s like anything could set you off. I care, damnit. Just…I miss the old you.”

“...and what if I said the old me is dead?”

“Then I’d say you’re lying. Maybe that’s what you want everyone to think, but I know you. I know you better than you know yourself, don’t forget that.”

All the wind in his sails, gone just like that. Ghoul groaned and downed the rest of his drink in two gulps, half hoping if he drank enough in one go he’d feel something, something other than shame when Wolffe gave him that look, the one that said he wasn't buying the bluster. It wasn't an act…to anyone else, this was just how he was. But Wolffe knew, and Wolffe remembered. He held on to the memories of the way they were back when they were fresh off the assembly line and itching for their first battle.

Ghoul grimaced. He didn't like to think that far back; he wasn't like his brother, taking comfort from fond memories and the way things used to be. He'd rather just forget. But to say that out loud would hurt Wolffe…like he was trying to erase something important to him.

"If I promise to talk to someone, will you get off my back?" Ghoul asked, trying to bargain his way out of the painfully awkward conversation. His hackles were raised and he knew it. Wolffe could keep digging for information, but Ghoul would start a bar fight before he started talking about his feelings so openly. Maybe if they had been alone, where no one else could hear them, and maybe if Fox was also there….

"Only as long as it's a promise," Wolffe agreed, smiling again, like the matter was solved. Maybe he just wished it was and was just as eager to drop the subject. 

"Get off of the tables!" shouted the bartender suddenly. 

Ghoul and Wolffe whipped their heads in the direction of the commotion, where a small squad of shinies had all but lost their heads and were wrestling one another on top of one of the large booth tables. Drinks crashed to the ground, glass shattering and skidding across the smooth floor, and the Twi’lek yelled something absolutely profane in her native language—he didn’t even have to understand the words to know she was angry. It didn’t help that the commando resting at the table didn’t bother lifting a finger to stop the ruckus…if anything, he seemed to be enjoying it.

“Well,” Wolffe sighed after watching the table suddenly break, lurching heavily to one side and spilling the wrestling shinies onto the floor where they continued to try and put each other into a superior hold, “looks like someone needs to be the adult. I’m gonna go step in and take care of that mess. You good here?”

“Sure,” Ghoul said, feeling bitter but refusing to show it. He knew Wolffe felt compelled to act because of his rank, but it would have been nice if he would have just…ignored it. Leave them to fight and just…stop trying to be a Commander for a little bit and go back to being his annoying little brother. There was still so much left unsaid…they hadn’t even gotten to talk about anything…substantial. Ghoul wanted to ask if Wolffe had heard from Fox at all, but it was unlikely. 

He watched, jealousy surging through him as his brother stalked over to the table, barking loud enough that nearly every other clone in earshot (which was all of them, considering the way Wolffe’s voice amplified  when he was angered) stood at attention before realizing they weren’t the ones in trouble. The two idiots rolling around on the ground didn’t stop until Wolffe aimed a sharp kick at one of them, and only then did the commando step up, grabbing the shinies by the scruffs of their necks and yanking them to their feet in a tremendous show of strength. Wolffe took a deep breath and started dressing them down in some of the most colorful language Ghoul had ever heard him use, and he knew in that moment that Wolffe was gonna be a while.

There was no use waiting for him.

His drink was empty, the last of the tingling sensation of its burn fading from the roof of his mouth. He didn’t have it in him to order another. The Twi’lek was busy anyway, trying to clean up the spilled drinks before Wolffe ordered her to stop, because he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make his men clean it up for her. He really had changed…maybe not so much that he was unrecognizable…maybe this was just his natural evolution as he progressed through the ranks . Ghoul didn’t know, didn’t want to think about it. Watching his brother turn into a larger cog feeding the war machine of the Republic left a bad taste in his mouth.

He slipped off of his seat and dropped enough credits on the countertop to cover the drinks, then, on second thought, left another few for a tip just in case the bartender was the kind of person who would think less of Wolffe for the company he kept. Snatching up his helmet, Ghoul moved as quickly and quietly toward the door as he could, but thankfully this time all eyes were focused on Wolffe and the troublemakers at the other end of the bar.

At the door, Ghoul paused, looking back at his brother and the way he stood, straight-backed and oozing authority with one hand on his hip and pointing at the floor as he laid out the terms by which he wouldn’t report this infraction to their base commander.

Just beyond Wolffe stood the Twi’lek.

And she was staring again.

At him.

Ghoul tried to swallow, only to remember his mouth didn’t lubricate the same as it used to. The tops of his cheeks warmed with a flush that he immediately hated, because he didn’t know why it was happening. He couldn’t read the expression on her face; it wasn’t revulsion or pity at least, but he didn’t recognize it. Angry, he glared back and made a rude gesture before turning on his heel and storming off, shoving the doors open so fast he nailed a fellow clone in the face. Without stopping to apologize, Ghoul shoved his helmet back down over his head, breathing a small sigh of relief. 

He had known this was a bad idea…but even so…it had been nice to see his brother’s face again.

[lightspringrain]

This art is thanks to the SUPER TALENTED @collophora . They are pieces for chapter 1 and chapter 2 of my CX-2 Tech fanfic "Return From Darkness". She did an absolutely fantastic job. If you want to see more amazing storyboard art, go check her out!

[shrenvents]

My Bounty.

Warnings: Smut. Vaginal, unprotected sex, force play. Minors dni

Pairing: Clone Wars (single) Anakin Skywalker x Bounty Hunter reader

Summary: Anakin Skywalker goes above and beyond to make your life difficult, taking whatever he wants without explanation. So when reader confronts him, things don’t go exactly as planned.

Word count: 1.7k

…

The meddling nature of the Jedi was nothing compared to the nature of Anakin Skywalker. His darkness seeps its way into everything. His dark robe, gloves, boots, curls, eyes. He was the darkness enveloping me in a dizzying spiral of hate and desire. And he did it again. He stole my bounty just so he could give me that dark look.

His gaze observes the way my fists clench and how I chew my bottom lip. A wicked smirk dances on his face as clones praise and pat him on the back. He knew exactly what he was doing, watching me with an intensity, that had me shaking.

Finally, Anakin’s eyes move away from my figure, beckoned by his Master. He stalks towards Obi-Wan Kenobi and his mocking facade breaks instantly. I nearly scream at the sight. What was he hoping to achieve? Stealing my potential profits is certainly an interesting pastime, not one you would expect from “the chosen one.”

I huff out my frustration, deflating my tense shoulders. With his back now turned, I relax. Pivoting on my heel, I hurry away from the scene. On to the next hunt, before Skywalker gets the chance to take it from me.

Frankly, I have no clue how it started, his fixation with making me miserable. I almost feel paranoid, as if I’m making up the whole debacle. But from the way he looks at me, unspeaking, I know this truly is my reality. Anakin Skywalker hates me.

...

Now glaring at my reflection within the confines of my room, my restraint runs thin. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna confront him because that sort of thing always goes well.

I head out towards the Jedi temple where Skywalker is most likely training his Padawan. While marching over, I contemplate the arguments I will bring up when face-to-face with him. How I will look into those comet-like eyes and not get distracted by his plump lips.

Moral of the story, I’m going to put an end to this one-sided game we play.

Once my vision connects with his broad back, his name escapes me without hesitation, “Anakin.” Saying it takes me by surprise, seeing as though I’ve never said it before. But clearly, it shocks him more, as when he turns around, his eyes are vaguely wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Y/n,” he says back flatly, face becoming neutral. Now I’m really taken aback by the way my name rolls off his tongue. Quickly, I collect myself and remember my well-thought-out points.

“What are you doing?” And out the window they go.

Anakin quirks his head quizzically. His silent reply to my rather stupid question ticks me off further. I’m practically vibrating with rage. “That was my mark you stole today Skywalker, you realize that?”

As if he’s finally understood my inarticulate speech, his lips part dumbly in “awe.” There he goes pushing my buttons, silently watching me unravel. “You think I wouldn’t notice?“ My face flushes red as I elaborate. “All the crooks you’ve miraculously caught are always the bounty that I’m after.”

There's a beat of silence where he inspects the way my chest heaves in exasperation. Then he speaks. “About time you did.” He states matter-of-factly. My jaw drops. “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve been waiting for you to notice,” he remarks with a bored look.

“Notice what?” I spit out, scowling at him.

“Me,” he finishes plainly. Silence engulfs us again and I take note of how close we’ve become. “Why would you want that?” I question, utterly perplexed.

“What do you mean?” Anakin’s brows furrow.

“I mean you’ve never spoken to me before.”

“Neither have you.” He counters. My fists tremble.

“Why then? Why do you need me to notice you?” I demand.

“What other reason can there be?” He grumbles while giving me a once-over, and then something clicks. My face falls.

“Those looks you give me-”

“Say just how much I want you, more than words ever could.” He ends my sentence, his face remaining stoic. My heart hammers wildly. I suspect he’s now waiting for me to make a move, to say anything, maybe even reject him. Instead, I hastily circle my head around, surveilling for bystanders before frantically grasping at his robe and pushing him into a nearby room. His facade flatters once again and I see puzzlement consume his face.

After I awkwardly turn the door knob and take us into the empty room, I shove him away. Anakin staggers back, looking completely disoriented, almost regretful. “Y/n?” He trails off. My anger is radiating off my body, and I know he can feel it.

“You should’ve said something,” I assert, seething.

“I’m-“ Anakin is abruptly cut off by my lips smashing against his. With my arms reaching around his neck, I can feel his body freeze. After a short moment, I start to peel away, dejected by his stillness. But Anakin instantly chases after me, no longer shying away.

He gropes my waist, and one arm pulls around it, while the other slides up my spine to rest between my shoulder blades. A moan evades my throat and is met with a deep groan.

His palms carve out my figure and fist at my clothes. Whines rush out my mouth as his tongue mingles with mine. He vigorously makes work of me, and I have to pull away. Though his lips instinctively follow me, I’m out of reach, so he settles for my neck. Sucking fervently, one may fear the spots he’s making, but in this moment, truthfully, I couldn't care less.

“Ani,” I whimper, and he growls against my nape in response. “Fuck, I need you,” I whisper. I feel his movements lurch and he mumbles something, but I can't seem to hear it over my haggard breathing.

He tears himself away from my neck, still keeping my body pressed against his. He then shifts his gaze around the room. “There’s no furniture here, I’ll just have to fuck you standing.” An audible gasp flees my mouth as Anakin slings my body around his torso, legs straddling his hips. His hands clench around my thighs as he hoists me up, securing me in place.

Fortunately, the short gown I threw on this morning made it easy for Anakin's crotch to caress my core through his pants. I push down on him and he groans at our proximity. "I was wondering when you would snap," Anakin mutters into my ear as his grip tightens. I whimper. "Screw you."

"Be patient. You will." He soothes. Digging my front teeth into my bottom lip, I drop my forehead to his shoulder as our lower halves grind against one another.

The sounds of our moans crowd the room and I can't take it anymore. "Kriff patience, I'm done waiting, General," I command in the most sensual voice I can muster. Evidently, my attempt to provoke him works because one of his hands leaves my thigh and clutches my hair in a fist, tugging my head back so his lips can crash into mine again. His other hand shifts down to his slacks. His breath hitches when he releases his cock, and so does mine when it springs up to my clothed clit. "Oh maker," I just about scream, head falling back.

His hands make quick work moving my underwear aside, and his member brushes against my folds. I shudder and screw my eyelids shut. I feel Anakin's gaze fixate on me. "Look at me." Hearing his order, I immediately obey.

Eyes fluttering open, I look into his lust-filled ones. Getting flustered by their heat, I squirm. "Y/n." He hushes, breath blowing across my face. Glancing at his features briefly, I nod, communicating what we both desperately need.

We both hold our breaths as he brings me down on his length in a slow glide. His cock pierces my entrance, and I clamp down on my incoming yelp. He was big. I hear him distractedly repeat my name, face buried in my collar. My eyes look to the ceiling in prayer.

His movements dissipate midway, and I feel his stomach clench. "You take me so well." He mumbles almost to himself. All I can do is bob my head in response. In this short pause, the pain disperses and all I feel is him - pleasure, darkness. His arms snake around my waist while mine harden around his nape.

Suddenly, he plunges into me, filling me up completely. My cry echoes throughout the room and I instantly sink my teeth into the cartilage of his ear. The growl that leaves him is next to primal. His rhythmic pounding begins to pick up speed, and I can barely keep up with each stroke. "Kiss me," he stammers out. Reeling back, I lock eyes with him before diving my tongue into his mouth.

His hips snap into my own, over and over. His stomach clenches once more and he pants into my mouth, "I'm close." Though I feel incredible, I'm not quite close to my limit, and he senses it.

One of his palms unravels from my body, steadily hovering over my center. Thinking he's going to touch me, I arch my back away from his embrace to allow space for his digits to meet my clit. But, as I wait, an unexpected pressure attacks my core. I gasp away from his lips and I peer down, leaning my forehead on his.

His hand isn't physically touching me, yet I feel as though I'm close to climaxing. Bewildered, I shoot my eyes from his floating hand to his lewd expression. His grin is strangely smug as he watches me. Then it registers: he's using the force to make me cum. Completely stunned, I simply bore my eyes into him, mouth agape.

Our orgasms come at once and wash over us at his charge. He puffs out a loud sigh of relief and continues to hold me, pumping slower than before, til the action ceases.

"Maker," I huff, "Next time, just use your words, and I'm yours." A smile forms on his face. He sheepishly nods, "Next time."

[henneseyhoe]

Still Mine.

Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: Tyrone being a slut, baby daddy drama, smutty flashback, slight daddy kink, unprotected sex(wrap it before you smack it!), abortion mentioned, pill mentioned, baby trapping, short, tad bit unedited.

SUMMARY: During Tyrone’s weekly pickup of his daughter, he tries to make his baby mama fold.

Ps. This was originally SO much longer but I didn’t like the way some parts were written so I cut it in half lolzzz

✮✮✮✮

“You know if I licked it, it’s mine, right?”

Your face twisted into a mug at Tyrone’s words while packing a diaper bag with all the necessary things your daughter needed for the weekend with him.

“Tyrone, please don’t start with that tonight” You couldn’t believe the extents he’d go just because you were seeing other people, it was crazy! Tyrone didn’t see it that way though.

The man was a tyrant. A danger to society and other men when he suspects you fucking with somebody who wasn’t him. Every single time he found out, he would let you know that you had limited days with that nigga, which he was always right about.

They’d either disappear completely or simply just stop responding to your texts.

One time you saw one of them at the grocery store and tried to say hi but he ran the other way, even left his cart stacked with groceries. You wondered what the hell was going on, and why they were so scared, but you knew there was only one person that could have them running for the hills like that, and it wasn’t you.

“I’m not startin’ shit, I’m speakin’ facts. You playin’, knowing them niggas ain’t shit compared to me”

Though the statement was true, it was bold of him to assume you wasn’t getting any good play. It was rare you did, but still! It’s the audacity.

You look at Tyrone up and down before bursting into laughter, making the infant besides you both slightly jump in her pack and play, looking around in confusion before flipping over on her stomach, a skill she just learned.

“Oop- I’m sorry, mama” You apologize to her, the baby just rolling back over and blinking up at you with a tether in her mouth. “Now, back to yo’ delusional ass!”

You thanked god the small child wasn’t old enough to understand words because she would have been cursing like a sailor by now. Pointing at Tyrone with the acrylic nails he paid for, that same signature mean look on his face that he always wore when somebody had him fucked up, you squint.

“Ain’t shit yours, and it hasn’t been yours since about a year now”

Tyrone sucks his teeth, still not believing anything you were saying to him.

“You shittin’ me, it’s always gon be mine!”

“Says who?! You crazy” You blow him off with the wave of your hand, zipping the diaper bag up and handing it to him.

He grabs it, then drops it to his feet without a care, crossing his arms. You look at him with a confused expression, your eyebrow cocked upwards.

“Why you like playin’ wit’ me?” He questioned while straight faced, but you stood your ground, unlike when you use to submit under him and his tone when you two were together. Truthfully, you use to be a bit scared of the nigga. He never gave you a reason to be personally, but he was a hard shell to crack, you rarely knew if he was happy or sad until he said something to steer you in a certain direction.

“Tyrone, quit playing and find you something safe to do, aight?” You fired back, challenging him. He moved not one inch. You knew he wasn’t scared of you at all, so this was no surprise, but you wasn’t gonna take him treating you like this in your own damn house.

“How many niggas you fucked since we broke up, Y/N?”

You shrug. “However many I wanted. I dunno, I wasn’t counting”

“Okay” He nods slowly, putting you on edge just a tad bit. You hum and study his reaction. He only did that when he had some shit up his sleeve. A simple answer, then a nod before he did or said some fuck shit. “And if I find them niggas and suddenly they stop callin’, then what?” Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“One less problem for me. You already pack up enough niggas in the glen anyway. Can’t kill ‘em all!” You giggle childishly after gaining your composure again, but as you found humor, the man stayed oh so serious.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at what a nigga can do now”

“Lemme guess, you learned to read a no loitering sign? Or maybe a no trespassing one?” You continued to joke, him finding nothing funny, as usual.

“You think you so funny” He warns, but you brush him off again, picking the diaper bag up and handing it to him again, this time forcing it in his hands to keep it there.

“I’m fuckin’ hilarious, nigga. better ask bout me”

Tyrone rolls his eyes.

“…so you really tellin’ me youn miss me?”

You turn and walk away to ignore the man further, side eyeing him as he followed. “Get out my face, Ty”

“Stop playin…so youn miss how I use to beat that pussy till you cry?” He spoke, getting closer to your ear so you could hear every syllable there. See, if this was a year and some change ago, you would have folded yourself in on a couch and put your legs to the sky faster than a pin could drop, but you had a point to prove.

You inched away from him to your kitchen, but he followed behind like a hungry shark that smelled blood.

“Let daddy dig that pussy out again, baby. You know I do it better than any other nigga”

Just with those few words, it had you thinking of flashbacks, your eyes fighting off a roll inwards. You knew the power he held in those boxers, you knew all too well what he was capable of. When Tyrone got to the pussy, he made sure he wasn’t playing no games. The man would even pull your bed from the wall everytime he came over so nobody in your moms house could hear how hard he was beating it up, talking dirty to you like you was a random bitch from the club, and that was your favorite part. That’s how you got into this mess anyway. Stuck with him and a tiny human who stole your face.

✮✮✮✮

Tyrone was definitely a man of threats, but he had never fallen through with any of the non-violent ones till this.

As Tyrone bucked his hips wildly into you, your leg began to quiver in his hold. You had thanked the gods that he had opted to lay you down on your side instead of fucking you standing up like he loved to do. You were sure your legs would have gave out by now if you were upright.

“Imma nut in this pussy, baby. Can daddy nut in this pussy? You want daddy to get you pregnant?”

He asks, and you nodded gladly like a dummy. Whatever the female version of pussy whipped was, you were definitely long past it. Even in that moment, you thought he wasn’t serious about the whole baby thing. He had never talked about one outside of sex, and you honestly thought he was against the entire idea of kids with the way he’d run junebug out of his presence when he’d do normal kid shit. He just didn’t seem serious.

Hell, you knew you weren’t serious about it. What would you do with a baby in this economy? Most importantly, how the fuck were you gonna care for it? You were only 21 and he was 24, had no business being together, but obviously he wasn’t the type to follow rules of any kind, or let you go.

The more he promised to get you pregnant, the harder y’all fucked until you were on top, riding him like there was a prize at the finish line you called an orgasm. Your hands were placed on his thighs behind you and your back was arched in as you spread your legs wide and bounced that ass on him, giving him the perfect opportunity to see himself slip in and out of you.

“Shit…shit! I’m bout to cum!” He shouts while panting, a few groans exiting his mouth.

“Fuuuck! I’m bout to nut, bae!” You heard him announce once again, but that wasn’t what set off alarms in your head, it was when he held you down and continued thrusting upwards into your wetness, making you leak. You whimper and shout, toes curling into the mattress.

“Shit! Lemme get up, Ty!” You tap his hands, trying to get them off of your hips so you could move, but he continues to bounce you with his fingers gripping you tightly, bound to leave a mark. “Tyrone! lemme get up, please!” You shout with urgency, but it had already been too late. By the time you rose up off of his dick, he had been pumping out the last bit of his seed, the small amount just sliding down the shaft of his dick. That’s when you knew you fucked up. Tyrone was a shooter in more ways than one, but when it came to cumming, he was damn near like a loaded gun. You’d have to squeeze your eyes shut when giving him head because he liked to cum on your face, and the first time he did, he almost blinded you with how far he came, literally.

“My god…” You breathed harshly, looking down at his dick begin to soften.

When it was all said and done, you asked him for money for a plan B, but lo and behold, he already had a pill prepared. Right in the glove compartment of his car is where he kept it and gave it to you when he came to see you the next day. But, as the weeks went by, you started to feel like that pill wasn’t much of a plan B, or at least not your “plan B”. It was definitely Tyrone’s though.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nine of those later, you were popping out a little girl with a full head of hair and features just like yours. If you told somebody you made the baby alone, they’d probably believe you with how much you two looked alike. You were pissed off your entire pregnancy at Tyrone, but that didn’t stop you from loving your baby, you just couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of her either, though the process wasn’t foreign to you. If the “plan B” didn’t take her out, then who says she wasn’t meant to be here? But, with that being said, as you came closer to your due date, you grew farther from Tyrone while he was trying to keep you close, you even moved out of the glen and into a whole ‘nother town over.

He was there through your entire pregnancy, or at least tried when you weren’t trying to kill him for getting into stupid shit and almost dying, but because he was still so supportive and caring for you, checking up on how both you and the baby were doing, you cut him some slack, letting him name the bouncing baby girl. He went with the name ‘Autum’ because you two met in autumn, to your surprise he even remembered that since it had been so long ago.

Fast forward five months later, y’all were still beefing on and off over stupid shit. You would curse him out over scaring away new friends and or lovers, he’d ignore it and continue, working extra hard to make sure all them niggas knew who he was. Oh, Tyrone was on a mission, and he would not be ignored by some lame nigga you wanted to fuck, or ignored by you.

✮✮✮✮

[oceansssblue]

Hello, I hope that you are having an amazing day. If requests are still open, I have a funny Star Wars prompt/or/oneshot if you want. You know how in Top Gun, after Maverick flirts with a lady at a bar, only to find out the next day that she is his superior officer. What about a similar situation in the Clone Wars era, in which one of the members of the Bad Batch, or one of the 501st like Fives, flirts with a female Jedi reader (who's probably in her early twenties) at the 79s, not knowing that she is a Jedi General. Only to find out the next day that she is the Jedi General assigned to them for their next mission.

Her appearance in the bar makes her look nothing like a Jedi. She just looks like a civilian until she is in her jedi robes the next day. She doesn't deliberately deceive them or anything. She just wanted to unwind after an undercover mission. She just didn't think bringing up that she is a Jedi was important, she assumed they already knew. The only hint she gave on their "date" night was a happy and playful "see you tomorrow" as they part ways to get to their respective homes/barracks. She is happy to see them the next day.

Cool fun little oneshot! Decided to go with Crosshair, seems more like his thing.

Hope you like it!

Xx,

Sky.

"SEE YOU TOMORROW"

CROSSHAIR/F REDADER 📩💖

WARNINGS: ALCOHOL, FLIRTING&TEASING.

Your muscles still ache after a two year undercover mision in Alcaz. Spending long hours of running and hiding in the capital will do that to anyone; even a Jedi. Your first mision with the Order started years ago; even if you're still young right now. Everyone starts early these days; you went from youngling to padawan and Jedi Knight in just a blink of an eye. The war makes you feel older than what you really are.

It's weird being back in Coruscant. Back in a normal setting were you don't need to constantly be aware of your surroundings –even if it's instinctual, now–; where you're not constantly in danger. Entering 79's, your eyes quickly flickering over the crowd of tipsy clones and the dance floor, a tiny smile makes it up to your face. You feel inmediately relieved, somehow. You don't need to pretend here. You don't need to be a soldier, a Jedi Knight, a General. You don't have responsabilities and lifes dangling from your shoulders. Here, right now, you can just be you, a simple girl in her twenty-two's.

Happy smile still in your face, you make your way towards the bar. You order a sweet drink light on the alcohol side to start with; turning around and taking small sips while you scan the bar distractedly. There's a few eyes on you already. Not because you're necesarily pretty –though you believe yourself to look alright–; but simply necause you're one of the few natives around here, and more so a woman. Clones will always be ever the gentleman, it's ingrained in their discipline, their sense of honor; but they're still men, real humans, and they have urges like everyone else. Like Jedis do, too, no matter what many people think.

You're not really in the mood for sex, though. You're too tired for that; your plan is to spend a few hours drinking and chatting and then return to the Temple. You've got a meeting tomorrow, and you should make sure you get your well deserved, comfortable sleep. You're almost drooling thinking of a bed already, but you'd like to unwind a bit first; even though your body is tired, you feel your mind too active to surrender to dreamland yet. Plus, you need to disconect from your previous mision and adapt to your new situation; to the new changes.

A few troopers that you had the chance to meet before starting your jump around the galaxy to serve to the Jedi and the Republic recognises you, and you quickly find yourself chatting amicably in a booth with them. They're kind, and perfectly respectful; they speak to you as if you were a normal person, though –not a general, not a Jedi–, and you soon fall into a relaxed posture and a lazy smile. None of you speak about war, about their fears and worries; but of hopes and desires, jokes and secret lovers that await for them patiently all over Coruscant. Some look flustered after realising they've confessed such things in front of you; but you just shake your head and smile. You're glad they're finding some happiness wherever they can.

On your third drink in –and probably the last one, judging by your flushed cheeks and the low hum of carefree excitement & arousal spreading inside of you– you feel another stare on you. It's heavy, it's intent so clear it's almost screaming at you; and you listen to your Jedi instincts, eyes slowly flickering around the bar to find it's owner.

You come up with a pair of dark brown eyes. They're the exact same shade of most of the clones in the GAR; and yet, it's stare so much more intense. It could almost cut through you and hit someone on the other side.

You study him curiously in the same way he has been observing you before. Even sitting down in a booth with some other soldiers, you can tell he's taller than most; the shape of his body and muscles long and thin, agile, though still strong. It's impossible not to notice the tattoo around his right eye; it fits him well, really. What surprises you most about him –besides his stare– is his hair, though; a mix of greys so pretty it almost shines under the lights of the 79's.

He's still dressed up on armour, like a lot of other soldiers on the bar. His is black and grey with a few stripes of dark red; a white skull with a "99" underneath it on his right pauldron. It's right then and there when you understand who he is, who they are; and your eyes twinkle in amusement, your smile widening. This is Clone Force 99, the squad that will be under your command. The Council told you they were different, that they had special abilities very useful for battles; but they fail to mention you they were literally, physically different as well.

You understand... Crosshair's –he must be– cautious and curious study then; he might be wanting to find out who exactly their new General is, and how does she behave when she's not on duty like everyone else.

You shoot him a grin and Crosshair's neutral, almost uniterested face turns into a smirk. He arches an eyebrow, and makes a gesture with his head; a welcome for you to join them in their table. You nod and say your goodbyes to the troopers; smiling and shooting one or two more playful comments before making your way across the room, walking confidently to this squad of extraordinary men.

"Hey there, boys" you greet them, deciding for informality in order to not spoil their night of fun from the start. "Care if I join?"

There's various reactions around the table. Crosshair looks amused. Echo and Tech are purely surprised –the later one quickly scanning you almost as if trying to find information about you with just his eyes–; while Hunter looks hesitant. Wrecker is openly excited and happy.

"Yeah, take a sit!" He pushes his brothers to one side, making room for you in the circular booth their sitting in, ignoring the other's quiet, pained grunts.

They all look a little tipsy too.

You chuckle and take the offer, letting down your drink on top of the table and sitting besides Wrecker. Crosshair arches his eyebrow again, still finding amusing how you seem confident enough in a table –a bar– surrounded by men. He likes confidence in a woman, but such levels are a bit more rare.

"Comfortable?" He asks, his voice deep and smooth, almost a lazy drawl, and you grin back at him.

"Very" you answer, emphasising your answer by taking a long sip of your alcohol and laying lazily against the booths backrest.

After holding his stare for a few seconds, you turn your attention back to the rest of the group; scanning them curiously. They do de same with you.

"So, didn't have time to do a change of clothes?" You point out. "Did you come back from a mission today, or is this just an night outfit choice?"

Wrecker laughs, will Echo and Hunter show a tiny smile. Tech is completely serious still, lost in his thoughts without tearing his eyes from you. Crosshair also stares at you.

"We came back from a mission a pair of hours ago, yeah" Hunter finally answers, relaxing slowly. "Thought we should enjoy a bit of freedom before getting back to work tomorrow".

His voice is deep as well; a bit more soft yet raspy.

"Ah" you answer, smiling guiltily. "Got it. Well, I'm not going to cut out your fun, no worries. Feel free to drink and chat as much as you like. Also... This is still a good fit. Beautiful armour, guys".

This time Tech blushes, Echo clears his throat in silence and Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair, all smile widely. Ah, yes, you forgot; armours are precious to all Mandalorians, including clones, and you could have very well call them...

"So you think we're hot? That it?" Crosshair drawls, eyes interested.

You laugh shrugging your shoulders. Yeah, well, you might be a little too tipsy. This is definitely your last drink if you want to keep things professional. Force knows if you weren't a Jedi and this weren't your men you'd have had already tried to take one of them home. Huh, it seems you're not as tired as you thought.

"Pretty" you correct him, if only to mock him a bit and play with him.

Crosshair's stare darkens and you can feel his arousal and want calling you through the Force.

You smile down playing with the rim of your glass distractedly, and feeling a sudden wave of shyness. Alcohol is a dangerous thing.

The thought makes you giggle a bit.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The night goes on, and you switch to a non-alcohol drink as promised to yourself. The conversation turns normal and more easy as the clock ticks by; all of them being very interesting, fun people to chat with. Crosshair and Echo are more reserved than the rest; different types of quiet observing and thoughtfullness. You suspect the second one isn't as comfortable with your presence as the rest –while you have no doubt that that wouldn't suppose a problem in battlefield, you know he's an excellent soldier–; while Crosshair... Crosshair's intentions are still quite clear.

He's bold, you have to say. Most troopers wouldn't want to risk being reported for misconduct even if they know most Jedis would just gently shut their intentions down if it were the case. Clones usually don't want to risk it; though it's evident that Crosshair doesn't think you will or plainly, doesn't care.

It doesn't bother you. He's attractive, and it feels good to be desired; you're a Jedi, but you're also just twenty-two, and you can't help it yourself. Still, you're nothing but polite to him, if only a bit of playfullness here and there. You're not going to go to bed with him, not before your oficial meeting; not while you can still resist.

You sigh with a smile.

"Well, boys, it has been a pleasure" you start, standing up and patting Wrecker's shoulder besides you. "But I think I'm gonna go and try to shut an eye. Have your fun without me, see you tomorrow!"

Tech eyes widen slightly, observing your retreating figure while Crosshair makes a move to follow you out of 79's.

Tech grabs his brother's shoulder and pulls him back down, ignoring Crosshair's almost snarl.

"She expressed her desire to go to sleep, Crosshair. Let her be" he opted to say, still not 100% sure of his theory before proving it with a quick search on his datapad.

Crosshair sighed and gulped down the remaining of his drink.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

No matter that the Batch had left 79's pretty late in the night, they were all rised and prepared to meet their new General at 0600 puntually. Their faces carried nag under their eyes and various degrees of tiredness; but they weren't being shipped anywhere, so there was no real problem with that. It was just a formal meeting so they could put a face to the name and greet each other; then they'll be left alone to enjoy the rest of their shore-leave day.

"I hope she's nice!" commented Wrecker while they waited up in a line in front of the Marauder.

Hunter hummed.

"I just hope she lets us do our thing" he muttered, clearly not very happy about the new placement.

None of them were particularly enthusiastic; they had never had a personal Jedi General before, and it would be a big change for everyone involved.

"I am confident she will" answered Tech, perhaps the only one holding positive thoughts about it. "I have thoroughly researched our General in the early hours of the morning and she has an impressive record on undercover missions and other side tasks. It seems she is usually sent on unusual requests as well, just like us. In adition, she is fairly easy going. I am positive we would all be able to adapt to each other well".

Right when Wrecker was going to ask with a deep frown etched on his face how did he know she was as "easy-going" as Tech affirmed, a female figure crossed the doors of the hangar walking towards them with wide confident steps.

Wrecker's, Echo's and Hunter's faces stared back in shock; while Tech nodded firmly as if he were explaining something to them, and Crosshair followed the young Jedi's movement full of intrigue and a masked surprise.

"Morning, troopers!" She greeted them, still a few meters away from them.

Her smile was radiant in the greyness of the hangar bay.

Crosshair leaned towards the smartest of his brothers, subtle.

"Punishment for fucking your Jedi General?" he asked in a distracted whispered, eyes never leaving the woman aproaching them.

Tech answered completely unbothered by his antics; posture firm.

"From an informal reprimand to proper decomissioning".

Crosshair smirked.

"I'll risk it".

He arched an eyebrow in amused defiance when she looked straight at him.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taraaa! Here it is love, hope you like it! It was a little fun cheeky thing to write :)

Not checked after finishing writing it cause I have exam tomorrow and still got a few finals left, but I hope I didn't make a lot of mistakes!

Only two more requests left before I jump onto another tbb Mermaid fic. Don't worry, yall, I will reopen requests the future, just let me survive my exams first ;)

Stay tunned!

Xx,

Sky.

Back to masterlist here:

[bring-backup-99]

Before It Gets Too Late

PAIRING: tech x fem reader

SUMMARY: You spend a fun and special day with Tech, starting with a flying lesson that takes an unexpected turn. There’re fluffy times but mostly sexy times. (I’m trying to support and comfort my Tech people during this dark period.)

WORDS COUNT: 1926

RATING + WARNINGS: 18+, very spicy, porn with minimal plot, PiV, rough sex, probably bad flight mechanics

NOTES: This is installment twenty-two of my reverse harem “Bad Choices” smutlet series on Ao3, but I think it’s also a nice stand-alone Tech story. Although it’s written in second person, my heroine has a very established relationship with the Batch.

Everything was going fine until a large flock of flying creatures shot out of the canopy in a wide column directly into the ship’s path. You were too close to simply fly around them, and every other usual option you could think of would leave hundreds of them dead and the ship with possible light damage.

So without a second thought, you killed the thrusters while sending the ship in a tight turn, the nose pointed at the column. A quick tap of the port thruster has you cleared of the animals, with what you hoped were minimal casualties, then you reinitialized the main thrusters and resumed your disrupted flight path.

For a full minute, there was silence to your left. Finally, “It appears that flying lessons were unnecessary.”

“That was never the question,” you hedged. “You asked if I would like you to give me lessons. You didn’t ask if I knew how to fly. I answered honestly.” And this was your third time out.

“But with a glaring omission,” Tech huffs at you.

“Don’t be angry at me. I was very curious as to how you would be as a flight instructor, and I would not have received the same response if you had known.” What you do know is that this is logic he won’t be able to argue with.

He hmphs at you again, but you can tell he’s not really upset.

“That was an interesting maneuver you performed.”

“A modified ‘Tech turn.’ Seemed like the best option for minimizing death and destruction.” You pause for a moment, then you look at him. “It can’t be, right? The ‘Tech turn’…” You trail off as you see the corners of his lips turn up to an actual smile.

“That is not what it is called.”

“I’m going to fuck your so hard as soon as we land.”

“I was contemplating something similar.”

He doesn’t take the controls from you, but you sit quietly for a while.

“I’m not great at mechanics. You could teach me that?” you offer.

“Specifically define ‘not great’,” he asks.

“I definitely couldn’t fully repair this ship, but I am unable to give you a rundown of which systems I am deficient in. That’s the best I can do.”

“That…is acceptable.”

*

Almost as soon as the ship touches down in the tree-lined clearing, you are on each other. He lets you push him back down in his pilot’s chair, straddling him while your lips devour his with kisses. You groan in frustration as you try to divest him of his various layers of clothing, but you’re too eager and your fingers can’t find all the buckles and straps.

Want. Need. They course through you. You need his skin against yours. Finally, he takes pity, gently stops your fumbling, and slowly removes all the items covering his torso, your desperate whimpering doing nothing to hurry him. Then he lifts off your shirt. Your bodies crash together again. He kisses along your neck, down to your breasts, cupping them, licking your nipples. You throw your head back and cry out, your hands stroking over his head and neck; then fingernails scrape down his back, feeling his taut muscles.

“Against the wall,” you groan. Moments later, you’re both naked, and your back is to the one bare metal plate in the cockpit. Tech drops to a knee in front of you, places your leg over his arm, and targets your clit in a focused and aggressive attack.

“Fuck! FUCK!” you scream as, mere minutes later, you come. And then he lifts you, burying himself deep inside you, pounding into you, your pussy still twitching in pleasure.

Every rough, hard thrust is accompanied by his grunts, and you loudly proclaim your satisfaction, your voice echoing through the ship. You want Tech to do this, need him to do this, to take his pleasure from your willing body. He captures your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand gripping your ass, fingers pressed into your flesh, pinching, bruising. He kisses you, mauling your lips, and when he breaks away, you sink your teeth into his shoulder.

He gasps, releasing your wrists, and takes a strong hold of your ass and thighs, angling you for deeper, feral thrusts. Your arms encircle his neck and shoulders. You want him like this, desperate for you, as if no one else could give this to him. An animalistic groan emanates from him as his cock ravages you until finally a full throated cry signals his climax and he holds himself deep inside of you, and you feel his hot cum pump into you.

Neither of you move, the only sounds your gasping breaths as you each try to take in enough air.

“Mmmm,” you finally manage. “That was excellent.” You smile, then lick a drop of sweat from his neck.

“Yes,” he says, a slight gleam in his eye, “Quite satisfactory.”

* You lie in a bunk together, your head on his shoulder, a hand idly stroking his chest.

“Why did you not disclose to me that you did not need flying lessons? Your skill level is clearly quite adequate.”

You suck in your breath. I wanted to spend time with you outside of my bedroom. I wanted to know who you are when we’re not fucking. I wanted to be on this ship with you when you could be focussed on me. I wanted… So many wants, as if you can’t be happy with what you have.

“It’s been a long time since I flew. I wasn’t sure that I didn’t need them…at least as a refresher.” You hesitate. “Are you angry at me?...slightly perturbed?

“I am not. And at least they were not a waste of time.” His fingers run up and down your arm.

“No,” you agree.

Tech looks down at you, watching your hand move along his skin. You have not asked him why he offered to teach you, which is for the best. Tech is worse at articulating his wants than you are.

*

You wake up alone in the bunk. It’s been awhile since the person you’d fallen asleep with wasn’t still beside you. The ship is dark, so it must be night. You get up, the floor cold under your feet, expecting to find Tech in the cockpit.

Instead, a drop-ladder is down from the midship overhead storage space.

“Tech?” You call up.

“Ah, you are awake,” you hear him say. “I was just coming down to collect you. Come up here.”

“Um, I’m naked?” You look around for your clothing and see nothing.

There’s a long pause. “It appears that I am nude as well…I do have blankets.”

You sigh and tentatively climb the ladder, then follow Tech’s voice to a maintenance hatch with another ladder that lets you out onto the ship’s fuselage. He takes your hand and leads you to where he’s laid out a large blanket over the cockpit. You feel awkward even though the warm night air is quite pleasant on your skin.

“What’s this all about?”

Tech helps you down onto the blanket, then points up. “The moons have just set, so we should have quite an excellent view of the Quadrillen meteor shower. I believe you expressed dissatisfaction with your ability to see this from the city.”

You look up and, after a few moments, you watch a meteor blaze across the sky. You hadn’t mentioned that you wanted to watch this to Tech. You and Crosshair had been discussing it. You hadn’t realized Tech was paying attention. You lie next to each other, mostly in silence, watching the light show.

“I must admit, I was skeptical at first, but this is quite a pleasant experience.”

“Skeptical? Why?”

“I have seen many natural phenomena during my travels in space. I did not think that the debris from a comet entering a planet's atmosphere would be particularly visually stimulating in comparison to what I have witnessed. But taken as a whole, this is quite an excellent experience.”

You laugh. “I suppose.” Smiling, you continue to watch as the little streaks fill the night, when suddenly three meteors scorch their way across the sky. You sit up excitedly and point. “That was amazing.” You look down at Tech. He has a slight smile on his face, then he pushes himself up and presses his lips to yours. His arms gather your body to him, one hand stroking in your hair, one at the small of your back. He takes your breath away with his kiss, drawing you down onto him.

This feels insane. Are you really going to fuck on top of the ship under the night sky? Turns out, yes, yes, you are.

You lie on him, enjoying the feel of his hot skin along your body. You kiss for a long time, until you can’t take it anymore, and whisper, “I need you. Please.” He helps you slide onto him, both of you gasping. You whimper; you’re a little sore but the sensation is too sweet. You lean forward, pressed chest to chest, as he pivots his hip to help you fuck him gently.

And when he carefully rolls you both so you can watch over his shoulder as the stars cascade out of the sky, you can’t help but think that this is all a little too ridiculous. He moves above you, long strokes that make your breath catch, and you cry out because sometimes he fits inside you perfectly.

You wrap your legs around him. “Yes, I like that. It feels so good. Just like that, Tech. Mmmm, just like that.”

Stars keep falling as he takes hold of your legs, angling you so his cock can thrust deeper. Your cries sound small as the trees surrounding you consume them.

You move together, one being working toward the same goal. Each stroke sends shivers through you until you feel your body full with warmth as a soft climax overtakes you, not nearly as intense as the one earlier, but somehow more satisfying.

He holds your hands, fingers intertwined, as he watches your face while the orgasm washes over you, drinking in those little noises you make that he so enjoys. He moves carefully as you finish, knowing you must be sore already, wanting you to still find pleasure as he nears his own climax.

And then you start whispering to him, “Come in me, Tech. I need to feel you inside me. I need it. I need you to come for me.” You move under him, insistent, demanding, so he has to surrender to you. He stiffens and gasps, his hot cum emptying in you. You wrap yourself around him as he collapses onto you, finally spent. You watch as the stars continue to fall through the blackness of the sky.

“We shouldn’t fall asleep up here.”

“Yes, that would be unwise.” He gingerly lifts himself off you. You roll and lie on his shoulder, watching the stars fall behind the trees. The air is cooling and you shiver. “Let us go back inside. You can continue watching from the cockpit, if you wish.”

“Tech.” He looks at you, while collecting the blankets. I wanted to spend more time with you, that’s why I lied.

“Thank you for tonight.” This was really special to me. I hope it was to you.

“Yes, this was very enjoyable.” He watches you as you climb down the hatch. I wish to do this again.

* But wait, there’s more:

The rest of the series can be found here.

Warning: It gets kinky

[freesia-writes]

Introduce Your OCs!

I wanna try to do something fun like this each Sunday (creativity permitting) and have been working on a one-shot, chatting, and watching the superbowl today so I didn't get it out earlier. BUT, if you like, I'd love to hear any or all of the following for your OCs! And feel free to link any fic they appear in!

If they were a SHOE, what kind of SHOE would they be?

What nature/scenery/setting most encapsulates who they are?

What's one thing you'd notice about them immediately and one thing you would only notice after a lot of time and depth?

Thanks for sharing (even after Sunday, haha!)

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Cover art by @pinkiemme

Series Summary:

Wolffe's life is turned upside down when his wife suddenly dies while he's home on Coruscant. As Wolffe battles through his grief, he is forced to take on the role of father and mother to his four-year-old daughter Cara, who struggles to understand why her mother is gone. When Wolffe receives orders for a new deployment, he hires Lilith Sestri from a nanny service in a desperate attempt to ensure his daughter is taken care of while he's away. However, tragedy will continue to follow them throughout the rest of the War.

Series Forward:

Where's Mommy? isn't your average love story because it's not about romance. It's about family, grief, and loss. Following Wolffe and Cara's journey is an emotional roller coaster full of uphill battles, downhill terrors, and fleeting joys. While some moments may seem happy, a thread of sadness remains woven through the center. Is there hope for them? Read their story and find out!

Series Index:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 (TBD because work got crazy)

Series Inspired Fanworks:

Cara and Wolffe Holo Photo (Part 4) - @amalthiaph

Fighting Breakfast (Part 6) - @alligatorpie1945

Cara's Baby Blanket Refs (Part 8)

Cara's Tooka Doll (Part 8) - @frostycatblr-fandom-files

Love is Stored in the Carrot (Part 8) - @kimiheartblade

Love is Stored in the Carrot (Part 9) - @frostycatblr-fandom-files

[jedi-enthusiast]

Another out of context shitpost:

Wolffe: *waking up after having surgery* Arran: Hello Wolffe, I'm Arran. I'm going to be the healer taking care of you while you recover. Wolffe, still high off of anesthesia and trying to deal with the fact his Jedi healer is Fine™️: Damn, I should get injured more often. Fox, watching on the sidelines: *chokes*

[therisingdarkness]

5 Times Ghoul Left the Bar Alone, and One Time He Didn’t

written again for @cloned-eyes and for Ghoul, and for my girl Odessa <3 (this is like 18 pages, I’m sorry)

PART 2

Forty-six rotations since the last time they made planetfall, and sixteen more before they were finally debriefed and allowed to go on leave. It wasn't enough time to truly relax and unwind, but five days was all they could afford. Ghoul didn't question it, but neither did he keep his opinion to himself when asked.

Forty-six days of nearly killing themselves dodging the Separatist fleet, only to be rewarded with a pat on the back and five days of shore leave? The entire Republic could go kark itself, if that was supposed to be considered a fair trade. He wasn't grateful and he wasn't gonna pretend to be. The only thing he was looking forward to was finally replenishing his supply of cygarettes. He had run out so long ago it was a small miracle he hadn't managed to kill anyone in the interim, but most of the clones he served with knew to stay out of his way regardless.

Ghoul tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the transport's docking procedures to terminate, mentally running through the exact path he needed to take to get to the shop that sold his preferred brand of smokes. His craving was bad this time around; everything annoyed him, every little noise and movement drew his attention in a way it normally wouldn't and he knew he shouldn't have smoked them all in the first twenty rotations, but it was difficult when everyone around him was just so…so damn…indoctrinated.

That was the other reason he was looking forward to leave. He didn't have to be around the other clones as much, wouldn't be subjected to their boot-licking fantasies of being the heroes the Republic needed. Ugh.

Better still, he was meeting Fox at 79s. It had taken ages to patch a message through the tight security protocols, but when his brother finally messaged back he sounded cheerful and willing to make plans. Of course it had to be at 79s, because all anyone did was drink; Ghoul wanted to forget too, but nothing tasted the same and he wasn't about to spend credits getting wasted when he could just go to the rec center and beat the slack out of a training dummy for free. Despite its immeasurable and endless wealth, the same Republic that had no issue forking over the credits necessary for the Kaminoans to grow its army balked at the idea of paying said army a decent wage. 

But Ghoul wasn't about to suggest they go anywhere else. Fox was so difficult to make plans with that he would take whatever he could get, so long as it meant seeing his older batchmate again. Wolffe was good company and all, but Fox would know exactly what to say without sounding like he was reading off a script. He had always known how to make Ghoul feel better after a shitty day.

Slightly less shitty, once he had four fresh packs of cygarettes neatly packed into his empty rations pouch on his hip. With a promise to himself to make them last this time, Ghoul hurried to 79s, hoping to beat his brother there and grab a booth in the back where they could talk without being disturbed.

The outside of the bar had received a fresh coat of paint since the last time he had been there; unfortunately, the sign on the door prohibiting helmets remained. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the lettering looked bigger. He almost considered ignoring it…but instinct told him to just obey, for once. Wolffe would probably find out about it anyway and give him an earful. With a beleaguered sigh, Ghoul pulled off his bucket and tucked it under his arm before pushing the doors open. 

A blast of recycled air hit him in the face, immediately cooling the sweat buildup on his forehead. The inside of his nose stung with the first inhale, but it was good to be out of the heat. The sun hadn’t even set yet and the bar was mostly empty. The only other patrons were a few alien species—Rodian, Dug, and Pantoran—and an odd couple of clones stripped of their armor down to the hips. At the bar itself sat a few humans, all three of them red-faced and snickering amongst themselves.

Behind the bar stood the same Twi’lek that had served him and Wolffe during their last visit. Ghoul stiffened, but she wasn’t paying him any attention or even looking his way. 

Good, he thought. Maybe this time she’d mind her business and stay far away from him, except to do her job. Hopefully he’d be able to have more than one drink this time around. Even if he couldn’t taste it, he was looking forward to the social aspect of drinking with his brother.

Ping.

Ghoul ripped his commlink off his belt so fast he almost broke the clip, pressing the receiver and holding it close to his mouth.

“Fox?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

“Hey, glad I caught you!”

“Kriff, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ghoul said. “I just got to 79s; gonna grab a booth. You want me to order for you?”

“...well now I just feel bad.”

Ghoul froze. Dread prickled the skin at the back of his neck and he tightened his hold on the commlink.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

He could almost hear the way Fox winced over the channel.

“I’m not gonna be able to make it today,” his brother said. “Emergency Senate proceedings, and the Chancellor refused my request for leave.”

“You asked for that time off ages ago!” Ghoul hissed. “Tell him to eat shit!”

“You know I can’t do that. I’m really, really sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

It was a lie. If not a lie, then a promise that was broken on delivery. Ghoul wanted to throw his commlink across the bar and bash his helmet into the ground; the knowledge that he’d receive demerits for damaging military issued equipment kept him from doing just that. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, pushing down the sudden rage that threatened to consume him. It wasn’t Fox’s fault…he couldn’t have known, he only just found out himself. Yeah…if it was up to him, he would have been there.

“You owe me,” Ghoul growled. “Big time.”

“I’ll take you somewhere nice and treat you like royalty. On my honor.”

“You don’t got any.”

Fox laughed, a smooth chuckle that had always made him seem cooler than anyone else Ghoul had ever known.

“Stay and have a drink for me? I hate to think you walked all that way for nothing.”

He didn’t want to. Five steps through the door and the rest of his day was ruined. There was no reason for him to stay, no reason he should sit up at the bar and drink alone. It was so pathetic. But…Fox was asking and lying to him didn’t feel right, even if there was no way he’d know, one way or the other.

“Fine. What’re you drinking?”

“Darkoma.”

“You sure have expensive taste for a guy who’s not paying,” Ghoul grumbled.

“You’ll love it. I’m really sorry about this, but I have to go. Don’t be mad!”

“Too late,” Ghoul snapped, but the line went dead as Fox disconnected. He was alone again, standing in a bar he hated, with only a few credits left to his name. 

Kark, he thought.

He could leave. He could leave and no one would have to know. He had four packs of cygs and he knew how fast he could burn through half a pack in his current mood. If he jogged he could make it back to the rec center before they closed for their mandatory custodial hours. Hells, he could go straight to the barracks and take advantage of everyone being gone and get some alone time in, it’d been kriffing forever since he last touched himself anyways.

Shit.

The bartender had finally taken notice of him. He glared, but she just gave him a little smile and a wave, then pointed toward the seat at the very end of the bar, closest to the wall—the same seat he had taken the last time.

Just a couple drinks, he told himself. No more than two, and you can leave. You’ll have kept your word and you can rub it in Fox’s face the next time you see him.

Ghoul slunk over to the bar, trying not to feel like he had been ordered to the corner seat…even if it was the very one he would have taken of his own free will. He set his helmet down on the countertop a little more harshly than he should have and side-eyed the humans further down the bar. They hadn’t taken notice of him yet, invested as they were in their drinks. A dozen empty shot glasses littered the space in front of them, tiny monuments to their inebriation.

There were several times in his short life where he had felt lower than dirt…this wasn’t one of them, but it came close.

"Ghoul?" 

He looked up.

She was standing in front of him, tilting her head to the side and fingering a menu. She was bright green and he hadn't even noticed her move. Kark. He needed a drink more than he thought.

"Yeah," he groused, forced to speak. 

"I remember," she said, her voice gentle. It made his skin itch. If she thought she was doing him a favor by pretending to be so nice, she had another thing coming. He didn't need special treatment, or to be handled with white gloves. He wasn't fragile.

"You were with the Commander last time," the bartender said, refusing to shut up or take his glowering for the hint it was. "He is not with you today?"

"Obviously," he said, seething a bit. "Get me a Darkoma. And a Catsblood."

Unphased, she nodded, her lekku swaying with the movement. Against his will, he noticed the striped patterning painted down the length of them, a darker green that complimented her skin tone.

"Oryxxian, yes? You like the spicy kind. And warm for both?"

She…she remembered. Ghoul didn't know why it mattered. He tried to tell himself that it didn't, that she was just doing her job, the same as any half-decent bartender would manage. It wasn't anything special. 

But it had been forty-six rotations since last planetfall and sixteen more for debriefing; in all that time she must have seen hundreds, if not thousands of clones pass through 79s. It wasn't possible to remember the details of every single one of them. Maybe names, if Twi'leks brains were as big as rumor had it, but even then there was only so much a person could be expected to hold onto before they started forgetting.

And clones were, as a lot of people liked to say, fairly forgettable.

"Yes," Ghoul heard himself say. 

"Good choice for both," she said. "When the liquors are warm the taste sits more firmly in your mouth, and the aroma is stronger. Have you never had Darkoma before?"

He shook his head, biting back the urge to tell her that he couldn't taste. 

"Darkoma is very rich," she said, smiling properly for the first time since he took notice of her. "A bold flavor, not quite as spiced as the Catsblood, but warm and pleasant. The aroma is almost earthy. You will enjoy it."

"Heeeeey," came a call from down the bar. "Sweetheart, why don't you come back over here an' give us a twirl?"

Ghoul watched the Twi'lek stiffen. She wasn't at all low-key; her lekku twitched nervously and gave her away, even through the tight smile she forced to her face. He knew enough about her species to know that the subtle movements of lekku was a language all its own; he wondered what hers were saying now, as the ends curled upwards and flicked down.

"Forgive me," she said, glancing back at the drunk humans. "I will see to them first, and then get you your drinks."

Ghoul glanced down the counter as she turned on her heel, the bounce missing from her step as she approached the lightweights. They all had the same soft look about them—almost immediately, Ghoul could tell they came from money. His eyes could see what others might miss, from the superfine weave making up the fabric of their clothing to the fractal light caught by their very real and very expensive jeweled rings. 

Matching rings, he realized.

Academy brats.

If it was possible to hate individuals more than he hated the Republic as a whole, graduates from the Academy cornered the market. Blue-blood sons from wealthy families, coasting through life on the wings of nepotism, whispered favors and credits passed into the hands of politicians, accruing badges of honor without having ever set foot on a battlefield. Worthless little scudbuckets who thought themselves so much better than anyone else, who would shit their perfectly pressed breeches if they ever had the misfortune of being caught in a real firefight.

Ghoul watched with muted interest as the bartender began clearing the shot glasses, dropping each one into soapy water with a little plop.

“I am thinking it is time for you three to throw in your towels,” she said, her tone pleasant, but firm. “You have had much to drink this day.”

“There’s always room for more!” the middle one crowed as he swayed in place atop his seat. 

“Yeah, we’re fine! C’mon, give us another round!”

“No,” she said, exuding patience for which Ghoul had to give her credit for. “I am cutting you off for now. Tomorrow is a new day, yes? Come again, and I will feed you drinks until you fall over. But not today.”

“Stop being stingy,” the first idiot spoke up again. He seemed to be the ringleader of the group, his voice obnoxious and nasally but filled with the kind of pomp his family’s money afforded him, like he was expecting to be obeyed. Ghoul felt a sneer curl his upper lip; he didn’t feel obligated to step in or anything, it wasn’t any of his business and it definitely wasn’t his kriffing job…but they were annoying and disturbing what little peace he had.

“It is not stingy,” the bartender said, her voice more firm. “I must ask you all to leave now, please. You have had enough. I will not be serving you more today.”

“Oh yeah? What would your master think?”

She froze, except for her lekku; the ends curled violently, almost thrashing before she reached up and grabbed one to forcibly hold it still. Ghoul stared, the expression on her face by far the most interesting one he had seen her make. She was focused on the three idiots in front of her, all of whom sported the same smug smirk on their faces, like something of extreme wit had just been said.

The Twi’lek didn’t look so impressed. In fact, he’d swear it was anger that she was holding in check.

“I asked you to leave,” she said; there was a tremor in her voice. “You are not welcome here anymore.”

“And what if we said no?” the ringleader said. “You gonna make us? Tailhead?”

That was definitely a slur. Every seasoned clone knew it, or had heard of it from those who had deployed to Ryloth for even one rotation. He remembered watching an officer break up a fistfight between a clone and a male Twi’lek over the use of the word; the clone had come away from it with the bone of his forearm jutting out through his skin and bite marks across his face. Male Twi’leks had sharp teeth and weren’t shy about using them, it seemed. He had simply made note not to use that word, ever.

Ghoul doubted these men had ever set foot on Ryloth, though. Maybe they could have been given the benefit of the doubt, that they heard the word in passing and just didn’t know how derogatory it actually was…but the looks on their faces gave away that they knew exactly what it meant.

“I am giving you one more chance,” the bartender said. “Leave on your own, or be thrown out. I will call the security droid.”

For a moment he wondered if they’d keep at it. The bar was empty and they were drunk enough that no one else was going to stop them. Ghoul didn’t recall there ever being a security bot at 79s, either, so she was likely bluffing. He knew he was too invested; he shouldn’t have cared, should have just minded his own business and waited for his drinks. Hell, he should have just left the second Fox said he wasn’t gonna make it. He still could; she hadn’t poured anything so there’d be nothing to waste.

But if he left and something happened….

It wasn’t his job. He didn’t care. 

She remembered I like it warm. 

So small a thing, it shouldn’t have meant so much to him—It doesn’t, he told himself harshly—but for some reason he couldn't move from his seat. Wolffe wouldn’t even have entertained the idea; in fact, he might’ve already rectified the situation himself had he been there. Ghoul wasn’t Wolffe though—he wasn’t so chivalrous as to stick his neck out for someone he didn’t know. Besides…this kind of behavior came with the territory. She wouldn’t be the first bartender to deal with rowdy customers. She needed to have the spine for this sort of thing.

But he sat, and he watched, and he felt his entire body tensing up in that familiar way it did right before a battle, right before he was forced to spring to action. 

She remembered my name.

~~~

“Leave,” Odessa repeated herself, pointing toward the door. 

The human stared at her, his pale blue eyes glossy with too much drink and his mouth crooked with what he thought was a smile. Her skin crawled and her heartbeat quickened. She hated confrontation, it was really the worst part of her job. She had been so fortunate that, up until now, patrons of 79s knew better than to argue about being cut off. Clones especially were quick to give up trying to wheedle one last little drink out of her, obedient down to the marrow in their bones. Sometimes they had to be dragged away by their brothers, but none had ever dared to speak to her with the disrespect that this human had.

She was close to shaking and hated it. This was the one thing she was no good at, and there were three of them staring her down like she was scum stuck to the bottom of their boots. Odessa held her head high though, tilting her chin up even though it did nothing to make her appear taller.

“Well?” she prompted.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

“Fine,” the tallest human said, snatching his cap off the counter and shoving it down over his white-blonde hair. “Come on boys. There’s better bars than this dump.”

One by one the men clambered to their feet, stumbling as they gathered their wits about them and headed toward the door. Odessa watched them go until the last one made it out through the door, but not without shooting one last parting glare her way. Though drunk, there was enough real malice in his eyes that it sent a shiver up her spine. She tried not to judge any of the patrons who came by 79s…but in her opinion, there were some people who should stay away from alcohol. At the very least, they shouldn’t let themselves get so drunk.

He left, the door chiming as it shut behind him and allowing Odessa to finally breathe a sigh of relief. 

Finally. 

She looked back down toward the end of the bar with an apologetic smile. 

“I am so sorry you had to see that,” she said, spinning to grab both drinks from the top shelf. “Normally they leave when I cut them off, but I have not seen those men before. Perhaps they are used to softer hearts.”

“...no,” Ghoul said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “They were just idiots.”

“Regardless, I would have preferred it did not happen that way.”

“...you had it handled.”

Odessa smiled as she poured the drinks, careful not to spill a single drop. She overpoured just a little, just because she could. It wouldn’t be missed.

“You know,” she said as she carefully walked the drinks over to Ghoul, “I was not worried. Most men are not so foolish as to act out in public like that. I think it would have been fine.”

He looked up at her and she was so close she could see the details of his eyes, the cybernetic components almost seamlessly fused together, except for thin, silver lines. Curiosity would have had her ask him about what happened, but she choked the desire dead in her chest. She would never be so rude.

“Those weren’t ‘most men’,” Ghoul said, fingering the glass of Darkoma. “They were Republic Academy students. Or graduates. Doesn’t matter, they’re all the same breed of asshole.”

“You sound as if you have experience,” Odessa said, wanting to hear more already. But first…she leaned against the counter and tapped her finger against the surface.

“Smell first,” she encouraged. “It will help prepare your senses. Darkoma is top shelf for a reason.”

She could see defiance in his expression, the way his brows furrowed right in the middle; he was a man not used to taking orders…or at the least, a man who did not like taking orders. But hers was only a suggestion, and a gentle one at that. He did as she said, inhaling deeply of the drink until his eyebrows arched in surprise.

“It’s…different,” he said.

“Different is good!” Odessa laughed. “I love to try new things, especially food and drink. You can learn much from other cultures that way.”

Ghoul lifted a shoulder in a shrug and began to drink steadily from the cup—too steadily. Before she could blink the short glass was empty and he turned it over, placing it upside down with a decisive clink.

“Not bad,” he said. “Not my speed, but not bad.”

“How could you tell? You drank so fast there was no time to enjoy the flavor!”

Almost immediately she knew she had done it again, uttered something insensitive or thoughtless that caused him to retreat in on himself and slam those walls back up around him. It was like a storm cloud passed over him, thunder on his brow and the air between them suddenly electrified with a tension so thick she could have cut it with a vibroblade. 

“So what?” he growled. “I’m paying for it, I’ll drink it how I want.”

“Forgive me,” Odessa said, confused. “I did not mean to offend—”

“Listen,” Ghoul said, snatching the other drink up so fast a little bit sloshed over the rim, “I don’t know what makes you think I want to talk to you. I just came here to get a drink, then I’m leaving. You don’t have to hover, or talk to me, or pay any attention to me at all. Just…go do your job. Pretend I’m not here.”

Ouch.

“I was just…trying to be friendly…,” she said, heart pounding. This was, somehow, worse than the drunk men. At least then she knew she was in the right by making them leave. She had never met someone so…so unwilling to lay down their burden. Almost everyone who entered the bar was happy to talk to her, even if it was just for a little bit. Asking patrons about their day and their lives was part of what made the job fun, and even those who weren’t in the mood for idle chit chat were polite enough to exchange pleasantries.

Ghoul, it seemed, wanted none of it. He glared at her now, and got up from his seat to set both hands on the edge of the bar. He leaned over slowly, until less than half a meter remained between them.

“I’m not your friend,” he hissed.

Odessa swallowed, eyes wide and heart still beating wildly in her chest. She didn’t realize she was pressed against the sink until she felt the dampness collected on the rim soak into her pants. 

“You…do not have to be,” she found herself saying, despite every alarm bell in her head sounding off, hinting that it was a better idea to shut up. “I was only curious.”

“Join the club,” Ghoul snarled. “You wanna know so bad? Ask, so I can tell you where to shove your kriffing ‘curiosity’.”

“Not that,” she said, gesturing to his face. “I am not so rude to ask the invasive questions.”

Was that a flicker of doubt she saw, in his eyes? Were implants even capable of expressing that level of emotion? She did want to ask, but the ghost of her mother would crawl out of the grave and strangle her with her own lekku if she dared to pry into whatever terrible event scarred Ghoul so deeply. His defensiveness made sense now, if all he was expecting from her were the kinds of questions that shouldn’t be asked aloud. She felt bad for him…felt bad for the way he must have been treated, if he thought so lowly of her, a complete stranger.

“What else is there?” Ghoul asked, his voice raspier than before. But he sounded genuinely confused, as though he couldn’t think of any reason why she might want to get to know him as his own person. 

And honestly…Odessa didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know how to explain to him things that he should have already known, things that almost every other clone had embraced wholeheartedly, in rejection of the cold ideals that had been placed into their heads from birth. She didn’t know how to tell him that he was his own person, an amalgamation of experiences and desires and thoughts and memories that made him unique among his brothers. She didn’t know how to explain what she felt, whenever meeting someone for the first time, and watching them open up to her. It was like watching little morning flowers blossom with the rising sun.

Her father called her a romantic daydreamer; her brother just called her a silly little girl…but she couldn’t help who she was. She couldn’t help that she cared. It was the war that had made people forget that they were all a part of the same universe; they shared the stars and the pathways between them and it should have been easy to understand the importance of being kind, especially now…Odessa would never apologize for her beliefs.

But Ghoul asked her what else there could possibly be like he didn’t think there was any part of him worth knowing, and the confusion in his voice was almost enough to break her heart. She did want to know him, more now than anything, if only to prove him wrong, to show him that there was plenty about him that anyone would be proud to know. He wasn’t a walking prosthetic, he wasn’t just his war wounds. He wasn’t just some meat sack filling out scuffed armor.

But…she didn’t know how to get him to see it. Not without upsetting him further. Not without…without knowing how to reach him.

“You do not think much of yourself…do you.”

Before he could answer, the door swung open. Odessa only had to glance over before her heart dropped down to her knees upon recognition of the three men who had left not that long ago. They laughed and shoved one another inside, practically tripping over their own feet; somehow, in the span of less than a standard hour, they had managed to become even more drunk. Their faces were swollen with it, their cheeks and foreheads so red that at first glance it looked as though they were bleeding. 

They had no right to come back, especially now when there was still much to be said. Odessa felt a small fury building inside of her at being interrupted the way that they were, and she shot Ghoul a soft look.

“Stay here,” she said. “I will deal with them…again.”

She stormed out out from behind the bar through the employee gate and right up to the men, incensed when she noticed the way they snickered and straightened up at her approach. They did not look at all sorry to be there, nor did they show any humility; she half-doubted that they even knew where they were.

“The bar is closed,” she said loudly, clapping her hands together a few times to capture their wandering attention. “I have already told you to leave and now you have come back. You want me to call for the authorities?”

“My father is an Admiral,” the tallest man among them sneered. He jabbed his finger into the middle of her forehead and pushed her back, hard. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“You cannot,” she snapped back, swiping at his hand. Even drunk, he was faster than her, taller than her, and he laughed in her face until she could taste the alcohol on his hot breath. Odessa wrinkled her nose and blocked them from moving with her body. 

“You are disturbing my other customers,” she insisted, determined to diffuse the situation like her boss had taught her; though she didn’t necessarily agree with the policies, calling the authorities was supposed to be the last resort. It would have been her first, had she had been sure she wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it.

“Customers?” the man repeated, looking over the top of her head and squinting. “I don’t see anyone worth more than the three of us. What, a few drunk blueskins and some washed-up clones?”

“Do not insult them!” Odessa snapped, raising her voice. She whipped her head over her shoulder and sure enough, the two clones in the corner had taken notice. They  had been nothing but quiet and unassuming, gave her their batch numbers in a dutiful way that told her they had yet to see battle, had yet to earn themselves a nickname or lose their shiny status. They were quiet and polite, just a couple of lightweights who wanted to wind down after a long shift. They didn’t deserve to be spoken about like that.

She dared not look at Ghoul—she did not want to draw their attention to him. She saw now the type of men they really were, when alcohol had plied loose the beliefs they held deep within. They were cruel and judgmental, the kind who thought they were better than everyone else because of their status, their careers, the credits at their disposal. Odessa had no time for men like that, sober or otherwise. What was the saying she heard her boss use? ‘Drunken words are sober thoughts’.

She did not want them to notice Ghoul and turn that cruelty to him—and they would, and they would be merciless. She knew their type now, and was ashamed that she hadn’t seen it sooner. 

“You’re awfully protective,” one of the other men said, his speech slurred. “You like them? You a clone-fucker?”

Odessa swore in her native Ryl, the kinds of words she learned from her father and brother when they thought she wasn’t listening. 

“Get. Out,” she hissed.

“She is a clone-fucker. Bet she’s had them all since we left.”

“Well what can you expect from a Twi’lek?”

“Schutta!”

Odessa’s jaw dropped at the slur casually thrown in her face, spoken in the worst imitation of a Twi’leki accent she had ever heard. It was almost enough to make her see red and forget all about the training she had to go through to even be allowed to stand behind the bar, but if she lost her composure now the surveillance feed would only show her throwing the first punch; no audio meant no proof to back up any claims of verbal harassment. 

They’re just words, she said after forcing herself to take a deep breath. Her lekku were stiff with anger, quivering against her shoulder blades but she refused to let them see that they almost got to her. Just words, just children. Little idiots who do not know what they are saying. They are drunk.

“Ugh, look at that one.”

“I thought they decommissioned the ones that were damaged that bad.”

“What a waste of credits. Should have just thrown it in the incinerator.”

SLAP!

Odessa saw her hand make contact with the tall man’s face before she had even noticed her body moving on its own. Her palm stung with the strength of the blow, having caught the entire breadth of her victim’s cheek. At first thought, she knew she hadn’t meant to do it…but on second thought she realized that she didn’t care.

The man reeled back with a high-pitched yelp, practically falling back onto his friends; she watched, frozen in place as he clutched at his jaw and then tested his lower lip with a few fingers—they came away stained with a bit of blood, and the sight of it seemed to sober them all instantly.

“How dare you!” the man shrieked, shoving one of his friends out of the way. He reached out with a long arm and though she tried to dodge out of reach, his hand curled around the end of her left lek and squeezed. Odessa screamed and almost collapsed from the pain shooting through the supersensitive organ—they weren’t meant to be handled so roughly! Everyone knew better—even if they had never met a Twi’lek face-to-face, people knew and they knew better than to touch, even in anger….

“I’ll have you deported off-planet for that,” the man hissed in her face as he forced her to the bar and pinned her against it. The edge bit painfully into her lower back as she struggled against his other hand gripping her by the arm. He was stronger than he looked and used his height to his advantage. Odessa wished she had paid more attention to the self-defense lessons her brother tried to teach her before she left Ryloth; foolishly she hadn’t believed she’d need them on Coruscant.

“Let me go!” she gasped.

The man sneered, and then, from her peripheral, Odessa watched as a hand reached out and snatched him by the collar of his fancy jacket. One moment he was there, in front of her, and the next his hands had released her and he was bent over, wheezing as Ghoul drove a knee up into the man’s gut. He wretched, immediately spilling the liquid contents of his stomach all over his shiny boots and the floor; half a second later, he slipped in his own mess and fell face first into it.

Odessa barked out a surprised laugh and then covered her mouth, dodging out of the way as one of the other men charged Ghoul, slamming into him from the side. The momentum took them both to the countertop and almost sent Ghoul over it, but he was sober, quick, and a trained veteran. The three punches he threw were so quick Odessa almost thought she miscounted; each one carried a sorry, wet sound, like a mallet smashing against a sack of soggy meat. Ghoul grunted, blocked a pathetic return volley, and then grabbed the man by the back of his neck and, with an impressive display of strength, slammed his head directly against the bartop. Blood spurted from the immediate gash that opened up on the man’s face, some of it getting on Ghoul’s chestplate, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

The third man all but tripped over the first, careening right into Ghoul’s waiting arms; again, with a speed that belied his armored frame, he threw the offender to the side, sending him with a sharp kick to the ass. His head went through the glass display case lining the bottom of the counter, knocking over several very expensive bottles of imported liquor. He did not bother trying to get up again.

By the time Ghoul turned back around, the first man had clambered back to his feet, his face and hair filthy with his own vomit, the front of his once clean shirt stained with sludge-colored bile. His face was ruddy and blood dripped from his lower lip—Odessa felt a surge of pride in her veins, knowing that was her handiwork. 

Ghoul cracked his neck menacingly and beckoned at the man with a hand. 

“Go on,” he snarled, “let’s see who’s ready for the incinerator.”

Odessa ran around the bar, hopping over the gate and watching from a safe distance. She considered hitting the panic button beneath the counter, but something told her to stay her hand, don’t be too hasty. She knew she shouldn’t have, but…but she wanted to see what Ghoul was going to do. 

She didn’t have to wait long.

Even after watching his friends get dispatched in a matter of seconds, the tall man didn’t seem to understand how miserably outclassed he was. He threw a heavy haymaker at Ghoul, but the clone dodged easily, ducking right beneath his wide swing and returning three more quick punches to the man’s ribs. Odessa winced, having seen enough sparring sessions between her brother and his friends to know that he had just broken a few ribs.

But Ghoul didn’t stop there; he dropped to one knee and clasped his hands together, using the dual force of both his arms to drive his elbow into the side of his opponent’s knee. The bone cracked with a sound like cannonfire and he went down with a garbled yell, clutching at the joint while rolling back and forth.

The dramatic display didn’t last long though as Ghoul quickly climbed on top of him, grappling his wrists for a moment before landing another punch.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Odessa watched in awe. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the sight of Ghoul beating the man who had insulted her—insulted them—half to death. Her finger hovered over the silent alarm, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it.

Not yet, she chanted to herself. Not yet, let him take what he wants. Give him what he deserves.

It was more than Ghoul could have given her with words. It was written in the lines and scars of his face, the cold rage he affected as he continued to punch his victim in the face, his right arm little more than a piston as he pulled his elbow back and let loose. Odessa could hear the crunch of cartilage, saw blood begin to fleck against Ghoul’s dark armor. She thought…she thought she had to stop him, before he killed the man…but she also didn’t want to interrupt him.

He was…he was amazing. 

He was amazing…and he was going to kill him.

“Ghoul…GHOUL!” Odessa forced herself to shout.

To her relief, he did stop, but only barely, only after faltering on his last punch and leaning over the man panting, both hands on the floor on either side of his bloodied head. Odessa grabbed a towel and hurried back over just as Ghoul stumbled to his feet. Blood speckled his face and the front of his chestplate; ribbons of it crawled up his vambrace and the armor worn on his knuckles was cracked and soaked through. He breathed heavily through his nose, his chest heaving on every labored inhale.

Odessa approached cautiously, until she was close enough to hold out the clean towel. When he looked at her she shrugged, unsure what to say. ‘Thanks’ seemed so self-serving, and she didn’t think for one second that he had come to her rescue for her sake.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Ghoul snatched the towel from her hands and quickly rubbed it against his face and over the top of his shaved head. Sweat fell down the back of his neck, eaten up by the black sleeve he wore beneath his armor.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”

The same could not be said for the man who lay before them. His face was little more than a bloody pulp, like raw meat sold at the open air markets back home on Ryloth. His flesh was already beginning to swell, making it difficult to tell where his eyes were. A gurgling noise emanated from the gash of his mouth, shards of white glistening in the blood, which Odessa realized were the remains of his teeth.

“You need to leave,” she said. “You need to leave now. I will…call the authorities. They will want to make a report. If you leave, I can lie and say it was someone else.”

Ghoul paused in running the towel over his hands.

“You’d lie?” he asked, an incredulous look on his face. “Why?”

“Because they deserved it,” Odessa said. “Men like this…need a good beating. But I will not see you in trouble for it. You did me a favor.”

He looked like he didn’t want to believe her, like he’d be betraying some part of himself if he did. She watched as he glanced back and forth, surveying the damage he had caused. It wasn’t bad but the cleaning bill was going to be high, and she knew her boss would lament every credit spent. 

“What about them?” Ghoul said, gesturing rudely at the idiots strewn across the floor. “You think they’ll let this go?”

“They would not dare,” Odessa said. “What would they say anyway? Admit to being beaten so badly by a single clone? Their pride will not allow it.”

She was confident. She was so confident that she took a chance and stepped over the tall man’s prone form, and gave Ghoul a little push at his back toward the door.

“Go now,” she urged. “I have to call the authorities and medical aid. They do not deserve it, but it will look worse for them when they wake up. Please.”

“But—”

“Hush. You have done more than enough already. Ryma’allesh.”

Another gentle push and Ghoul took a few steps of his own. 

“I don’t—”

“Ghoul,” Odessa said firmly. “You will be under a court martial if you are found out. I do not want you to be decommissioned. Please go.”

That seemed to snap him back into the correct headspace. The next moment he was serious again, wiping down his vambraces to get them as free of blood as possible while Odessa hurried over to the end of the bar to grab his helmet. She had never held one before; it weighed heavily in her hands, warm from the electrical and navigational components, as well as the emergency oxygen supply. He accepted it from her with a grunt of what she assumed to be thanks, and jammed it over his head.

When he looked at her, when she could no longer read his expression and was no longer in fear of it, she offered him a smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know you did not do it for me…but I thank you all the same.”

He tilted his head to the side, then gave a short nod. 

Without another word, he left.

Odessa exhaled shakily and slowly turned around to survey the damage. Thankfully the other patrons, including the shinies, had fled out the rear emergency exit. She didn’t blame the clones at all for leaving—they were soldiers, but brawling was most likely an activity frowned upon by the Republic command. It was better for them that they ran, and she would not hold it against them. Their absence served a second purpose as well; less witnesses for the authorities to talk to.

“Okay…,” Odessa said to herself, “Let me…try and clean this up.”

By ‘clean up’ she meant ‘doctor the scene’ so she could spin a lie the authorities would believe. She knew which computer in the back the feed from the video surveillance saved to and she knew enough about computers that it would be no trouble to corrupt the data and make it look as though a power surge wiped out the motherboard. She had her mother to thank for that.

But first she had to erase every sign that Ghoul had ever been there. It took some doing, but she managed to half-drag, half-kick the tall man’s body across Ghoul’s bloody handprints on the floor. She scuffed her boot against anything that looked like a footprint to wipe away the treadmarks that could be traced back to the standardized military gear provided by the GAR, and then finally ran down to the end of the bar to clear his empty drinks.

But there was only one, the first one he had downed—Darkoma, Odessa remembered, top shelf, Corellian—and the tumbler turned on its rim so that the last few drops slid from the bottom and made the table sticky. The Catsblood remained full, untouched…and between them, a small pile of credits. Odessa counted them quickly—it was just barely enough to cover the Darkoma by itself. No tip this time. 

But…she smiled. 

This was the second time he had paid for a drink she meant to give him on the house.

He will have to come back so I can make it up to him. Eventually.

[lightspringrain]

What is going on in these panels? Guess you have to read to find out. Chapter 5 "The Crucible" panels are here! Thank you, as always, to the talented @collophora for her lovely work. Thank you so much for your patience, Collophora <3! And for trusting with the lighting for some of the panels. I had a blast painting your lines. <3<3<3

[stealthetrees]

I would first like to apologize for the short chapter 3 for my fic Incident Reports from the Coruscant Guard. I keep having ideas for much later chapters and feel the need to write them. Also I don’t know how to write action. Pester me about it and I will feel guilty for not writing and may finish it sooner.

Anyway here’s the chapter when the Corries got Fives. For context, just after the Guard faked Ashokas death (bc she was a wanted criminal anyway and now they can use her to con people) Fox decided to try and break into the evil looking building they sometimes see Palpatine go to bc he’s convinced it’s an evil fortress that could have valuable information about the war. He got electrocuted and yeeted out a 5 story window.

He squinted at the clone in the bed next to him. “Do I know you?”

He flinched at Fox’s raspy voice, and his hands fluttered nervously around the blankets as he avoided eye contact. “Uh, no I don’t think we’ve met.”

“You don’t look like one of mine,” said Fox, wondering what he could have missed while he was out. He tried to sit up but was met with sharp pain in his chest. The hiss of pain summoned a vindictive medic like magic.

“Electrocution and nearly broken ribs. As a medical professional I’d recommend not trying to break into an evil sith fortress again,” said Cherry smugly. Fox had always suspected his medics secretly fought over who got to deliver news like that to him.

Giving up, he flopped back down. “Did I miss anything big?”

“Some ARC figured out The Conspiracy but fumbled it so bad the long necks told the Jedi his ‘aggression inhibitor chip’ broke and they believed it,” Cherry rolled his eyes and used air quotes. “Dogma’s pretty psyched cause they knew each other before acquisitions, oh! And this is Tup, fresh out of a lab. Also one of Rex’s Idiots.”

Tup waved nervously. Fox tried to give an encouraging smile. “We’re glad to have you, Tup.”

The words only seemed to make him feel guilty, as he turned away again.

“His inhibitor chip went off and he killed a Jedi during a battle. It’s been removed and we did some brain scans just in case. No further anomalies have been found, but we’re keeping him for observation just in case. For your mental state if nothing else,” Cherry directed the last part at Tup. “No one here hates you for something out of your control.”

He looked back at Fox, “Thorn has your armor and Vixen is directing offworld operations. It’s been pretty calm so I wouldn’t feel bad about sedating you if you try to escape. Follow instructions and it’ll only be a day or two. Call if you need anything.”

Cherry swept out of the room before either of them could argue. Fox and Tup looked at each other with mutual understanding and contempt for medics.

The next few days had troopers coming in and out through the visiting hours. Dogma and some of the other Idiots came by several times in between missions to talk to Tup. The familiar faces went a long way to cheering him up. They dragged Fox into conversation as often as they could, possibly trying to acclimate Tup to the wildly different social structure that made up the Coruscant Guard.

The constant distractions helped time pass, despite being banned from caff and work. The medics seemed almost disappointed to clear Fox for light duties. Lucky came by to bring him his armor and laugh at how fast he got Tup to call him dad.

“I’ll be your security today, Havoc got drafted into a drug bust,” said Lucky cheerfully.

“And you don’t have anything better to do than follow around someone with a 50,000 credit bounty everyone is too afraid to touch?” Fox asked sarcastically.

“Nope!”

“Greeeaaaaaat.”

Fox got about two minutes of silence, which only got them onto a train before Lucky started yapping about Separatist droid factories and how the different production methods could best be crippled. He even shows Fox the spreadsheet he was working on.

Fox gave some suggestions and critiques as the train slowed to a stop at their station. The mass of bodies flowed out onto the platform and the two soldiers were swept along, detangling themselves to push out onto the street.

Lucky finally looked up from the data pad. “This isn’t the way to the Barracks,” he said, frowning.

“I need to make sure Palpatine doesn’t do anything rash after what happened with the ARC,” Fox explained. “And get some caff.”

“I’d be surprised if he doesn’t,” Lucky muttered. “Oh! I almost forgot! The date for Scipio was moved up to this Thursday, everything else is the same though.”

“That’s perfect timing,” Fox sighed in relief. “Once the system is lost and Palpatine takes control of the banks we wouldn’t need to be so careful with illegal transactions. Has Slicer changed his passwords recently?”

“He finally made a bot to do it every time his blood pressure gets too high,” Lucky laughed.

Fox burst out laughing as they rounded the corner and nearly ran face first into Captain Rex.

He was fully armored and tense but the sight of his little brother reassured Fox in a way he couldn’t explain. He knew logically he’d still be mad about Ashoka but that didn’t matter in the moment, Fox was just glad he was still alive.

Rex punched him in the face, knocking Fox off balance and he didn’t bother trying to find his footing.

“Yeah that’s fair,” Fox muttered, taking the time to enjoy the ground.

“Hi Captain,” said Lucky somewhere above him.

“Did you know about Fives?” Rex demanded.

Fox jumped up at that, “Fives? What happened to Fives?!?”

Lucky failed too many tests on Kamino and was going to be decommed but another battalion happened to be there and smuggled him out as a shiny. Fox took him in bc Coruscant is a better place for him than an active battlefield. The Guard adopted him as their baby brother and all contributed to finishing his training. They got him when he was almost 17 but Fox didn’t clear him for duty until he was 19 cause he’s protective like that. Bc everyone was so worried about Lucky, the kid got the most varied and in-depth training of any clone ever. He could thrive in any position, even a commander. He knows slicing, mechanics, field medicine, strategy, Quinlan Vos even helped teach him about undercover and investigation stuff. He all knows how to fight force users and carries a slug thrower.

I love Lucky dearly. He’s o happy and cheerful your first impression of him is a little kitten, until he gets into a fight and then he’s a honey badger on crack.

[henneseyhoe]

Freaky Girl

Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS:real ghetto. Y’all know Tyrone a hood nigga anyway. Spit(obvi), Short, not a complete smut buttt it’s still nasty.

SUMMARY: Tyrone gets the rest of his soul taken(if the government didn’t already do that for him)

Ps.I lowkey wanna make this longer into a full smut but idk lmfao

(Gif cr: @tishrivers <3 )

✮✮✮✮

Music with bass boomed through the car crowed street, the neighborhood cul-de-sac he pulled up in being as active as the hood usually is. The place wasn’t run down, but you could tell a couple illegal activities took place here more than often. He was no stranger to environments like this at all though. He grew up around it. Only problem was, this wasn’t his hood, so he was careful.

He made sure not to wear any alarming colors, even leaving behind the blue flag he’d usually wear in the back of his pocket, hanging out for any nigga to see. Not tonight though, he wasn’t even trynna be on that. A nigga couldn’t imagine getting clapped in somebody else hood just for wanting to get some pussy from this fye bitch a few blocks down. He honestly could have just walked, but he wasn’t feeling the idea of freely walking somewhere without his ‘heat’. Especially not around no damn crackheads.

Speaking of said ‘fye bitch’, she was in all honesty more than that, but he knew nothing apart from how some cornbread fed ass shordy he met at a party a month ago wanted what he had in them dickies cargo pants. She was pretty, both street and book smart, but the important part was that she was down for whatever a nigga offered.

He had heard about her around before, but he never really looked into why she was talked about other than the fact that she, again, had a fat ass and use to deal with some known nigga from across the states. Last reason he didn’t give a fuck about actually. All he thought about was if she knew how to take dick or not.

He exits his car and locks it, making his way into the neighborhood fully with a gangster lean in his walk. Like he had something in them pants that could cripple a bitch. All he could smell was weed smoke and burning wood. passing by residents and other guests who had came there for completely different reasons. Feeling cautious, he clutched his belt anytime he felt eyes on him. You could never be too careful.

Finding the girls house, he shakes his head at the hot pink painted front door, making it the only one to stand out apart from all of the other duplexes.

Laying a knock on the door, he leans against the porches iron railings and waits, which felt like forever in his case, though it was only a minute that passed. The door swings open, revealing the thick girl in boy shorts and a cropped tee that was fitted against her breasts, the deep split in the middle already giving him a show. It was obviously cut after being bought, the bottom of the shirt being tacky with loose threading that reveled a bit of her under boob.

“Bout time, nigga. Thought they got yo ass or sum” she moves from the door to let him in, walking back to wherever she came from. He walks in, his eyes fixated on the movement of her ass in those shorts. He couldn’t wait to see how it moved without the shorts restricting her.

He blew off at her comment. “Got? Never that, that ain’t me. A nigga had other things to do, shordy”

She turned to him, her eyebrows cockily raising. “Better than me?”

Silence was passed around with that question lingering around his head, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips as he thought, kicking the door shut with his foot then reaching for his belt.

“Hell nah”

✮✮✮✮

“Fuck—suck that shit” he exhaled, milky white smoke floating from his lips as he slowly leans his head back and entangles his hands in the girls Fulani braids. He was deep down her throat as if there was nothing blocking him from going further, and she was taking it. Imagine throwing a sausage down a hallway.

She licked and sucked along the shaft of his dick like it was hydrating her, her only goal being to get him off at the moment. Pulling him out of her throat, her hands wrap around his thick, long pipe, stroking him while her tongue worked on his balls, using her spit to get it sloppy, how he liked it. She used so much spit that the waist band of the front of his pants was wet down to the zipper.

He could still hear the loud trap music from outside and his high was hitting just right, making the music seem like it was put into some kind of filter. Like his brain chopped and skrewed it for him, his own remix featuring the wet sounds of the girls throat swallowing him whole.

She continued to slurp him up, shamelessly looking up at him with her beautiful slanted eyes, her wispy, recently done eyelashes complementing the shape. Usually girls teared up when giving head because of the pressure, but Y/N? Not one tear could fall from her eyes while doing one of her favorite things; getting some cut.

Feeling him pulse in her throat, she smiled with him still there. He could only look down at her in awe, taking another hit of his blunt to refill his lungs , but to also distract him from busting already, though that was the inevitable once she hallowed her cheeks and tightened her lips around the base of his dick, sucking like she was attempting to pull the nut out of him, which didn’t need much of an attempt since he was already ready to bust back to back in any hole she offered tonight.

He gripped the couch cushion underneath him with his hand, almost dropping his blunt as she sucked up and swallowed every bit of the sweetness he gave her. Not being able to take anymore of the suction, he pulls out of her mouth with a grunt, his hand moving down to grip the base of his dick as more of his essence spurted out onto her plump lips till that was all he could give from that one session.

“Gahdamn” he sighed, still holding himself until the sensation of her mouth went away, leaving his dick continuously bobbing up and down in jerks just from the sight of her. She only hummed out a soft ‘Mmmm’ as she rubbed the rest of his nut along her lips, giving it a gloss like sheen. That made him go crazy, starting to get him hard all over again. Her tongue danced on her fingers, moving the muscle up and down her middle finger and swirling around the tip of her long and exaggerated acrylics.

They were red and curved, decorated with white painted on flowers. It reminded him of the designs back into the 90s.

Standing to her feet, she removed the crop top she wore, releasing the gift given to her by whatever woman who birthed the freak. He would have thanked her momma if he knew her.

✮✮✮✮

Me cause I had that damn song on repeat while writing this 🤭

[oceansssblue]

100 CELEBRATION — PROMPT 15. ARRANGED MARRIAGE / FAKE DATING

CROSSHAIR/F READER 💖

WARNINGS: past friendship breakup, fluff fluff fluff.

Note: I originally had a different idea planed for Crosshair with this prompt (a proper arranged marriage oneshot), but it was becoming extremely long so I decided to park that one out for the future and came up with this little idea instead. I hope you like it! We ony have two more prompts left (servant!rex & demon!echo); for which I've planned a longer story, so I might just acept requests to give you all a little something while I write that. I'll let you know when I decide that. Xx, Blue.

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As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you know it's a big, ugly mistake. The eyes of your ex-best friend and sister widens; the surprise and incredulity so raw and visible in their expresions it hurts. Yes, your luck in love has been sparse; but it shouldn't be that much of a shock to hear things are working out for you for once.

"What? Since when?"

At least your sister is on the good side of surprised. On the confused but genuine one. The girl you used to consider like a second sister, however, –Mara–, almost sneers at the –admitedly, very false– news.

"More importantly" she waves of your sisters questions impertinently and asks "With who?"

You blurt out the first name that comes to your mind.

"Crosshair".

That's the second, big, ugly mistake. You don't even know if you could consider him a friend. He's no stranger –you've seen each other fair enough in both the market and Cid's Salon–; but words are few and far between the two of you. You know more about him by his brother's and Omega's stories than by the man himself. He's incredibly reserved.

Ana seems to recognise the name.

"Isn't he one of Wrecker's brothers?"

You nod in silence under Mara's watchful eyes. Your sister Ana has a stand of sweets in the market; Wrecker is a regular there.

The Batch is a curious bunch. They're hard to forget.

"Well" Mara all but looks you up and down and you have to clench your teeth to not hiss a few ill-intended words at her. "I'm glad you're having fun even if it's with a worthless fling".

"Mara..." Ana intervenes, calling her out with a frown on her face.

Your sister is the sweet, quiet type of girl; but she's protective as well. She's probably suspicious of this, of not having heard of it from you before; but she'll stay quiet for your sake until she has the oportunity to interrogate you in private. She knows you and Mara have history.

Mara shrugs and grins; and your smile is just as fake. She has developed an uncanny ability to make your blood boil.

"I wouldn't call an engamement that" you casually reply, if only just to shut her mouth and swipe her smile off of her face.

Mara's satisfied expression drastically shiftes. Oh, it tastes so sweet... It almost makes you forget that everything you've said is a sequence of lies. Almost.

"Look at you... It's been ages since you had something remotely serious" Mara comments in an humiliating chirp. "He must be special. Why don't you bring him along next friday? We're having a small get together at home with a few old friends. I'd love to meet him".

Panick fires up in your veins; and some must be reflected on your face, because Mara smiles wide like a lothcat.

Anger burns through you; once again remembering all the pain this woman has put you through.

You arrange a small, relaxed expresion for her.

"I'll try to convince him" you accept, swallowing down all the anxiousness and doubts. "I guess you'll send me the details?"

At first, Mara looks surprised; but she quickly falls back to her irritatingly sweet condescendance, smiling politely.

"Of course. I still have your com number. I'll let you know".

Mara nods at your sister; then bristly turns around without bothering on sending a goodbye to you as well.

You watch her retreating form with a mix of relief and wariness. Ana bumps her shoulder with yours.

"Hey" she calls you, quietly worried. "You okay?"

You sigh, tension melting away from your shoulders momentarily.

"Yeah" you glance back at her. "I just have to find the way to convince Crosshair to act as my soon-to-be husband. Should be easy, right?"

Ana chuckles at your sarcasm, inmediately catching up on your lie.

"You digged that hole down yourself" she reminds you, good-heartedly. "It would have been easier if you've thought of Wrecker or Hunter. Or even Tech".

You sigh tiredly. Crosshair agreeing to act as if he were in love with you?

"Yeah, right".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Cross!" Wrecker's voice echoes in the cockpit of the Marauder. "Gun-girl is here to see you!"

You try not to wince at the volume –nor the pet name–; waiting patiently and praying the man won't interpret the visit as an invasion of his privacy. This ship is their home, after all. And like you pointed out before, he's very private.

Slow, carefull footsetps anounce his presence. Seconds later, a fully armoured Crosshair –minus the helmet– is staring at you with a mix of calculated wariness and confusion. He's probably wondering what the hell are you doing here.

"Hello, Crosshair" you greet him nervously. "Can I talk to you for a bit?"

He continues to stare at you in that way of his you find both nerve-wracking and intriguing; then glances at his smiling brother, and gestures you to come in.

You take a deep, centering breath and step up on the ramp of the Marauder, firmly walking towards the cockpit. You've been inside the ship only once before; when you delivered some supplies for the guys' weapon stock. Crosshair follows you; Wrecker stays outside. The Marauder is otherwise empty; which means that at least only a maximum of two persons will hear how stupid you are.

"So?" Crosshair asks, sprawling down on the pilot chair and prompting you to take the other one.

You bite your lip anxiously before you start.

"So... I need your help" he arches an eyebrow –how can that look so elegant?– and you start to explain yourself. "I... May have told someone I despise I was engaged to you, and she might have invited us to her house next Friday. I was wondering if you'd... agree to play the part?"

It sounds even more ridiculous out loud; as if you were pulling a silly prank. Crosshair's neutral reaction doesn't help either. Far from showing surprise or irritation, he stays painfully normal.

He tilts his head; long fingers taking a toothpick of his pack and placing it between his lips. A sort of endearing habit of his.

"Sounds like unnecesary trouble for me" he points out, not necessarily cold but brutally honest.

You search your brain for an answer that could please him. Perhaps if you give him something in return for this favor...

"I have a new sniper scope model arriving soon. I'll let you try it out first. I'll give you a discount too".

The offer seems to catch his attention; for he hums thoughtfully while never taking his eyes off of you.

"And who is this person you despise?" He asks –dare you say– curiously.

Your answer is acompanied by a long tired sigh.

"An old friend. She tried to humiliate me pointing out my lack of love life and I... Had to swipe her smile off of her face".

You're ashamed of admiting it to him. He always looks so controlled... You know this whole thing is inmature and futile. You don't want him to see you like a kid.

"What happened between the two of you?"

You're surprised by the ammount of personal questions Crosshair is asking. You would have thought he would have inmediately shut down your idea; or perhaps agreed but without wanting to get into the emotions and story behind it. Perhaps you don't know him as well as you thought.

"She gave me some very good memories back when we were younger" you admit. "But I then realized she's the kind of person who wants to see you doing good; but never better than herself. She tried to sabotage me when that ocasionally happened. Stole a boyfriend, a job, or two".

You hadn't intended to go that deep; but you mean every single word, and your vulnerability is exposed to Crosshair for the first time ever. For all he's a private person, you are too. You'd hate for others to consider you weak.

Crosshair observes you for what feels like an eternity, taking the information in. You force yourself not to hide from his perceptive eyes.

"Mm" he finally hums, thoughtful. "There's something I still don't understand. Why was I the first name that came to your mind?"

You blink back at him, stunned, cheeks blushing upon the implication of the question. You hadn't really thought about it either. You had somehow always paid more attention to Crosshair than the rest of your clients; but you had never realised it might mean you were simply into him. Are you?

"Well" you take a bit too long to answer, trying to sound casual and firm. "You are, as far as I know, single, and no-one really knows you in Ord Mantell. It seemed the most logical option".

Crosshair looks skeptical, but he lets you get away with it.

"Right..." he drawls, searching for something in your still warm face. Then, to your surprise, he smirks and says "I'll check your stand for that new scope on thursday. You can update me on our love story then".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

At first you were dissapointed, then irritated, and now worried. Crosshair had agreed to meet you outside of Mara's house at eight; but no matter how long you waited for him, he hadn't appeared. You had had no other option than to knock on Mara's door on your own; and her grin upon seing you arriving alone had been another level of irritating. You had set up an excuse for him, trying not to make your hurt visible. After a few minutes of interiorising it, you had grown angry; Crosshair could have just refused to help you instead of backing off at last minute without a warning. Halfway through the dinner, though, you had received a message on your coms; and all those negative emotions had switched to genuine worry.

An hour later, in the quietness of the kitchen, you carefully read the text again.

"Mission off-world, things got out of hand. Just arrived. I'll be there shortly –Crosshair."

You're aware that the Batch often work as bounty hunters for Cid; and how the boys sometimes help with small missions for the Rebellion. You've never asked into it –you understand how dangerous the fact that you know they're on the run from the Empire and helping the Rebellion already is–; but you know it's usually dangerous, specially the second sort. You wonder just how out of hand things got. Did someone got hurt? Did he?

You're a nervous wreck throughout the rest of the night; and Mara and his friends –pretty polite and nice for a bitch like her, you have to say– can't help but notice and finally question it.

"Sweetheart, is everything okay?" One of the girls ask, genuine concern on her eyes.

You force a small smile on your face.

"Yeah. Just... Crosshair commed me telling me he had some trouble on his way back to Ord Mantell, so I'm just a bit worried" you tell them, all but Mara's face showing various degrees of sincere understanding. "I'll be fine once he gets here".

"If he manages to arrive at all, that is" Mara halfway sneers, then plasters a big smile on her caked face. "Shall we move outside for a drink?"

Your mind is so focused on Crosshair that you don't even feel the need to assesinate her this time.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When you're well onto your third glass of wine, you feel a hand carefully grazing the skin of your spine. Lips brush across the crown of your hair; the combination bringing pleasant goosebumps to your body. Far from tensing at the unexpected contact, you melt upon hearing his voice.

"Hello, darling" his low tone is a sin. Then, he turns to look at the rest. "Forgive me for arriving this late".

You hear a chorus of acceptance from Mara's friends; but you turn towards him and your attention is solely fixed on Crosshair. You frown at the scratches on one side of his face; an angry red against his skin. Your fingers involuntarily travel upwards to his cheek, carefully tracing the contour of them.

"You're hurt" you whisper, ignorant to how Mara is quietly observing the interaction between the two of you.

Crosshair hums and takes your hand in his, squeezing softly while he takes a seat besides you at the table. He doesn't let you go; and you don't make the effort either.

"I'm okay" he assures you, voice calm. "Did I miss something interesting?"

To your luck –because you're suddenly enthraced by him, by the way the moonlight makes his grey hair look almost white and his dark brown eyes lighten up– someone answers for you.

"Just a lot of embarassing stories about our youth" there's a general laugh, and Crosshair conjures a tiny tiny smile.

Your heart swoons upon noticing it.

His gaze turns back to you. You're painfully aware of how he's still craddling your hand in his; of how gentle he is.

It's a whole new side of him you didn't even know it existed. You feel honoured to experience it.

"You'll have to tell me yours later" he tells you, and you force yourself to come back to the present with a chuckle.

"No thanks. I'd like to remain engaged tomorrow morning" you joke, and everyone laughs.

Even Mara seems reluctantly enchanted with Crosshair at the end of the night.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Well, that went surprisingly well" you comment once you've parked your speedcar next to the Marauder, having offered Crosshair a drive back. "You're a great actor, by the way".

Crosshair shrugs, body now turned towards you while you both remain sitting in the privacy of your car.

"It's not like it was a difficult task" he answers, eyes flickering over your face before slowly adding. "You know what I thought we'd had to do, and we haven't yet done?"

He gives you a few seconds to process his words, his intentions; before one of his hands slowly take hold on your chin and tugs you forwards to join your lips together in a surprisingly soft, unhurried kiss. Warmth bursts inside of you, heart speeding inside of your chest; surrendering to the kiss with a pleased sigh. When you part from each other, you see an unusual vulnerability in Crosshair's face.

"Well, it would have been impossible not to sell it, with a kiss like that" you try to rest tension to the scene.

Crosshair's following words shake up your world; make you look at things with a different perspective.

"It's easy to sell something when not all of it is built upon lies".

The meaning behind it swirls in your mind. He's admiting there's something between the two of you besides the mess you've put both of you through. His half-conceiled confession leaves you too shocked to react; and you can only stare at him while he gets out of your car.

"Night, gun-girl" he smirks through your window, and then casually walks away towards the Marauder.

Perhaps you'll see him tomorrow in the market, and perhaps you'll go on an actual first date with your fake soon-to-be husband.

You drive back home with thoughts of Crosshair swimming in your head. You're sure you'll dream of that kiss tonight as well.

THE END.

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Back to my main masterlist here:

Back to 100celeb list here:

[rex-meshla]

Steel Meets Silk

PAIRING | ARC Commander Colt x F!OC (Anastasia Husk) SUMMARY | Heiress to one of the galaxy's most powerful corporations, Anastasia "Stassie" Husk has lived a life of privilege, always in control-or so she thought. But as the shadows of war creep closer, her sheltered world begins to crack, revealing betrayals and secrets that could destroy everything WORD COUNT | 1.7k

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Prologue: The Weight of Perfection

The glass in my hand was as delicate as the conversations around me—smooth, effortless, as if it had all been carefully orchestrated. I smiled, barely listening to the conversation I'd heard a hundred times before: the same praise, the same hollow compliments, the same empty promises. They didn't know me; they only knew Alaric and Vivienne Husk's daughter, the perfect heir, polished and brilliant.

My life had been arranged, as precisely as a blueprint. Every piece of it sewn into place, like a suit that fit just a little too tight. Did anyone even see me, the girl behind the name, behind the forced smile? In moments like these, I wasn't sure I even saw myself. This world of polished surfaces, where a single misstep could crack the facade, and the pressure to be flawless felt less like a privilege and more like a trap.

Tonight, though, it all felt so... ordinary. The gala had all the usual ingredients—flickering chandeliers, hundreds of glasses of champagne clinking, the soft murmur of high society, their voices a soundtrack to the elegance of the room. Everything was perfectly arranged, and I was, as always, a part of it. The perfect daughter. The perfect heir to the Husk legacy. The perfect everything.

Talk of the war swirled in the background, muffled voices in a world that felt so far removed from me. It was almost amusing how such distant concerns could dominate the galaxy when, here in my world, all I had to worry about was making sure my dress didn't snag on the edge of the table. The Republic's fight for peace was a story I'd read in the news, a conflict I rarely thought about. It wasn't my fight.

"Stassie, darling, you look radiant tonight," a voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to see Padmé standing there, her eyes softer than I'd expected. Unlike most people here, she looked at me as though she saw past the sparkles and smiles, to someone else underneath.

I turned, my smile widening as I spotted Padmé. Even in a room full of accomplished individuals, she always stood out. Not just because of her beauty, but because of the quiet strength she exuded. There was something in the way she carried herself that made you feel like the world was a little more manageable when she was around.

"Thank you," I replied with a smile. "And you, as always, have that 'I'm about to save the galaxy' glow about you."

Padmé's voice, smooth and calm, was a stark contrast to the buzzing energy of the gala around us. She wasn't just a senator; she was a woman who carried the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, and it showed in the quiet intensity with which she spoke.

"You know, Stassie," she began, her gaze drifting past the sparkling chandeliers to the horizon outside, "there are days when I wish the war had never reached us here, this far from the front lines. I'm sure it all seems so distant from where you stand, but I've seen firsthand what it does. People think it's just the battles. But it's the ripple effect, the way it shifts everything. The market. The people. Even those we thought we could trust." Her voice softened for a moment, a shadow crossing her face. "I was at a memorial service for a friend last week. A fellow senator. Just... gone. The war's touch is far-reaching, and you never know when it will come knocking."

I glanced at her, startled by the hint of vulnerability in her tone. Padmé, the epitome of composure, was rarely so open, but the weight of her words struck me in a way I hadn't anticipated. My mind spun, trying to reconcile the serene world I knew with the dark reality she was painting.

I forced a smile, though it felt thin. "I suppose I'm lucky. It all feels so far away from here."

Padmé's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer. "Lucky, yes. But don't let that shield you from what's coming. It doesn't take much for the world to change. Sometimes, it's just one unexpected moment. Your family's business, your father's influence... It all becomes part of the bigger picture. Don't wait until it's too late to realize how much it matters."

Her words hung in the air, and for a second, I couldn't decide if I should be worried or grateful for her warning. There was a tension in her eyes, a silent plea for me to understand something more than the glittering world I was so comfortable in. But I didn't know how to move beyond that distance yet.

As the evening wore on, the conversation around me started to die down, and the glow of the gala seemed to flicker out in slow motion. The guests began to thin out, the glittering crowd dispersing like a fading dream. But there was one person who had remained, even as the others left.

Father always lingered just a little longer, as if savoring every moment, like a man who knew the value of time.

I spotted him across the room, standing by a tall window with a perfect view of the stars. He was surveying the crowd, his sharp blue eyes never missing a detail. But when they landed on me, something shifted in his expression, more than just pride. There was something else. Something I couldn't quite place.

I excused myself from the conversation I'd been caught in, moving toward him with a purposeful stride. As I approached, he looked me up and down with that familiar calculating gaze, but this time, there was a warmth in his eyes that made my chest tighten.

"Stassie," he said, his voice low and steady. "Come here for a moment."

I stopped in front of him, offering a small, questioning smile. "What's on your mind, Father?"

He studied me for a long moment, as though seeing me not just as his daughter, but as the young woman I was becoming. "You're growing up," he said softly, almost to himself. "And it's time you understood just how serious that is."

I frowned slightly, unsure of where this was headed. "What do you mean?"

"You're not just the heir to this business, Anastasia. You're the future of it. And I've worked too hard to let anything—or anyone—stand in your way."

His grip on my shoulder was firm, but I kept my gaze steady, resisting the urge to pull away. "Of course," I replied smoothly, the word tasting bitter. Did he ever wonder what I wanted, what my future could look like if I weren't shaped to fit his plans? But I knew better than to ask. In our world, even the tiniest crack in the mask could cause everything to come crashing down.

"I know that," I replied, trying to keep the unease out of my voice. "But things have always been... well, they've always been good."

My father's smile was soft, but his eyes grew more serious. "Good is never enough. Good doesn't get you through the next challenge, the next hurdle. It's time for you to prepare for the real work ahead."

I blinked, processing his words. "The real work?"

"Yes," he said, his voice low and resolute. "You're about to step into a new chapter, Stassie. The one where the stakes are higher, the pressure greater. And you'll face challenges that will test everything you've learned so far."

A sudden weight settled over me, the kind that only came when my father spoke in that tone—the tone that signified no turning back. I wasn't just his daughter anymore. I was becoming a part of something far bigger than myself. And whether I liked it or not, I was about to see just how serious it all was.

"You're ready for this," he added, his voice full of quiet confidence. "I know it."

His words were measured, like everything else he did. I wanted to believe I was ready. But the tightness in my chest told me something else. I wasn't sure I was ready for whatever was coming. Or for him to see me the way he did.

As the night stretched on and the last of the guests began to file out, I stood with my father, surrounded by a soft hum of distant chatter. His words, though, echoed in my mind, a slow drip of reality that I couldn't quite shake. The real work ahead. The pressure. The stakes.

I glanced at him, noticing how the years had worn away at the sharpness of his features, leaving only the resolute, steady presence I had come to rely on. His gaze softened when it met mine again, and the pride in his eyes made something inside me tighten. But it wasn't just pride. It was expectation. And that was what made it heavy.

"We've got a few more hours of this before I get back to the grind," I said lightly, trying to steer the conversation into something I could control, something that didn't carry that weight.

Father chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You think this is just another meeting? Another gala?"

I swallowed, feeling the edge of my smile falter for a moment. "No, but I'm used to everything running smoothly. I'll be fine, Father."

His gaze remained steady, and for a brief moment, I saw the quiet storm that sometimes hid behind the polished exterior. "You don't get to be fine anymore, Anastasia. Not in this world. Things are about to change, and you need to be ready for that."

I stood there in silence, feeling the weight of his words press against my chest. The room had emptied, the glittering crowd gone, but it felt like the real event had just begun. My father's gaze never wavered, as if he were preparing me for something I wasn't yet ready to see.

"Remember this moment, Stassie," he said, his voice low. "The world doesn't care about your comfort, your plans, or your expectations. It doesn't wait. It only takes."

As the last of the guests filtered out, I lingered there, caught between my father's quiet certainty and the distant echo of Padmé's warning. The noise of the evening seemed to dissolve, and I was left with my thoughts only. The path ahead was already laid out before me, and it wasn't as simple as I had imagined.

I glanced once more at my father, his figure standing resolute in the dimming light, and something within me shifted. The weight of expectation, the world beyond these walls, and the challenges I had yet to face—all of it settled into place. I wasn't just playing a part anymore. I was about to step into something far bigger.

And I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.

But I knew, in that moment, that I didn't have a choice.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

I'm so happy that this Commander Colt fic is finally coming to life 🥹

You can find the next chapter here and my masterlist here x

[bardic-tales]

Tumblr Games: Writing Share Tag

Thank you so much for the tags: @frostedlemonwriter and @glbettwrites. Your shares were awesome!

Rules: Share a piece of writing you're proud of.

I haven't written much over the last week, since my spoons have been really low. Holidays tend to take a lot out of my family now.

I have been working on a drabble or flash fiction. It doesn't have a title, yet. As always, this is a really rough draft. :)

"As a god," Sephiroth said, his voice was smooth like poisoned honey, "I can offer you something the Celestials or Devils cannot."

"Oh? What can you offer me that the divine can not?"

"Everything." He glided his hand down the smooth sloop of her throat, igniting goosed flesh to rise on her skin. She shivered. "Absolute power. Unlimited wealth. The submission of nations and empires. The Promised Land."

As he lowered himself to her height by bending towards her, his lips hovered close to hers. His breath fanned her cheek and lips, igniting fire within her belly that soon spread throughout her entire body: a burning need to join him on his crusade for revenge against those insects that call themselves human.

"But, most importantly," he whispered, "eternal devotion and unwavering loyalty. You are mine by right, Bia, and I will treat you like the queen you are meant to be."

Going to open this up to the Creators Club as a CC member tag game. Share your work you're proud of.

@megandaisy9 @watermeezer @littleshopofchaos

@kricketbee

@themaradwrites @pinkevilwriter

@serenofroses @asirensrage @aalinaaaaaa @goldenlilium-ocs @glbettwrites

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