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awkward-tension-art · 9 months ago

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Misc. Clones x Twi'lek!Reader

I’ve had this idea in my head for a while, so….enjoy?

Cw: Twi’lek stereotyping, Speciesism, reader is a twi’lek, gender neutral pronouns, reader is falsely accused in the last set

Minors DNI (even though theres no smut)

501st Legion:

“Hey tail-head! Why not come here and give me a dance?”

You paused in what you were doing, turning to stare at the one who said such a thing.

He was wearing white armor, and clearly a shiny.

Rex

Ex-fucking-cuse me?

Rex is going to step between you and the shiny, helmet off and clearly pissed.

“Care to repeat that, trooper?”

His glare is steady. He’s not going to raise his voice or shout but by GOD if looks could kill.

The shiny is going to start tripping over his words to apologize but Rex isn’t having any of it

“You see that gunship over there? You’re scrubbing the entirety of it with your toothbrush. Now get moving.”

He isn’t having ANY of that shit in his legion.

Speciesism? Not in his fucking house.

After the shiny is hauling ass, he’s going to check on you.

“I’m sorry, cyare. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Rex isn’t a fool. He’s traveled all around the galaxy. He's worked with General Secura. He’s well aware of the stereotypes surrounding your people.

He won’t tell you, but whenever someone says any sort of twi-lek slur within earshot, he’s making them run laps around the Resolute.

Fives

He’s going to be speechless for a solid second.

Someone??? Just said that??? To his mesh’la?

Oh fuck no.

Fives is going to get in the shiny’s face and just growl, “You have some balls, rookie.”

This is an ARC trooper who is not above breaking some rules.

One of those rules is putting a shiny in their place

Fives is going to push them back hard enough to make them stumble, “Say it again and I'll throw you out of an airlock.”

Once the shiny had gotten the message and rushed away, Fives will drape an arm around you

He’ll peck your cheek, “They shouldn’t bother you again, mesh’la.”

Fives finds you to be incredible, but he knows that there will be individuals who have opinions on you just because of the stereotypes surrounding twi-leks.

He’ll definitely get in the face of anyone who gives you a hard time.

After sometime, it becomes pretty well known that Fives’ S/O isn’t to be messed with.

Kix

The medic is less confrontational.

He also knows you can handle yourself, but he’ll cast a glance your way to see if your alright

If you're ignoring the shiny and moving on, he will too.

But if you look uncomfortable/upset that’s when he’ll say something

“Just ignore them,” He tries his best with comfort, but he knows you shouldn’t HAVE to ignore such words.

If the shiny says something else to you, that's when he’ll confront them.

“If you don’t walk away, I just might forget to give you painkillers when you get shot in the next battle.”

That tends to shut the shinies up. Afterall, pissing off the medic is a bad idea

Once you're alone, Kix will put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

While he hates the twi’lek stereotype, he knows he can’t really say anything to make it go away. This is most likely a constant background noise in your life, and that won’t magically disappear in a day.

Though, he will go to Rex and tell him what happened. Kix can’t change the whole galaxy but he can at least make the 501st more welcoming

Jesse

He thinks it's a joke at first, maybe some playful ribbing.

Afterall, he does the same with his own brothers.

But one look at your face and he’s snapped into gear.

“Good one, brother!” The ARC trooper will put his arm over the shiny’s shoulder, “I got a better one.”

Jesse will lean in close, “If you say something like that again, I’ll personally make you swallow your own teeth, got it?”

He says this with a smile.

At first the shiny thinks HE’S joking, but then Jesse’s grip gets tighter, and his smile is gone.

“I mean it.”

Once the shiny is gone, he’s going to kiss you.

He’s another one who will go to Rex. This isn’t something your lover wants you to deal with, especially from his own brothers.

He expects better from them. Even if they're a shiny

If it happens again, that's when Jesse makes good on his threats.

He’s an ARC trooper. He didn’t get the rank by looking pretty.

He also gets a reputation of being protective, so the next batch of shinies that join the 501st already know to be respectful.

Clone Force 99

“Hey, tail-head, why don’t you and I go somewhere and you can show me some of those twi’lek dances up close?”

You sighed, looking back to see a bounty hunter of some sort with a disgusting grin on their face.

Omega was next to you, brow furrowed, “Tail-head? Why’d they call you that?”

Hunter

“Oh shut it.” is his first response.

If the bounty hunter opens their mouth again, Hunter's second response is to throw a punch.

This is the man that brought his fists to a food fight. His first reaction will be to silence the bounty hunter, his second is to shut their mouth in a physical way.

Yea, he’s not above assault.

Once the stranger is on the ground, that’s when Hunter speaks again

“Think twice before you say something stupid next time.”

He’s going to give you a concerned look and put a hand on your shoulder

“You ok, Cyare?”

He’s also aware of the stereotype surrounding twi-leks, and he won’t let anyone give you a hard time.

He kneels next to Omega and essentially teaches her what stereotypes are

He emphasizes that they’re wrong, and she shouldn’t ever assume things based on stereotypes

Anyone who says ‘tail-head’ in his vicinity they’re losing teeth.

He’s aware violence isn’t going to change opinions, but he isn’t going to stand for anyone throwing slurs at you

Hunter cares for you so much, he just wants you to feel comfortable and safe.

Wrecker

He doesn’t think those vile words are being thrown at you at first. He’ll look to you for confirmation.

When it finally clicks, he stands between you and the stranger. He doesn’t even need to say anything, just glares down at them.

After the bounty hunter gets the hint, Wrecker will turn to you and Omega.

“You can’t say that again, ok ‘mega? That’s a bad insult to twi’leks.”

He doesn’t freak out or draw attention to what Omega parrotted. He’s well aware she’s a kid and doesn't entirely know better.

Wrecker may be a bit dense at times, but he’s not stupid.

He knows exactly what the stranger was getting at saying such things to you.

“Good thing they’re gone, right mesh’la?” He’ll ask, holding your face.

He puts an arm around you and the three of you head back to the ship.

He likes to act as your protector. He knows you can handle yourself, but he just likes to feel like he's protecting you. Afterall you’re precious to him.

His heart breaks if you tell him this has happened before.

He is UNHAPPY that this is something you deal with.

He knows the twi’lek stereotype exists, it’s just…different when it's you.

Honesty, he’ll take this to heart and step-in if he sees something like this happen to another twi’lek.

He’s not going to be a bystander anymore. And Omega definitely learns from his example.

Tech

“Well, that is entirely unnecessary.”

He won’t pick a fight. He thinks it’s best to ignore instigators.

He also knows that arguing or snapping at the bounty hunter may make things worse

He’ll grab your hand and lead you and Omega away

If the stranger follows, he’ll turn a corner, put you and omega behind him and set his blaster on stun

Once the bounty hunter turns the corner, Tech will shoot them.

“There.” He says, putting his blaster away, “Shouldn’t bother us anymore.”

Once you three are back at the ship, he’ll kiss your forehead before speaking to Omega

“Tail-head is a slur to twi’lek individuals. It’s supposed to insult someone's lekku. You must never say it again.”

Tech is very much aware of both the stereotypes and their origin.

If someone gives you a hard time or throws more insults at you, he’s not going to stand for it.

He has very little patience for ignorance.

Echo

Barely stops himself from throwing hands instantly.

“You want to say that again?” He’s going to get in the bounty hunter's face very quickly, “Say it again. I dare you.”

Echo is a damn ARC trooper. He can make the stranger eat their words.

But, he’ll hold back, for your sake.

If the bounty hunter doesn’t back down, he casts a glance at you.

Give the greenlight? It's a fight.

You want to move on and forget this happened? He backs down.

He’ll return to your side and just start grumbling, “Ignorant asshole…if they open their mouth again, I swear…”

He gets really upset about this. And he knows it wasn’t the first time nor will it be the last time this happens to you.

When you're not within earshot, he’ll explain to Omega why ‘tail-head’ is not something to be repeated.

Echo is patient with her. She’s just a child.

But like Tech, he had no patience for ignorance from anyone else.

Will snap at anyone who says ‘tail-head’ or other twi’lek insults within earshot.

Crosshair

While everyone has some form of restraint, Crosshair does not.

It’s an immediate brawl.

His patience is a negative 2 when it comes to this type of stuff.

The bounty hunter hadn’t even blinked before Crosshair knocked them down.

He’s pretty silent, returning to your side and putting an arm around you.

He’ll look at Omega and just say a simple, “Don’t say that again.”

Pretty blunt to be honest.

Crosshair is protective. More so than even Wrecker.

His mind is already running, analyzing your surroundings and seeing who else may make snide remarks.

Afterall, if one person was able to say something like that, how many more are there?

He’ll ask how often this happens.

Depending on your answer he’s either slightly annoyed or pissed.

No one should be giving you a hard time simply because you're twi’lek.

Once back at the ship, he’s going to keep a hand or arm on you in any way possible.

He loves you, and he doesn’t want you to ever feel ashamed or bad for being twi’lek.

212th Battalion:

“Hey, I didn’t know the 212th got its own personal dancer,” The shiny slid next to you, “What do you say? Wanna give the boys and I a moral booster?”

You blinked, eyes wide. That was an entirely new one…

Cody:

After Ryloth, he thought his men would behave better than that. So he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“You have 2 seconds to take back what you said, rookie.” He snaps, glaring.

After a stumbling apology is given to you, Cody continues with his death stare, “I expect better from you. You will treat them and every other alien species with respect. Do I make myself clear?”

Very much not happy about this.

If one shiny said something like that to you, who else stereotypes twi’leks?

It’s not just about you, Cody really expects much better from the 212th.

If one person acts like a moron, it reflects badly on the 212th, General Kenobi and the GAR.

They are soldiers of the Republic in a very diverse galaxy.

However, he’ll turn his attention back to you and grab your hand.

“I’ll make sure that never happens again, I promise.”

He’s incredibly sweet about it.

Boil:

Instant shame.

This is how he used to sound!?

“Hey!” He’ll snap at the shiny, “Show some damn respect.”

In a way, he’s trying to compensate for his ignorance earlier in the war.

Before Ryloth, he used to throw around ‘tail-head’ all the time. Something he looks back at in shame.

It was Numa, and now you that made him realize how much of a bastard he used to be.

If the shiny persists, Boil will get up in his face, “Back off. Now.”

If something like this happens again, Boil will go to Cody.

Like the commander, Boil also expects better from the 212th

But also, he wants you to feel comfortable among his brothers.

“I’m sorry,” He won’t exactly look at you. He knows the shiny’s behavior isn’t his fault, but he can’t help but feel shame and embarrassment anyway.

A bit later, he’ll hold your hand and just admit, “I used to be like him. Ignorant and self-centered…I’m sorry.”

Boil loves you so dearly. He just wanted to be honest.

He respects however you react

Waxer

Another one who feels shame.

Yea he didn’t throw around ‘tail-head’ or see twi’leks as lesser, but he stood by while others did.

After Ryloth and Numa, he doesn’t stand by anymore.

“Oh shut up!” He’ll snap, “Go throw yourself out of an airlock.”

Waxer is a learner. He’s learned more about your people. Your history. Your culture.

He's also learned the stereotypes. Where they've come from.

So, he knows what the shiny is getting at by speaking to you.

this guy painted Numa on his helmet. He’s definitely not going to let anyone disrespect you in any way shape or form because of your species.

He won’t get physical, but he will threaten.

Once the shiny is gone, he’ll put a hand on your cheek, “I’m sorry. I’ll knock some sense into him later, I promise.”

Coruscant Guard

“Hey!”

Your Coruscant Guard lover was walking you home when someone grabbed your shoulder and turned you around.

“Guard! Arrest this twi’lek thief! I know they stole my credits straight out of my pocket!” The pantoran woman yelled right in your face.

When you argued, she just yelled louder, “All twi’leks are conniving thieves! Give me back my credits!”

Of course you didn’t steal anything, but this pantoran seemed convinced that you did. All because you were twi’lek.

Fox

The headache was immediate.

“Ma’am, I assure you they haven't gone anywhere near you.”

He wants to defend you more staunchly, but he’s the commander of the CG.

There’s only so much he can do without risking reprimand.

If the pantoran persists, he’ll get rougher, but remain professional.

“Ma’am if you don’t walk away, I will arrest you for wasting Coruscant Guard resources.”

The best he can do, frankly.

This isn’t the first time he’s seen an innocent twi’lek be accused of a crime.

It happens more than he’d wish to admit.

Honestly, he hates it, but there's protocol in place and he's obligated to follow.

But he knows you're innocent. You were beside him the entire time.

Plus, he loves you. He’s not going to search you.

If she keeps giving you a hard time, Fox will step forward, “Last chance, I will throw you in a cell for the night if you don’t keep walking.”

Usually that works.

He’ll keep you close until you're safely home. He won’t talk about it if you don’t.

Though, he does end up telling the guard to be more mindful of random accusations against twi’leks.

Thorn

“Oh here we go…”

He’s…not taking this woman seriously at all.

“I have seen no such thing. Please make a report to the police.” He’ll just deadpan before walking away.

Petty crime such as a pickpocket is 1-800-not-his-job.

He’ll drape an arm over your shoulder and pull you closer to him.

Like Fox, he’s seen people blame twi’leks solely based on stereotypes

And his response is always the same, “Either show me solid evidence or take it to the police.”

If you say this isn’t the first time, Thorn kinda squeezes your shoulder.

“Don’t worry, love.” He’ll whisper, “the boys and I won’t let anyone accuse you of anything.”

He makes good on the promise. If anyone tries to give you a hard time for being twi’lek, there's usually a Coruscant Guard that steps in.

A partner to one of the Guard is well taken care of.

Hound:

He’s going to look at the woman, then look at you, then look at Grizzer.

He whistles once, and Grizzer licks your hand.

Grizzer just likes you, this isn’t any sort of actual search.

“They don’t have your credits. Move along or go to a police droid.”

Since the massiff didn’t ‘find’ anything, the pantoran woman leaves you alone.

“Happen often?” Hound is going to ask you quietly when the two of you start walking again.

When you nod, he doesn’t respond.

Like the rest of the guard, he knows your people often get falsely accused of crimes.

Having a massiff with a good sense of smell makes it quick and easy to find out if they actually committed the alleged crime.

More often than not, the falsely accused is innocent.

But he knows he can’t be with you all the time. You have your own jobs to do.

One minor fear of his is you getting accused and then thrown into a cell.

All because you are twi’lek

He knows his brothers won’t do such a thing, but police droids aren’t so flexible or understanding.

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nahoney22 · 2 months ago

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Liar Liar (Part 1/?)

🫧 Part One - 79's

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader.

🫧 word count: 5k.

🫧 Plot: When you meet a so-called clone named Whisky at 79's, you're a bit flustered with the impression he left on you. Little did you know that you were now caught in a web of Commander Fox’s lie.

🫧 Chapter Warnings: Safe for work, alcohol consumption, lying, teasing, flirting, Corrie guard antics, Fox is a little shit, grumpy. AFAB Female reader.

🫧 Authors note: Hi! So this is going to be a short story about reader and Commander Fox. Be prepared for lots of flirting, angst, crying, fun and eventual smutty goodness! Enjoy. I've also posted most parts to my AO3 account (NaHoney).

“You gonna join us tonight?”

You glance up from your work, eyebrows raised. “And that would be…?”

“79’s, of course!” Thire grins, slinging his arm around one of his brothers. “We need a break.”

“He’s right. I can’t remember the last time I had a night just to relax,” Hound chimes in, leaning casually against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm.

They look at you expectantly as you mull it over. You rarely went out—especially not with the boys—but the idea of unwinding at 79’s didn’t sound half bad. Besides, your friend Pia was working tonight, and catching up with her had been long overdue.

“Sure,” you say, nodding as you distribute the last of the data files onto the desks for tomorrow’s shift. “I’ll be there.”

The troopers exchange approving smiles. “Should we ask Fox?” Hound wonders aloud, glancing at his brothers before shifting his gaze to you.

“Why bother?” Stone snorts from the doorway. “He always says no.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny the truth in Stone’s words. You’d overheard Fox turn down countless invitations.

Anyway, he didn’t seem the type to let loose, especially with how rowdy the boys could get after a few rounds of Corellian ale.

“I don’t see the harm in asking him again,” you reply, shrugging. “But yeah, he’ll probably say no.”

They leave you with the task. You finish tidying up, making sure everything is prepped for tomorrow. The clock ticks closer to 1900 hours, but Fox still hasn’t returned from the Senate. Deciding you’ve waited long enough, you gather your things and head for the door.

Just as you hit the button to open it, the door hisses apart, and you nearly collide with the broad red armor of Commander Fox.

“Oh!” You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. “There you are.”

Fox enters, his usual confident stride noticeably subdued. He moves to his desk, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his armor.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you continue, hovering uncertainly near the doorway.

A weary and almost impatient sigh filters through his modulator. “And why’s that?”

Something’s off. You’re used to his abrupt tone, but tonight there’s a heaviness to it that makes you hesitate with your answer

“Everything okay, Commander?” Your tone softens, concerned as you ignore his question.

“Fine,” he replies curtly, glancing over his shoulder. When he sees the worry etched on your face, he sighs again, this time sounding more human than soldier. “It’s just been a long day.”

You offer a small, sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I can imagine. You usually don’t finish this late at the Senate.”

He turns fully to face you, leaning back against his desk. His arms cross over his chest. “I’ve finished later,” he says dryly. “Is everything sorted for the morning?” He then asks, changing topic swiftly.

“Yes, Commander. Everyone has their files, and I put through an order for more supplies.”

“Such as?” He presses.

You hold your tongue and maintain a neutral expression. Back to his grumpy self, it seems.

“Extra medpacs, ammo, and rations. They should arrive by 0900 hours,” you list off, trying to sound efficient and competent, even though his scrutiny makes your blood simmer.

Fox nods absently, his visor fixed on you. Then he starts rattling off a checklist of additional tasks. Everything from inventory updates, personnel reports, security drills. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, wondering why he insists on making everything harder than it needs to be.

“Like I said, Commander,” you interrupt gently but firmly when he finishes, “I’ve taken care of everything. For you.”

The ‘for you’ slips out sharper than intended, and you can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you see his posture stiffen slightly. Turning away, you head for the door, masking your irritation with a forced calm. Just before you step out, you hesitate, glancing back.

“I stayed because the boys wanted to see if you’d join us at 79’s tonight. I’ll tell them you’re busy.”

Because ‘busy’ always sounds better than ‘tired’.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

“There she is!” Stone cheers the moment he spots you, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You grin as you weave through the packed club, the bass of music thudding in your chest, lights flickering in shades of blue and violet. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Typical 79’s.

As you reach the group, a chorus of nods and smiles greet you. Thire, Hound, and a few other Corrie Guards stand clustered together, already a few drinks in.

“Lookin’ good.” Hound nods appreciatively, earning a playful jab from you but accepting the compliment regardless. It’s not often you dress up, after all and the shirt you bought last month was too cute not to wear.

“Surprised to see you all behaving,” you tease, eyeing Thire’s drink before shifting to the man himself. “Especially you. No table dancing tonight?”

Thire groans, rubbing his head like the memory physically pains him. “I thought we all agreed not to bring that up.”

“Too hard to forget.” You smirk. “Especially the part where you fell flat on your face.”

Hound chokes on his drink, while Stone grins over the rim of his own. “I swear, the look on his face right before he went down—priceless.”

Thire mutters something about betrayal under his breath but smirks anyway.

“So, I take it the Commander isn’t coming?” Hound then asks, shifting the conversation as he leans closer.

You bite back a smart remark, still holding a minor grudge from your last interaction with Fox. Instead, you just shake your head. “Nope. He was really busy. Lots of files to go through.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Stone mutters, downing another sip.

You nod along, but despite your irritation, you can’t shake the image of Fox’s slumped posture, the exhaustion practically radiating off him. Still, you push the thought aside and excuse yourself, heading toward the bar.

Sliding onto a stool, you drum your fingers against the bartop, scanning the crowd until a familiar voice breaks through the noise.

“There’s my girl!” Pia grins, practically launching herself over the bar to pull you into a quick hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Oh, I know,” you sigh, grateful for the warmth of her presence. “Work’s been eating up my life. I haven’t had time for anything.”

“Tell me about it,” Pia groans, throwing a rag over her shoulder. “I’ve covered four extra shifts this week. Four! I basically live here.”

“That’s rough.”

“I wouldn’t mind if the pay was half-decent,” she grumbles, before quickly turning to serve an impatient trooper waving a handful of credits. She hands him his drink with a pointed look before spinning back to you. “Anyway, let’s get you a drink.”

As she sets a fruity, colorful concoction in front of you, you instinctively reach for your credits, but Pia swats your hand away with the tiny umbrella meant for your drink.

“Absolutely not.” She tuts, popping the umbrella in your glass for extra flourish.

You arch a brow. “You sure?”

“Of course.” She’s already dashing off to serve someone else before you can protest, so you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Don’t expect a tip, then,” you joke.

“Wouldn’t expect one from you anyway!” Pia calls over her shoulder, grinning.

You take a sip, humming in satisfaction. Perfect, as always. As the straw hangs lazily from your lips, you scan the bar, looking for any more familiar faces—though, ironically, in a room full of clones, everyone looks familiar.

Then you spot him.

Across the bar, a clone sits alone, elbow propped up as he rests his head in his hand. He looks… tired. Maybe bored. Maybe just hoping no one will bother him. But there’s something about him that catches your attention.

Salt-and-pepper curls frame his face, the dim light emphasising the lines along his forehead. He wears his blacks, leaving his battalion unclear. But you can’t shake the feeling that you should know who he is.

Before you can think too hard about it, Pia appears in your line of sight, snapping you back to reality.

“So, how is it?” she asks, wiggling her brows.

You blink. “How’s what?”

“The drink, duh .”

“Oh.” You flush slightly, realising you’d been too busy staring at the mystery trooper. “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

Pia beams at the praise before suddenly flipping off a customer who’s been aggressively clicking his fingers for service. “ I said I’ll be with you in a minute!” she snaps, before turning back to you. “So, who’s your company tonight?”

“The Corrie Guards, of course.”

Pia gives you a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Well, do me a favor and make sure Thire stays off the tables this time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Already warned him.”

As Pia busies herself with another round of orders, your gaze naturally drifts back to the clone across the bar. For a split second, you swear he meets your eyes, but Pia keeps unintentionally blocking your view.

“Hey! When am I gonna get my drink?” the same customer whines, earning a spectacular eye-roll from Pia.

“When I’m done talking to my friend .” She smiles sweetly, almost menacingly.

“You’re not even serving her anymore! You’re just chatting!”

Pia glares at him. He promptly shrinks back in his seat.

You take another sip of your drink before nodding toward the lone clone. “Say, do you know who that is?”

Pia grins knowingly. “Obviously. That’s—”

“Listen, lady, I just wanna get a drink and—”

“Kriff, fine ! Fine! ” Pia throws her hands up, stomping over to the persistent patron.

You sigh as she gets pulled away, your curiosity about the mystery trooper left frustratingly unanswered.

You try not to keep stealing glances at him, but there’s just something about him. It’s distracting.

Maybe it’s the salt-and-pepper streaking through his curls, maybe it’s the way his shoulders hunch, like he’s carrying the weight of an entire day on them. He’s got that whole brooding, don’t-talk-to-me aura, which—ironically—only makes you more curious.

And, apparently, more reckless.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab a napkin from the dispenser and fish a pen out of your purse. You hesitate, pen hovering over the flimsy paper. What do you even write? Something casual? Flirty? Mysterious?

You roll your eyes at yourself—definitely overthinking it. Finally, you scribble down:

You look lonely. I can fix that.

As soon as you read it back, you cringe. Too forward? Too suggestive? Maybe you should—

Nope. No time for second-guessing. You fold the napkin before you can change your mind. Pia is still swamped, barely keeping up with the sea of 212th troopers ordering drinks, but thankfully, a server droid hums by.

Perfect.

“Hey,” you beckon it over, glancing toward the clone across the bar. “Can you take this to him?”

The droid gives a curt beep. “That is not my function.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “It’ll take two seconds.”

“Then do it yourself.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll tell Pia you need rewiring.”

The droid snatches the napkin without another word, wheeling off toward the clone.

Your stomach knots as you watch it place the note in front of him, then—completely unhelpfully—point directly at you. Great. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly regretting everything.

But you still sneak a glance from the corner of your eye.

The clone straightens slightly, unfolds the napkin. Reads it. Pauses. Then, without a flicker of reaction, folds it back up and finishes his drink.

And then… he stands.

Your stomach drops. Oh. That’s it, then. He doesn’t even look your way as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

You exhale, a mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment washing over you. You swirl the ice in your glass and mutter to yourself, “Well. Won’t be doing that again.”

A voice speaks up behind you.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You turn on your stool, and—oh.

The clone from across the bar is now standing right in front of you. Tall. Broad. Close.

Heat creeps up your neck. Your mouth suddenly dry.

“…Yeah,” you manage, a little breathless. “Kind of surprised, actually.”

“How come?” He gestures to the empty stool beside you, waiting for your nod before he sits.

“You looked like a man who didn’t want to be bothered.” You take a sip of your drink, hoping it steadies you.

“And yet, you were bold enough to send a note,” he muses, lips curving just slightly. “Very sweet.”

You giggle, shrugging as you set your glass down with a soft clink. “You don’t know if you don’t try.”

His amusement lingers. “Looks like it paid off.” He chuckles, then tilts his head. “Can I get you another drink?”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

He signals for another round, ordering one for himself, too.

“So,” you begin, tilting your head, “I haven’t seen you around before. What battalion are you with?”

The clone pauses just a fraction too long before answering, “Coruscant Guard.”

Your brows lift. “Oh? Me too! I feel like I would’ve noticed you… what’s your name?”

Another brief hesitation. Then: “Whisky.”

You arch a brow. “Whisky?”

“That’s right.” He nods, taking a deeper sip of his drink. There’s a flicker of nerves in his expression, but you don’t press. “Big whisky fan.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. Cool name.”

“And yours?”

You offer your name along with your hand, flashing a bright, playful grin.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he places his hand in yours. His palm is warm, his grip firm but careful.

“Lovely name,” he murmurs.

His voice is smooth, just a little too low, and it sends a surprising shiver up your spine. There’s something about the way he holds your hand—like he’s not sure if he should, but doesn’t want to let go, either. The earlier nervousness is gone, replaced by a small, amused smirk.

And you?

You’re intrigued.

Still, you release his hand before yours can get clammy. “So, the Corrie Guard?” You lean back slightly, studying him. “I still feel like I should’ve seen you around.”

He clears his throat, taking another long sip. “I’m not exactly frontline.”

That explains it. “What department?”

“Mechanic.”

That really explains it. You nod, feeling a little sheepish. “Ah, that’s probably why. I love working with my boys in red, though. They’re good to me.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates. “So, uh… what’s the Commander like?”

You blink. “Fox?”

He nods.

You smirk, turning away slightly as you consider your answer. A hundred words come to mind—moody, buzzkill, abrasive, miserable, exhausted…

“Grumpy,” you settle on, swirling your drink. “Big grump.”

He chuckles. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but he is.” You huff, thinking back to earlier that night. “But… he works hard, so sometimes the grumpiness is excused.”

“Sure,” Whisky nods, idly swiping at the condensation on his glass. He hesitates again. “He… does he treat you okay?”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? You planning to put in a word for me?”

The teasing is lighthearted, but Whisky seems oddly stiff about it. You wave it off before he can dwell. “He’s okay,” you say simply. “He just gets under my skin sometimes. I don’t think he means to.” You sigh, taking another sip before turning back to him. “You know him?”

He shakes his head, then drinks. “Nah. Just heard he can be a little hard on people.”

You hum. “You got that right.”

You don’t notice the way Whisky shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping into his glass. He’s quiet, thoughtful—until you break the silence again.

“Actually,” you say, warmth from the alcohol making you bolder, “I know a secret about him.”

He raises a brow. “You do?”

You giggle and scoot closer, lowering your voice. “I’ll tell you but you have to keep it between us.” You hold up your hand, pinky extended. “And all my promises have to be pinky sweared.”

Whisky stares at you for a second, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Then, with a small smirk, he hooks his pinky around yours. “Alright. Spill.”

“So, about a year ago, I was in the office, sorting files or whatever. I came across one of his, and being the amazing worker I am, I marched right up to him at his desk and dropped it in front of him.” You start grinning, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

“And you know what he said?”

Whisky watches you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips as you lean in, your voice dropping secretively.

Closer, closer, closer…

“No,” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

His brows draw together. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, eyes alight with mischief. “Because he was snoring under his bucket.”

There’s a moment of silence followed by laughter. You tip your head back, giggling as you wipe a tear from your eye, and Whisky laughs along with you, shaking his head. It’s not even that funny, but the irony of it is too good.

“He always tells us to work harder, no time for rest,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And there he was, sleeping on the job. And it wasn’t even the first time! He sleeps upright, so it looks like he’s just watching us. But nope. Out cold.”

“So he’s a slacker?” Whisky smirks.

You shake your head. “No, not a slacker. He works hard. Really hard.”

“But you didn’t wake him?” He eyes you curiously.

“Nah. He barely gets any rest as it is, so I let him sleep.” You glance at Whisky, smirking. “Besides… it’s kinda cute.”

Whisky watches you closely, his lips twitching at your laughter, but his eyes seem to linger on you a moment longer than necessary. He swirls his drink idly, then asks, “You think he’d be mad if he knew you caught him slacking?”

You shrug, still grinning. “Maybe. But what’s he gonna do? Fire me? I know he’s my boss but those lot won’t function without me.” You laugh. “Besides, I doubt he gets much rest, so I let him sleep. Figured he needed it.”

There’s something in Whisky’s expression that shifts—just slightly. His fingers drum against his glass, his posture relaxing, but you catch a flicker of something you can’t quite place. It’s gone as soon as it appears, replaced by that same amused smirk.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” he muses.

You roll your eyes but smile.“It’s not sentimental. Just… practical.”

“You like him,” he says. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You hum, tilting your head. “I admire him,” you correct, swirling your drink. “Fox works harder than anyone I know. He doesn’t just give orders—he takes the weight of everything on his shoulders. Every mission, every casualty, every prisoner, every mistake. And I don’t think anyone really sees that.”

Whisky watches you carefully, listening.

You sigh, resting your elbow on the bar. “I just wish he was… a little nicer, sometimes. He’s got a good squad. I mean, the guys look up to him. I think if he let himself relax, let himself be one of them instead of always keeping himself separate, they’d follow him even harder. But he never does.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I dunno. It’s not my business, really. Just somethin’ I think about.”

Whisky is quiet for a second, “Maybe he doesn’t know how,” he says finally.

You pause. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but it’s softer this time. “You’re a bit of a softie, huh?”

You scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow “Shut up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing.” He takes a sip of his nearly empty drink, eyes flicking over you. “You care about your squad.”

“Of course I do,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “I spend all my time with them. They’re like family.”

Whisky hums, contemplative. He watches you for a moment longer before he shifts in his seat, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against yours.

“So,” he says, voice dipping lower, more conspiratorial, “if Fox is the grumpiest, who’s your favourite?”

You huff a laugh. “Oh, come on, I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I pick one, I’ll have to deal with the rest of them whining about it for the next month.” You shake your head. “I’m not walking into that trap.”

Whisky grins. “Smart.”

You take a sip of your drink, then tilt your head at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re in the Guard, too. You’ve gotta have a favourite.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then, he smirks. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Liar.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he taps the side of his glass. “Alright, fine. Who gives you the most trouble?”

You groan dramatically. “Thorn . Hands down.”

Whisky raises a brow. “That bad?”

“He’s so smug,” you complain, exasperated. “He knows he can get away with murder because he’s one of Fox’s best. And he loves rubbing it in my face. I’d also argue Stone because he’s cheeky but Thorn can be devious if he wants to be.”

Whisky chuckles. “Sounds like a menace.”

“Oh, he is ,” you confirm. “But I can’t even be mad about it, because he’s also stupidly good at his job. So I just have to suffer .”

He leans in close. “Poor thing.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t patronise me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” His voice is smooth, teasing, and— Maker , his eyes are intense when they settle on you like that.

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with another sip of your drink. The air between you has shifted—still playful, but heavier now, charged with something unspoken.

You clear your throat. “So, Whisky,” you say, changing the subject. “Tell me something about you .”

His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it. “What do you wanna know?”

You tap your fingers against the bar, pretending to think. “Mmm… what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done while on duty?”

Whisky chuckles, shaking his head. “Now that’s a dangerous question.”

“Oh, come on,” you nudge him. “I won’t tell.”

He eyes you for a moment, considering. Then, he leans in slightly, voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“Alright,” he murmurs, “but if I tell you… you owe me another secret in return.”

You grin. “Deal.”

And just like that, the night stretches on and the hours slip away without either of you noticing.

⋅───⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

It starts with secrets, little things at first. Just small confessions that wouldn’t ruin you if they got out.

You tell him about the time you ‘accidentally’ shredded a report you were supposed to file, and how you spent half the day trying to piece it back together before finally giving up and blaming it on a faulty data pad. Or how you once snuck into the supply room after hours because Thorn had been too busy to eat, and you stole rations for both of you under the pretense of ‘inventory control.’

Whisky listens with quiet amusement, the occasional smile flickering across his lips as he watches you talk. He’s not a big sharer. His own stories are vague and kind of always deflecting back to you. But when you mention your upbringing, your life before the Republic and the war, he leans in slightly, genuinely intrigued.

“You ever think about what comes after?” you ask at one point.

His brow furrows slightly. “After?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like… what happens when the war ends? What do you want to do?”

For the first time, Whisky hesitates—not the way he had before, when he seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, but like he’s genuinely never considered it.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling bad for asking as he stares into his drink.

“No, it’s not that.” His voice is quiet. “I just… don’t know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, and before you can say anything else, he shifts the conversation.

“What about you?”

You exhale, leaning back against the bar. “Dunno.” You smile a little, but it’s laced with something soft and wistful. “I’d love to travel. See what’s out there, you know? Maybe settle somewhere quiet. Own a little shop or something.”

He studies you. “You’d leave Coruscant?”

You huff a small laugh. “Wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

The music has quieted now, the heavy bass that once thrummed beneath your feet nothing more than a distant pulse. The strobe lights have stopped their restless dance, leaving the room bathed in the softer glow of overhead fixtures. It’s only then that you realise most of the patrons have left.

You turn back to Whisky, surprised to find him watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something quiet and intense.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

“You’re really beautiful.”

The words catch you off guard. You blink, lips parting slightly before you shake your head, laughing softly. “You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to?”

You frown slightly, not in offense but in confusion. “How can you find a person beautiful if you don’t know them?”

Whisky exhales a small laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. “I… you look beautiful,” he says, voice steady but soft. “And the way you talk about your family, about your squad… it’s nice.”

You watch him before smirking a touch. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it, something genuine that makes his grip on his glass tighten.

He smirks however, trying to play off your compliment. “That means you think all my brothers are handsome.”

You hum in mock consideration, swirling the last of your drink. “Maybe so…” You take a slow sip, then let your eyes meet his again. “But maybe I find you the most attractive.”

There’s a shift between you, a flicker of something deeper in the way he looks at you—like he’s memorising the moment, the words, the way you say them. His lips part slightly, a breath drawn in like he’s about to say something, but then—

“Kriff.” You sit up straighter, suddenly glancing at the time. “I’ve gotta get going! If I don’t sleep tonight, I’ll be late, and the last thing I need is to miss one of Fox’s drills.”

He reacts almost instantly, standing when you do, setting his drink down. “S-sure, no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I’m taking a cab, but thank you.”

Still, he follows you out, insists on making sure you get into one safely. Outside, the night air is crisp, cool enough to make you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, exhaling. “Knew I should’ve brought a jacket.”

Whisky chuckles, stepping a little closer. “I could warm you up.”

The words hang between you, charged, almost daring. You tilt your head at him, amused. “Bold offer.”

He grins. “It’s there if you want it.”

A cab hovers down in front of you, and he opens the door, but you hesitate. Looking up at him, you smile softly. “It was really nice meeting you, Whisky. I hope to see you again sometime.”

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he nods. “I’m sure we will. Sooner than you think.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but there’s a thrill in the mystery of it. He holds out his hand, and you roll your eyes playfully, swatting it away. “I’m not shaking your hand goodbye.”

Before he can ask what you mean, you step closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You linger for just a second, enough to feel the way he tenses, the way he barely exhales.

When you pull back, you smirk. “Goodnight, handsome.”

He inhales sharply, watching as you step into the cab. His voice is quiet, soft.

“Goodnight… beautiful.”

He stays there as your cab lifts off, watching until it’s out of sight. Then, with a deep breath, he turns—only to hear someone calling his name.

His real name.

“Fox? Fox! We didn’t know you came out tonight! Where have you been?”

Thire stumbles toward him, voice slurred, movements a little too loose. Fox rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’ve been busy.”

Thire squints at him, blinking blearily. “Busy, huh?” He lets out a slow, knowing grin. “Didn’t take you for the social type, Commander .”

Fox huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not.”

His brother wobbles slightly, throwing an arm around Fox’s shoulders. “Right. So where were you?”

Fox debates answering honestly for all of two seconds before shaking his head. “None of your business.”

Thire gasps dramatically, pointing at him. “ Oh. So it’s like that ? You sneak off, disappear for hours, come back looking all—” he waves his hand at him vaguely, “— not miserable… You met someone, didn’t you?”

Fox sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go back to the barracks, Thire.”

But his brother is relentless. “ You did! ” He stumbles back a step, laughing. “Oh, I gotta know. Who is it?”

Fox shakes his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Go. Now.”

Thire groans, rubbing his face. “Fine, fine. But I swear , if I see you all giddy at work tomorrow, I will find out.”

Fox rolls his eyes. “Go sleep it off.”

As he stumbles away, still muttering about Fox meeting someone , the Commander exhales slowly. He turns back toward the sky where your cab had disappeared, rubbing his jaw where your lips had touched his skin.

He should feel guilty. He should feel stupid for going along with it, for making up a name, for listening to you talk about him without you even knowing.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, he just wonders what he’ll do when he sees you again.

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 4 months ago

Text

Wrapped In Red [Commander Fox x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: When a long-time friend of yours in the Galactic Senate invited you to one of the upcoming galas, you envisioned a night of lavish apparel, drinking, dancing, and dodging the attempts of too-friendly senators. Added security had not been a part of it, but it’s non-negotiable following an attempt on your friend’s life. Fortunately, you can make the best of a bad situation by making friends with your bodyguards — Clone troopers of the Coruscant Guard, including Marshal Commander Fox himself. Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader, save for the color of her dress and accessories. Reader is the friend of an unspecified senator nicknamed “Aspen”. Political assassination attempt [off-screen, more focus is on the aftermath]. Brief reference of a riot and (civilian) violence against Clones. Elements of the ‘Lady/Knight’ or ‘Bodyguard Crush’ dynamics. Forced proximity. Reference and allusion to alcohol. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Some use of Mando'a. Prompt is highlighted in red. Requested by @returnofthepineapple from her previous account.

Word Count: 10,817

For the past couple of years, you’ve been living a quiet life on one of Coruscant’s neighboring planets. Though you were born there, the hustle and bustle of Coruscant proved more than you could handle as you grew older. You longed for some place less choked by pollution, politics and power-mad bastards.

So, just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, you spread your wings and left the labyrinth-like nest.

People dear to your heart still lived there, so you never left Coruscant completely behind you.

One such person—a childhood friend—you’ve managed to remain quite close with in spite of your relocation, and their involvement in the Galactic Senate. Rising through the upper echelons in the political scene to make it into a senatorial position had taken time, but the friend you knew best as Aspen had never been the type who could be easily swayed from their goals, or their sense in doing the right thing.

Thinking of you often, Aspen liked to send you invitations to some of the millions of events taking place on Coruscant at any given time. Mostly small things, like seasonal markets or something related to various hobbies and interests.

“A certain someone I know would love the concert they're holding in the entertainment district this coming Zhellday!”

“Blast… I’m going to be busy that day! But you’re the best, Aspen.”

On rare occasions, the invitations Aspen gave you were to much bigger things than crafting workshops or concerts.

The most recent of these larger invitations is to an upcoming gala being held at the very end of the month, meant to cap off the long proposal period of very important—yet divisive—bills and other legislation to the Republic. You knew from past experience this would be a very, very long month for Aspen with no shortage of headaches. They were probably ready to beg you to attend the gala if it came down to it.

It took only a short moment of thought before coming to a decision upon receiving the electronic invite; hoping to surprise them with good news, a message was left with a member of their senatorial staff.

Hey, Aspen, just thought I’d let you know I got your invitation to the upcoming gala. I know you’re busy, so you don’t need to convince me to attend. I’d be happy to come and see you. The gala sounds like fun. Already looking forward to it!

You’ve attended a few parties with Aspen in the past, but you can’t recall one of this scale or importance. There were the small fundraisers where you ate so many jogan fruit tarts together you were nearly sick. Promotional campaigns where bets were made on how many flutes of champagne Aspen’s competitors would end up sucking back before the end of the night. Public appearances where you stood beside (or in place of) your childhood friend’s family to support and celebrate the hard work they’ve put into the planet you called home for a long, long time.

Making the kind of differences Aspen hoped for in the galaxy would often be an uphill battle. You’ve regularly joked it was a good thing that they’ve always been a fan of climbing in all the time you knew them.

By the time you made it to Coruscant, less than a week before the gala, you were faced with the horrible discovery of just how close Aspen had come to falling from those lofty heights.

You’re planet-side for all of five minutes—busy wrestling your things together in the spaceport terminal—before you find yourself face-to-helmet with a pair of white-armored men. By the way they had begun marching in the direction of the baggage claim from the moment you got there and the deliberateness of their stride, you had the feeling they were not simply on patrol.

These soldiers—Clones—part of the Coruscant Guard, judging by the red paintwork, had been waiting for you.

The rest of your luggage continued to sit on the revolving conveyor belt as you spoke with the shocktroopers for the next few minutes, trying to figure out what was going on in spite of the travel-fatigue. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time on Coruscant has seen more than their fair share of regular commuters and far-away travelers getting stopped by terminal security forces, so that in itself is not out of the ordinary.

Getting stopped by members of the Guard, those who dealt with riots and political escorts… That was more unusual. It meant whatever was going on was pretty karkin’ serious. (You’re not in trouble, are you?) Comply. Be polite. They don’t sound angry yet when they start asking basic questions to confirm your identity.

Starting with your name and date of birth, one of the troopers brings up his datapad clipped to his utility belt to verify your answers against information in their database. The other silently gathers the rest of your baggage from the carousel the next time it comes around, preventing some petty criminal from getting their hands on whatever's inside. Between giving the troopers the requested information, a million thoughts race all at once while wondering whether or not you’ll be asked to come with them soon enough. Unless the Corries are hurting for work so badly that they’re now working spaceport security, whatever this is about is undoubtedly serious.

In a shaken voice, you try to find answers once there is a suitable lull in the questioning.

“Can I ask what this is about…? Am I in trouble?”

The trooper with the datapad in his hand turns to the other, saying nothing, but raises his shoulders and gestures with his free hand as if to say “How much do you think we can tell her?” to his partner. You grow all the more nervous as the silent exchange continues, the partner shaking his head at the first.

“Not here.” the second trooper says, his head wagging sharply to suggest it isn’t a good idea.

The first makes a hurried promise before he’s interrupted by the second. “You’re not in trouble-”

“But you’re not safe, either. We can explain more once you’re about the gunship. We need to ask you to come with us.” (Gunship? Safe? Oh fuck.) The same trooper, nodding to a bag by your feet now says “Sayber, take the duffle bag. I’ve got the suitcase.” before instructing you to follow them.

Struggling to match their militant stride, you want to do little more than shrink out of discomfort feeling hundreds of eyes trained on you as you march back the way the shocktroopers came through the crowded spaceport. Doing your best to ignore all the many faces glittering with curiosity, you instead focus on the LAAT/i emblazoned with the crest of the Guard lazily bobbing in place as it hovers over a part of the terminal’s platform.

Aside from the pilot, there are three more soldiers. Two are waiting in the craft itself; another waits on the ground, hands planted firmly on each hip.

He must be who Sayber and the second, nameless Clone now walking beside you report to, judging by the stance and differences in his armor. On his helmet, you see stylized wings painted above a black visor guard, framing the visor itself. Two ‘capes’ of flexible armor hung from his utility belt, swaying in the downdraft of the ship just behind him, and the left shoulder armor has an antenna of some kind.

If you had to guess his rank, he’s either a captain or commander. “That didn’t take long at all.” he calls to his soldiers, tone neither impressed or surprised. “Have you and Naran verified she’s who we were sent to retrieve?”

“Yes, Commander Thorn. She matches the descriptions we were given.” Sayber, the trooper on your right, replies confidently.

All the same, he and Naran show their superior the datapad, allowing him to look at the information for himself. Confirmed with the commander, you’re given the go-ahead to board. Naran and Sayber board first, one securing your luggage while the other helps you into the gunship.

As soon as you’re aboard, the commander orders the blast shields closed. The sound of which makes you wince, but being so on-edge, you’re grateful for the feeling of extra security it brings soon after. As you’re being shown an overhead handrail to use in case the inertial compensator isn’t enough to keep you from being wobblier than a newborn bantha, you’re advised not to lock your knees once the military repulsorcraft takes off.

“Flight shouldn’t be too long, but, because even the most routine escorts have surprises we have to ask: do you get airsick, ma’am?” Having met them just a short time ago, you can’t yet tell Naran and Sayber apart, but you’re pretty sure this is Naran who’s rooting through the on-board medical kit for something.

“O-oh, I-”

Your hesitation and the commander’s interruption is enough for one of them to toss an airsick bag your way, just in case. “Nothing routine about this escort, boys. We’re gonna be wrapped in red tape for a while, so we should start getting used to it.” The pilot is signaled to take off from the spaceport and begin making his way to a coded location a few moments later.

The word ‘escort’ is nothing unfamiliar to you, having gone through this song and dance one of the last times you came to support Aspen’s senatorial workings. But red tape creates enough dread to ice over your veins before it begins pooling hot and sour in your guts.

“C-can I ask what’s going on now?”

What’s happened that’s made all of this a necessity?

Naran, remembering the promise he made back at the terminal, begins to carefully explain the situation with a slight halt in his voice. Each word is chosen carefully, like perhaps he’s unsure just how much he can say, or how you might react.

“Someone—we’re not sure who—tried to end your friend Senator Aspen’s life shortly before you got to Coruscant… They’re shaken, but ultimately unharmed. We were asked to bring you to the same secure location by one of the other commanders.”

The remainder of your flight aboard the gunship goes by without another word. The troopers know this is difficult information to process, and you can’t think of a single thing to say about any of it. It’s hard to be afforded a moment of silence to reflect on any of this with the guttural drone of the engine eating up any sound below a stage whisper, but the soldiers around you do their best. It’s a small act of kindness to you.

Until you step off the gunship, this will be your last opportunity to have any kind of time to yourself before you’ll be so caught up in red tape you would practically be wearing the stuff.

Upon arrival, Sayber and Naran once again wrangle your luggage for you to speed up the process of disembarking.

The less hindrances you had the better. You needed to see Aspen. And Aspen needed to see you. Having a friendly face by your side made confronting calamity a little more bearable, someone wise once told you. (Or, maybe you read that somewhere on the holonet…) In this state of heightened adrenaline, thoughts become muddled and disjointed as Commander Thorn ushers you past several armed security guards down a long hall.

You can only imagine your friend will be in a far worse state.

“Senator Aspen is in here,” Commander Thorn explains, stopping in front of a modified blastdoor. “The two of you will be kept here until a security detail has been finalized.”

“That’s fine… Thank you, Commander Thorn.”

Commander Thorn wastes no time, waving you in ahead of him once he’s completed keying in the clearance code. Inside, you find your friend crumpled into a low multi-seater, face in their hands as the person seated on the other end of the couch appears to be explaining something either to them, or to the other armed guards posted in the corners of the panic room.

From the armor kit, you know the man is another Clone like Sayber, Naran and Commander Thorn with a singular glance. But you’re less concerned with who he is right at this moment, never having been more relieved to see your friend than you are right now.

“Once she’s here, I would like everyone to-”

“Aspen!”

The other Clone immediately falls silent as Aspen gets on their feet in a flash, all but vaulting over the caf-table in order to meet you half-way. Mutually crushing the air out of the other’s lungs in the strength of your embrace, neither of you can properly express just how grateful you are to see the other. Jumbled, rapid words give way to tears seeping into one another’s shoulders before long, so occupied with comforting each other that no attention is paid to the troopers being swapped out with Naran and Sayber once they have brought in your belongings.

In a tight, choked voice your friend begins apologizing to you once they’re calm enough to speak. “I’m so sorry that we had to meet like… like this… but it’s so, so good to see you.” Pulling away, you get a better look at their face for the first time and your heart clenches painfully. They look so scared. So deeply shaken. Yet here they are, apologizing to you for something that’s hardly their fault.

“Had to be the longest hour of my life, waiting here with the Commander for you to get to Coruscant…” Aspen continues, taking your hand to guide you to sit beside them on the multi-seater where it would be more comfortable than standing. “I wanted to talk to you. So badly. Just to hear your voice and find a little solace after- After everything.”

“I’m guessing you couldn’t?”

Your friend shakes their head no. “Not exactly. We weren’t sure if it would be safe to. I’m sor-”

It’s you who shakes their head this time before explaining why a second apology is not necessary. “Hey. I understand. The important thing was trying to keep you safe after you were almost… hurt. Or worse.” The simple fact your friend was unharmed—still living and breathing in front of you—was an incredible blessing.

“Your friend sounds like a smart woman, Senator Aspen.”

Reminded of his presence after you’ve been paid a compliment, your friend quickly begins the process of trying to compose themself in order to begin proper introductions. “Y-yes, she very much is… Commander, this is my very dear friend I was trying to tell you about earlier when explaining who your men needed to find.” The second Commander nods in polite greeting, refraining from saying anything until introductions have been finished.

“And this, my dear friend,” Aspen says in a well-practiced this-is-important tone of voice, “is Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I believe he’s been tasked with security after what nearly happened.”

At this point, Commander Fox has gotten to his feet and taken a look at something on Commander Thorn’s datapad before consulting his own. “That would be correct, Senator.” Holding himself with purpose, this second commander standing beside Thorn differs from him in more ways than just the color-inversion of his chest armor, and the additional Corrie Crimson on his armor alone. “I am here by order of the Chancellor to create a strong security detail for you, and your friend, in light of the attempt on your life almost an hour ago.” His voice, while not too different from the Clones you’ve met today thus far, had strong tonal qualities of duty and seriousness that commanded a great deal of attention from everyone in the room.

You’ll ask about “that” detail in just a moment. Right now, you’re more surprised there’s no fear or unease when he says he’s here to enact the Chancellor’s will. This comes naturally to him.

“Sorry, I just want to make sure I heard you correctly: you said by order of the Chancellor?”

Nodding stiffly, Commander Fox confirms his orders. “Yes ma’am. As the Marshal Commander, I’ve been asked by Chancellor Palpatine to personally ensure your safety at all times until it is no longer deemed necessary. While he understands the upcoming gala expects to see many high-profile guests, he was rather disturbed to hear what had nearly happened to Senator Aspen, and insisted upon a constant security presence.”

“I may or may not have tried politely refusing the Chancellor’s offer.” Aspen explains to you, chuckling somewhat shamefully. “And he was right to insist upon my refusal; it was fifteen minutes after the attack and I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly… I… Well, I think Commander Fox or Thorn has the pictures.”

Nodding less stiffly than before, Commander Fox takes one of the datapads and shows you a collection of the holo-stills and frames taken from nearby security feeds of the destruction left by the attack. While you look at the horrible state of Aspen’s senatorial office, the main window broken with thick shards of transparisteel strewn across the floor, your friend explains that they managed to escape the attack unharmed by sheer, dumb luck.

“I survived because I tripped, if you can believe it.”

Blaster marks have burned the back of Aspen’s chair and several spots in the floor. The main desk, made from a much heavier, more-solid material, is riddled with blaster burn in comparison. While you’re not an expert by any means, the window pane’s shatter pattern suggests that the weapon used by the would-be assassin was likely high-powered, or of uncommon caliber.

“It was just a split second before the first shot. After that, I hid in front of the desk as best as I could until members of the Coruscant Guard showed up. All that Corrie Crimson surging into my office must have scared them off because the firing stopped almost as soon as the Guard got there.”

Dumb luck. Dumb luck saved your friend before the Corries came to protect them.

Facing the whole emotional gamut as you view these stills, Commander Fox puts the datapad away the very second you cannot stand to see more, shaking your head no, no, no.

Outrage and disgust blooms in your chest, acidic and bitter-hot. You had too many questions to ask all at once. Crime scene analysts had cordoned off Aspen’s office, currently combing over everything for the most minute of clues. Would they be able to figure out who could have possibly wanted to kill your friend? Did anyone see who it was before they got away?

What was the motivation?

Uncertain of the answers to the other questions, Aspen could only offer partial answers as to ‘why’ someone might have tried to kill them with much hand-wringing.

On one of the planets the Republic has been hoping to change the neutrality status of, there had been a riot almost a month ago now that’s still so tightly wrapped up in red tape largely in efforts to keep details away from the press while investigations are still on-going. Because of that, Aspen can’t say who they believe started the riot, or for what reason. But they can tell you that several Clones were nearly beaten to death as a result, and the rioters responsible have been charged with destruction of government property for the time being.

Aspen was spearheading an effort to re-file those charges under a different crime that they believe more accurately reflects the rioters’ intentions that day. Attempted murder. While the effort has seen a lot of support in the Chambers, there are a fair number of senators still dragging their feet on making a decision.

A small handful of influential senators have had a far less positive reception to this effort the longer Aspen has encouraged these changes. Matters that were becoming complicated when some of them were beginning to react in ways that suggested hostility have now become even more complicated with the introduction of a botched assassination.

Planning for the gala has gotten a whole lot more complicated as well. If it’s even going to happen at all…

“Did the Chancellor say anything about cancelling the gala at the end of the week?”

“Too many high-profile guests coming from across the galaxy to change anything at this point, I imagine. Some of them have been making preparations for half a year, or more.” Aspen explains, fruitlessly massaging their temples over the thought of it. “Great galaxies, I do not envy whoever is in charge of organizing security for that mess…”

Commander Thorn politely clears his throat. “Will likely be me, now that Commander Fox is overseeing your security, Senator.” He quickly adds, “Or, it could be Commander Thire. We’ll get it sorted.” after sharing a fleeting glance with his fellow commander.

Aspen winces sympathetically.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be, Senator.” Commander Thorn says. When he speaks again, his voice is a little softer than before, careful sympathy lacing every spoken word. “We’re sorry that your plans to get ready for the gala are going to have to be changed.”

“How soon will that be?” Aspen wonders.

“Once Commander Fox has your security detail finalized.”

Your friend makes a low sound in their throat, smiling grimly. “Very soon then, I imagine… May I ask what we can expect, Commander Fox?”

In a calm and deliberate voice, Commander Fox explains that as investigations are being conducted, he and other members of the Guard are going to be accompanying the two of you everywhere leading up to the gala. They’ll be your security as well as your escort force; you’re going to be spending a lot of time under their watchful eyes and ready hands.

So if there are any reservations, now is the time to say something.

You look to your friend and make a quiet offer after considering the Commander’s words. “You’re the one who invited me here, so I’ll follow your lead, Aspen.” You’ve known each other long enough to trust their judgement. If it was decided it would be safest for you to go home, then you would take a rain check on this visit and come back to Coruscant another time.

While you’re prepared not to create more trouble for everyone, Aspen’s selfless nature rears its sweet head even in the wake of an attack. Turning to Commander Fox, who stands straight-backed as he is patiently awaiting a verdict before the two of you, your friend asks one final question of him.

“I know plans will change, but will the security detail mean I can still help my friend prepare for the gala, Commander?”

Commander Fox takes less than a moment to think before deciding that would be a reasonable use of the service. “If that’s what you wish, Senator.” He nods politely not only to Aspen, but to you as well, you notice. A small gesture of professionalism, as well as respect.

“Then we accept.” Aspen says, sealing your shared fate for the rest of the week leading up to the gala.

Though the two of you have only just met, the feeling that you’ll come to like this man has already begun to spark.

From the moment Commander Fox put the security detail into action, you decided for yourself that you would make the most of this situation and make conscientious efforts to get to know everyone making up this task force better going forward. Not only would it be polite, but it would make it easier to remain in close-quarters with these men for a long period of time when they were no longer strangers.

The full team consisted of two parts: Clones who had been hand-picked to be stationed with Commander Fox full-time, and those who would be rotating through the force on an as-needed basis. That meant there would likely be more than a few soldiers you would get to know very well by the end of the team’s lifespan.

Maybe even become friends.

Already, you and your friend were making great progress getting to know Naran and Sayber in particular. These two soldiers—who were part of the permanent assignment—are not merely patrol partners like you had initially assumed when you first met them. They explained they were batchmates, meaning they had been created and trained together at the same time on the world known as Kamino, out in Wild Space.

Naran and Sayber completed their training six months ago; stationed on Coruscant for five. It explains why their armor looks so new, and why the paint lacks much chipping, fading or transferring. They’re young, and have only begun breaking it in. There’s a term Clones like to use that pretty much means the same thing as “rookie”.

“We’re not exactly a couple of ‘Shinies’ anymore, but we’re still fairly inexperienced compared to other brothers in the Guard… I’m not exactly sure why Commander Fox assigned us permanently.” Sayber confesses to you in a moment of quiet.

Commanders Fox and Thorn are busy, following protocol to secure the room where you and Aspen will be sleeping; the batchmates are supposed to be focused on keeping their eyes on the two of you in the meantime, but Sayber’s curiosity is stronger than his worry over being “caught” bothering you by his superiors.

Something that Naran quietly fumes with frustration about. (“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, di’kut…”) He much prefers to stay on task and engage only when addressed. It might take more time before he opens up to the two of you compared to his brother and patrol partner, who happily does more than enough talking for the two of them.

You can expect to meet more of the Guard starting tomorrow; the rest of the day will likely be focused on getting the two of you settled in before any of the pre-gala preparations and errands can be conducted. Some will have to be done separately. Others can be done together, such as the shopping for a dress (on Aspen’s insistence), given that they are performed during set hours.

And they will always involve an escort of no less than two troopers.

You will not be permitted to wander around Coruscant, alone, at any given time.

“Dammit. Sounds like getting some Hyellian musical noodles around two in the morning is out of the question, then.” you remark softly in jest during the first review of the safety plan once the Commanders have completed their protocol, shrugging animatedly in an oh well fashion. Won’t be the end of the galaxy.

His review disrupted, Commander Fox’s dark T-shaped visor lifts from the screen and fixes itself upon you, quietly regarding you over the top of the datapad in his free hand.

The thought that you just karked up strikes you in an instant.

Thinking you’re being serious, Fox speaks seriously in turn. “I was unaware this was something I needed to account for. Forgive me, ma’am.” Your hammering heart skips a beat rather uncomfortably as he begins to pull up the keyboard on the device’s HUD, and your face grows hot with embarrassment.

“No, I-! I was only making a joke. I’m sorry, Commander, I shouldn’t have.”

Asking him to accommodate a silly little tradition of yours every time you made the trip to Triple Zero would create more work for everyone. Taking unnecessary risks. It would be selfish.

Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about making fewer jokes just because Commander Fox has a stronger no-nonsense personality than you might be accustomed to for very long. Members of his own Guard have a way of softening the tension to keep things from getting quite so abrasive.

“Grizzer and I could always make that run for you, ma’am.” There to listen in on the review, the ARF trooper that was assigned to guard the perimeter of the ‘safe house’ by the name of Sergeant Hound drops the lead to the massiff in question after issuing a command word. “Su!” The quadrupedal reptilian settles on their hindquarters, long tongue lolling between dagger-sharp teeth.

“It’ll help her earn a turbodog once this is all said and done. Tradition of ours, for the big jobs.”

Maker: it will take some getting used to being called or considered part of a “big job” like this.

After a long moment, you decide to accept. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” Since he was kind enough to offer, you make sure to give Hound an especially grateful nod.

Commander Fox adds the offer to the approved actions he’s compiled once the exchange has finished, and moves swiftly on. There has been a lot of ground covered, and he intends to cover more before someone will be sent to collect that night’s dinner order. It’s evident enough that he’s a serious and hard-working man. He would have to be, seeing as he’s the Marshal Commander appointed to lead the Coruscant Guard. so…

So it comes as little surprise that any offer or invitation for a breather, a single moment off his feet has been turned down time and time again as the afternoon bleeds into the evening. Even in the securest of spaces, Commander Fox turns down reprieve and refreshment with the same four words.

“No thank you,” either followed by Senator or ma’am.

Your kindness refuses to falter in the face of his stoicism, but you’re smart enough to recognize when to let it go at the same time.

“Okay. May I offer it to Naran and Sayber instead, then?”

Dinner had been sourced from 79’s in the entertainment district; largely finger foods made in outrageous portion sizes, meant to be shared between large groups. Aspen had ordered a slider for each of you, and a basket of protato wedges to share. There had been a slight mix-up, and the two of you ended up with a third slider and more than double the wedges that you could possibly hope to eat by yourselves. Trying to sort out the error was met with the offer to go ahead and keep the food as they were pretty slammed tonight.

“If you wish, ma’am.” Fox replies, voice as politely disinterested as before. “I’m certain they won’t object.”

True to form, the batchmates eagerly unseal their helmets before gratefully accepting the offered food, granted unspoken permission by their commander. It’s the first time you see any of the Clones’ faces since the start of all this unfortunate excitement. “Thank you, sir. And thank you ma’am!” Sayber exclaims. His broad grin brings out a dimple in the tanned left cheek, adding to how he looks far, far too young for this armor.

He and Naran carry the food to the only other table in the room in order to eat, wasting no time in coming up with a way to halve the slider and wedges between them. While his men eat, Commander Fox discreetly consults the datapad he has clipped to the utility belt from which his dark kama hangs. What he’s reading is a mystery, but you could probably assume it had to do with either you, Aspen, or his shocktroopers. Maybe it was the safety plan and security detail for tomorrow. Maybe it was unrelated.

Regardless, this seems to be the only sort of reprieve he allows himself. Once he’s finished, the tablet returns to the Commander’s hip and he reassumes position.

His posture is meticulous, yet somehow almost elegant. Hands folded behind his back and chest high, the crimson commander does not budge so much as an inch from his post in the time it takes Naran and Sayber to put everything away. Only once they clean up and reseal their helmets will Commander Fox drop this extra rigidity.

Fox’s earlier refusal now appears more purposeful than before when this time it is Naran who thanks you and his superior for the food. The shocktrooper’s words are met with a “Don’t mention it.” so softly spoken, it would be hard (but perhaps not impossible) to mistake it for a command.

From this singular display of momentary tenderness, Fox has told you more about himself that he might realize: if you hope to have a better chance of befriending the commander, how his men are taken care of will likely be very important over the coming days.

Following that first night on Coruscant, you fell into a routine within a short couple of days.

Waking up an hour (sometimes more) before Commander Fox arrived with the day’s security detail, you would quietly prepare for the day ahead of you just to have a small bit of time to yourself. Just you and Aspen. Together, you’d take this opportunity to have more intimate conversations without your second shadows in red and white armor present; to reflect on the days behind you.

And puzzle out a curious pattern beginning to develop…

It was hardly surprising that there would be the most to say of Commander Fox out of all the Corries. You spent the most time with him. Not only was Fox the lynchpin to your collective safety, but the only time he was ever away from your side (save for using the ‘fresher) was to allow each of you to sleep for the night.

He was by far the most reserved member of the Corries you’ve had the pleasure of meeting; the most aloof and strictly professional, all for good reason. Not only was he dealing with the Chancellor’s orders for a very serious situation, there was so much red tape for him to navigate through on a daily basis. It wouldn’t feel right to either of you to ask Commander Fox to behave in a more-friendly manner for the sake of protecting your own feelings.

But more recently he was starting to become more warm with you, no longer just his soldiers.

You’ve seen how he is with the younger soldiers in particular, like Naran and Sayber. Reminding them again and again to not tense their shoulders quite so much. Answering their many what-if questions. Encouraging the two of them to play a bit of holochess against you or the senator in his stead.

Now Commander Fox was thanking you for your offers when turning down the invitation to take a short break or have something to eat. He was no longer passively listening to conversations you would have with the other Clones, but joining in on the rare occasion. You were no longer just ‘Senator Aspen’s friend’ or simply ‘ma’am’ when speaking of you, or being addressed.

When Commander Fox began to use your name, that’s when things became a little more interesting.

Aspen started to gently tease you after that, suspecting you were becoming somewhat charmed by the crimson commander. The gala was in two days. Your friend had promised to help you buy a formal dress here on Coruscant in order to save you luggage space. Neither of you certainly expected to have an audience, and Aspen wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with potentially being seen by Fox and a dozen or more Clones in a fancy dress or two.

Yes, the Guard was always, always very respectful of you both, but perhaps it might be a bit embarrassing. Or feel strange. Maybe you would feel self-conscious in front of Fox in particular… Something they promised was perfectly normal while you were busy getting ready together this morning as you waited for Fox and the Guard to arrive.

“You’re saying that you think I have a crush on the commander?”

You take a brief pause from tidying things on your side of the room, wondering whether or not you’d heard your friend correctly. Commander Fox was by and large what you might consider a “strong and silent” type of man, slow to let someone into their comfort zone, teasing the other person along inch by inch. Did Aspen really think that’s what was going on with you? That you were intrigued by some kind of thrilling mystery in interacting with someone like that?

“Well… Sort of.” Aspen admits with a soft laugh. “This kind of thing happens a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s Baby’s First Bodyguard, or you’re a seasoned professional when it comes to dealing with armed escorts. A lot of senators and diplomats tend to form some kind of feeling for the people who are there to protect them.”

You try to mask your doubt with a joking accusation. “Are you trying to feed me banthashit right now?” Is this truly as common as Aspen says it is, or are they trying to help you feel better in their typical selfless fashion?

Sensing your doubt, Aspen promises they are telling the truth. “It really does happen all the time, sweetheart. It’s happened to me too! You know I wouldn’t lie about that. And you know I’m not going to judge you for feeling things for the commander, or possibly having a crush, either, right?” Before you can answer, you hear the sound of a distant LAAT/i, followed by several soldiers speaking at once.

You’re going to have to wrap this up, quick. “Of course. I’ve known you for a long time, Aspen. I trust you.” They’ve always been a good friend to you; there’s never been a reason for doubt or distrust.

Briskly getting up, Aspen helps you tidy and put away the last of your things not a moment too soon. Just as everything has been put away, Commander Fox makes himself known with four firm raps on the other side of the door. Here forty-five minutes exactly before the first of the boutiques is set to open, as discussed.

The usual pleasantries are exchanged after Aspen has gone to answer the door. The ‘good morning’s and asking if the two of you slept well. Asking if there was anything either of you needed before joining the others back at the gunship and getting on your way.

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Nice to see you, Commander.”

Perhaps surprised by your choice of greeting, Commander Fox has a brief moment of pause before he’s able to reply. “You as well, ma’am. Very well. No need to inform our pilot of anything, then. We can be on our way.” Nearly positive you’re not imagining it, while still rather factual, there seems to be more warmth in Fox’s voice this morning.

He’s still all-business, encouraging everyone not to waste any time getting to the gunship, but now his tone is less stern and terse compared to the days before. He almost sounds… friendlier. Maybe Fox just needed three days to thaw out before warming up to you. Could be that he’s in a good mood because his men are in a great one this morning, most of them comfortable enough around you by now to talk about last night’s boloball victory in whispers.

Whatever the case may be, it makes you a little less nervous about the prospect of going shopping with such a large security detail.

Commander Fox’s brightened demeanor hardly changes for anything.

Even Sayber can’t ruin it by forgetting his training and speaking out with excitement while you and Aspen steadily shop around the first of the formal boutiques for a suitable dress. His reason for doing so was more than forgivable: right around the time you began reaching for a gown in a sort of pomegranate red, the young shocktrooper cried out “HAH! Eat your heart out, Police Inspector Dan Tivo! I knew the Corries would find a lead in the investigation before him!”, much to the disturbance of the other patrons.

There would be much apologizing to do—Sayber for breaking protocol and to the shop for causing any additional inconveniences—before this would start to become the point where things really began looking up.

The red tape would not yet loosen itself from you, but with any luck it should soon begin to lift.

Whether you believed it was a curious coincidence or not, you decided to go with the red gown you had been reaching for around the time news broke of the lead in the investigation. By cleverly pairing it with a few ivory accessories, you curated an overall image that would come close to matching with much of the Coruscant Guard.

This way, you could quietly sort of “mark” the time spent in their company in the week leading up the gala without outright wearing any one Clone’s personal markings, or the iconography that belonged to both the Guard and the Senate.

You also can’t pretend it was no small relief to have so many of these big decisions taken care of so quickly, or all at the same shop in a busy fashion district. What had been planned to take nearly all day was completed in the span of less than two hours.

And the next two days went by in a feverish blur with Commander Fox working harder than ever to truly make sure your security at the formal event would be nothing less than ironclad.

His men even claimed he was aiming to be better than beskar: creating plans for every possible situation and even going so far as to form redundancies. Mapping out where and when you would arrive at the gala venue. Choosing who would be watching over you and Aspen separately, and who would be watching both of you. How he can continue to take care of your needs. Until the time comes and the suspect behind the botched killing has been caught, Commander Fox has sworn to remain at your service, no matter how trivial the request.

Or how foolish you feel to ask.

With hours to go and anxieties rising, there are times that involving him in the hustle-and-bustle process of getting dressed up becomes simply unavoidable. With every instance, your gratitude for this man only continues to grow stronger than before.

Dropped an earring under the dresser and it’s too far for you to reach? Naran and Sayber will need to lend him a hand, lifting the furniture aside so he can search for it on his hands and knees.

Hands shaking too much, and the clasp on your necklace giving you trouble? He’ll help you put it on - he only asks that you hold your hair out of the way for him.

Turning over the string of delicate Castilon pearls, you move to stand in front of the commander. The most straight-forward way to secure the necklace will be to turn your back to Fox and allow him to fit it from behind. “Thank you, Commander. I can’t seem to get my nerves under control at the moment...” you explain, grateful he won’t see the soft flush breaking across your face as his dexterous fingers latch and unlatch the tiny set of claw clasps with relative ease.

In his voice you hear the very same tenderness he imparts to the youngest of his brothers as he softly encourages you to relax. By the time you take a deep breath and count to five ‘battleship’s, he’ll have this taken care of. You’re going to be just fine. Ordinarily you would be, were it not for the electric ripple in your skin every time you feel the smooth material of his raven-dark gloves brush against you.

Understanding the tensing under each feather-light touch is only a reflex, the Marshal Commander casually remarks that you’ll be hard-pressed to find a senator, dignitary or diplomat that isn’t a bit on edge or nervous about the gala. Fox says it in hopes of it serving to soothe you, rather than make you more nervous.

“There you are,” he concludes once he’s finished securing the three-strand necklace. You allow him to check the matching earrings to make certain they won’t come loose for good measure. “I admit I may not be the best man when it comes to these kinds of things, but I give it my best effort.”

Fetching your ivory clutch, you can at last turn to thank him once Commander Fox reports the ivory accessories are both secure. “Thank you, Commander. Fortunately I’m not looking for the very best, only a bit of help. I would say that it’s hardly a contest that you’ve been among the very best in providing an immense amount of help this week.” Your favorite pair of shocktroopers share in Aspen’s giggling amusement as Commander Fox maintains his professionalism rather than fully internalizing the compliment you’ve tried to pay him.

“Thank you, ma’am: but I don’t believe I can take all the credit. My men have shown around-the-clock commitment to this assignment that I couldn’t be more proud of.”

With a boisterous laugh, Sayber bravely advises his superior officer on what to say. “Now’s not the time to be all modest and humble, sir! No buts – just tell her thank you!” He’s close enough to still being considered a Shiny that Sayber can get away with speaking to a brother of higher ranking in a semi-teasing manner, and he knows it.

Commander Fox knows it too. “You’re right, you’re right…” he relents, beginning to fix parts of his armor in a bid to stall for more time. Starting with the vambraces, he straightens them out like he’s adjusting a pair of cufflinks. “Thank you, ma’am. It is my hope that both you and Senator Aspen have felt nothing less than complete assurance in the security force I have tirelessly maintained.”

Finding it satisfactory, Sayber quickly concludes with “That’s better, sir!” after you and your friend confirm there have been no concerns in your armed escorts at any given point.

There isn’t much time you can afford to waste, having to take alternative transport that would be kinder on any formalwear than a gunship. While helping you board the other transport, Naran politely comments on the care you’ve put into your appearance for tonight and offers his hope that you have a nice time. Doing so now just in case he doesn’t get a chance later. The same sentiment is then offered to Aspen as they are helped aboard after you.

Fuck. You’re really gonna miss these guys when all of this is over.

You’ll miss Naran and Sayber’s playful bickering, the way they shout “Ulyc, di’kut!” at each other when the other does something foolish. You’ll miss the pilots who have flown you over the more beautiful parts of the upper-city when there’s been time to kill; like Umate and Monument Plaza, even some of your old haunts from before.

Miss the games of fetch with Grizzer to reward her for a good job, the meals that have been shared, and the stories of how these boys got their names.

But most of all, you’ll miss the crimson commander.

It didn’t matter that he was rather aloof and distant. How he kept things almost strictly business. That he’s never once taken off his helmet in front of you. Only ever nodding, never showing you if his smile dimpled his left cheek like most of his brothers. Or that he never told you how he came by “Fox” for his name. Whether it had been one he claimed, or something he earned.

Because that wouldn’t be what you’d miss Commander Fox for.

You’d miss him for never drawing more attention to himself than he had to, shying from such spotlights in the interest of giving them to his brothers instead. Miss him for the unwavering politeness he’s had for you, treating you no differently than he would for another galactic senator, or even the Chancellor.

All this security, all this red, had been the most reassuring feeling you’ve had all week. And it won’t be easy to say goodbye, to any of it.

Or to Commander Fox.

Between the sound of spirited chatter, ceaseless pop-and-chop of photographers’ camera shutters and lively, swelling music, entering the formal venue before the official start of the celebration proves easily-overwhelming near-instantaneously.

Getting here early offers you time to acclimate. Elation and excitement should eventually find you, but there will be time to find somewhere to cool off, if necessary. It also serves as a chance for the Chancellor to visit with Aspen, hoping to speak and hear how they’ve been since Commander Fox had been appointed for protection, as well as to ask about his performance.

The visit is kept brief, but your friend stresses the shared satisfaction you have in all Fox—and the rest of the Guard for that matter—has done for you before agreeing to speak more privately and at-length the following morning. The Chancellor is not here to detract from the hopeful enjoyment of the occasion for either of you; soon enough you are left free to enjoy the entertainment and pursue the available catering.

It became apparent most of the music played tonight came from Naboo, much like the Chancellor - written by some of her people’s most respected and well-known composers. And much of the food was extravagant, tables showcasing what your own credits could never hope to see with plate after plate of hors d’oeuvres beyond your ability to even name. Same went for the drinks when you were unable to locate any cards or signage.

The Commander quickly proves rather knowledgeable when you blindly select a sparkling crystal flute, scrutinizing the bubbling contents with a puzzling expression after it fails recognition by smell alone.

“What’s this…?”

“Prized champagne provided by Pantora, ma’am. It’s recently proved rather popular.” Fox explains, hands moving from carefully held at his side to folded neatly behind his back as he approaches closer to the table.

“And what about the tall and skinny glass, or the one with a short stem and large bowl?”

An erroneously-named Mantell mixer in the highball glass, supplied from a different planet in the Mid Rim. The snifter is a robust brandy reportedly of Wayyl origin. Commander Fox can only tell you what he’s heard when it comes to if they are any good, refraining from making any kind of decision for you or presuming what you would like. There are other drinks reported to be stationed throughout the venue, if none of them appear to be to your liking. If you would prefer something non-alcoholic, he knows where the sparkling cider can be found.

You decide you’ll be starting off safe with the cider, for the time being. Less decision fatigue than coming up with an unfamiliar, strong drink to try. He again helps with identifying the human-suitable foods for you and Aspen to sample. That’s when you realize Fox is utilizing sensors and scanners built into his ‘bucket’ rather than strictly being knowledgeable upon a sharp pause in his explanation.

“The cured meat is supposed to pair best with… no, wait. Damn artificial intelligence pulled up a recipe blog.”

And rather than pressuring you to engage every instance, Aspen encourages you to go explore the venue instead of listening to them catch up with many of their fellow senators. Knowing who you’ll likely prefer for company (but might be too bashful to openly say), they give you their “blessing” to take Fox as your escort in the meantime.

“Why don’t you go exploring for a while, dear friend? Just so I don’t bore you; I promise I’ll let you know if Senator Amidala or Chuchi are able to stop by before I catch up with you so you can decide if you want to say hello. I’ll ask Naran and Sayber to stay with me in the meantime. Perhaps the Marshal Commander can go with you… If he doesn’t mind?”

The commander offers a cordial nod prior to replying. “Not at all, Senator Aspen.” He would be happy to, in fact. And though he will not be leading you, Fox is even offering to take you by the arm.

You can attribute it to his work ethic and find it applicable etiquette for such a grand event. Considering there is both a chivalrous and protective tone to such a gesture, this is not a measure of control through the imbalance of a power dynamic. He is not here to dictate where you are permitted to go.

Simply put, he’s here with no other intentions but to accompany you no matter where you go, and to comment as necessary as he listens to whatever you have to say. So when Commander Fox finds you quiet after some time, he surprises you by asking what’s on your mind.

“Thought you would be making a small amount of commentary, ma’am. Something weighing on your thoughts?”

Blinking in surprise, you chew over the thought of how honest you should be. “Well… there is something.” Unable to see through that impassible visor and faceplate, the hope of seeing this particular Clone’s face flickers anew.

“S-someone…” comes the clarification.

“Senator Aspen?”

It’s less of a risk for him to hazard this guess, but it doesn’t make the mark.

“No. No, not my friend.”

After a pregnant pause, you confess that it’s him that weighs on your thoughts when he does not ask. “I can’t… I can’t get you out of my mind.” Your reasons are innumerable, and strange even to yourself. You’re not sure what explanation you can give Commander Fox that would likely not be found comforting, innocent or even sane.

So you expect him to politely pull away. To put up walls of professionalism stronger than before. To kindly but firmly establish some boundaries. (Hell: it would hurt, but you could understand if he didn’t do it so kindly.) If you were slowly stoking the fires to a potential friendship, you might’ve just gone and done the one thing to completely stomp it out.

And by hearing yourself say it, it sounds far more romantic than you might have intended it to. “Wait, sorry- I… I meant that very generally.” Attempting to clarify this now feels like a weak excuse to cover up that you’re backpedaling, but it’ll keep you up at night far longer if you don’t at least try.

Commander Fox, surprisingly, does not suggest he is the least bit perturbed. Not by your admission. Not by your apology. Not even by the way you try to create distance from him yourself and begin to anxiously attempt to pull your arm free.

An earnest “I believe you.” is all that is needed to stop you in your tracks. The gala, now well in full-swing, feels as though it is slowing down around the two of you as you feel very foolish – just staring at the red-armored commander. “I know what that sounded like. But I believe you.” he continues, now with insistence.

“You-? You do?”

Starting with the soft use of your name, he again promises that he does - even going on to say why.

“I’ve spent all week watching how you treat and interact with my brothers. Hearing how you speak to my men. And you’re always kind. You make honest efforts to remember their names and have a friendly word to say. Always expressing appropriate gratitude. All of it shows that you care about them, that you’re a good person.

“And good people are often honest people.”

The work Commander Fox does for the Chancellor, the Senate, all of Coruscant… it’s thankless. What work he is thanked for is done with insincerity, often disingenuous and callous and empty. Senators like Aspen are a rarity. Ordinary people, people like you, are the most likely to thank him for his work outside of his bonds within the GAR.

But you’re different even among ordinary people. You have truly meant your thanks each and every time he’s done what’s been asked of him. And you wouldn’t yet know it, but it has led to Commander Fox becoming so hopelessly wrapped around your little finger in the reddest thread in hopes of tasting such genuine kindness. Such a response couldn’t be conditioned or trained out of him.

He may be a Clone, but he was not a perfect copy. Not of Jango Fett. Not of any of his brothers. It was part of that Factor H as described by Fett more than a decade ago to the Kaminoan cloners, likely before the commander’s own creation.

‘H’ for ‘Human’. And humans… they have a base, instinctual need for forming connections with the people around them. It’s why isolation proves so detrimental. As a soldier, it was an unspoken expectation to simply not acknowledge those kinds of consequences to his formative years.

Created in a high-tech petri dish. Decanted from a tube. Together forged by fire with a living sea of brothers. Getting planted on the singular-most crowded planet in this entire kriffing galaxy, where his failure to protect the heart of the Republic meant having to listen to more reports of dying vode.

But tonight, he’s here, thinking of asking to dance in all of his blood-red armor with one of the most beautiful women at the gala. Having lost a complete sense of elapsing time, the two of you had been standing just on the inside to a respectably-sized dance floor when the venue appeared to be cueing up for either the first, or another of the largest shared dances.

There’s no time to be coy about asking if you want to join your friend waiting off to the side, now that they and his shocktroopers have found the two of you. It appeared Aspen intended to have joined you, but it was now too late to step into the designated floorspace. There would still be time to step out.

“Would you like to join your friend?” Fox politely offers.

Historically, you and Aspen had platonically partaken in these duo-dances together owing to your closeness and long-stand friendship. Usually at some point during the night if Aspen was preoccupied with other senatorial attendees, but often at the first available opportunity. Dare you ask for another of their blessings to break a long-standing tradition?

“Aspen, I think I-”

“Go. There’ll be other dances!” Aspen urges, interrupting. They’re smiling, a promising sign you had worried for nothing.

Hopeful, Commander Fox extends his hand out to you. A quiet offering. An implied invitation. If you’re going to accept, it has to be soon. “Another dance, then.” you promise to your friend, carefully trading off items like the ivory clutch in order to free up your hands.

Naran suggests a crucial change before you can take the commander’s outstretched hand and join him further into the showfloor.

“Sir! Your helmet!”

“Right, right.”

This song with a famously long lead-in allows for the ordinarily simple unsealing and removal of the commander’s headgear to transform into something a bit more preformative, if rather hurried. With a polite doffing befitting of the high-class nature of the event, Fox removes the recently-polished helmet and allows you to see his face for the very first time since meeting earlier that week. It is then directly taken by Naran away from the dance floor, surrendered to his care and subsequently forgotten not long after.

Following Fox, he leads you slightly deeper into the dancing crowd with a rhetorical “Shall we, ma’am?” where the two of you assume the appropriate starting position just before the lead-in concludes, and the dance number finally commences.

As a ballroom piece common to the Core Worlds, you’re given more than enough time to study the charming face of your dance partner as the two of you step through the poised and elegant choreography.

While there is perhaps some truth to the erroneous adage “If you see one Clone’s face, you’ve seen them all!”, you are wholly committed to determining what little traits set him apart from his brothers while you have the chance. And kindly, the commander allows you to do so, encourages you to do so.

“Do I look like you imagined?”

Mostly yes. But also, no.

While he had the same round ala to his nose, there was faint scarring across the bridge you hadn’t yet seen in any of his brothers. (You would find others; one cutting into the arch of his right brow, and a freshly-pinked nick that tucked under his jaw on the left.) Fox’s eyes were the same, soulful brown; with an additional intensity that was hard to completely identify. A soft five-o-clock shadow along his jaw, now that you hadn’t expected. Or the touches of gray blending out in the dark waves and tight curls of his hair.

You admit you’re starting to wish he’d taken off his helmet sooner, even though he was only doing his job… A long-suffering job that allowed you to even be here to begin with. If it wasn’t for him, your long visit home just to see Aspen would never have happened. Not the way it did. Without him, without the Guard, your friend would have asked you to take the first shuttle returning to your new home.

You can’t even begin to fathom how you could possibly thank him enough for everything they’ve done to protect Aspen and get you to this point.

“That won’t be necessary,” Fox pledges, both his voice and his smile tender. The dimpling in his left cheek is the most pronounced amongst any of the Guardsmen. A golden warmth that softens the watchful depths in his eyes. All of it brightens your heart with euphoria, pulse already keeping time to the soaring peaks of the strings’ music.

When the song calls for those assuming the position of the dance’s “gentlemen” to pull their partner close, the Marshal Commander fits you so perfectly against his armor in order to make himself heard.

His voice becomes softer—fonder—in the delicate shell of your ear.

“But I know you’ll probably try...”

As the music begins the winding-down, Fox’s vambrace begins to squeal - an abrupt, demanding tone disrupting the pleasant, vulnerable moment between you. Needing to answer it, you assist him by depressing the instructed buttons after lowering the volume per his instructions.

“CC-4477 to Commander Fox! We have the suspect behind Senator Aspen’s attempted assassination in our custody!”

Fox does not reply right away, but rather he eyes the open comlink with a degree of great pride. But there is also great reluctance. After everything you’ve told him, after everything he’s told you, the long-shot he’s taken in asking to dance with you amidst all this formality and decorum, he has to leave now?

“Well done, Thire. Tell Commander Thorn-”

No.

No, maybe just this once, he can get away with not answering a summons instantaneously. His duty may be to the Republic, but as a man of his honor his duty is also still to you. As of now, he is still charged with protecting you and the senator. It becomes socially acceptable to leave the gala without staining one’s reputation fifteen minutes from now, after these large, shared dances. His men can handle the suspect until then.

Fox will not allow your standing to suffer now simply because of him.

“Sir?”

“Tell Thorn I’m still wrapped up pretty tight here. Might take fifteen minutes to disentangle her and Senator Aspen from the gala. Maybe more.” Fox’s focused expression changes to one of warmth when the word “her” parts his lips, while his voice retains its authoritative tone.

There’s a long silence on the other end of the comm before Thire comes up with a reply.

“Understood, Commander. Thire out.”

Breathless and head light, you’re reeling with relief and elation that they’ve captured their suspect. This is the beginning of the end of Aspen’s nightmare. Your nightmare. But where there is joy, there too comes sorrow, knowing your time in Commander Fox’s company is coming to an end. Maybe not tonight, maybe not in the morning. But soon enough, you will part ways and return to your regular lives…

“I can’t believe they got the guy… Thank the stars, it’s finally over. If we need to leave so you can-”

“No, mesh’la,” Commander Fox interrupts you before his voice turns almost pleading. The song may now be over, but there is still music that can be danced to. Still time that he can spend with you. “Let me be a selfish man for once… Fifteen minutes is all I ask.”

Maybe fifteen minutes… can be a good place to start.

Everything will still be there after fifteen minutes. The suspect, his men, the senator… but the clock will start to run out with you after fifteen minutes. And he’s not ready for that.

“Okay. Fifteen minutes. We’ll… work out what comes after that.”

When you’ve spent most of your service dealing with red tape, it’s going to take more than fifteen minutes to unwrap all of it.

So you’ll make those minutes a very good place to start…

Thank you for making a request for my 200 follower event, Pina! Ended up longer than I initially anticipated even after everything I cut out of it, but I hope you enjoyed it! I apologize for the unexpected delays, so I hope this was well worth the extra time it took me to write it in order for you to read it! And in case anyone is curious why I chose the name "Aspen" for the name of our senator friend here, I took inspiration from the Greek word for shield, 'aspis'. I thought it felt fitting for a story focused around Fox working hard to protect even a complete stranger, being the dutiful and brave man he is. ❤️

Taglist: @callsign-denmark @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit

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#frostfics #Wrapped In Red #frosts 200 terrific followers event #request fic #thepineapplereturns #star wars #tcw #the clone wars #tcw fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox x fem!reader #fox x reader #fox x fem!reader #x reader #clone oc: naran #clone oc: sayber

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 7 days ago

Text

Title: Command and Consequence

Fox x Reader x Wolffe

Summary: Your a friend of Jango Fett’s, he had asked you to come to Kamino to help train clone cadets, more specifically the cadets who were pre selected as commanders. Pre-Clone Wars. Pretty much just a love triangle between my fav clones. Bit angsty towards the end.

⸻

You hadn’t even wanted the job.

Kamino was cold, clinical, and crawling with wide-eyed clones who couldn’t shoot straight or punch worth a damn. But Jango had asked. And when Jango Fett asked, you didn’t exactly say no.

So, you found yourself here, drowning in rain and the hollow clatter of trooper boots on durasteel, overseeing the elite cadets being fast-tracked to become clone commanders.

They weren’t commanders yet. Not officially. But the Kaminoans had flagged a few standouts early—Fox, Wolffe, Cody, Bly, Neyo, Gree—and they were yours now.

Jango called them assets.

You called them projects.

Most of them respected you. Some feared you. And then there were those two.

Fox and Wolffe.

Walking disasters. Brilliant tacticians. Fiercely loyal. And completely, irredeemably idiotic when it came to you.

They’d been vying for your attention since day one—squabbling, sparring, brawling—and you’d brushed it off. Flirting wasn’t new to you. You knew how to shut it down. But these two? These two were stubborn. And clever. And just reckless enough to keep you on your toes.

You stood now at the edge of one of the open training rings, arms folded, T-visor reflecting a dozen cadets going through various drills. Cody was holding his own in a two-on-one blaster sim. Bly was shouting orders like he thought he owned the place. Gree was crouched in the mud, recalibrating his training rifle mid-drill.

But your eyes were on Fox and Wolffe, again.

They were arguing by the supply crates, the tension between them so thick it might’ve passed as heat if Kamino weren’t freezing.

“I’m telling you,” Wolffe was growling, “she was talking to me yesterday.”

“Right,” Fox drawled. “She called you ‘uncoordinated and overconfident.’ Sounds like flirting to me.”

“You don’t get it, she’s Mandalorian. That’s basically a compliment.”

“Boys.” Your voice sliced through the rain like a vibroblade.

They both snapped to attention so fast they nearly knocked heads.

“Get in the ring.” You didn’t even raise your voice. “Now.”

Fox and Wolffe exchanged a look—equal parts dread and defiance.

“Yes, instructor,” they muttered.

“I want five laps if either of you so much as winks.”

You tossed a training staff toward Fox. He caught it clumsily and frowned. “What, no sim?”

“Nope. You’re with me.”

Somewhere behind you, you heard Bly mutter, “He’s dead.”

“Pay attention to your drill, cadet,” you barked.

Fox stepped into the ring with the same confidence he wore into every disaster. “Try not to go easy on me, yeah?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The fight started fast. Fox was quick, smooth, used his weight well—but you’d trained on Sundari’s cliffs, in Death Watch gauntlets, and in the company of monsters who made even Jango look tame.

Fox didn’t stand a chance.

He lasted maybe three minutes before you dropped him with a shoulder feint and a sweep that sent him crashing into the mat.

“Dead,” you said flatly, planting your boot on his chest.

Fox groaned. “You always this brutal with your favorites?”

“You’re not my favorite.”

“Oof.”

Then—Wolffe shoved past the other cadets and stepped into the ring.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice tight. “He’s training, not being punished.”

You cocked your head. “You volunteering?”

“I’m not letting you flatten my brother without a fight.”

You smirked behind the visor. “Your funeral.”

What followed was nothing short of combat comedy.

Wolffe was sharper than Fox. Calculated. But he was still a cadet. You pushed him hard—Mando-style, merciless, unrelenting. Rain slicked the mat, thunder cracked outside, and your staff never slowed.

Wolffe held his own longer.

But he was still losing.

Then, desperate—he lunged.

And bit you.

Right on the bicep.

“Kriffing—”

You staggered back, jerking your arm away, teeth clenching as the pain bloomed under your armor.

“Did you just—did you bite me?!”

Wolffe, still crouched and panting, looked horrified. “You weren’t stopping!”

Fox, flat on his back, howled with laughter. “You feral loth-cat! What, was headbutting too civilized?”

You peeled your glove off and stared at the bite. “You drew blood,” you growled. “I liked this undersuit.”

“Instinct,” Wolffe muttered.

“Idiot,” you shot back.

By now, the other cadets had gathered around the ring, wide-eyed and whispering. You turned slowly to the group.

“Let this be a lesson. I don’t care if you’re a cadet, a commander, or kriffing Supreme Chancellor himself—if you bite me, I bite back.”

Fox wheezed. “She’s not joking. I’ve seen her take out two bounty hunters with a broken fork.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “Fifteen laps, Fox. For running your mouth.”

Fox dragged himself upright and groaned, limping toward the track.

Wolffe started to follow.

You grabbed his pauldron.

“Don’t ever use your teeth in a fight again, unless you’re actually dying.”

“Yes, instructor.”

“…And next time, if you are gonna bite, aim higher.”

He blinked.

And you walked off, bleeding, storming, and already plotting their next humiliation.

Commanders?

Kriff.

They were barely house-trained.

⸻

The morning after the Bite Incident started like most—grey skies, howling wind, and Kaminoan side-eyes.

You strode onto the training deck in full gear, fresh bandage wrapped over the healing bite mark on your arm. The clones were already lined up, posture rigid, eyes straight. You could feel the tension radiating from the group like a bad smell. No doubt they’d all heard the rumors.

One of them bit you. And lived.

You stopped in front of them, hands behind your back. “Which of you thought it was smart to bet on me losing?”

Half the group tensed. Cody coughed.

You didn’t wait for an answer. “Double rations go to the one who bet I’d win and that one of you idiots would end up chewing on my armor.”

That got a chuckle—nervous, brief—but it broke the tension. Good. You weren’t here to baby them. You were here to make them legends.

“Group drills today. Partner up.”

Predictably, Fox beelined for your side. “So. How’s the arm?” he asked, lips twitching.

You turned slightly, giving him just enough of a smirk. “Tender. Wanna kiss it better?”

Fox visibly froze. For the first time in all the months you’d trained him, he blinked like a man who’d just taken a thermal detonator to the soul.

Wolffe, watching from across the training floor, snapped his training blade in half.

Like, literally snapped it.

You didn’t even react.

Cody whistled low. “He’s gonna kill someone.”

“Hope it’s not me,” Fox muttered under his breath, heart rate visibly climbing.

You raised your voice. “Wolffe. Grab a new blade and meet me in the ring. Fox, go help Gree with his stance. The last time I saw someone hold a blaster like that, they were five and trying to eat it.”

Fox, now flustered beyond recognition, stumbled off. Wolffe stalked over, eyes dark.

“You flirting with him now?” he asked, low and sharp, as you passed him a fresh blade.

You leaned in—just close enough for your voice to dip like smoke. “He flirted first.”

“And you flirted back.”

You tilted your head. “You gonna bite me again if I do it twice?”

Wolffe looked like he might combust.

The spar started aggressive—Wolffe striking fast, sharp, his technique tighter than usual, anger giving him extra momentum. You blocked him easily, letting him wear himself out. Letting him stew.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you taunted, hooking his leg mid-swing and sweeping him to the mat with a sharp twist.

He landed with a grunt, breathless. You knelt beside him, blade tip pressed to his chestplate.

“I flirt with the one who keeps his teeth to himself,” you said, tone casual. “Consider that motivation.”

Wolffe didn’t answer. He just stared at you, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear it grinding through the floor.

By the time drills ended, Fox was glowing. Wolffe was feral. And you?

You were thriving.

Let them fight over you. Let them stew, and sulk, and throw punches at each other behind the mess hall.

This was war training. They’d better get used to losing battles.

Especially the ones with their own hearts.

⸻

You were late.

Not tactically late. Intentionally late.

The cadets were already lined up, soaked to the bone from outdoor drills—Kamino’s rain coming in sideways like daggers. You made your entrance like a storm, dripping wet and smirking like you hadn’t made half the room lose sleep last night.

Fox was waiting at the front, eyes locked on you. He didn’t salute. He didn’t even smirk. He just looked—calm, steady, sharp.

And you felt it. That shift.

Wolffe was off to the side, glaring holes into the back of Fox’s head. You caught it all in a sweep of your gaze.

“Who wants a live-spar match to start the morning?” you called.

Several cadets groaned. Cody actually muttered something about defecting to Kaminoan administration.

But Fox? Fox stepped forward. “I do.”

You tilted your head. “Sure you want that smoke, pretty boy?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You think I didn’t train for this?”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued.

The match was brutal. Not because Fox was stronger—but because Fox was different. Controlled. Confident. Calculated. He didn’t let your taunts shake him. He dodged quicker, pushed harder. When he caught your leg and sent you crashing to the mat, the cadets gasped.

Even Wolffe made a strangled noise like a dying animal.

You coughed, winded, pinned under Fox’s knee, his hand resting against your collarbone.

“Yield?” he asked.

You blinked up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Already did,” he said, low enough for only you to hear. “You like it.”

You shoved him off you with a grin, rolling to your feet.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “But I’m still prettier.”

Fox actually laughed.

Wolffe walked off the mat.

Straight to the armory.

Because of course he did.

Later, when the others had cleared out and you were wiping sweat from your brow, you felt that familiar weight behind you—boots heavier than a clone’s, presence impossible to ignore.

“Jango,” you greeted, not turning.

“You’re playing with them.”

You wiped your blade clean. “I’m training them.”

“You’re toying with them,” he said, voice flat. “They’re assets. Not toys. Not lovers. Not soldiers you can break for fun.”

You turned, arching a brow. “I know the difference between a weapon and a man, Fett.”

He stepped closer. “Then stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

That one hit—low and sharp.

You swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “They’re soldiers, Jango. If a little heartbreak cracks them, the war will kill them faster.”

“They need guidance. Not confusion.”

“And what about me?” you asked, arms crossing. “What do I need?”

His eyes didn’t soften. “You need to choose. Or leave them both alone.”

You didn’t answer.

He left you with the silence.

That night, you found Fox alone in the mess, bruised, hungry, and tired.

“You did good today,” you said quietly.

He didn’t look up from his tray. “So did you. Playing with me until Wolffe snapped?”

“Wolffe snapped because he thinks I’m yours.”

Fox looked up now, slow and dangerous. “Are you?”

You leaned in. Close. Almost touching. “I could be.”

Fox’s jaw clenched. “Then stop making him think he has a chance.”

You didn’t reply.

Not right away.

And that pause? That breath of hesitation?

That was the crack in everything.

⸻

You stopped showing up to the mess.

You didn’t call on Fox or Wolffe for sparring. You rotated them into group drills only. You stopped lingering after hours. No more teasing remarks. No more slow smirks and heat behind your eyes.

No more touch.

It was easier, at first. For you.

They were cadets. Not yours. Not meant to be anything more.

Jango’s voice echoed every time you started to second-guess yourself.

“Stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

So you holstered your weapon. Locked the fire down. Played it straight.

And watched them start to unravel.

Fox was the first to try and confront you.

He caught you in the hallway outside the training rooms. Quiet, calm, alone.

“You ignoring me on purpose?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t stop walking. “You’re a soldier. I’m your instructor. That’s all.”

Fox stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“So that was all it ever was? The fights? The flirting? Me on top of you on the mat?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, despite his best efforts.

You looked at him, jaw tight. “Fox—”

He laughed. Bitter. “No. Say it. Say it meant nothing.”

You couldn’t.

And that was the problem.

“It’s better this way,” you said instead, and slipped past him.

He let you go.

That was what broke your heart most of all.

Wolffe was worse. He didn’t say anything—at first.

He trained harder. Fought rougher. Every drill was a warzone now. He snapped at Cody. Nearly dislocated Gree’s shoulder. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Until one night—

You caught him in the dark on the training deck, punching into a bag like it owed him his life.

“Wolffe.”

He didn’t stop.

“I said, stand down—”

He spun on you.

“Why?” he snapped. “So you can ignore me again?”

You froze.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he growled. “You pulled away from both of us. Playing professional like you weren’t the one making Fox look like a damn lovesick cadet. Like you weren’t the one making me feel like I was yours.”

Your chest tightened. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yes, it was!” he shouted. “And now you think pulling back fixes it? You think it makes the want go away?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Wolffe stepped forward, eyes burning.

“Let me make it real easy for you,” he said. “If you didn’t mean any of it—tell me you never wanted me. Say it.”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t.

You just turned and walked away.

Again.

And behind you, in the dead silence of the deck, you heard something break.

⸻

They started showing off.

It wasn’t even subtle.

Fox perfected his bladework, spinning twin vibroknives in a blur, always training just where you could see. Wolffe started calling out cadets for slacking mid-drill, standing straighter, yelling louder, fighting longer.

Every time you passed, there was tension—tight like a wire, straining.

And you kept pushing.

Harder, faster drills. No breaks. No leniency. You called them out in front of the others when they slipped. You sent them against each other in spar after spar, knowing they’d go all out.

They did.

Until Fox went down hard—breathing ragged, cut bleeding at his brow, fingers trembling.

And you snapped: “Get up. Again.”

He looked at you. Not angry. Not sad. Just tired.

Wolffe stepped between you before Fox could even move.

“No.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” Wolffe growled. “He’s bleeding. He’s exhausted. He’s not a toy you wind up just to see how far he’ll go.”

“This is training—”

“This is punishment,” Fox cut in, standing up slow behind Wolffe. “And we’re done letting you use us to beat your own feelings into the ground.”

The silence that followed hit harder than a punch.

You looked at both of them—Wolffe, tense and furious, jaw clenched; Fox, bleeding but still looking at you like he cared.

“You think this is about feelings?” you spat. “I’m preparing you for war. You’re not ready.”

“We were,” Wolffe said quietly. “Until you made yourself the battle.”

That hit you straight in the ribs.

You stared at them, breathing hard, adrenaline high, rage burning under your skin—and then you turned away.

“Training’s over,” you muttered.

Neither of them moved.

When you left the room, they didn’t follow.

And for the first time since setting foot on Kamino, you realized what losing both of them might actually feel like.

⸻

The sky on Kamino never changed.

Just endless grey. Rain like a drumbeat. A constant hum of sterile light and controlled air.

You stood at the edge of the landing platform, your gear packed, your armor slung over your shoulder like it didn’t weigh a hundred kilos in your gut.

“I thought you were done bounty hunting,” Jango said behind you.

You didn’t turn.

“I thought I was too.”

He walked up beside you, slow and even. No judgment in his stride. No comfort either.

“They got to you,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

“They’re good soldiers. You saw that. You made them better. You drilled discipline into their bones.” A pause. “So why run?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because I stopped seeing them as soldiers,” you muttered. “I started seeing them as—”

You broke off. Not because you didn’t know the word. But because it hurt too much to say it.

Jango sighed. “I told you not to toy with the assets.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You flirted. You made them think—”

“I didn’t make them think anything,” you snapped, turning to him finally. “I felt something. I didn’t mean to. But I did. And now it’s bleeding into training and—” your voice cracked. “They’re getting hurt.”

Jango looked at you for a long, quiet second.

Then, almost gently: “You never had the stomach for clean lines. You’re too human for that.”

You laughed bitterly. “Maybe. But I won’t be the reason they break.”

Jango gave you a nod. Subtle. Approval, maybe. Or just understanding. He turned to leave, boots echoing on the wet metal.

“Where will you go?” he asked over his shoulder.

You looked back out at the grey sea. Thought of neon lights. Cold bounties. Silence without faces you cared about.

“Somewhere I don’t have to see their eyes.”

Jango didn’t say goodbye.

He never did.

And when your ship lifted off, you didn’t look back.

⸻

The cadets lined up in silence.

There was tension in the air. They could feel it—like a shift in pressure right before a storm hits.

Wolffe had a sick feeling crawling up his spine. Fox had barely spoken all morning.

You hadn’t shown up for dawn drills. Again.

Then the door opened.

Boots. Not yours.

Jango Fett strode in—full beskar, helmet tucked under his arm, scowl like a thunderhead.

Every cadet stiffened.

“Form up,” he barked.

The lines straightened immediately. But all eyes were looking past him—waiting.

Wolffe’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Where’s our instructor?”

Jango’s lip curled slightly. “Gone.”

Fox frowned. “Gone where?”

Jango stared them down.

“She left Kamino. She won’t be returning.”

Just like that.

Silence exploded across the room.

Wolffe’s fists clenched.

Fox’s mouth opened—then closed. His jaw locked.

“She didn’t say goodbye,” Neyo whispered.

Jango looked at them like they were stupid.

“She didn’t need to.”

No one breathed.

Then Jango paced in front of them, slow and deliberate.

“You were here to be trained to lead men in battle. Not to fall for someone who made you feel special. You don’t get attachments. You don’t get comfort. You get orders. Understand?”

No one answered.

Jango stepped closer to Wolffe, then Fox, his voice low and cold.

“She gave you the best of her and got out before you ruined it. Don’t make the mistake of chasing ghosts.”

And with that—he barked for drills to begin.

They ran until their lungs burned, until every cadet dropped to their knees from exhaustion. Jango didn’t ease up once.

Wolffe didn’t speak the entire time.

Fox trained like he wanted the pain.

And no matter how hard they hit, how fast they moved, how sharp they became—

You didn’t come back.

⸻

The job was supposed to be clean.

A simple retrieval on Xeron V—a mid-tier Republic contractor gone rogue, hiding in the crumbling husk of an old droid factory. Get in, grab the target, drag him to a shadowy contact with credits to burn and questionable allegiance.

But you should’ve known better.

The second you got your hands on him, everything went sideways. Someone tipped off the Republic. Gunships rained from the sky. Your target fled. You got cut off. Cornered.

And then the unmistakable howl of clone comms filled the air.

The 104th.

You almost laughed when you saw the markings—gray trim, wolf symbols, bold and sharp.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

You were disarmed in seconds, pinned to the floor with your cheek pressed against cold durasteel.

Even then, you didn’t fight.

Wolffe was the one who yanked off your helmet.

You expected a reaction.

All you got was silence.

Not even a curse. Not even your name.

Just a stiff order to “secure the bounty hunter” and a curt nod to the troopers flanking you.

And then he walked away.

Like you were nothing.

Now you sat in the Republic outpost’s holding cell, bruised but mostly fine—aside from your ego and whatever parts of your heart still hadn’t gone numb. The armor plating of your new life, as a notorious bounty hunter, felt thinner by the second.

He hadn’t even looked you in the eye since they dragged you off the ship.

Not when you spat blood onto the hangar floor.

Not when they clamped the cuffs on your wrists.

Not when your helmet rolled to his feet like some ghost from a forgotten life.

Just protocol. Just silence.

Just Wolffe.

Outside the cell, Master Plo Koon approached his commander, his quiet presence always felt before it was seen.

“She knew your name,” Plo said gently.

Wolffe’s armor flexed as his fists curled. “She trained us. All of us. Before the war.”

“But there is more, isn’t there?”

Wolffe glanced sideways. “Sir, with respect—”

“I am not scolding you, Wolffe.” Plo’s voice remained steady. “But I sense a storm in you. I have since the moment she arrived.”

Wolffe said nothing.

“She left something behind, didn’t she?”

And for just a second, Wolffe’s mask cracked.

“Yeah,” he said, jaw tight. “Us.”

⸻

The hum of the gunship in hyperspace filled the silence between you.

You were cuffed to a seat, armor stripped down to a flight-safe bodysuit. Your posture was relaxed, but your gaze never left the clone across from you.

Wolffe sat still—helmet in his lap, eyes fixed straight ahead. He hadn’t spoken since takeoff.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment the whole way?” you asked, voice dry.

He didn’t even blink.

You sighed and leaned back, jaw clenching. “Fine. I’ll do the talking.”

No response.

“I didn’t think they’d make you my escort,” you continued. “You’d think after our history, that might be considered a conflict of interest.”

“Maybe they thought I’d shoot you if you acted up,” he muttered.

You smirked. “I thought about acting up. Just to see if you still care.”

That got him.

His head snapped toward you, eyes burning. “Don’t.”

“What? Push your buttons?” You arched a brow. “That used to be my specialty.”

“You used to be someone else.”

The smile dropped from your lips.

So did your heart.

Wolffe looked away again, tightening his grip on the helmet in his hands.

You turned your head toward the window, hiding the sting behind sarcasm. “You look good in Commander stripes.”

“And you look good in chains.”

There it was again—that damn tension. Sharp and unresolved. You almost welcomed the sting.

Almost.

⸻

Coruscant.

The gunship touched down in the GAR security hangar. Sterile, bright, swarming with guards in crimson-red armor.

You knew who ran this show before you even stepped off the ramp.

Fox.

The last time you saw him, he was still a smart-ass cadet fighting over who could land a blow on you first.

Now?

He wore the rank of Marshal Commander like a second skin. Polished. Cold. Untouchable.

The second your boots hit the durasteel, he was there.

“Prisoner in my custody,” he said to Wolffe, not even sparing you a glance.

“She’s your problem now,” Wolffe replied, handing over the datapad.

You smirked. “Nice armor, Foxy. Didn’t think you’d climb so high.”

He didn’t even blink.

“No jokes. No names. You’re not special anymore.”

The smile dropped off your face like a blade.

“I see the Senate really squeezed all the fun out of you.”

Fox stepped in close, nose-to-nose. “That bounty you botched? Republic senator’s aide was caught in the crossfire. He’s still in critical care.”

Your mouth opened, but he kept going.

“You may think you’re the same snarky Mandalorian who used to throw cadets around on Kamino. But you’re not. You’re a liability with a kill count—and you’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight.”

You swallowed hard.

Wolffe stood off to the side, helmet tucked under one arm, watching. Quiet. Controlled.

But his gaze never left your face.

Fox turned to his men. “Take her to holding. I’ll debrief in an hour.”

You were grabbed by the arms again, dragged off without ceremony. As you passed Wolffe, your eyes met just for a second.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything.

But Wolffe looked away first.

And this time, it hurt worse than anything else ever had.

The room was cold. Not physically—just sterile. Void of anything human.

One table. Two chairs. Transparent durasteel wall behind you.

And Fox, across the table, red armor like a warning light that never shut off.

He hadn’t said a word yet.

Just stood in the doorway, datapad in hand, watching you like he was trying to decide whether to question you or put a bolt in your head.

Finally, he sat down.

“You’re in a lot of trouble.”

You leaned back in the chair, manacled wrists resting against the tabletop. “Let me guess. That senator’s aide I accidentally shot was someone’s nephew?”

Fox didn’t flinch. “You’re lucky he’s not dead.”

“I’m lucky all the time.”

He stared you down. “Tell me why you took the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “Credits.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the truth.”

His fingers tapped against the datapad. A slow, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the silence.

“Target was mid-level intel—why would someone like you take a low-rank job like that?”

“I don’t screen my clients. I don’t ask questions.”

He leaned forward slightly. “You used to.”

You stilled.

There it was. The first crack.

“Back on Kamino,” he added, voice quieter. “You asked questions. You gave a damn.”

You looked away. “That was a long time ago.”

Fox’s jaw tightened. “Then help me understand what changed.”

You laughed once, bitter. “Why, Fox? This isn’t an interrogation. This is you trying to pick apart what’s left of someone you used to know.”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “This is me trying to figure out whether the person I used to trust is still in there.”

Your gaze snapped to his.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t break.

But you saw it.

That same flicker he used to show you, late in training when he couldn’t hide how much he hung on every word you said. That look when he fought with Wolffe over who got to spar with you first. That silence after you left Kamino without saying goodbye.

“I trained you to be a good soldier,” you muttered. “Not to sit behind a desk and spit Senate lines.”

“I became a good soldier because of you,” he shot back. “But you left before you could see it.”

Silence settled again.

He dropped the datapad to the table and leaned back in his chair. “Do you even care who you’re working for these days?”

You smirked, tired. “You want me to say I regret it. But I don’t think you’d believe me if I did.”

Fox stood abruptly. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He moved to leave—then hesitated, fingers flexing at his side. He looked back once, gaze sharp and unreadable.

“We’re not done.”

You lifted your brow. “Didn’t think we were.”

He stared at you another heartbeat longer.

Then left.

The door hissed closed behind him.

And still, his questions lingered.

⸻

It was past midnight, but Coruscant never slept.

The holding cell lights were dim, humming faintly above your head. You sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on your knees, staring through the thick transparisteel wall like you could still see stars.

Your wrists ached from the manacles.

Your chest ached from everything else.

When the door hissed open, you didn’t look.

You already knew who it was.

He stepped inside, slow and careful—like maybe if he moved too quickly, he’d change his mind and leave.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you said quietly.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Figured.”

You turned your head. Wolffe was still in full armor, helmet off, but the tension in his shoulders was more than battlefield wear.

He stepped closer but didn’t sit. He just looked at you. Like he hadn’t had the chance to really see you until now.

“You really left,” he said.

You huffed a breath. “You mean Kamino?”

He nodded once.

“Jango warned me,” you said. “Told me not to mess with the assets.”

His jaw clenched. “You weren’t messing with us.”

“Weren’t I?”

Wolffe looked down, quiet for a moment. Then:

“We would’ve followed you anywhere.”

The silence between you cracked open—raw, vulnerable.

“I couldn’t stay,” you whispered. “Not after that. Not when I knew I was screwing with your heads. You and Fox were fighting over a ghost. I was your first crush, not your future.”

“You were more than that.”

“No,” you said gently. “I was just the one who got away.”

Wolffe looked like he wanted to argue. Wanted to reach out. But he stayed exactly where he was, arms stiff at his sides.

“You’re going to be court-martialed,” you said with a dry smile. “Visiting the prisoner. Real scandal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You always did. That’s what made you a good soldier.”

He didn’t reply to that. Just let the silence stretch.

Finally, you asked, “So what happens now?”

Wolffe’s eyes hardened—not cold, but braced. “You’re staying. Senate wants answers. GAR wants a scapegoat.”

“And you?”

“I want—”

He stopped himself.

You sat up straighter. “Say it.”

He exhaled, jaw flexing, voice low. “I want you to walk out of here. I want you on my squad, back where you belong. I want to forget you ever left.”

You didn’t look away.

“I want to stop wondering if we ever meant anything to you.”

You stepped toward the barrier between you.

Then the comm in his vambrace flared to life.

“—Commander Wolffe, this is General Koon. We’re wheels up in five. Rendezvous at Pad D-17.”

He didn’t answer it. Just looked at you.

“I guess that’s your cue,” you said, trying to smile. “Duty first.”

“Always.”

But this time, he didn’t move.

He just stared at you like maybe—just maybe—he’d stay.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you said. “I made my bed. I’ll lie in it.”

He nodded slowly. “You always did sleep like hell anyway.”

You laughed once. It hurt.

“I’ll see you again,” he said finally.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Another call came through. Urgent.

He stepped back, slow, deliberate, like every footfall cost him.

You stood alone behind the transparisteel wall.

And he left without another word.

Because he was a commander.

And you were the one who got away.

#clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars headcanons #clone trooper wolffe #commander wolffe fluff #commander wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #commander wolffe #commander fox #commander fox x reader #tcw fox #commander cody #commander bly #commander neyo

29 notes · View notes

dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months ago

Note

Fox. Stockings. I won't ever be the same.

Out of curiosity, would he want his partner to put them on while he watches? Or would he want to be surprised?

I’m so glad you asked, Alli! I’ve never opened a blank doc as fast in my life as I did when I saw this.

In the Matter of Marshal Commander Fox vs. the Stocking Kink, the Court Finds the Defendant Filthy.

A/N: Great news! The insomnia thotting hours are back. Now if I can just harness them to finish my WIPs.

Pairing: Fox x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; blatant misuse of diplomatic privileges; workplace sex; stocking kink; allusions to bondage and knife play; slight exhibitionism/voyeurism/objectification; minor predator/prey dynamic; oral sex; masturbation; spanking; cum marking; quiet dom!Fox.

Summary: Marshal Commander Fox requires your assistance.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Jasmin et Cigarette by État Libre D’Orange (condoms and cigarette smoke)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

You’d been reviewing the finer details of a proposed Senate bill for more hours than you could remember. The words seemed to shift and pulse before your gritty eyes, but you were in too deep to notice that you’d reread the same paragraph three times and still didn’t grasp its underlying meaning. A brief knock startled you out of your hyperfocus, and you glanced up from your datapad just as your aide leaned into the room.

“Sorry to bother you, Senator, but a priority delivery just arrived from the Coruscant Guard headquarters. It has a diplomatic seal. I thought you'd want to know right away.”

The kriff?

“You are absolutely correct. Thank you.”

The aide set the parcel on your desk and withdrew, discreetly closing the door on the way out of your office. You took a moment to stretch and yawn before you picked up the pouch and inspected it curiously. It wasn’t the seal that was unusual; the embassy received dozens of such secure deliveries every day. Nor was it unusual for you to receive missives from the Corries: security alerts; logistical updates; requests for information which you routinely ignored, to the chagrin of the Marshal Commander. But a diplomatically sealed delivery from the Coruscant Guard itself? That was unusual.

You broke the seal and dumped out the contents: an official memorandum printed on actual paper, and a small, plain envelope. Damn. If it’s sensitive enough to need to be printed instead of sent as a holo, my day is about to get complicated. You picked up the memo, clenching your jaw as you read the heading.

TO: Senior Representative, Planet Haneli FROM: Marshal Commander Fox, Coruscant Guard SUBJECT: Notice of Compulsory Testimony Under the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act #192358691 Senator, Due to the Haneli embassy’s persistent lack of cooperation in regards to my repeated official requests for information in the matter of CSF-32610/CG-854201, I have no recourse but to invoke ESEA. Please report to my office tonight at 2100 hours for debriefing. Failure to comply will result in your immediate arrest and detention, and an official investigation will be opened into the matter of your obstructive actions. I trust those steps will be unnecessary. Regards, Marshal Commander Fox

I’m going to murder him. I’m going to make him eat this goddamned sheet of flimsi. I’m going to—wait, what’s in the envelope?

Your hands shook with rage as you tore it open. Inside, you found a brief handwritten note and—you froze, mouth dropping open with shock as you stared wide-eyed at the item inside. Holy Force. You glanced at the clock. Kark, kark, kark. Eight o’clock already. I need to leave now.

You sent a terse comm to your aide to notify your driver that you would require transport immediately, then grabbed the memo and the rest of the delivery, made a quick stop at the refresher, and hurried out of your office. Traffic was kriffed, and you barely made it to the Corrie Guard HQ in time. Luckily, the Commander appeared to have notified his men that you were expected, because nobody stopped you as you strode through the corridors to his office, propelled by adrenaline.

You smacked the control panel to open his door, marched to his desk, and slapped the memo down in front of him.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“Senator, he replied mildly. “So good of you to join me.”

“You didn’t give me much choice,” you snapped. “Threatening to arrest me? Really, Commander?”

He tapped a button on his vambrace, and the door slid shut behind you, beeping softly as it locked. “That was only half of my message. Did you read the rest?”

“Oh, I read it,” you replied in a dangerous tone. “Every single word.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to repeat myself.”

He stood and moved out from behind his desk. He walked deliberately, purposely invading your space, but you refused to back down. Once he was close enough that his chestplate nearly brushed against you, he stopped and removed his helmet and gloves, meeting your eyes with a hint of a smile.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” he murmured, stroking his knuckles lightly across your cheek.

“Thanks, it’s the looming incarceration. Really brings out my eyes.”

He laughed quietly and threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of your skull. He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment before his lips met yours softly. “You didn’t really think I’d arrest you, did you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had me in binders.”

“Nor the last. But I have something else in mind tonight.”

“So I gathered,” you murmured, kissing him again and again as you began to unbuckle his armor. “Any particular reason we had to do this in your office instead of at the embassy in my lovely and very clean bed?”

“My office is clean.”

Your gaze dropped pointedly to a suspicious stain on the carpet.

“Mostly,” he added.

“If it’s an office hookup you’re after, we could have used mine. It has a sofa, you know. Very roomy. Very soft.”

“No good,” he replied as his lips traveled down your throat. “Has to be here. That way every time I look at my desk, I can remember what you look like spread out on it.”

“Fair enough.” You eased open the seal of his undersuit and pushed it off his shoulders, pausing for a moment to admire the view. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. I’ll never get over you.”

He rumbled in approval as you trailed your hands over his exposed skin, tracing the scars—both familiar and new—and lines of ink.

“What happened here?” you asked, flicking your tongue over a recently healed scar on his shoulder.

“Trando bounty hunter. It’s a boring story.”

“I doubt that,” you replied dryly.

“It was only a scratch, my love,” he murmured. “A bit of plastcrete shrapnel. No need to give me that look.”

“No doubt they gave you another medal for your display case.”

“Not this time,” he chuckled. “But it’s a good story to tell the shinies.”

“You take too many risks.”

“And you’re stalling,” he said in a low voice. “Take it off.”

“Take what off?” you asked, the very picture of innocence.

“Take it off,” he repeated, trailing his fingertips along your neckline. “I want to see you.”

“Say please.”

His fingertips reached the bottom of your neckline and slid beneath the fabric to caress between your breasts. He lowered his face to your shoulder, then grazed his nose along your neck, breathing in your scent before he whispered, “Take off the goddamned dress before I cut it off you.”

You inhaled sharply as your heart began to pound. That was tempting. Very tempting. But the thought of leaving Corrie HQ in nothing but the tattered remains of your senatorial robe was enough to persuade you to choose the wiser option. You began to unbutton the garment slowly.

Fox drew back to lean against his desk, intently watching the progress of your hands as they descended, revealing a hint more skin with each button that opened. At last, you reached the final button and allowed the gown to fall to the floor, fully exposed to his gaze and wearing nothing but the shimmersilk stockings he’d sent in the diplomatic pouch.

His eyes traveled lazily down your body, taking in the sight of you. All the oxygen seemed to disappear from the room. Your skin prickled with awareness, and for an instant, you felt like a prey animal caught in the grip of a dangerous predator. You swallowed as your pulse began to race, but you forced yourself not to cover your vulnerability in the face of his intense scrutiny.

“Turn around,” he ordered quietly.

You complied, resisting the temptation to look back over your shoulder at his reaction. He moved without a sound, and you nearly flinched when his hand slid around your hip and down your thigh, feeling the sheer, satiny fabric that stretched over your flesh. His breath ghosted over your shoulder, soft and warm, triggering a shudder of desire that raced down your spine.

“You did just as I asked,” he murmured, gliding his other hand up your abdomen to cup your breast, squeezing your nipple softly between two fingers.

“Your note was extremely clear,” you replied.

I don’t want to see anything but these when I get you out of that dress tonight. —F.

“And for once, you followed my orders,” he said. His lips grazed along your jaw. “I think that deserves a reward.”

He pulled you back against his body so you could feel his erection grinding against your ass through the stockings. He stroked back up your thigh and between your legs, and when he reached your pussy, he let out a low groan. “Fuck, love, you’ve soaked through them.”

“In my defense,” you said breathlessly, “I had plenty of time to speculate about what you were planning on my drive over.”

The soft puff of his laugh was warm against your skin, and he began to kiss a slow trail down your spine as he knelt behind you. When he reached your ass, he nuzzled against it, rubbing his face over the shimmersilk, kissing and nibbling, taking the fabric between his teeth and letting it snap back against your skin.

“So good for me,” he whispered. “Such a sweet little thing.”

He turned you around, guiding you with his hands on your hips until you stood facing him. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him on his knees for you, gazing up at you with naked desire in his eyes.

“Spread your legs for me, darling. I want to taste you.”

“Who am I to disobey the Marshal Commander?” you asked, your cheeky tone slightly less than convincing thanks to the noticeable rasp in your voice.

He shot you a lopsided grin, and then his hands slid up the backs of your thighs to grip your ass and pull you against his face.

“Fuck!” you gasped as his tongue slid over the gossamer fabric that covered your pussy.

He let out a soft, choked moan as he finally tasted you. The sensation was strange. It felt almost like a tease: you could feel every movement of his lips and tongue over your skin, but it was muted, subdued by the delicate layer between the two of you. His hands roamed greedily over your legs, massaging your flesh, tugging at the stockings, feeling the smooth, satiny fabric.

Abruptly, he pulled away and stood, gripping you by the waist and spinning you around to sit on his desk. He kissed you hard and deeply, then pressed your shoulders back until you were lying down with your legs dangling over the edge. He knelt once again and kissed a path up the inside of your leg until he reached the top of your thigh, then his hands slid up and tugged down the waistband just far enough for his tongue to plunge into you.

Tightening your legs around his head, you let out a hoarse whimper. A deep, satisfied rumble vibrated from his mouth into you as you writhed beneath him. Your fingers found their way into his hair, twining and tugging. All the while, his hands never ceased to explore and tease and play with you, gliding over your thighs as he reveled in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He sucked and kissed and licked and teased, working you inexorably toward your orgasm, until at last your thighs locked and you clamped your hand over your mouth to muffle your scream of pleasure. With a grunt of displeasure, he reached up and tugged your hand away so he could hear you. He worked you through your climax as your body thrashed, and when you finally collapsed against the desk in exhaustion, he stood to lean over you, kissing you deeply, the taste of you still on his tongue.

“Let me come on your ass,” he whispered.

You nodded shakily, too spent to speak. He helped you to stand, then bent you forward over the desk and pulled the waistband of your stockings back up. His cock prodded against your thigh, and he took a moment to press and rub it against your ass through the shimmersilk before he began to stroke himself in a firm, steady rhythm. His cock and hand nudged against you with every movement, and his other hand squeezed and slapped your ass roughly. A deep groan tore from him, and his breath grew loud and ragged as his speed increased.

You heard a sharp gasp, and then the hot spurt of his cum splattered across your ass and back. A shudder wracked your body, and you desperately wished you could see his face as he pumped his cock until he had nothing left to give. With a soft grunt, he fell forward, catching himself on the desk with one hand just before he would have landed on you.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he panted. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, covered in my cum.”

He trailed his fingertips through the mess on your back, and then flattened his palm and smeared it across your skin, drawing an appreciative hum from you. Rolling over onto your side, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. He melted against you, tucking his face into your shoulder.

“This desk is hard as kriff,” he mumbled. “I’m beginning to see a flaw in my plan.”

You laughed quietly. “Sofa is sounding pretty appealing right now, is it?”

“Mm. Next time.”

“I can’t wait to see what excuse you fabricate to throw my staff off the scent when that happens.”

“If your staff are anything like mine, they’ve already figured it out.” He kissed your shoulder and moved down your chest to suck gently at your nipple.

You brushed your hand up his back and neck to cradle his head against you. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you were abusing the diplomatic seal to send me lingerie and overbearing demands for a hookup.”

“They’d either applaud my ingenuity or have me stripped of rank,” he chuckled. “I should get you cleaned up. As soon as my legs start working again.”

Later, after he helped you back into your gown, he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. You leaned into his embrace, relaxing against his body with a tired yawn.

“That was a thorough debriefing, Commander,” you murmured. “I hope I was able to satisfy your curiosity.”

“For the moment,” he replied. “But the case is still open. I might need you again soon. Very soon.”

“Mm,” you smiled. “I’m sure the Haneli embassy will be happy to cooperate in any way you deem necessary.”

“Trying to avoid arrest, my love?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential diplomatic information.”

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @flo-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @somewhere-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned @heidnspeak @maniacalbooper @kimiheartblade

@vrycurious @thora-sniper

#commander fox #commander fox x reader #star wars #the clone wars #tcw fanfic #dystopicjumpsuit writes

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ghostofskywalker · 2 months ago

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i did a clone fic rec list a while ago, but i thought that a second edition to that would be a nice thing to add to my clone-uary event. i still have some requests that i'm working through from it, but it was great to go back through my old reblogged recs and work through some of the stuff that's been sitting in my "marked for later" for an embarrassingly long time ��

the link to the fic itself is from whatever platform i read the work on! clone names and fic names are in alphabetical order, and if an ao3 author did not mention a tumblr username on their profile or in the notes of their fic i didn't tag anyone.

key:

a ☀️ means the link is for tumblr

a 🌙 means the link is for ao3

a 💫 means the fic was a gift for me in a @cloneficgiftexchange event (as my previous rec list pre-dates the first exchange!)

Cody:

Roses Are Red and Violets Are... Orange? by Emerald_Hills 🌙

Somewhere to Start by @cioneo ☀️

The Way You Look Tonight by @miseries-mistress ☀️

Crosshair:

Hangin' on the Telephone by TeaTime4BeeTime 🌙

Shy General by @stellarbit 🌙

Snowfall by @happy-beeeps ☀️

Take Me Out by @masterjedilenawrites ☀️💫

Unspoken Confessions by @crosshairlovebot ☀️

Echo:

A Wonderful Life Day by @apocalyp-tech-a 🌙

My Heart is Yours, and so are my Brother's by @ireadwithmyears 🌙

Not Alone by @mylifeisactuallyamess ☀️

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice by @melliejellybellybean ☀️💫

Fives:

Attempt Seventeen by @kyzyner 🌙

"Have we met?" by @goosewriting 🌙

Lucky Number Five by @isaidonyourknees 🌙

Fox:

Best Place to Sleep by @clone-anon 🌙

Let The Sun In by @exxasperatedauthor ☀️💫

Howzer:

The Heart of a Senator by @eclec-tech 🌙

Hunter:

Crash Landing by sparkofsaryndipity 🌙

don't go by @221bshrlocked 🌙

Something Borrowed, Something Blue by @dreamie411 🌙

Jesse:

A Night to Remember by @toomanybandstocare ☀️

Mischief & Mistletoe by @jetii ☀️💫

The Hand You're Dealt by AyicanPrincess 🌙

Kix:

Kickstart my Heart by @happy-beeeps ☀️

Lieutenant Levendy and the Case of the Haunted Supply Room by @orbitalmirror 🌙

Stay For A While by ImogenInSpringtime 🌙

Rex:

Confessions by @corrieguards ☀️

Kiss it Better by @honeydjarin 🌙

playing pretend by @captn-trex ☀️

Snowed In by @captainsophiestark ☀️

Tech:

Analytical Artistry by BlackLothWolf 🌙

Circumstance by @captainpains ☀️

half a heart (without you) by @starboytech ☀️

Wolffe:

Handcuffed by @masterjedilenawrites ☀️💫

talkative by @sinfulsalutations 🌙

Unexpected Confession by @ladysongmaster 🌙

#ghostofskywalker.cloneuary #ghostofskywalker.recs #commander cody x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb echo x reader #fives x reader #commander fox x reader #howzer x reader #tbb hunter x reader #arc trooper jesse x reader #kix x reader #captain rex x reader #tbb tech x reader #commander wolffe x reader

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merlincmgirl · 1 year ago

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Just A Bit Of Contraband

Word Count: 1651

Reader: Gender Neutral

Summary: You really did just want to help Fox and his brothers, but maybe there's a better way than sneaking around the Senate building at night.

Author's Note: This is the first time I've written for Fox, so I hope it's okay. And mention of annoying little shit of a brother Thorn!

Cyare - beloved, love

Osik'la - messed up, screwed up, horrible

Sneaking into the Senate building was no small feat and you were beyond lucky that most, if not all the Senators and staff had gone home for the night. You were on a mission. A very important mission to help the Coruscant Guards do their jobs during this terrible war. Up ahead of you was the room that you had arranged to meet your contact in. It had been in a room you had been in only once or twice, only for a few minutes and never on your own. You just hoped that it would be empty now. Tapping open the button to let you in, you were glad to see that your contact was already there, pressed to the back of the room and hiding in the shadows himself.

“I’ve got the stuff” you whispered, sneaking towards the figure in the break room. Commander Thorn only sighed in relief, stepping forward into the light that filtered through the small window that let it in from the corridor outside. Carefully, he quickly examined the small packages that you handed to him.

“These are perfect. You don’t realise how much we’ll need this. Senate’s holding a fundraiser, security is going to be a nightmare. You know Fox is going to have a field day” Thorn complained, slipping the packs into his belt as much as he could.

“Anything I can do to support the war effort, Commander” you replied cheekily, pulling more packages out of your bag.

The light flickered on overhead as the door slid open, revealing none other but Marshall Commander Fox himself.

“Cyare? What are you doing here?” Fox’s modulated voice came through his helmet’s speakers. You squeaked, unable to do anything but hide the packages behind your back. It wasn’t the smartest of moves, not in the least because it made you look more guilty than you were. Even through his helmet you could still feel Thorn’s side eye but you ignored him.

“Nothing! I was just waiting for you!” you excused, a shaky smile spread over your face. Maker! You could lie as well as the clones it would seem.

“Thorn? What’s going on?” Fox demanded, turning to his vod who was shuffling the packages onto the clip of his belt behind him. There was less patience in his voice now for his fellow commander, and Thorn seemed to sense that like all little brothers could.

“Fox! I was just telling your cyare that you’re probably going to be working late because of the security detail” Thorn stated, and if you hadn’t had known any better, you would have believed him. Well, perhaps you were a worse liar than a clone.

Fox hummed, coming up closer to you and standing in front of you, arms crossed across his chest and helmet tilted down to give you an analysing look. “Hand it over” he instructed, hand outstretched and expecting.

“What?” you cried, floundering for a second at how quick he was to figure you out. You should have known really, Fox could read you like an open book any day of the week.

Fox didn’t even need to look over to Thorn to know that he was trying to slide away from the pair of lovers and closer to the exit. Almost like if he tried to stay out of Fox’s line of sight then he’d be free to escape. “Stay!” he growled head not even turning in his direction, and you couldn’t help but gape at Thorn’s retreating form.

“Thorn! What about we’re in this together?” you gasped, annoyed at the Commander who was so ready to high-tail it out of this situation.

“Sorry vod’ika, but you’re more likely to get out of this than me! I’m not going to be stuck on patrol in the lowest levels again for a week!” Thorn protested, holding up his hands in surrender.

Fox let out a warning call of your name and you winced, before slumping against the counter that was digging into your back. “Alright, alright, but please don’t be mad. We were only trying to help” you sighed, handing over the packet that you had been hiding in your bag. It crinkled in Fox’s grip as you shuffled around nervously on your feet in front of him. You were unsure how he would react.

“Alderaanian caf beans?” Fox frowned, unable to believe that this was what you were sneaking into the Coruscant Guard Headquarters. He had wondered what you and his idiotic brother could be up to, but he didn’t think you would be sneaking in contraband caf beans. What the hell were you two up to?

“Please don’t be mad. I know you’re always telling me that I shouldn’t be wasting my credits on you and that it’s not my responsibility to keep you sane and awake at 4am. But I wanted to do something to help. You haven’t slept for the past 3 days, and I haven’t seen you in nearly as long. And I’m not complaining but I want to make sure you’re okay. And Thorn was telling me that you hadn’t been taking any breaks and Palpatine was being a kriffing shithead and I was worried” you hurried to explain, chest tightening as you worried that Fox would hate you for interfering with his job as the Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guards.

Thorn winced at that, ignoring the glare that his older brother shot his way. He knew he would be getting into shit for telling you exactly what Fox was getting up to when you weren’t there. Especially not looking after himself. You were always telling Fox he needed to look after himself more. Take more rest, eat food that wasn’t rations and drink something that wasn’t caf every now and again.

“So I thought maybe making sure that you had some decent caf would help, you know, keep you awake for all the awful shit Palpatine is no doubt going to put you through because he’s the worst, and really he should be shot. And if you need volunteers, then I’ll be the first in line to shoot that motherf-” you rambled on, before Fox slid a hand over your mouth; before he or someone else heard any more and would have to arrest you for some ridiculous shit like treason.

Seeming to take a breath and stop rambling, you looked up at Fox, waiting for his reaction.

“You, get out of here. I’ll deal with you later” Fox ordered his brother, who sent you a quick thumbs up and ran out of the break room. “You… you should be careful what you say cyare. Who knows who’s listening in this building” he sighed, taking off his helmet with his other hand and settling on your waist. “Can I let go now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. Accepting your rolling eyes and nod of agreement, he let the hand slip down and squeeze your other hip.

“Are you mad?” you whispered, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry with you. It wasn’t like you were sneaking around for your own benefit. You truly did want to help Fox and his brothers out.

“Course I’m not mad, I’m just worried, cyare. Sneaking around the Senate building after dark, breaking at least a dozen security laws and protocols and making me think we had a thief breaking into the barracks was not the best decision you’ve ever made Cyare. I dread to think what you could do if you had more resources. But it can’t happen again, do you understand me?” Fox rebuked, gripping onto your waist and bringing you into him as close as he could get you. It wasn’t like any reprimand he’d ever given to his men, but sneaking around Senate and GAR buildings were a sure way to find trouble. Trouble he may not always be able to get you out of. It worried him too much to think of you hurt.

“I understand, I’m sorry Fox. I just wanted to make things better for you and your brothers. I know you haven’t been sleeping well, I just thought this might be able to help better than the mud water that they serve you” you sighed, biting your lip and resting your hands on the cool plastoid of his armour.

Fox cupped your face, bringing you up to look into his dark, expressive eyes. They held exhaustion, worry and no small amount of love. Being able to see him clearer now without his helmet always took your breath away. His greying hair at the temples fell across his face in soft curls, the scars that ran across his nose was slightly lighter than his usual tan tone. Maker he was beautiful, and you would tell him that every single day until he believed you. Shaking his head at whatever he could see on your face, he let out a small smile, thumb rubbing softly against your cheekbone. “Even if you shouldn’t be wasting your credits on us, and it’s the Republic’s responsibility to fund our caf addictions to keep this osik’la planet safe and running, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your big heart, taking care of me and my men” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to yours to silence any reply.

“Now, how about we go back to yours and I can show you just how thankful I have to have a cyar’ika like you looking after me?” he hummed, resting his forehead against yours.

“That sounds perfect to me, Commander” you smiled, pushing his curls away from his face and leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his own lips. He just grinned, tucking the packet of caf beans into his belt before grabbing his helmet and pulling you out of the break room. After all, he was due a break and Thorn would cover for him.

#commander fox x reader #commander fox #star wars #star wars x reader #commander fox x you #the clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #star wars tcw #coruscant guard #commander thorn #marshal commander fox #marshal commander fox x reader

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meshla-cyarika · 1 year ago

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forced to live in 2024, born to be a GAR bunk bunny 😔

#sergeant hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #Captain rex x reader #arc trooper jesse x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #commander fox x reader #commander cody x reader #commander wolffe x reader #Commander bly x reader #kix x reader #the bad batch #Tbb #Captain howzer x reader #Captain Gregor x reader #clone trooper kix x reader #clone troopers x reader

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captn-trex · 7 months ago

Text

read between the lines

Fox x F!Reader

word count: 8.1k

description: the library is your favourite place to escape to when the galaxy gets too loud, and it just so happens to be the same for a certain marshal commander

warnings: sfw, fox being anxious & being frustrated about it, nervous (kinda non-sensical) ramblings from fox's pov incl. self-deprecating comments (basically projecting my anxiety onto him oops), but it ends cute and nerdy :)

a/n: really wanted to write a fox fic after seeing this post by @welcometo79s about fox being an introvert - I thought the idea was super interesting so here we have an anxious lil fox :) I could yap so much more but my notes are always too long so I'm gonna shut up

Going to the library was one of your favourite pastimes. Especially on a planet like Coruscant, which never seemed to slow down.

You had discovered this little corner of the planet years ago, and you spent more time here than you cared to admit. There were a number of libraries of Coruscant, but none of them as quiet and authentic as this one. You had truly struck gold in finding it, entirely by accident.

The feel of a real book, the feel of flimsi between your fingers, was an experience you relished in this technological day and age. You didn't have anything against technology, it was an integral part of your life and job after all, but holding something so precious and unique in your hands was something else entirely.

This particular library was not very large, though boasted an impressive catalogue of titles nonetheless. You loved curling up by the heater on cold evenings, in one specific cosy red armchair. It was a little more hidden, a reading nook of sorts, and it made the experience feel all the more special. Just you and a book, the outside world, the war, slipping from your mind easily.

In the last few weeks, there was a new regular that had started coming. At first, you were alarmed, his bright red armour alerting you to the fact that he belonged to the Coruscant Guard, but when he picked up a book and settled himself in a window seat, you had relaxed.

You had to admit, you found yourself watching him quite a lot. After a number of times seeing him, you had figured out exactly who he was. It was entirely surprising to you that the Commander of the Coruscant Guard frequented such a place, though he always walked in as if it was exactly where he should be, so you came to respect that.

Going to the library had become part of your daily routine, spending your evenings there as it was much quieter than spending them in your apartment. The people you lived with were particularly loud, not to mention the noise of the city outside the window. However, in the weeks that Commander Fox had begun to do the same thing, you found your reason for going shifting.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by him. You were always too far away to see what he was reading, and he never took his helmet off. You wondered how he could read through it, but you presumed that if it had been made for battle then a book probably wouldn't be a problem.

One day, as he was leaving, you noticed him acting a little odd. He peered around to see if anyone was looking his way, not noticing you at all, and then he pocketed a stylus that the person who sat there before him had left. You smirked, watching him leave the library with a little extra hurriedness to his steps. After that, you decided that you needed to know what it was he was reading all this time, your intrigue finally becoming strong enough.

When you entered the library the next day, he was already sat in his regular seat, one leg stretched out on the seat and the other foot planted on the ground. He held the book in one hand, the other absentmindedly playing with the stylus that he had stolen the previous day. You found the book you had been reading, and made your way towards his position, your stomach turning just a little.

The window bay that he sat in was reasonably large, with a wooden frame and covered with pillows. You made your way to the opposite side from him and took your seat. His head raised from his book quickly in surprise, and you offered him a smile, before opening up your book and finding where you had left it.

Unbeknownst to you, and contrary to your own thoughts, Fox had noticed you. It was hard not to; you were here everyday, and he found you to be distracting, to say the least. He had often watched you sneaking glances at him, the secrecy afforded by his helmet allowing his cheeks to heat up without detection. It was the reason he rarely took his helmet off really, he didn't want anybody to he able to read him, he had a hard enough time conveying his thoughts through words without people watching him try to do it.

Fox had always been somewhat of an introvert, a stark contrast to his brothers. He didn't know how he had ended up not sharing in his brothers’ natural outgoing demeanour, but it was something that affected him constantly. He managed to have a commanding presence and confidence in his work through his rigorous training on Kamino, and he now had enough experience in his role that it felt safe, natural. Though at the end of a long day, when his brothers went out to 79s, he much preferred to be by himself. He craved so deeply to have his own space, and finding this library recently had afforded him some semblance of that.

Fox drew his knee up towards his chest so that he wasn't invading any of your personal space, despite the feeling that that was exactly what you had just done to him. He watched you from behind his visor, intrigued and confused. You didn't look up from your book once, leafing through the pages gradually as you took in the information on them. You were reading something non-fiction, something to do with theories about wild space and beyond. Somehow that surprised Fox - he didn't know what he expected you to be reading but it wasn't that. After his heart had stopped racing at the thought of having to talk to someone, he let his eyes drift back to his own book.

For the entirety of the evening, you didn't talk to Fox, nor did you so much as look at him. He found it to be equally relieving and maddening. He was glad that you both seemed to just be enjoying each other's presence without the need for conversation, but he couldn't understand why you had joined him.

He knew his armour made him stand out among the civilians, and usually people seemed to be scared of him because of it, as if he would arrest them for looking at him the wrong way. It was a blessing and a curse. People left him alone, but he stood out nonetheless. He got what he wanted, but was constantly being perceived in ways he didn't know as he did.

He wondered what your angle was.

When he had seen you watching him, he had initially thought it was for the same reason: that you were scared of him. However, he soon realised that you looked at him with no contempt, no ill-will, and now that you had come and sat yourself within his presence, he was even more interested to know what was going on in your head.

After a number of hours - he had lost count how many - he noticed you rising from your seat. You placed down the cushion that you had set in your lap as you read, and cast a glance over to him. With how he had rested his book in his lap and looked up, it was obvious he was looking at you, and you gave him another sweet smile.

He was overtaken by the need to speak with you. Your kind gestures seemed to be an obvious response to the way he was acting, and that you were respecting the fact that he didn't want to talk. Unfortunately, before he could work up the courage, you had gone back over to the bookshelf and put the book back in its place, leaving shortly thereafter.

Fox sighed audibly, and it came out as a small hiss through the filter of his helmet. Despite liking his own space, he had enjoyed having someone else with him, just sitting in silence while you both focused on your own things. He didn't have that kind of interaction with any of his brothers, they were often far too excitable for him.

He loved his brothers dearly, they meant a lot to him, but being around them all of the time tired him out, and sometimes it was nice to get away from them. He found himself thinking that perhaps he didn't always have to do it by himself. Perhaps it was possible to spend time with someone who didn't drain his energy. Someone like you.

When Fox arrived at the library the next day, you were already there, sat in your regular seat. He watched you for a moment, the corners of your lips lifting as you read something from your book. You looked so kind, so approachable. He didn’t feel as though you were trying to draw him in in any particular way, at least not in a way that would ordinarily have him feeling flustered. It didn't seem that you sought anything that would draw him out of his comfort zone at all. With that in mind, he just truly felt like indulging in your simple company once more, and so he did.

He approached the corner of the library where you were slightly hidden away, and he settled himself in the armchair opposite you. You looked up to watch him do so, and smiled warmly when his visor turned towards you. The crinkles at the edges of your eyes gave away how pleased you were that he had decided to join you, and he relaxed a little, his body moulding into the chair as he opened up his book.

As you had the previous day, you both engrossed yourselves in your books. The worries of today and tomorrow washed away and you just soaked up the words on the page. You were curled up in your chair, a cushion held to your stomach as you often did, whereas Fox had his legs outstretched, one over the other, his hand tucked under his arm as the other held his book. You were both just comfortable.

As the day wound to a close, you flicked your eyes to the clock, and thought that you best be getting home.

Fox watched you raise from your seat, placing the cushion back onto it neatly. His stomach lurched a little, once again feeling the urge to speak to you. He felt exceedingly stupid as he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he was floundering for something, anything to say.

“Wait!” He heard himself say, a little louder than he would've liked, especially for in a library. You turned back to him, your eyes finding his visor as you waited for him to continue.

Fox's brain drew a blank. He couldn't think let alone speak right now. However, you just gave him a patient smile, not expecting anything. It calmed his mind enough to ask a simple question.

“What's your name?”

Your smile grew a little before you replied, you voice even more kindly than he could have imagined - soft, yet assured. He couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth raise a little under his helmet. After a moment, he realised that you weren't asking his name, and his smile dropped, slightly panicking for something to say again. He would've given anything to be as outgoing as his brothers at this very moment, or any subsequent one.

“Well” You cleared your throat as he just looked up at you, and a small smirk wound its way onto your face. “I suppose I'll see you around, Commander Fox” You gave him a little mock salute as you turned away.

Fox could feel his cheeks burning, his mind now in overdrive. You knew who he was the whole time? Somehow he felt especially embarrassed more than anything, and slumped back into his chair with a huff. What was he supposed to say to you now? How much did you know about him? If you knew who he was, why did you sit with him? And why didn't you say anything?

Endless questions swirled around in his head, stopping him from enjoying his book for the rest of the evening. Even as he tried to sleep in his bunk, all he could do was stare up at the ceiling, his cheeks still burning as he thought of how stupid he must've sounded asking your name and sitting by you, when you knew exactly who he was.

He desperately wanted to know what you thought of him. Surely if you knew his name then you'd know other things about him? But what did you know? Had you heard that he was somewhat removed or lonely and thought he could use a friend? Because that would be positively mortifying.

Fox ran a hand over his face. He shouldn't be thinking like this. For all that he avoided them, he cared far too much what people thought of him. He wished he could stop doing that.

Fox had thought about not going to the library the next day, but after a long talk with himself in the mirror, he decided that it didn't matter what you thought of him, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what he had come to know as his little corner of the galaxy.

He was already there when you arrived, as you had come a bit later than usual. That had only struck Fox with an unpleasant feeling in his gut, but he wasn't going to let on.

You slowly approached his window seat with your book tucked in your hands. His head didn’t raise until you spoke.

“Is it alright if I sit with you?”

Fox's head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his eyes a little wide behind his visor. He elected not to speak, and instead nodded his head and gestured vaguely to the other side of the window.

Unlike the last couple of days, Fox was positively unfocused on his book. It was maddening, all he wanted to do was relax, especially after his sleepless night and the stack of flimsiwork that had awaited him on his desk this morning. He couldn't be so lucky, you had to go and distract him. Of course it wasn't your fault, and Fox knew that, he was just annoyed that he couldn't shut his mind off for once second. Ever.

After around 45 minutes had passed, and Fox had finally settled into reading his book, he noticed you watching him, and he internally groaned. He had just started relaxing.

He raised his head to let you know he saw you looking at him, and you smiled warmly before speaking.

“Can I ask you a question?”

That made him nervous, the slight anticipation making his head nod quickly to release it.

“Is your helmet comfortable?” You asked, resting your book in your lap.

Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn't that.

“Uh… yeah, it's fine” He replied awkwardly.

“Cool” You nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and opened your book back up.

Fox just stared at you. Was there not any other reason for you asking that? Did you actually just want to know if his helmet was comfortable or not? Why couldn't he stop questioning your motivation for doing anything?

“How do you know my name?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

Your expression was sheepish when you looked back up at him again, and you fumbled slightly with your book, losing your page. You let out a small huff at that, “I don't know, I think everyone kind of knows who you are”

That was probably the worst reason you could have given. Fox cringed, his body folding in on itself fractionally even though he tried to stay rigid and strong.

He looked back down to his book and tried to read, but now it just felt like the awkward silence was swallowing him whole. He couldn't focus on the page, his mind swirling with various words that he tried to string together to reply to what you had said.

After a few minutes of that, Fox was fed up. He practically slammed his book closed and strutted over to the desk to return it, not looking back as he left.

The next night, you were still put out by the Commanders actions. You went to the library anyway, convinced that he probably wouldn't be going, that you had well and truly scared him off. You didn't know exactly why, or rather how, you had done it, but you could tell he'd been frustrated by it. You hadn't hardly said anything to him, but you supposed that you had managed to offend him in those few short words.

Thankfully, it soon slipped from your mind as you curled your legs into your chest and dove into the new book you had picked up today.

If Fox had been embarrassed by you knowing who he was, he was positively beside himself with mortification now. He had blocked it out the entire day, holing up in his ‘office’ and burying himself in his flimsiwork so he couldn't possibly let another thought into his head.

As it got to the end of the day, Fox couldn't stop watching the clock. Time was creeping along at a painfully slow pace, and that was as he was already staying late. It felt like torture, working late just to stop himself thinking. His brain was at maximum capacity, and all he wanted to do was rest.

“Commander” A voice called out, and Fox's head lifted slowly to see Thorn standing in front of his desk, “Maker, you look rough”

Fox scowled, “I thought I told you to knock”

“I vaguely remember you saying that…” Thorn said, a mocking grin growing with each word. “You do know this isn’t a door right?” He said, knocking on the wall that only vaguely separated Fox’s desk from the others.

Fox just rolled his eyes, “What do you want?”

“We're clocking out now, you fancy coming to 79s?” Thorn asked hopefully.

“You already know the answer” Fox looked down at his flimsiwork again.

Thorn huffed, “Come on vod, just this once?”

“I've got work to do” Fox replied.

“That's what you always say”

Fox gave Thorn a tired look, “Another time”

“You always say that as well” Thorn remarked.

Fox sighed aggressively, “Look, I'm really not in the mood for this tonight”

“Alright, alright” Thorn put his hands up in surrender, “I'll get you next time”

“I doubt it” Fox mumbled under his breath as his brother left.

He picked up his stylus. It was the one he had stolen from the library, or more accurately, whoever had left it at the library. He let a sigh escape him. It was filled with mixed emotions, positive memories of the library tinged by his own stupidity.

He twirled the stylus in his hand, manoeuvring it through his fingers. Maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world to go to the library, to seek the respite he so desperately desired. If you were there, he could just ignore you, it couldn't be that hard.

Once that thought had entered his mind and he'd let it grow for just a second, he rose to his feet, grabbing his helmet from the edge of his desk. When he stepped out of his corner, the chattering voices he could hear stopped, and the two remaining clones in the office looked towards him.

“Ah, Commander, you decided to join us after all” Thorn grinned.

“Uh, no. I’m going out” Fox replied, continuing to walk towards the door.

“Where to?” Stone asked, pushing himself from his desk.

“Just- out” Fox replied, much more rigidly than he would've liked. It sounded extremely suspicious coming out.

“Out? Like on a date?” Thorn asked.

“No!” Fox barked back, almost stopping in his place.

“Oh my god, you are” Stone’s expression turned to a broad grin as he dashed towards the door, stopping his brother from leaving.

“I'm not” Fox insisted, a sharp glare directed at Stone.

“You're blushing” He pointed out, which only intensified Fox’s glare. Stone pushed his brother's shoulder lovingly, “Aw vod, I'm so happy for you”

Fox rolled his eyes, pushing past his brother and grumbling to himself as he could hear the two of them laughing at his expense. He loved his brothers, but they really got on his last nerve sometimes.

When he got to the library, it was much later than he usually arrived, which the librarian commented on as he checked out his book. He just gave her a polite nod, not really pleased at his patterns being recognised.

He had planned to just ignore you, but when he saw you sitting in your usual seat, curled up and peaceful, reading your book as if you were the only two things in the galaxy, he couldn't help but feel drawn to you once more. He walked over to you in a few long strides, and cleared his throat. Your head shot up, eyes a little wide.

“Commander” You said, a little unsurely as it wasn't entirely clear if he wasn't upset with you or not. You couldn't tell from under the helmet.

“Please don't call me that” He replied in a somewhat affronted tone, though he must have seen how taken aback you were because he instantly backtracked, “I mean- No, just- Fox is fine, please”

“Okay then” You smiled, “Hi Fox”

Fox returned the smile, even though you couldn’t see it, “May I join you?”

You nodded, gesturing to the armchair opposite you. Fox sat down, leaning forward and clearly not finished speaking.

“I am… sorry, for leaving abruptly yesterday”

You couldn't stop your face from twitching with amusement, “You don't have to be sorry”

“Right… yeah” His hand snaked to the back of his neck on instinct as he spoke awkwardly.

“I do hope I didn't offend you though” You added, drawing your eyebrows together.

“Offend me?” Fox seemed genuinely confused.

“About… knowing who you are” You jogged his memory.

“Oh, no” Fox shook his head lightly. It had sent him spiralling, but you didn't need to know that.

“Good” You smiled sweetly and flicked your eyes back down to your book.

Fox watched you for a moment longer then opened his book, finding his place and continuing on.

What he liked the most about you, not that he knew much else, was that you seemed content just being in each other's space, and not needing to talk to fill the time. Talking wasn't his strong suit, it stressed him out at the best of times, even when he pretended it didn't. Particularly then, in fact. Somehow, without even communicating with each other verbally, this was the most meaningful connection he had shared with someone new in a long time. He didn't know that you thought that way too, but somehow he felt that you did.

Not too long later, the librarian came to tell you both that the library would be closing soon. Fox nodded and stood from his seat, but paused in going to hand his book back in when he realised you weren't moving. You hadn't even looked up from your book.

“Aren't you coming?” He questioned, his voice clearly showing his confusion.

You looked up to him, your lips curling into a smile, “I'm not quite done here yet”

Fox frowned, then sat back down opposite you, his knees spread and elbows leant against them, a stance he often took when questioning someone.

“You'll be chucked out by the librarian” He stated.

You shook your head gently, “I can be sneaky”

“Then you'll be locked in” He tried to find reason in whatever idea you had up your sleeve.

“Eh” You shrugged, “I can pick the lock”

Fox tilted his head. Even though you couldn't see the confusion on his face, you still found the action a little cute.

“You realise I could have you arrested for that”

Fox could see your eyes flash with a small amount of alarm as you remembered exactly who was sitting in front of you, but it was gone as soon as it came, and instead you narrowed them a little.

“Well, that would be a little pointless” You said as if it were obvious.

Fox’s eyebrows raised instinctively, “And why is that?”

“Because you'd have to arrest yourself too” You stated, your eyes sparkling with mischief and a grin overtaking your face.

“Wha-”

Before he could even finish the word, you had jumped up and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the rows of bookshelves and pulling him in between two of them.

He wanted to protest, but the words were stuck in his throat. He was once again thankful for the shield that was his helmet, because he knew that his cheeks must have been bright red with the way you were looking up at him. Your face bore the widest grin, your eyes crinkled at your own mischief, and he was hopeless to do anything about it now.

Fox’s head was telling him to leave, that breaking the law, something that he dedicated his life to upholding, was not a good idea. Though between your excitement and the secret thrill it was giving him, his heart was aching to stay. So he did.

He watched you as you glanced around and listened out for the librarian. Somehow the only thing in his mind was that if he rocked forwards onto the balls of his feet that he'd probably be touching you, or at least feel the heat of your body. The thought was disturbed when the lights cut out and the librarian could be heard walking nearby. You grabbed his arm again, tugging him down the shelves to hide against the other end.

You were grinning, resting your temple against the end of the shelves and looking up at him.

“Having fun?”

Fox just hummed in reply as he copied your posture, not giving much away. You rolled your eyes, but your smile remained, and you kept listening out for the librarian. Soon enough, the clunk of the outdated technology of lock and key slotting together rang out in the darkness of the library, and you stood up straight, walking back over to your regular spot.

By the time Fox caught up with you, you had turned on a nearby lamp and were already sat back in the chair with your book open. He just sat opposite you, watching you through his visor.

The library was usually quiet, but now it was dead silent, and Fox couldn't help but relish in that fact. Even the sounds of the city couldn't be heard in here. It was an entirely peaceful moment, something he rarely got the opportunity to indulge in.

Fox peered around the library, making sure nobody else was lingering after closing, and then hooked his thumbs under the base of his helmet, pulling it off with a quiet hiss. The noise made your head raise, seeming loud in the quiet environment.

It was hard not to stare. You knew more or less what he looked like, he was a clone after all, but nothing could have prepared you for actually seeing him. His dark curls, streaked by silver, his eyes a dark brown and his battle worn skin. He was gorgeous, so rugged yet so stately, and so unique in his appearance as compared to the brothers of his that you had met.

He noticed you examining his face and immediately went to put his helmet on.

“No!” You called out, a little more desperately than you hoped for. Fox gave you a weary and puzzled look, and you could have melted right there. It was strange to see the emotion on his face when he had always concealed it from you.

“Sorry” You coughed out, a little flustered, “I didn't mean to stare”

Despite your words, you continued to observe him, inspecting his face. Every mark, every scar, every feature drawing you in.

Fox tilted his head to the side a fraction, a small crease forming in his brow, “You're still staring”

“Right, sorry” You looked down to your book and scanned your eyes across the page, trying to find where you had been when you got distracted by the sheer beauty of the man before you. It certainly wasn't helpful to think of it in those terms when you were trying not to look at him.

Fox let one side of his mouth quirk up at your reaction to him. He hadn't really expected you to care all that much, but your darkened cheeks were telling him that perhaps you did. He spoke your name, and the sound of his voice unfiltered by his helmet sent a shiver running up your spine.

“Hm?” You replied, glancing up.

“How often do you stay after closing?”

“Oh, not that often” You shrugged a shoulder.

“Why tonight?” He pressed.

You hesitated, “Well, you didn't come until late, and… I feel like that was kinda my fault”

Fox couldn't help the way his stomach flipped, even if he didn't know exactly why it had. He placed his book down on the table next to him.

“It's not your fault” He asserted, “I had a lot of work to do”

It wasn't exactly a lie, but he wasn't going to tell you that he had been trying to banish you from his head all day.

“But thank you. It's not often that I get to-” He gestured his hand vaguely around the library, “Experience the quiet like this”

“No problem” You smiled, setting your book down as well. It seemed you both were now more interested in each other's company than that of the books you had chosen.

Fox bit the inside of his cheek, a little nervous under your undivided attention. The feeling in his stomach was akin to his usually anxiety around socialising, but it felt different, not entirely unpleasant.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure” You replied, “I'm an open book”

Fox let out a breathy chuckle, the amusement dancing in your eyes letting him know that your pun wasn't accidental.

“What do you do?”

“Like… for work?” You asked.

“Yeah, I guess” Fox shrugged. He didn’t really mind what you talked about, he just wanted to know more about you.

“Um” You looked away, flexing your hands nervously, “Nothing. I mean- you know, nothing interesting… or important”

Fox hummed, giving you a sceptical look, “Something tells me breaking into libraries in the middle of the night isn’t the only illegal thing you do”

“Okay, first of all - I don’t break in, I only break out-”

“Not much better really” Fox shrugged, trying to keep the smirk from his lips unsuccessfully.

”Sure, maybe not” You smirked, “But it’s hardly malicious. It’s nothing like, say… Stealing someone’s private property, such as a stylus or something like that…”

A blush dusted Fox’s cheeks immediately, now knowing you had indeed caught him doing exactly that. He cleared his throat, looking away and trying to find a way to explain himself.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone” You teased, resting your hand on his knee for a second to draw his attention back to you, “Besides, who would I tell? We’ve already established that you’re not going to arrest yourself”

Fox dragged his gaze back to you, the gentle touch only making his cheeks burn hotter. He gave you a weary sort of look, but the edge of his lips curled upwards nonetheless.

“Why did you steal it?” You then asked, devoid of any of the teasing tone you had previously employed.

“Uh” Fox ran a hand through his hair, “Well… I don’t really have anything that’s… Mine”

You gave him a puzzled look, “How do you mean?”

Fox cleared his throat, “I mean… I don’t really have possessions, I share all of my time and my space with my brothers. I don’t have a place that is mine, to put anything that might be mine”

He paused for a moment, conscious that he may be oversharing, but your even gaze, the way you were sitting forward and listening attentively told him that perhaps you didn’t mind. That you were interested in what he was saying.

“I have an office, sort of, but not really. It’s just a tiny area in the corner of the Guard’s office, so it’s a little closed off, and it barely even fits my desk, but- anyway. I just take what I can get I suppose” He wrapped up his rambling.

“I can understand that”

“You can?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ve… never had a space to myself either really”

“You don’t have an apartment or something?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Not to myself. I live with three other people, and they’re very… loud. That’s why I come here”

“Yeah, same here I suppose” Fox smiled, then his face fell a little, “Hold on- We didn’t get to the bottom of what you do for work”

You chuckled a little nervously, “I’m a mechanic”

Fox gave you a dubious look, “That doesn’t sound illegal”

“It’s not” You sighed, “It’s just… my boss is a little dodgy”

Fox took a moment to shift in his seat, trying to appear casual, “What kind of dodgy? Who… is it?”

You just smirked at him, “You’re not getting it out of me that easily I’m afraid, Commander”

Fox wanted to chuckle, but he was also suddenly struck by the fact that he had no reason to believe you had any moral integrity or that you actually were any sort of good person.

“You don’t think they should be brought to justice?” He spoke with trepidation.

You smiled a little, “Yeah, I guess I do, but then I would be out of a job”

“You could get another one” Fox reasoned.

“It’s not that simple” You stated, “I don’t live with three people for the fun of it after all”

Fox was confused, you could see that much woven into the frown he gave you.

“I can’t afford anything else” You completed the thought, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Oh, right” Fox replied.

Fox didn’t really know what to say. He hadn’t faced that kind of issue before in his own life, so he couldn’t say he fully understood. He wasn't shy of people turning to crime because of money, their were often few other reasons, though it certainly gave a new perspective to the way he looked at his role of what had turned into a short jump from policeman.

“Anyway” You said more cheerily, “It isn't such a bad job, I do get to spend my evenings here”

Fox smiled at that, “How long have you been coming here?”

“A few years” You replied.

It wasn't long before you were talking animatedly, sharing little details of your life with Fox. He could feel himself coming out of his shell the more you talked, enamoured by the way you spoke and the things you had to say. He found himself agreeing with many of the observations you made, even if he didn't say so. It was also hard to ignore how drawn to you he now felt, in a way he hadn't experienced with many others, possibly anyone. He told you details about himself too, a little bit about his brothers, about a book that he had heard of but couldn’t find, about what he does in the Coruscant Guard.

You were explaining a passage of your favourite book, and the way the light was hitting you face was making it hard for Fox to concentrate on your words fully.

“Do you think that was the right thing for them to do?” He asked, a crease in his brow to show his engagement.

“Well, no. Probably not, but that's what the book is questioning” You explained, then noted Fox's slightly dazed expression, “Maybe they should take a page out of your book and just start stealing” You raised your eyebrows a little, and Fox laughed defeatedly, both as his own habits and your terrible library humour.

“I can't believe you saw me do that and still came and sat with me” He joked, the outright sarcasm feeling unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Oh no, that was what made me do it” You admitted a little theatrically.

“Really?” He cocked his head to the side, giving you a genuine disbelieving look.

“Yeah, it interested me. I wanted to know what the Commander of the Coruscant Guard was doing stealing from a library” You chuckled, “It was just… not what I expected, I guess”

“What did you expect?” He asked with a teasing edge, “The armour does tend to give a certain impression”

“Oh no, I would never judge a book by its cover” You put your hand to your chest in mock offense, a smile still pulling at your lips.

He rolled his eyes, “Do you always have such terrible humour?”

“I think it's funny” You shrugged, covering your mouth as a yawn escaped it. You blinked a few times, and it was only then that you realised it was most likely very late. Checking your watch, you saw that it was past midnight and you sat forward in your chair, “I should be getting home really”

Fox was tired as well, but he wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet. Though, he didn't want to keep you if you were tired, and he wasn't exactly fully awake himself.

“Can I escort you back?” He suggested.

You smiled as you stood up, “Sure, that'd be nice”

Fox followed suit, grabbing his helmet, and letting you lead the way to the door, both of you returning your books to the shelf on the way.

“My very own Coruscant Guard escort, lucky me” You muttered, eyelids heavy with sleep as you looked up at him with a smirk.

Fox’s lips formed a similar expression. He rolled his eyes, though it wasn’t as spiteful as when he had directed it at his brother earlier on in the night. He had completely forgotten about the aspect of having to pick the lock, so was a little surprised when you then produced a small tool from your pocket and knelt down, slotting it into the keyhole.

“Should I be worried that you carry around a lock pick?” He asked, placing his helmet over his head.

You let out a breathy chuckle, “I only use it for this. Besides, it's just a regular tool, not specifically a lock pick”

The door cracked open, and you pulled the tool out, placing it back in your pocket.

It was only a few blocks to your home, and on the way you explained to Fox how you had first found the library on an evening stroll shortly after moving into your current apartment, trying to get away from your loud roommates.

You could already hear them as you approached now, music turned up loud and some form of excited squealing spilling from the windows. You cracked open the door, and winced as the noise became ten times louder. You gave Fox a sheepish expression and he chuckled a little.

“I can see why you go to the library” He noted.

“Yeah” You sighed, rubbing your neck, “They’re not so bad really, just…”

Fox nodded in understanding.

You both just stayed watching each other for a moment, neither one of you wanting to be the first to say goodbye. You stared into Fox's visor, hoping to find his eyes behind it, and by some miracle, he understood that, and took it off in one smooth motion.

You smiled up at him as his eyes emerged from beneath the mask, and his heart instinctively skipped a beat. With you looking up at him like that, and nothing to hide his own emotions, he suddenly felt exposed. His stomach erupted into what felt like his usual anxiety-ridden state, but for once, it was more exhilarating than it was scary.

“I'm glad I made you stay behind tonight” You admitted, little care for how odd the words sounded.

Fox chuckled slightly, “Yeah, me too”

There was another moment of silence, and now Fox read it as awkwardness, so he immediately began backing away.

“I- Um, I'll see you around?” He offered.

Your smile faltered for half a second before you replied, “Yeah, see you around”

Fox watched you get inside safely, and then turned on his heel to head back to his quarters.

The whole way back, and well into the night, Fox couldn't get you out of his head. Though, this time he didn't mind.

The following morning, Fox was once again buried in flimsiwork, already on his third caf and ready to pull his hair out.

“Commander” Fox heard the unmistakable voice from the ‘door’ of his office, and he could have easily groaned in frustration.

“I thought I told you to knock” He grumbled, not bothering to look up from his flimsiwork.

“Perhaps you did” Thorn shrugged, a grin evident in his voice, “But you have a visitor”

Fox's head snapped up at that.

“A visitor?”

“Mhm” Thorn confirmed in a somewhat teasing manner, “No idea how she got past security downstairs but, there's a woman asking to see you”

Fox frowned a little, but stood from his desk, walking over to look around the corner. He saw you leaning on Thorn's desk, looking around the office and a book clutched between your hands. You were in a mechanic’s jumpsuit, folded down to the waist with leather gloves tucked into the belt, and seemingly not caring one bit how your appearance made you stand out in the office.

He called your name, and your head turned towards him, along with everyone else in the office that had already been staring at the you, the person who didn't belong. Your eyes lit up a little as you saw him, and you pushed yourself from the desk, striding over to him and Thorn.

“What are you doing here?” He asked softly, leading you into his corner of the office.

“I wanted to g-”

“Actually, hold on one moment” Fox interrupted you, then walked back out into the office to find Thorn and Stone waiting just outside with their ears turned to the wall. Fox rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, making them jump away.

“Could I maybe have some privacy?” He gave them a pointed look.

Both of them mumbled a ‘yes sir’ as they slunk away, brandishing matching smirks. Fox huffed, before returning to you.

“Sorry about that” He ran a hand through his hair, “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

“I'm fine” You smiled, “I came to give you this”

You held up the book in your hands, offering it to him. Fox eyed it suspiciously, his gaze flicking between you and the book.

“Did you steal this from the library?”

You laughed gratuitously, “No. I thought we established that was your thing”

“But…” Fox frowned, “Did you buy it then? You really shouldn’t have spent your money-”

“I didn’t buy it, it’s mine” You cut him off, “Well, it was mine, it’s yours now”

You tried to hand it to him but Fox just pushed it back towards you, taking a step forward, “I couldn’t possibly take your property”

“I want you to have it” You grabbed his hand and forced him to take it, looking up into his eyes intently.

Fox’s heart stuttered at your intense gaze, aware of how your hand still rested over his as you awaited his reply. He looked down at the book, and turned it over to read the spine. His eyes quickly found yours again, and a grin had bloomed on your face.

“This is it” He breathed out, “The book I was looking for”

“It is” You nodded, finally taking your hand away from his.

“Wh- How- I didn’t even know what it was called, how did you…?”

“I guess I can read between the lines” You shrugged, your grin widening, and Fox laughed, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve read it a few times” You admitted, then flipped the book open, revealing annotations in the margins, “I went through and pointed out my favourite parts, wrote a bit about why and kinda analysed it a little”

“You wrote these notes for me?” He questioned, his voice sounding unusually small as his brows pinched together.

“Yeah” You gave him a warm smile, “That way, it’s like… personalised for you”

Fox was at a loss for words. You had really listened to him yesterday, and heard how his lack of personal effects weighed on his mind, and now you were giving him something of yours, and you had made it personal to him. His chest spread with warmth, his shoulders relaxing in a small contented sigh.

He let the book fall to his side, and he leaned forwards onto the balls of his feet, so his chest was almost against yours. He brought his hand up and gently brushed your hair away from your forehead, his hand lingering against your cheekbone. Your eyes shone up at him, and a genuine smile crossed his face.

“I'm glad I met you” Fox murmured, his voice low so that only you could hear.

“I know you are” You grinned.

Fox rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, because you can read me so well”

You chuckled, your head tipping to the side in thought, “I hadn’t thought of that one actually. Looks like you’re picking up my novel sense of humour though”

Fox scoffed a laugh, “You’re terrible”

“Maybe” You shrugged, “But I like to think that maybe you don't mind”

Fox hummed, “Perhaps not”

You grinned up at him for a moment, and then stepped back, “I should be getting back really, I'm not supposed to be here”

“You don't have to tell me that” Fox raised his eyebrows at you, “How did you manage get up here?”

“A fun story for another time” You smirked, disappearing around the corner.

Fox followed after you, watching you leave from where he leant in the doorway, when you stopped in your place and turned back to him. You seemed to be weighing something in your head, and then evidently decided to go through with it, jogging back over to him.

Fox raised an eyebrow as you came to stand in front of him, “What is it?”

“I forgot something”

“Forgot wha-?”

Fox was interrupted by you raising onto your tiptoes and placing a delicate kiss to his cheek, your hand finding his to steady yourself. The feel of your hand gently holding his, let alone your lips on his cheek, was enough to set his skin alight. His cheeks were already burning by the time you pulled away.

You gave him a sweet smile, squeezing his hand lightly and speaking in a whisper, “See you later”

Fox watched you go with wide eyes, his body unable to move from where it was firmly rooted to the ground. Your body finally disappeared out of the office, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise that he’d been holding, his body relaxing.

“So you did have a date” Stone nudged his brother, a grin almost splitting his face. Fox just gave him a withering look.

“What did I say about privacy?”

“Well I figured that since you made it everyone's business-”

“I suggest you get back to work, Stone”

“Yep. Got it”

Fox settled himself back at his desk, his fingers trailing along the spine of the book that was now in his possession. His cheeks were still burning, and they probably would be for the rest of the day. He was looking forward to going to the library that night, but it wasn’t for the books this time.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565

#trex writings #clone commander fox #star wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #clones #tcw #coruscant guard #corrie guard #marshal commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox #star wars clone wars #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #divider by saradika

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vodika-vibes · 29 days ago

Text

A Burden Shared

Summary: Fox decides to take matters into his own hands when his Jedi General starts burying herself in work after discovering the chips and arranging for the clones to have the increased aging reversed.

Pairing: Commander Fox x Jedi F! Reader

Word Count: 1062

Warnings: it gets kind of heavy in places

A/N: This week is dedicated to stories I want to write, I guess, lol. Anyway, I hope you all like this little fic, some of the lines were pulled from a webcomic I like.

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“Cyare,” Fox leans his hip against her desk, his eyes locked on her exhausted face, rather than the piles of medical research, political research, and law books that she’s been glued to for the better part of a month.

“In a minute, Fox. I just need to finish this paragraph.” She sounds as exhausted as she looks, “I think I’ve managed to come up with a way to get all of the battalions de-chipped without alerting the senate—“

“Cyare, that’s not your job.” Fox points out, his voice gentle, “The Jedi Council is working on that.”

“They need to work faster.”

“Hey,” He slides his hand over her shoulder, and then down her arm to take the datapad from her fingers, “You did your part.” He kneels next to her chair and her gaze flickers to his face, “You’re the Jedi General for the Coruscant Guard, and you managed to get our chips removed. Let the other Jedi worry about their Battalions.”

A stressed line appears on her brow, and Fox reaches up to smooth is away with a gentle finger.

“But, what if they don’t?”

“Then that’s something for the Council to worry about.” Fox points out, “You’re still a baby knight, you can’t do anything about the people who don’t want to take care of their men.”

“But I should—“

“You’ve done enough.” Fox interrupts.

Her pretty eyes scan his face for a moment, and then her gaze flickers to the scar on his neck. Her lower lip wobbles, and she reaches out to lightly touch the Lichtenberg scars on his neck, “I haven’t though. I need to do more.”

Fox takes her hand in his, “This isn’t your fault.”

“I should have seen. I should have known that something was wrong. I—“

“No.” Fox interrupts her again, “No, I didn’t want you to know. I ordered my brothers to hide this from you. The only person at fault is the person who gave them to me.”

For a moment, Fox things that he’s getting through to her, but then she shakes her head, “No. No, Fox, I have to do more. I have to.”

A heavy sigh falls from his lips, and then he slowly, gently even, coaxes her out of her chair. His movements are sure as he powers down her datapads, and shoves books in where they can’t be seen anymore.

And she lets him. She happily moves into his arms, and settles on his lap on the floor next to her desk.

“The weight of the galaxy is a terrible burden for one person to bear,” Fox murmurs against her temple, his lips ghosting down the side of her face, until he’s lingering at the corner of her mouth, “Why do you have to carry this weight alone?”

“Be-because you shouldn’t have to.”

Fox tightens his grip around her, “And you should?”

“Yes!”

“No.” Fox ghosts his lips across hers, “No. You need to listen to me, cyare. Can you do that for me?”

She nods slightly, her eyes closing as he peppers light kisses all across her face.

“You don’t get to take the blame for every wrong done to my brothers and me.” Fox speaks softly, but there’s an underlying firmness in his voice, one he knows that she’ll listen to because she always does. “You don’t get to lessen their wrongs by taking their guilt.”

“But they don’t feel guilty.”

“That’s on them, not you.” He slowly drags his hand down her spine, causing her to shiver and making a tiny smile cross his face.

“Someone needs to take responsibility—“

“Not you.” Fox insists, “Never you.” His hand comes up to cup her face, “You saved us. Do you understand that? Finding the chip, making sure that we all have them removed, demanding that Kamino hands over the counter to the enhanced aging by appealing to their business sense? That’s all you.”

“But I couldn’t have you all.”

“No, you couldn’t. But you know what? We’re going to live long lives. Long, healthy, lives. Because of you. Because you care.”

“It’s the bare minimum, Fox.”

He slowly bumps his forehead against hers, “If there’s a Patron Saint of Clones, it should be you.” She averts her gaze, shyly, “In fact, I’m going to bring it up the next time I see my brothers.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she releases a soft huff of air, “You’re impossible.”

“My brothers say that being irritatingly right all the time is my super power.” Fox replies, he closes his eyes as her hands come up to cradle his face, a surge of affection making his grip tighten around her. “Do you have any idea of how much you mean to me? To us?”

“I’m just one Jedi.”

“You’re everything.” Fox whispers, “And not just to the Guard. We all know what you’ve done for us.” Her fingers lightly stroke his cheeks, and Fox wants to melt into her, but he resists the urge, “And you’ve done enough. We all know it.”

“I just feel like I can do more.” She whispers to him.

Fox opens his eyes and stares at her, “Oh, cyare. My love. My only.” He kisses the tip of her nose, “Why do you only see our suffering? Beloved, aren’t you tired from carrying that burden?”

She stares at him, and Fox sees tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

“Look at everything you’ve given us. A future. A life where, someday, we might be more than soldiers. Cyare, beloved, you gave us hope and we will never be able to repay you for that.” He presses his forehead against hers once again, “Let us share your burdens.”

Once again, her lower lip wobbles, “It’s a lot.”

“That’s alright. There are a lot of us, and we’re used to sharing heavy loads.”

“It’s really exhausting.”

“I know. But you don’t have to bear it alone anymore.” He pulls her closer and feels her press her face against his neck, “For now, how about we get some sleep, and tomorrow we can figure out how to save the galaxy.”

“...I’m going to drool on you again.”

Fox laughs quietly, “That’s alright. That’s my burden to bear, and it’s not one I’m willing to share.”

And then, quietly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, cyare.”

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#star wars #tcw #commander fox x reader #fox x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

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syndullqs · 7 months ago

Text

soft mornings — clone trooper headcanons

summary — what soft mornings look like with some of our favorite troopers

warnings — painstakingly soft, gn!reader, some cheeky moments with cody, might be a part 2

note — UH YEAH ITS BEEN A MINUTE HI! this won the poll so it’s FINALLY out. sorry if it sucks…pls enjoy!

arc trooper fives

shore leave with fives is not short of fun

but there’s also moments where the two of you just need to relax together

you’re sipping a cup of caf one morning, reading something on your datapad when fives walks in, his hair tousled which is coupled with the grey sweatpants

aka he’s lookin fine af

he sits down next to you on the couch, and you watch him as he settles his head on your shoulder

fives is clingy, but especially in the mornings

you set your datapad down on your lap, and with your free hand your buried your fingers into his hair and massaged his scalp.

which earned you several grunts and moans from fives

“you’re a mess,” you would tell him, and he’d only bring himself closer to you, wrapping his arms around your middle.

“but i’m your mess,” he’d look up at you with the biggest brown eyes full of love and ugh

once that man gets caf in his system though it’s over

captain rex

due to unpopular belief, rex is not a morning person

like he would rather be stuck in bed, curled up with a blanket than be anywhere else

so when he is on shore leave, the bed is his best friend

not that you would be complaining

the sun would be peaking through the curtains, brushing against his skin, casting shadows on his muscles.

aka he looks ethereal

you sit yourself on your elbows, running a hand over his back and leaning over to press kisses between his shoulder blades

rex just groans, not wanting to wake up and face the day, but also the feeling of your touch is sending him through the roof.

“good morning, my love,” you would hum in between kisses to his shoulder blades

“mornin’,” he mumbled back.

aka an absolute softie

mornings with rex are always soft, always warm, and always safe

rex has never felt safer whenever he’s with you on shore leave

captain howzer

now this man, THIS MAN, is a morning person and boy does it show

he loves getting up before you when he’s on shore leave, making you breakfast and a hot cup of caf

he loves the quiet mornings despite how rare they are

you’d get up after feeling his lack of being there, following the smell of breakfast

you’d wander into the kitchen, find howzer standing with his back to you

shirt off ofc

you’d wrap your arms around his middle and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades

a very sweet and very warm moment for the both of you.

the feeling of your arms around him secures him in place, it tells him he’s ok.

you’re his safe place

“smells absolutely amazing,” you hummed, earning a deep chuckle from howzer

“glad it does, it means i’m not burning it,” he replied as he twisted his body to kiss you on top of your head.

howzer loves cooking, even if he’s not that great at it

you definitely teach him

mornings with howzer are soft, but be ready because the slowness to the morning doesn’t last long with him

commander cody

if there’s anyone out of this bunch who’s cheeky in the mornings it’s cody

but he has his soft moments too

he doesn’t stay in one position all night, he’s definitely one who will fall asleep one way and wake up another.

he wakes up first, and when he sees you’re still asleep?

he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever

he’ll watch you for a bit before he brings you closer to him, wrapping you in his arms

you would slowly wake up, but would melt right back into his touch.

it would be all soft, cody running his fingers up and down your back

and then he’d start kissing your neck

“cody!” you would squeal out in surprise

“what? you’re my breakfast,” he’d say casually

“whatever, lover boy,” you would blush.

his hands would roam, but they would respectfully

he never would do anything you weren’t comfortable with

so, mornings with him were always a little cheeky, but always soft and warm

commander wolffe

wolffe isn’t used to being on shore leave, no matter how many times he’d done it

but for some reason whenever he started dating you he eased up

clearly there’s an obvious reason

mornings are rough for him

he’s up early, sitting in the living room, with his sweats on and a hot cup of caf in his hands

mind you it’s not even light out

but you feel an absence without him, so you crawl out of bed and wander into the living room

“hun?” you softly called to him, and he turned his head to face you

wolffe definitely doesn’t get good sleep

so, when he sees you wander into the living room, his shoulders sag and he relaxes.

“couldn’t sleep, so just came out here,”

you sit yourself in his lap, and he absolutely loves it

he loves you being close to him; it helps him relax and it does help him sleep

the two of you would sit there, in silence, and wolffe would focus on you and your presence

you’re his grounding point, and no matter how quickly sleep evades him, you always manage to help him rope it in

commander fox

we all know that fox isn’t a morning person. like, at all.

when he gets a chance to sleep in, much less sleep at all, he’s sleeps HARD

fox is also a cuddle bug, fight me

like he wants to be close to you, but he doesn’t want nor like anyone knowing that about him

mornings with him are always started with him refusing to wake up

“we’ve got to get up, my love,” you’d groan, trying to wiggle out of the tight grasp he had you in

“i’m off, no we don’t,” he’d mumble into your neck, causing shivers to crawl down your body.

so you would lay there, your fingers threading through fox’s curls

he’d feel the safest with you, he’d feel seen by you, and those two things were the most important things to him, besides you of course

“what if i make you breakfast and caf?” you hum into his ear

now, that gets him going

“i’ll get up for that, especially since you’re making it,” he lifted his head out of the crook of your neck and kissed you

you’d end up laying there still, by the way

probably end up falling back asleep because who wouldn’t want to cuddle fox and tell him he’s gonna be ok

#star wars #star wars imagines #star wars imagine #star wars the clone wars #commander fox x reader #commander cody x reader #commander wolffe #captain howzer x reader #captain rex #arc trooper fives

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awkward-tension-art · 1 year ago

Text

Clones as expectant fathers

I am an actual nero-cancer researcher. I have a job and a degree. And my ADHD brain saw sad military men and went “I want that one”

Clones: Rex, Wolffe, Fox, Cody and Fives

CW: pregnancy, the clones all have a ‘secret’ SO, They are expecting a baby, A little angsty with Fox, there's slight mentions of smut with Fives (if you squint), swearing, this is just supposed to be a good time, its not reader insert

Minors do not interact!

Rex

Terrified. Also overjoyed. But mostly terrified.

He’s a soldier. Captain of the 501st, the most….adventurous of the GAR. His chances of dying on the battlefield and leaving his SO behind are higher than the average clone

And now he may leave behind his child? His kid may grow up without a father

He gets nervous. Anxious and antsy, and it's very VERY easy for Anakin to figure out Rex isn’t entire OK

Rex doesn’t even need to tell Anakin.

Skywalker takes one look at him and just KNOWS.

“Congrats, Rex.” “...on what, sir?” “If it's a boy, name him after me.” “WHAT!?”

Ahsoka needs to be told and she’s more excited than Rex when she finds out.

“Come on Rex! Name them after me! The republic needs an Ahsoka jr!” “And if the baby is a boy?” “Don’t name them after skyguy, please!”

Most of the 501st don't know. Too many people knowing raises the chance of less accepting individuals knowing. And if that happens, Rex, his SO and his baby may be in danger.

It’s forbidden for the clones to have SO’s, not to mention babies. It could end with Rex being decommissioned or reconditioned if it was found out he had both

Rex will visit and help as much as he can every chance he gets. He feels terrible for leaving his SO for long stretches of time during the pregnancy.

He WANTS to be there…he just can’t. Not while the war was going on

Despite his terror, Rex is…overjoyed

He didn’t think children were possible for him. He knew it could happen, but he didn’t think HE would ever know this happiness

The first time he feels his baby move in his SO, he’d get this sweetest smile on his face. He’ll kiss the baby bump and just murmur words of love in mando’a

He falls head-over-heels in love all over again

As the due date approaches, Anakin asks an important question

“Captain, I need to know when your baby might be born.” “...why, sir?” “Because I need to know when to take extended leave.”

Anakin tells Padme, and she is beyond sweet. Even visits Rex’s SO and the two have a wonderful friendship

All in all, Rex is both excited and anxious. But having so much support from Anakin, Ahsoka and Padme (and his other brothers who find out much later) helps him a lot

Wolffe

More relaxed. And by relaxed I mean he hides his anxiety better. And it doesn’t exactly hit him as hard

Partly because Plo Koon and the entire Wolfpack knows about his relationship already.

So you bet your ass the pack celebrates when Wolffe tells them he's going to be a father

Plo Koon especially is excited

“How wonderful, new life being born during times of war” “I’m not naming my child after you, general Plo.” “Nonsense! The child will be a girl.”

During battle, Wolffe finds himself being protected by his brothers and General a tad more

At first he writes it off as a coincidence, but then Boost lets slip during a battle “You gotta get back to your little one!”

He gives his men a bit of a lecture. He’s not incapable of fighting or defending himself. He thinks the message gets across but Plo chimes in with, “Ah yes, the stern words of a father already!”

Wolffe would probably see his SO more frequently than Rex. Just because Plo would more than likely spend more time on Coruscant.

He’s definitely protective. As in, waking up in the middle of the night to check all the windows, protective. Keeping an arm around his SO, protective. Every symptom or sign of discomfort he calls a medical droid, protective.

He’s not stupid, he is well aware that by having an SO and a child on the way he's in violation of several rules. All of which, when broken, would have him decommissioned

But dammit, he's not letting that happen. Wolffe will be there for his SO and his baby, no matter what

Since he’s able to spend more time with his SO, he’s there to feel the first movements of his baby.

It sort of causes him to short-circuit for a second. It hits him that yes, this is a life that he and his SO both created. Out of love.

Wolffe makes a swear that he’s going to protect his baby at all costs

Grandpa Plo does as well, but the Wolfpack doesn’t know that

Fox (kinda angst)

First of all congratulations to the SO for actually managing to be Fox’s SO

They got to be something special for the head of Palpatine’s personal guard to break rules and regulations and find himself an SO

Speaking of Palpatine, congratulations to Fox! Your SO is now in even more danger!

No, seriously. Palpatine knows before Fox. No one knows how, but he knows.

And he absolutely will use Fox’s SO as leverage to keep him under control

And Fox knows this, so he behaves. More so than usual.

He’s not blind. Hes fiercely loyal to the republic, but one step out of line and the (very few) things he cares about will be killed

Which…is why Fox may come across as cold or uninterested when his SO informs him of their pregnancy

A part of him is terrified, he just won’t show it

He’s not going to be more affectionate or anything. He actually acts pretty normal. Which is standoffish.

Despite his…demeanor, he actually manages to be present for the entirety of the pregnancy. It helps being a Coruscant guard, which means he’s more present than all the other clones.

He’s not moving mountains or anything, but he’ll get snacks in the middle of the night in case of cravings

No one else knows about Fox and his SO. not even his own men. He refuses to tell anyone.

Its for his SO’s protection

But Palpatine, the sick fuck, slips some words to get Fox’s nerves into overdrive

“This war is taking such a toll. So many dead children…so many grief stricken parents” “Sir?” “Oh nothing. Just stating the fact that the loss of an innocent life, such as…a baby, is always a tragedy. Wouldn’t you agree, commander?”

He found himself walking home a bit faster that day and hugs his SO a little tighter that night

Fox cares, in his own way. He’s just beyond stressed and anxious. But you wouldn’t know. He hides it behind a mask.

It's actually Padme that finds out. And she feels somewhat bad for Fox. She thinks his anxiety comes from the fact that clones aren't allowed SO’s or children

Which, it is, but theres the added threat of fucking Palpatine.

She ends up getting him to tell her the truth and she swears to secrecy. Even offers to hire his SO as some sort of assistant, if only so Fox can be closer to his SO

Hear me out, he actually breaks down when he feels the baby move. He can’t fully handle it anymore and shuts down.

This is a baby. His baby. They're alive and already so loved.

Something in him clicks and he accepts Padme’s help.

His terror gets easier, ever so slightly. But he keeps his collected and calm front.

Cody

“General Kenobi-” “Ah! Commander Cody! Congratulations!”

goddamnit.exe

Cody is a tad more relaxed than Rex, but more tense than Wolffe

He knows Kenobi isn’t going to punish him or force him back to Kamino for decommissioning, he’s still a little on guard.

But, since Kenobi knows, Anakin does. So does Ahsoka. Which means Rex knows.

goddamnit2.exe

More people in the 501st know than in the 212th which gives him the biggest headache

Waxer knows though. Cody had to tell someone that wasn’t a sarcastic general

He does a good job hiding his worry though

Cody is able to spend about the same amount of time as Rex with his SO

He doesn’t feel as bad as Rex when it comes to the lack of presence he has during the pregnancy

It's war. It sucks and he’d prefer to be there for his SO, but he’d also prefer SO and child have freedom from the separatists

I will say, he is pretty attentive when he isn’t off in space.

Foot rubs, shoulders massages, helping with cravings

One thing Cody does is that he’ll wrap his arms under his SO’s baby bump and lift it slightly, giving his SO’s back some relief

He really loves to do this because his SO just melts

Hear me out, Cody gets giggly when he feels the baby move/kick the first time

His palm is on the bump and he feels that first little flutter against his hand

404 Commander Cody has his amygdala broken from joy. Reboot?

He’ll actually tell Kenobi about it because he’s so happy.

“That's wonderful Cody, but I still question one thing.” “What is it, sir?” “How you managed to get laid to begin with.”

Goddamnit3.exe

Fives

“Hey everyone! I’m gonna be a dad!”

Ecstatic is not a strong enough word

Also not subtle at all

There is a solid 3 hours until everyone in the 501st knows

He’s told Echo before the first hour. Rex knew within 2 hours.

Fives is BEYOND over the moon

He gets this small smile on his face that just doesn’t go away

Whenever he’s not with his SO, he definitely calls them every day. He wants updates on the little one

Also, seeing his SO with a baby bump? Unlocks something inside his brain.

Fives is incredibly horny when he’s with his SO. He’ll be rubbing their middle and getting a puppy dog look in his eye.

Only if his SO is in the mood of course! He’d never try and be forceful

He’s probably the clone that takes the distance the hardest. He debates taking a ship and making a run for Coruscant on more than one occasion.

In the end he settles to ask Anakin for extended leave.

Anakin is also extremely happy for Fives. Like with Rex, he makes a “name the baby after me” joke

Fives brings that up to his SO and nearly gets smacked. He also makes a “Fives jr.” joke and actually does get smacked.

When Fives feels the baby kick, he gets high on happiness. Actual mumbling incoherent words of love and affection in Mando’a

Lots and lots of “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”

He also gets very VERY affectionate with his SO

Kisses his SO’s face a lot. Even as a greeting, he’ll just start peppering their cheeks with pecks

Also probably the only one ballsy enough to ASK his general for extended leave

“Excuse me, general Skywalker? I’ll need to take leave at this date.” “Oh, yea sure. You know what? That seems like a good time for all the men to take a break. Thanks, Fives.”

He’s also probably the only one ballsy enough to actually take his new born baby onto a fucking battleship to introduce everyone.

“This is your uncle Rex. This is your uncle Echo and your uncle Tup. That's your auntie Ahsoka!” “Fives what the FUCK are you doing?!” “Introducing the family, captain.”

#the clone wars x reader #captain rex x reader #commander wolffe #Commander Wolffe x reader #captain rex #commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander cody #commander cody x reader #arc trooper fives #fives x reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars headcanons #tw pregnancy #fluff #headcanons #tcw x reader

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nahoney22 · 3 months ago

Note

Congratulations on the followers! Please can I request some angsty fluff with Fox and a female reader with this prompt - 24: “Who hurt you?”

Maybe reader got attacked and he found her and tends to her wounds which leads to some feelings being shared? Thanks if you do 😊 I love your work

Medical Feelings 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 1.8k

prompts:

• “Who hurt you?”

Plot: After a risky mission that left you injured, Commander Fox helps nurse you back to health.

Warnings: Safe for work, hurt whump, idiots in love, Reader scared of droids momentarily, needle mention, slightly injured reader, minor blood mention.

Authors note: Sorry for the wait 🩵

“How are you holding up?”

You blink, trying to focus as the voice cuts through the haze in your head. But your vision blurs and swims, the light above stabbing behind your eyes like a viroblade.

“Like someone who’s been hit in the head,” you groan, wincing as you sit up on the medbay cot. The room tilts for a moment and you feel like you may be sick but luckily it settles, and your eyes finally set on the figure perched nearby. Thire.

The mission hadn’t gone as planned. What should have been a straightforward retrieval of intel left you caught in the crossfire. You weren’t a soldier so when the fighting started, you’d been forced to rely on pure luck and very minimal training. Clearly, neither had been enough.

Your memory of the incident was weak as all you could recall was a sharp pain to your head followed by the sight of clankers looming over you before everything went dark.

“You took quite a hit,” Thire says, his voice lighter than the situation warrants as he pulls up a stool to sit beside you.

“I noticed,” you mutter, rubbing gingerly at your temple that felt sticky and as you pull your hand back, a splodge of blood painted your fingertips. A dull ache radiates from where the blow landed, and your entire body feels stiff and battered.

Recovery is going to take a while.

“You know the Commander’s going to want to see you.”

The comment makes you freeze for a beat before you force a painful shrug, hoping to look unaffected. “He’s busy. I doubt he even noticed.”

Thire snickers. “Not too busy for his favourite girl.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting letting him sit down. “Oh don’t start with all that.”

But Thire doesn’t let up, grinning like a loth-cat who’s cornered its prey. “Come on. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. If Fox stares any harder, his visor’s going to fog up.”

“Shut up, Thire,” you grumble, though a reluctant chuckle escapes before you can stop it. The movement makes your ribs ache, and you hiss softly in pain. “And no, I haven’t seen the way he looks at me. It's you lot putting that notion in my head.”

Instantly, Thire’s grin fades, replaced by concern as he notices your pain. “Should I call a med droid?”

“No!” you blurt, a little too quickly. Thire raises a brow, clearly catching on.

“Not a fan of droids, huh?”

You cross your arms, or at least try to; the motion is stiff and awkward. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—”

“Who hurt you?”

The sudden voice freezes you mid-sentence. Both you and Thire turn toward the door at the same time, and your heart stops.

Commander Fox. The visor of his helmet glints under the overhead lights as he strides toward you, exuding that no-nonsense authority he’s known for.

Thire shoots you a smug, told-you-so glance before rising to his feet. “This one took a blow to the head, sir. She has a possible concussion.”

Fox’s attention shifts to the datapad in Thire’s hand. “Why wasn’t this reported to me immediately?”

“I figured you had more pressing matters,” Thire replies smoothly, clearly unfazed by the irritation in Fox’s tone.

Fox huffs, the sound sharp and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder. His gaze snaps back to the datapad, scanning the details. “And why hasn’t a med droid been dispatched?”

You groan, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m right here, you know. Maybe someone could ask me what I want instead of talking like I’m invisible.”

Both men turn toward you at the same time. Thire’s expression is sheepish, though it doesn’t quite mask the amusement in his eyes. Fox, however, is unreadable as always, his emotions hidden behind the stoic facade of his helmet.

Thire clears his throat, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, leave you with the Commander.” He’s gone before you can protest, disappearing through the door with a suspiciously quick pace.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. Fox stands rigidly near the cot, his arms folded across his chest. You can hear the faint tap of his boot against the durasteel floor as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, regretting it immediately when the movement sends another sharp ache down your spine. “I’ve been better.”

His head tilts slightly, a gesture that might be concern. “You should’ve reported your injuries sooner.”

“You think I wanted to end up in here?” you counter, the bite in your voice softened by exhaustion.

Fox doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his broad frame almost casting a shadow over you. For a moment, you think he might argue. But his next words surprise you.

“You’re lucky,” he says almost quietly. “It could’ve been worse.”

There’s something in his tone—a rare softness that catches you off guard, even if it is for a moment. You both seem to snap out of whatever the hold that ensnared you both and you close your eyes, leaning back with a soft agreement of his words.

Fox pauses for a moment, then steps away. You crack one eye open, expecting him to be halfway out the door, but to your surprise, he returns moments later with a medical droid trailing behind.

You suddenly sit up straighter, tension rippling through you as the AZI droid glides closer, a stim injector held in one of its arms.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a droid to see me,” you declare quickly, glancing between the droid and Fox with what you hope is a convincing look of confidence. But Fox is already standing there, arms crossed, and his helmet tilts slightly in a way that screams ‘you’re not fine’.

“The patient requires an injection to reduce inflammation and prevent complications,” the droid announces, already grating on your nerves.

Your heart skips as the droid raises the injector, the gleam of the stim making your stomach twist. You instinctively lean back, trying to put more space between you and the advancing machine.

“No. I don’t want it,” you snap, panic slipping into your voice despite your best efforts.

Fox’s gaze shifts to you, then to the droid. He holds up a hand, “Stop.”

The droid halts mid-motion. “Commander, the patient requires—”

“I’ll handle it,” Fox says firmly.

Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward and plucks the stim from the droid’s arm.

“What are you doing?” you ask apprehensively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead inspecting the stim injector with almost practiced ease. “You need this,” he says finally, his tone calm but resolute under the modulator. “If you don’t want the droid to do it, I will.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you as he pulls a stool closer and sits beside the cot. He’s quiet, efficient, and unbothered by your flustered state as he rolls up the sleeve of your tunic. His gloved fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the injection.

“This will only take a second,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “Just relax.”

You nod stiffly, your pulse racing as he steadies your arm. The sharp pinch of the needle is over in a heartbeat, but the warmth of his proximity lingers far longer.

“There. All done.”

You exhale, tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended.

But Fox doesn’t get up. Instead, his gaze shifts to your temple, where the bruising from the blow to your head.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You look at him, eyes wide. “It’s fine—”

“Sit up,” he interrupts, standing and motioning for you to move to the edge of the cot.

Reluctantly, you scoot forward, your legs dangling over the side as he steps closer.

Much closer.

He stands between your knees, his hands are surprisingly gentle as they cradle your face, tilting it slightly so he can get a better look at your wound.

The proximity makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly you’re begging he can’t hear it. His touch is careful, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as he examines the cut near your temple.

“This should’ve been cleaned properly,” he mutters under his breath “You clones are always too stubborn for your own good.”

“But i’m not a clone,” you mumble, your voice embarrassingly shaky even though his comment amused you.

“No,” he replies, glancing down at you for a moment. “But you’re just as stubborn.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat when he dips his head slightly, focusing on your injury with laser precision behind his visor. His presence is overwhelming, the sharp, clean scent of his armour mixing with something distinctly him.

“This might sting,” he warns, holding up a sterilising wipe.

You barely register the faint sting as he cleans the wound, too distracted by the way his hands move so deliberately, so gently. His thumbs brush against your skin again, steadying your head as he works, and you find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to.

“There,” he says after a moment, stepping back just enough to toss the used wipe onto the nearby tray. His hands linger on your jaw for a second longer before he finally lets go. “That should help.”

You glance up at him, your cheeks warm, and manage a small, “Thanks.”

He straightens, his imposing frame still far too close. “You need rest,” he says firmly, though his voice is softer than before. “No arguments.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Got it. Rest. Sure.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the charged silence stretching between you.

For a moment, you don’t think about your actions. Perhaps it was the blow to your head that made you act in a certain way. As he was about to turn and leave, you reach out and grasp his wrist.

He looks back, his helmet adorably titling to the side as you gesture him to come back by pulling his arm. And he does.

“Thank you, Commander. You’ve… you have always been kind to me.”

Then, you lean up and rest your forehead to his, eyes closed. His visor made it a little difficult but you heard his shallow gasp pop through his modulator.

But, he doesn’t move back. He lets it happen and only moves when you finally break away, a soft and nervous smile on your lips.

“Thank you.”

“G-Get some rest.” Then, with a curt nod, Fox finally steps back, his presence still lingering long after he’s gone.

And as you lie back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, you can’t decide what’s more distracting: the ache in your head or the memory of his hands on your skin.

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aynavaano · 2 months ago

Text

Call me friend but keep me closer

Commander Fox x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 9.3k

Summary:

You are working in Senator Chuchis comitte and your life on Coruscant is not exactly how you had pictured it. But there is one good thing. Fox. You are best friends and he spends more nights crashing on your couch than in his barracks. You quickly caught feelings for him but you are pushing them away, afraid to ruin your friendship. But after an unlucky mistake you made things take a different turn.

Notes:

I’m a bit late to the game but this turned out too sweet not to publish it even if Valentines is over. The focus of the Festival was on the Bad Batch but my prompts were «workplace booty call» and «hang on, we’re going to fall off the bed» and we all know there is only one chronically overworked gruff clone that needs to be peeled from his desk so I decided to write this with Fox. This is a classic friends to lovers story that includes mutual pining, sending nudes to the wrong person, love confessions, a little pinch of hurt/comfort, lingerie, oral f and m receiving, PinV sex, unprotected, creampie and aftercare.

I hope you all like it. Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated as always.

Coruscant had never felt like home. It was too loud, too fast, and too indifferent. The Senate District was a machine that never stopped moving, and you were just one tiny cog in it—part of Senator Chuchi’s committee, buried under an endless pile of policy drafts, security protocols, and late-night crisis management. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned when you left your homeworld, but it was a step up, wasn’t it?

At least, that was what you told yourself whenever you trudged into your apartment after another exhausting day, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the couch.

And then, at some point, Fox had just… become part of your routine.

It started with the heightened security measures after the bombing threat. He had been assigned to oversee the Senate protection detail, and somehow, in the chaos of late-night security briefings and emergency lockdowns, you and Fox had become friends. Real friends, not just polite workplace acquaintances.

You weren’t even sure how it happened. Maybe it was the way he always made sure to walk you to your speeder after a long day, or how he’d show up at your office under the pretense of checking in, only to grumble about whatever kriffing disaster the Chancellor was throwing at him that day. Maybe it was the first time he crashed on your couch because it was “a hell of a lot better than the damn barracks,” or the way he somehow kept coming back.

You hadn’t questioned it much.

Not when you found yourself leaving an extra blanket on the couch. Not when you started ordering an extra portion of food without thinking about it. Not when the sight of him slumped against your cushions, snoring softly, felt… normal.

Fox was gruff and always overworked, constantly running on caf and sheer spite, but in your apartment, the tension in his shoulders eased, if only slightly. He rolled his eyes at the holodramas you insisted on watching, but he never left. He complained about your terrible food choices, then stole bites off your plate.

“You know this is basically toxic waste, right?” he grumbled once, staring at the greasy mess of noodles and deep-fried meat in front of you.

“You don’t have to eat it,” you replied sweetly.

Fox huffed but grabbed a fork anyway.

The evenings passed like that—easy, warm, unspoken. When you were too exhausted to do anything but stretch out on the couch, Fox would sit on the floor beside you, rubbing the knots from your sore feet with his calloused hands, muttering about how you needed to stop wearing those kriffing shoes. He was warm and solid, it felt good to lean on him, and even when he eventually passed out on the couch, you never minded.

You should have minded. You should have thought more about what it meant, how your chest felt a little too tight when he let out those rare, quiet chuckles at something stupid you said. How you found yourself glancing at the door, waiting for him, when he worked late.

But you didn’t.

You were happy.

And if you were a little too happy when Fox was there, if your heart tripped over itself when he tossed his armor aside and let himself relax in your space like he belonged there, slipped some of his civies into your closet—well.

That was something you could keep telling yourself didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Your love life was a mess anyway.

Dating on Coruscant was a nightmare.

Between your work schedule and the chaotic nightlife, you hadn’t exactly had the time or energy to put yourself out there. Senatorial committee work wasn’t the most social job in the galaxy—late hours, endless meetings, and the constant looming threat of some political disaster meant that your personal life had been put on hold more often than not.

And yet, you still wanted to try.

Fox had laughed when you mentioned signing up for a dating holoservice.

“You know people still meet the old-fashioned way, right?” he teased, sprawled on your couch as he flipped through your holo channels.

“Yeah, well, not all of us can just walk around in intimidating armor and have people throw themselves at us,” you shot back.

Fox snorted. “Trust me, that is not how it works.”

But even if he made fun of your digital matchmaking, the holoservice was easier. You could chat with people without the pressure of an immediate connection, and for a while, it seemed promising. Most of your matches fizzled out—either they were too busy, too weird, or just not that interesting—but then there was him.

Tall, dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that made your stomach flip. He was handsome, charming in a casual way that made conversation easy. You’d messaged back and forth for a while before meeting up for caf, and it had been nice. Simple. Comfortable in a way that made you want to see where it could go.

And then Valentine’s Day started creeping closer, and you thought—why not?

You were touch-starved, lonely, and ready to do something about it. You didn’t just want romance; you wanted connection, something real. So, in a moment of determination (and maybe a little desperation), you had spent an embarrassingly high amount of credits on a cute red lingerie set. Something bold. Something that would make you feel sexy and wanted.

But then, he stopped messaging.

At first, you convinced yourself that he was just busy. People got caught up in their work all the time, right? It didn’t mean anything. A few days passed. Then a week. By the time Valentine’s actually arrived, you had no more excuses left.

You had been ghosted.

The disappointment was sharp and bitter, curling in your chest like a stupid ache you didn’t want to admit to. Maybe it wasn’t personal—maybe he had just lost interest, or met someone else—but it still sucked. It left you feeling stupid for getting excited, for spending money on something no one was even going to see.

For a brief moment, you considered going out alone, just to do something—but the idea of sitting in some bar, surrounded by happy couples and overly flirtatious strangers, made your skin crawl.

There was only one thing you wanted now, your best friend. You grabbed your com and messaged Fox.

You free tonight? I got ditched, I need duraslug rolls and someone to let me sulk in peace.

It took him a few minutes to reply.

Buried in reports. Might be late. But I’ll come over, I promise.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. At least someone still shows up for me.

Slumping back onto the couch, you tossed your com aside and sighed. Well. Happy kriffing Valentine’s Day, you exhaled sharply as you stared at the ceiling. Well, this was pathetic. It wasn’t like you had expected some grand, romantic night, but you hadn’t thought you’d be spending Valentine’s alone, pouting into your throw pillows.

The door system chimed.

You frowned. You hadn’t ordered anything.

Dragging yourself up, you made your way to the door and opened it to find a small delivery droid hovering there, a neatly wrapped package clutched in its mechanical arms.

“Delivery for you Miss,” it chirped.

Your brow furrowed as you accepted the package. It was a bottle of wine—Alderaanian, expensive-looking. Definitely not something you’d ordered for yourself.

“Thank you. Who sent this?” you asked, but the droid had already begun its departure, floating off down the hall.

Curious, you turned the bottle over in your hands and spotted a small note attached to the neck. You peeled it off and unfolded it.

I’m sorry you got ditched. You deserve better. Enjoy the wine and leave some for me. See you later. -Fox

A startled giggle bubbled up in your throat.

Of course it was him.

For all his gruffness, all his constant exhaustion and dry sarcasm, Fox still had his moments—little things that reminded you why he was your best friend. This was so him it made your chest ache. He hadn’t even asked what happened, hadn’t prodded or teased, just… made sure you weren’t spending the night wallowing alone.

Smiling, you grabbed your comm and quickly typed out a message.

Thanks, Fox. You didn’t have to do this. I owe you one. Security code is the same in case I pass out before you get here.

He didn’t answer immediately, probably still drowning in reports, but you felt lighter knowing he’d be coming over.

You took the bottle to the kitchen, pulling out a glass and pouring yourself a generous serving. The wine was good—rich and smooth, exactly what you needed. You made your way back to the couch, sinking into the cushions as you took another sip, trying to push away the lingering frustration from earlier.

But then your gaze drifted toward your bedroom.

And landed on it.

The neatly wrapped box, still sitting on your dresser.

A reminder of your own foolish excitement.

Your stomach twisted. That idiot. That kriffing idiot.

You had spent a ridiculous amount of credits on something beautiful, something you had wanted to wear for him—and for what? To get ghosted? To sit here drinking alone while he probably entertained someone else?

For a moment, you considered returning it. Maybe you could get at least some of your credits back.

But then a slow burn of anger started rising in you.

No.

No, you weren’t going to let some random guy make you feel unwanted. You weren’t going to let him ruin this night entirely.

He had disappeared. His loss.

You took another deep sip of wine, feeling the warmth spread through your chest as you stood up and made your way to the dresser.

Maybe it was time to teach him a lesson.

The neatly wrapped box stared back at you, a cruel reminder of what should have been. Not anymore.

You tore the packaging open, peeling away the delicate tissue paper to reveal the lingerie set inside. The price tag still dangled from the lace, mocking you, so you ripped it off and tossed it aside. If that di’kut thought he could ignore you and walk away unscathed, he had another thing coming.

You tipped the wine glass back and took a slow, deep sip, the warmth pooling in your stomach. Then, without hesitation, you pulled your shirt over your head and let it drop to the floor. Your pants followed, pooling at your feet.

The lingerie was soft beneath your fingers, the lace delicate and intricate as you slipped the bra over your shoulders and adjusted the cups. It was scandalously sheer, barely covering anything—but that was part of the appeal. The center tied closed with a luxurious satin bow, resting right between your breasts, practically begging to be undone.

The matching thong was just as sinful. Made of the same sheer lace, it sat high on your hips, the satin heart appliqué nestled right above your mound. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, taking a moment to appreciate how good it felt.

You reached for the complimentary satin robe, slipping it on and letting it drape over your shoulders. The material was smooth against your skin, adding just the right touch of elegance. When you turned to the mirror, a slow smirk curled at your lips.

Damn.

The ridiculous amount of credits you’d spent? Worth every single one.

The lingerie hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating everything it should. The lace was suggestive enough to tease but left little to the imagination. You ran your fingers through your hair, loosening the bun you’d haphazardly tied earlier. Your locks tumbled around your shoulders, framing your face in soft waves.

Perfect.

You rummaged through your vanity drawer, searching for the final touch. A moment later, you found it—the perfect shade of soft pink lipstick. You twisted the tube, swiping it across your lips with practiced ease before pressing them together. A single spritz of your favorite perfume followed, the scent light yet intoxicatingly sweet.

You met your own gaze in the mirror, tilting your head as you admired your handiwork.

You looked like a treat.

No. You looked like a feast.

And what a pity that no one was here to appreciate it.

You sighed, picking up your holopad and shifting your weight. Then a thought—a wicked, petty thought—slid into your mind, and your smirk returned.

If he didn’t want you, then he was damn well going to regret it

You turned slightly, angling yourself in the mirror, and lifted your wine glass. The dark liquid contrasted beautifully against your fingers, and the movement made your robe slip just enough to reveal the delicate lace beneath.

You snapped a few pictures, each one more tempting than the last. The soft lighting of the little lamp beside your bed cast a warm glow over your skin, and your hardened nipples—barely covered by the lace—pressed against the fabric, making the images even more suggestive.

One final shot.

You shifted, letting the robe slide down one shoulder, your lips slightly parted, your gaze smoldering. It was perfect.

Satisfied, you attached the best one to a message and typed out the words that would seal the deal.

Look what you’re missing out on, di’kut.

Ha, what a good use of the mando’a word Fox had learned you.

You smiled to yourself. And then you hit send.

You tossed the holopad onto your bed and flopped down beside it, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. Now it was his turn to sulk.

You sighed, stretching out on your bed, the silky fabric of your robe cool against your skin. The wine had left a pleasant warmth in your belly, making your limbs feel heavy, lazy. You turned your head, glancing at the chrono on your bedside table.

How much longer until Fox finishes his work?

You had no idea. He hadn’t given you an exact time—just a vague promise that he’d come over, even if it got late.

You huffed, staring at the ceiling.

You missed him.

You missed the easy, effortless way he fit into your life. The way he crashed on your couch like it was his, how he bitched about his work while you rubbed his shoulders, how he made fun of your garbage taste in holodramas but still ended up watching them with you anyway.

He made everything better.

You toyed with the satin tie of your robe absentmindedly, twisting it between your fingers as your thoughts drifted.

You imagined him here with you now.

Not just on the couch, like usual, but here, in bed.

You pictured the way he’d look at you—warm brown eyes dark and focused, his strong hands pinning your hips, his broad chest pressing against yours.

Heat bloomed deep in your core.

You swallowed, shifting against the sheets, your breath coming just a little quicker.

No.

You forced the thoughts away, shaking your head. This was Fox. Your friend.

It wasn’t the first time your thoughts had drifted into a territory you knew was dangerous. Hell, you had started this whole holo dating thing to keep yourself from falling for him even more.

He didn’t see you that way.

And even if he did—even if, by some impossible chance, he wanted you the way you wanted him—was it worth the risk?

Your friendship with Fox was the best thing in your life. The thought of ruining it, of making things weird, of losing him because you couldn’t keep your feelings under control—No.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

You exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down your face as if you could physically wipe away the dangerous thoughts clinging to your brain.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

The flickering lights outside your window. The senator’s latest scandal. Anything but Fox.

You reached for your wine glass, taking another sip.

***

Fox rubbed his eyes, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. It was already too late—long past the end of his shift, not that such a thing really existed for him. He had stopped counting how many cups of caff he’d consumed today, but the sharp bitterness still coated his tongue.

He should be with you right now.

His fingers hovered over the datapad as his thoughts drifted where they shouldn’t.

You had messaged him earlier, something about a bad date and needing company. He wanted to be there. Kriff, he should be there—on your couch, his hands kneading the tension from you, listening to you rant about whatever di’kut had decided to ditch you.

Fox scowled at the thought, his grip tightening around his pen until the cheap plastoid creaked in protest. He didn’t understand how any man could stand you up, let alone ghost you. The idea made his blood boil. You were the most beautiful, soft, good thing in this whole damned galaxy—sharp when you needed to be, quick-witted, stubborn, but never cruel. You had a way of making him feel like more than just a soldier, like more than a walking blaster waiting for orders. You saw him, really saw him, and these idiots? They didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.

If it were him—kriff, if only it were him—he would never make you feel unwanted. Would never make you doubt yourself, not for a second. He’d treat you the way you deserved, worship you the way these blind, clueless di’kuts never even thought to.

Fox exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus, this was dangerous thinking, dangerous, selfish, and a waste of time. But he wanted to be with you now, distract you from your misery.

Instead, he was stuck here, drowning in endless reports. His men had already called it a night. Even Thorn, who was nearly as much of a workaholic, had begged him to go the kriff to sleep when he passed him in the hallway earlier.

Fox had ignored him. Just one more report.

He forced his focus back on the datapad in front of him. Some incident with a Jedi and a Senator on the lower levels, again. He had skimmed it at least three times already, but none of it registered. The words blurred together, his mind elsewhere.

Back with you.

He could almost hear your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled when you gossiped about the latest. Senate drama, how your lips curled in amusement when you called his caff addiction ‘a slow-motion suicide.’ He huffed, rubbing a hand down his face.

Enough.

He needed to get through this, or he’d be stuck here until morning.

Fox stood, grabbing his empty cup, and stalked toward the caf station. The last dregs of the pot were cold and sludgy, but he poured himself another cup anyway. It wasn’t as if the caf here was good when it was fresh—it was the cheapest the Senate offices provided for the Guard. The real stuff was reserved for Senators and their guests.

Like you.

You always had the good stuff at your place. You insisted on it, claiming he deserved better than the swill they forced on him. That was just who you were—always looking out for him, making sure he had something decent, something warm, something real.

His throat tightened.

He wanted that warmth right now. Wanted to be with you.

Fox exhaled sharply and forced himself back to his desk. He could entertain those thoughts later—no, he shouldn’t be entertaining them at all. He had no business wanting things he couldn’t have. There had never been any signs you were interested in him beyond friendship and he would not destroy that.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and forced his gaze back to the report. Just finish it, sign off, go to you.

His comm beeped.

A message. From you.

His lips twitched into something close to a smile—until he saw the attachment.

He hesitated for only a second before opening it.

The moment the image filled his screen, all the exhaustion in his body vanished.

Oh. Fuck.

You. In your bedroom, standing in front of your mirror, wrapped in red lace and satin.

The lingerie barely covered anything. The sheer lace of your bra clung to your skin, the satin bow between your breasts looking as if it could come undone with a single pull. The matching thong sat high on your hips, the soft heart appliqué teasing at the very place he should not be looking at.

Your lips—plush and perfect—were painted a soft pink. Your hair was tousled, like you had been running your hands through it, or maybe—kriff.

Fox swallowed hard.

This couldn’t be real.

His fingers curled around the edge of his desk as heat rushed through him, tightening low in his stomach. His body reacted instantly, blood surging south in a way that made sitting in this kriffing chair unbearable.

A part of him—his more rational, self-preserving part—knew he needed to put the comm down. Needed to pretend he never saw this, needed to erase it from his mind immediately.

But another part?

Another part wanted to burn the image into his memory.

His breath came a little quicker, heart pounding as he stared at the screen, taking in every detail. The way the lace stretched across your curves. The way your lips were slightly parted, like you were waiting for someone to claim them. The way your robe hung open just enough to tease what lay beneath.

His comm beeped again.

Another message from you.

Look what you’re missing out on, di’kut.

Fox cursed under his breath, heat surging through his veins like a live current.

He wasn’t getting any more work done tonight, his pulse hammered as he typed out a quick reply.

Stay where you are. I’m on my way.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. No thinking about what he should do—only what he wanted to do.

His body was already moving before his brain could catch up. He pushed back from his desk, standing so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. His codpiece had become unbearably tight, and he readjusted it with a frustrated grunt before snatching up his helmet and belt.

Then he was out the door.

His boots pounded against the cold, polished floors of the Senate Guard Headquarters as he strode through the halls with singular focus. The lingering exhaustion from his endless shift had evaporated—burned away by something hotter, needier. The only thing on his mind was you.

He didn’t even glance at the few troopers still stationed on night duty as he pushed through the exit, his long strides carrying him toward his speeder.

He needed to be with you, he should have left all these karking reports behind already after your first message.

***

You let out an amused huff as your comm chimed with a reply.

That was fast.

Maybe that idiot did have some regret after all.

You took another slow sip of wine, letting him stew for a moment longer. You had no intention of entertaining him again—he had his chance, and he blew it—but you enjoyed making him suffer a little.

Smirking, you finally flicked your thumb over the screen, opening the message.

Your heart stopped.

Stay where you are. I’m on my way.

Not from him. From Fox.

For a long, terrible moment, your brain failed to process what you were looking at. You stared at the screen, a cold shock crashing over you like a tidal wave.

No. No, no, no, no—

You scrambled to check the message thread, dread creeping into your stomach. You had sent it to Fox.

Fox, your best friend. Fox, who crashed on your couch. Fox, who made fun of your trashy holodramas and stole sips of your expensive caf because he refused to admit it tasted better than the cheap mess hall stuff. Fox, who was now on his way here because he had seen you in that lingerie and—

Oh fuck.

Panic seized you. Your fingers flew over the screen, typing in a rush.

Oh kriff, no, please, Fox—I’m so sorry. Forget what you saw. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to send it to you.

You hit send.

Seconds passed.

No reply.

Your stomach twisted.

Then—another chime.

A new message.

You stared at your comm, pulse roaring in your ears as your eyes flicked over the message again and again not able to process what you were reading.

If that’s really what you want, tell me. I’ll head back to the barracks and try my best to pretend it never happened. But I am tired of watching when another one of those idiots lets you down, tired of pretending I don’t want you.

The air in your apartment suddenly felt too thick, your skin too warm. Your brain tried to rationalize, to find some kind of misunderstanding—because Fox didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have.

But the words were right there, glowing against the dimness of your room.

I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.

Your breath hitched. Your chest tightened.

Your fingers hovered over the keypad, but you had no idea what to type. What could you even say?

For so long, you had convinced yourself that what you felt for him was just friendship, that the easy comfort between you wasn’t something more. You had forced yourself to believe it—because wanting him, really wanting him, had felt like an impossible dream.

But now? Now he had stripped that illusion away with a single message. And you couldn’t pretend anymore either.

I want you too, you thought. I’ve always wanted you.

But you still hadn’t typed anything when another chime made your heart nearly jump out of your chest.

I’m here. Let me in or tell me to leave, please be honest.

For a moment, you just stared.

He was here.

Not in his office. Not across the city. Here, outside your door, waiting for you, exactly where you had wanted him just minutes ago.

Your stomach flipped violently, and suddenly you were scrambling to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you rushed toward the door.

Shit—your robe.

You yanked the silk tighter around your body and securely tied the belt, hyperaware of the flimsy lace beneath it. What the hell are you doing? You had sent him the picture. He had seen it. And yet, the reality of standing in front of him like this sent a fresh wave of nerves through you.

But there was no time to think. Your feet carried you forward. The door hissed open.

And there he was.

Fox stood just outside, still in full armor, helmet clipped to his belt, his stance tense as if bracing himself for the worst. The dim corridor lights cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes—but beneath it, beneath the weariness and the ever-present weight of command, there was something else, something you hadn’t seen there before. Something hungry.

For a long, breathless second, neither of you moved. The tension between you crackled like a live wire.

And then—

You broke.

You surged forward, hands flying up to curl around his neck, pulling him down as you crashed into him. Your lips found his, desperate and searching, pouring everything you couldn’t put into words into that one kiss.

Fox made a sound deep in his throat, a half-growl, half-sigh, and then his hands were on you—one curling around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he yanked you closer, kissing you like he had been starving for it.

As soon as the door hissed shut behind the two of you, you yanked him further inside, your hands grabbing at his armor, at the fabric of his blacks—anything to keep him close.

You nearly tripped over each other in your urgency, stumbling as he kicked security panel to seal the door. Fox let out a breathless chuckle, his hands tightening on your waist to steady you both, but neither of you spoke.

Because the moment you stopped moving, your hands still clutching at his armor, your body pressed against his, you both realized—this was real.

Fox’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the way your lips were still parted from the last kiss, swollen and inviting. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

And then he snapped.

He surged forward, claiming your mouth again, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you with a heat that made your knees weak.

You melted into him, gripping his chest plate for balance, but the cold plastoid only reminded you that he was still wearing too much and this was not enough.

Fox must have thought the same thing because his hands roamed down, gripping your hips, guiding you back—until your shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud, and suddenly, his thigh was pressing between your legs.

You gasped against his mouth, your fingers digging into his armor. The hard press of his thigh against your core sent a shock of pleasure through you, and without thinking, you rocked against him.

Fox groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Kriff,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” you teased, but your own voice was shaky, betraying how much you wanted him.

Fox pulled back just enough to look at you. His golden-brown eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.

Then his hand moved, trailing up your side, slow, steady—before curling around the silk tie of your robe.

He hooked a finger beneath it, giving it a gentle tug but not untying it just yet. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

His voice was softer now, quieter, but there was something deadly serious in the way he said it, in the way his fingers trembled just slightly against the silk.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. Did he really think you didn’t want this? After everything?

The words tangled in your throat, and instead of answering, you reached for his wrist, guiding his hand up to your pounding heart.

Fox sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of it, and his fingers flexed against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you finally whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

His breath hitched, his entire body going still for half a second—then he moved.

Fox’s thumb traced over your jaw, down the slope of your neck, then lower, dragging over your shoulder as he pushed the fabric of your robe aside.

The silk slipped from your skin, revealing the lacy red lingerie beneath and Fox froze.

His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sheer bra, the delicate bow between your breasts, the tiny satin heart on your thong. His hands twitched like he wanted to grab, to tear, to devour—but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he let out a low, shaky breath. “Karking hells.”

You shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling the weight of his stare, but before you could react, Fox leaned in.

“I don’t think you understand what you just did,” he murmured against your lips.

Your pulse stuttered. “What did I do?”

His fingers brushed down your arm, slow, deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You just made it impossible for me to pretend I don’t want you,” he admitted, voice raw. “And now…” his hands gripped your hips again, his thigh pressing up between your legs once more, making you gasp. “…now I’m not pretending anymore.”

And then he kissed you again, harder, deeper, like he had finally let himself fall.

His hands trembled slightly as they traced along the delicate lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the intricate patterns, over the bow that sat right between your beautiful titts—just begging to be untied.

He swallowed hard. You really were a present.

Perfectly wrapped. Made to be unwrapped.

And he was aching for you.

His cock throbbed painfully against his blacks, the tight fabric doing nothing to ease the need pooling low in his gut. His hands clenched where they rested against your ribs, his self-control hanging by a thread.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “I still can’t believe you wanted to give this to some idiot who just—” He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Who just threw you away.”

You bit your lip, shifting slightly against his thigh, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Fox cupped your jaw gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. His golden-brown eyes burned with something dark, something possessive.

“I’m glad you didn’t send it to him,” he murmured. “He didn’t deserve this.”

Didn’t deserve you.

You hesitated for only a moment before admitting, “I was only dating because I wanted to distract myself.”

Fox’s brows furrowed slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “From what?”

You swallowed, nerves twisting in your stomach, but there was no going back now. You let out a shaky breath.

“From you.”

Fox inhaled sharply, like the words had punched him, and his grip on you tightened.

“Mesh’la.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Promise me something.”

You nodded weakly, lost in the intensity of his gaze.

“Promise me you’ll never waste yourself on someone who doesn’t deserve you again.” His voice was firm, steady, but underneath it, you heard something else—something desperate.

Your throat tightened. “I promise.”

Fox let out a breath like he had been holding it in for years.

Then he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “Then I promise to be better.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“To treat you the way you deserve.”

And then he kissed you. This time, it was needy. Messy.

His hands gripped at you now, no longer holding back, no longer afraid to take what he had wanted for so long.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer. The friction against your core was maddening, not enough, never enough—

Your hands fumbled between you, grabbing at the silk bow between your breasts, and you took one of the ends, pressing it into Fox’s palm.

His breath hitched.

His eyes flickered between you and the delicate ribbon, realization dawning in his expression. He didn’t need you to say anything. Slowly, carefully, he gave the bow a gentle pull, the knot unraveled, the lace parting, slipping from your body like it had only been waiting for his touch.

Fox stared.

His breath was ragged, his pupils blown wide as his gaze drank you in. His hands hovered at his sides like he didn’t know whether to worship or ruin you.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his thumb ghosting over one of your hardened nipples. A soft whimper slipped from your lips.

Fox exhaled shakily, his hand sliding down to grip your waist, but the gentle touch wasn’t enough. You needed more. You ground down on his thigh, gasping at the delicious friction, he groaned, his grip tightening, but it still wasn’t enough. You needed him.

Your hands moved to his armor, desperate to get it off, to feel him, to have him skin to skin—but your fingers were trembling too much, the clasps refusing to budge.

You let out a frustrated noise, tugging at the chest plate uselessly.

Fox chuckled, voice low and dark. “Mesh’la, if you keep that up, I’m going to lose whatever restraint I have left.”

“Then lose it,” you begged, arching against him.

Fox cursed under his breath, then pulled back.

You whined at the loss of contact, but Fox only smirked, his hands already moving to tear his armor off. The plates hit the floor with dull thuds, one after the other, as he shed the heavy layers in record time. Then, finally, finally, he stood before you in nothing but his blacks, the tight material stretching obscenely over his body.

Your eyes dropped—

And you let out a needy whimper.

Because fuck, the bulge straining against his blacks was huge. Fox let out a low chuckle, the sound downright predatory.

“Something wrong, mesh’la?” he teased.

You swallowed hard, pressing your thighs together.

“Bedroom,” you panted. “Now.”

Fox groaned, his grip tightening on your waist before he scooped you up effortlessly. A gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around him, your arms locking around his neck. He was so strong, holding you like you weighed nothing.

On the way to the bedroom, your robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling onto the floor, and the delicate lace of your bra followed—leaving you in nothing but the tiny scrap of lace that barely qualified as a thong.

Fox didn’t stop.

He carried you straight to the bed, laying you down gently before crawling over you. His lips found your neck first, his breath warm against your skin. Then your collarbone. Then lower.

His hands slid down your sides, rough fingertips tracing every inch of bare skin as he worked his way down, his lips finally closing around your nipple.

You gasped, arching into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair as he sucked, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud.

“Fox—” you whimpered, back arching against him.

His only response was a pleased hum, sending vibrations through your sensitive skin.

But it still wasn’t enough. You needed more. Your hands slid lower, clawing at his blacks, searching for the damn zipper. When you couldn’t find it, you let out a desperate whine. “Please—”

Fox pulled back, amusement flickering in his expression. “Please, what? Use your words mesh’la.”

“Take them off,” you practically begged, shifting underneath him. “Now.”

Fox chuckled, clearly enjoying just how needy you were for him. “So impatient, mesh’la,” he teased, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before finally sitting back.

Your breath caught as he reached for the hem of his blacks, his fingers slowly peeling the fabric away from his body.

The first thing you noticed was the warm, golden-brown of his skin, perfect, just like the rest of him. The second thing was the dark trail of hair running down the center of his toned stomach, leading lower. Your mouth went dry. He was gorgeous.

Solid. Warm. Strong. Yours.

And then he pushed the rest of his blacks down, and your heart stopped.

His cock was big. Thick. Hard. The tip already glistening with pre-cum.

“Like what you see?” he smirked satisfied, “it’s all yours.”

You let out a needy little sound before you could stop yourself, your thighs pressing together instinctively. You couldn’t help it, your hand slipped between your legs, pressing down against your neglected clit through the lace of your thong, desperate for any relief.

Fox’s eyes darkened instantly.

His voice was low when he spoke. “That’s not yours to touch tonight, mesh’la.”

Before you could react, he was on you, his body covering yours as his mouth crashed against yours.

You gasped into the kiss, but Fox swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding against yours as he ground his aching cock against you.

“F-Fuck—” you whimpered, hips lifting to meet his.

He groaned, the fabric of your thong barely a barrier between you as he rolled his hips again, his cock pressing right against your clit.

You squirmed, trying to slip your thong off, but Fox grabbed your hips, stilling you instantly.

“That stays on,” he murmured against your lips.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“But—”

Fox smirked, dragging his cock along your soaked core again. “I like it on you.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him.

“Fox—”

He grinned. “Patience, mesh’la. We’re just getting started.”

Fox kissed his way down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a burning trail in their wake. Every press of his mouth sent a shiver through you, anticipation coiling tighter in your core. His hands gripped your thighs, squeezing, massaging as he settled lower.

Then he ghosted over where you needed him most—his warm breath fanning against your soaked folds, teasing, driving you insane.

“Please—” You whined, hips shifting restlessly.

“I know, mesh’la,” he murmured, his voice low and needy. “Been wanting to taste you for so long.”

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, and another, his stubble dragging against your sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder. His hands held your thighs apart, thumbs tracing soothing circles as he teased just outside where you wanted him.

You were dripping, and he could see it.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “So fucking wet for me.”

And then, finally, finally, he hooked a finger into the thin strap of your thong and pulled it to the side.

The moment his lips met your soaked folds, you both let out a moan.

It was like a revelation.

Something that had always been there—something you had ignored, pushed down, denied—finally being acknowledged.

His tongue flicked against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched, your hands fisting the sheets.

“F-Fox—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your dripping core.

And stars, he devoured you.

His tongue was everywhere, licking, tasting, swirling around your clit with slow, deliberate pressure. Then he sucked, and your hips jerked.

He groaned, loving the way you reacted to him, the way you melted beneath him.

“Kriff, you taste so good,” he rasped, the vibrations of his voice sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Then he slid a finger into you, slow, filling you just enough to make you desperate for more.

“So tight,” he groaned. “Want another, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, “Yes—yes, please—”

He added a second finger, curling them inside you as his tongue kept working your clit. The stretch was perfect, filling you up while he rubbed against that sweet spot inside you.

You were already close, your thighs trembling, pleasure coiling in your stomach.

“Come for me, mesh’la,” he rasped. “I want to feel it.”

And stars, you did.

Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, pleasure rippling through every nerve in your body. Your back arched, a choked cry escaping your lips as you clenched around his fingers.

Fox groaned against you, not stopping, working you through your orgasm until you were trembling, whimpering and almost too sensitive.

You gasped as he finally pulled back, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, looking up at you, lips glistening with your release.

But you weren’t done with him.

As soon as you caught your breath, you reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him up before shoving him onto his back.

«Hold on cyare we’re going to fall off the bed»

You didn’t even care. He grunted as he hit the floor, but there was amusement in his dark eyes. “What are you—”

“My turn,” you whispered, crawling over him, pressing kisses to his warm, golden skin.

His breath hitched as you made your way down, kissing every inch of him, every scar, every muscle, worshipping him the way he deserved.

You reached his stomach, your lips grazing the trail of dark hair leading down to his cock.

He was aching for you, so hard it almost hurt, his length flushed and leaking against his stomach.

You pressed a kiss to his hip bone, then another just above his cock, your hand wrapping around the base, feeling the heat of him.

“Fuck—” he hissed, his hips twitching.

You smirked before finally, finally, lowering your mouth to his tip, flicking your tongue over the bead of pre-cum gathered there.

Fox shuddered. “Kriff—”

You took him into your mouth, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked.

His groan was deep, his fingers threading into your hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needed something to ground himself.

“So good,” he panted. “Mesh’la, you feel so—fuck—”

You moaned around him, letting your tongue swirl over the head before sinking down again, taking more of him. Your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, your pace slow, teasing, savoring the way he twitched under you.

His thighs tensed. “If you don’t stop—”

You hummed, sending vibrations down his length, and he jerked, letting out a choked groan.

“Fuck—” He suddenly grabbed your wrist, pulling you off him with a pop.

You blinked up at him, lips swollen, breath heavy. “What—?”

Fox was panting, his golden eyes dark with lust. “I don’t want to finish like this,” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”

Fox barely managed to tear himself away from your mouth, his entire body tight with restraint. His cock was throbbing, desperate for you, but he wanted this to last. Wanted to feel every second of you wrapped around him, to memorize the way you felt.

He peeled you off his cock and effortlessly threw you back up on the bed, guiding you down onto your back. His hands were firm but reverent as he spread your legs, settling between them. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then ran his hands over your thighs, pushing them wider, savoring every inch of you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Mesh’la… can’t believe this is real.”

His cock pressed against your entrance, the thick head nudging against your dripping folds. The pressure alone made you giddy, your body aching for him.

“Fox—” you whined, shifting your hips in desperate invitation.

He locked eyes with you, dark and full of unspoken things, and then—finally—he pushed in.

The stretch was exquisite, the slow, steady glide of his cock splitting you open inch by inch. Your walls clamped down on him instinctively, drawing him deeper, desperate to keep him.

You both groaned.

“Fuck—” Fox gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips. “So kriffing tight—”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but feel. The way he filled you, the way your body stretched around him, the way he fit—like he was made for you.

“Kriff—Fox—” you gasped, nails raking down his arms.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust, letting you feel him. The friction was unbearable in the best way, every drag of his cock sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “So fucking good.”

You whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

Fox snapped his hips into you, the wet, filthy sound of him filling you over and over making your cheeks burn.

“Fox—” you gasped, hands gripping his broad shoulders, desperate for more.

“I’ve got you,” he panted. “Gonna make you come, mesh’la. Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

He shifted, adjusting his angle, and stars—he found that spot deep inside you that made your vision go white.

“There—there—” you cried, your thighs trembling.

Fox grinned, dark and pleased. “Right there, huh?”

Then he pressed a hand against your lower abdomen, and a lewd, broken scream ripped from your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching you unravel beneath him. “Kriff—so perfect.”

It took only two more thrusts before pleasure crashed through you, your entire body shaking as you clenched around him, milking his cock with pulsing waves of bliss.

Fox groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs, fighting to hold on, to not come just from the way you squeezed him.

“Fuck—” he panted, burying his face in your neck. “You’re gonna kill me, mesh’la.”

He barely managed to hold himself back, his body trembling with restraint. But then he shifted, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, his cock sinking even deeper into your still-throbbing core.

You gasped, overstimulated, but needy.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. “Give me one more,” he rasped, his voice strained. “I know you can.”

You sobbed, gripping onto him as he drove you higher again, his thrusts relentless, the way he stretched you perfect.

The sight of you like this—your red lace thong still pushed to the side, completely soaked, barely covering your swollen folds where his cock was sliding into you—was something he would never forget.

He was ruined.

“Come for me,” he murmured, voice raw. “I want to feel you.”

You shattered around him, your second orgasm tearing through you even harder than the first.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his pace faltering. “So good—fuck—”

He was losing it, chasing his own release, but still, still he held on—”Where do you want me?”

You barely managed to catch your breath before you answered. “Inside—please—make me yours.”

Fox snapped, he couldn’t hold back any longer, not after what you had just said.

He buried himself to the hilt, a deep, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he came, his cock pulsing, thick ropes of warmth filling you.

The feeling of him spilling inside you was almost better than your orgasm itself, you clutched at his thighs trying to force him even deeper. The way he claimed you, the way you took him, the way you fit together—like you were always meant to.

Fox collapsed against you, his breath ragged, his body trembling from the force of it. He pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, still buried inside you, reluctant to ever leave.

“Mesh’la…” he murmured, his voice rough but tender. “I’m never letting you go.”

You kept your legs wrapped around him, not ready to let him go just yet. You wanted to feel him for just a little longer, to savor the warmth of him still inside you, to keep him close.

Fox groaned softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your jaw, then your shoulder. He was gentle now, unrushed, showering you in kisses, in soft murmurs of praise.

When he finally slipped out of you, you whimpered at the loss, and he hushed you with another kiss before collapsing beside you. Without hesitation, he pulled you onto his chest, wrapping you up in his arms like he never wanted to let you go.

You nuzzled into him, inhaling his warm, musky scent, burying your face against the crook of his neck, your arm draping over his chest. Even after everything—after having him so deep inside you, after coming twice on his cock—you still wanted more of him, still wanted to be as close as possible.

Fox ran his fingers along your back in slow, lazy strokes, pressing another kiss to your temple.

You let out a sigh. “I was so stupid.”

“Hmm?” he hummed, the vibrations rumbling beneath your cheek.

“Trying to deny my feelings…” you admitted, pressing a soft kiss against his neck. “Dating those random guys, pretending I didn’t want you.”

Fox scoffed lightly. “You’re not stupid, they are,” he murmured, fingers trailing over your bare skin. “You’re perfect.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, full of something deep, something unchanging.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His expression melted, something in him cracking open.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Your chest ached with it—with the sheer relief of saying it, of knowing he felt the same. You kissed him, slow and sweet, and he kissed you back like he meant it.

After a while he finally pulled away, running his knuckles over your cheek. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Before you could protest, he was already moving, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing.

You yelped, but he just chuckled, carrying you towards the refresher.

“Fox—” you huffed, looping your arms around his neck. “I can walk, you know.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You giggled, letting him take care of you, feeling warm and cherished in his arms.

As he stepped into the refresher, a sharp drip of warmth slid down your inner thigh.

You both paused.

And then—plop.

A thick drop of your mixed release splattered onto the floor. There was a beat of silence. And then Fox snorted and you both dissolved into laughter

“Look what a mess you’ve made mesh’la.” he chuckled.

“Me?” you squeaked, looking at him in playful protest.

Still grinning, he set you down in the refresher, making sure the water was warm before adjusting the settings.

As the steam began to rise, he turned to you, brushing damp hair from your face. “Still want duraslug rolls?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Fox smirked. “Thought so.”

He kissed you one more time before stepping out to place the order.

You sighed, watching him go, your heart feeling full in a way it never had before.

And when he returned, slipping into the shower beside you, his hands finding your waist as if it was normal —you knew, you were his, and he was yours.

After your shower, you both slipped into comfortable clothes—well, you did. Fox had only grabbed a fresh pair of his blacks, the tight fabric clinging to his body in a way that made you almost regret putting on your own cozy pajamas.

You ended up on the couch, exactly like always. But everything was different now.

Fox had gone overboard with the food, ordering not just the duraslug rolls but every kind of greasy, indulgent junk meal you could imagine. Spicy fried nuna bites, crispy noodles, something smothered in way too much melted blue cheese—it was a feast.

“You do realize there’s only two of us, right?” you teased, plucking a crispy nuna bite from the pile and popping it into your mouth.

Fox just smirked, pouring you both another glass of wine. “The evening was long. We need to refuel.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t argue with that.

Curled up against him, you giggled as you both gossiped about the Senate staff between bites of food. It was a favorite pastime of yours, but this time, something about it felt even better.

“—so I finally gave up and signed off on it,” Fox was saying, chewing thoughtfully on a duraslug roll. “Because I don’t care if a Jedi and a senator want to get up to questionable business on the lower levels. That’s not my problem.”

You nearly choked on your wine. “Wait—what?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “They weren’t exactly subtle. I think I lost count of how many reports I had to overlook. ‘Suspicious activity in a back alley,’ ‘disturbance in an abandoned speeder lot’—like, c’mon. It’s clear what they were doing.”

You cackled, covering your mouth. “You mean to tell me you’ve been burying evidence of a secret affair?”

“Burying? No.” Fox shrugged innocently. “Just… acknowledging that it’s none of my business.”

You giggled, leaning further into him, wine warming your veins, food making you sleepy, and the solid weight of Fox next to you making everything feel perfect.

And despite how much it was the same, something had changed.

The way he looked at you now—soft, open, like you were his.

The way you didn’t have to hold back anymore, no longer forcing yourself to ignore the way you longed to curl up against him.

You could. And you did.

And the best part?

Later, when the two of you finally made your way to bed, he wouldn’t be snoring on your couch.

He’d be warm and solid beside you, yours in every way.

And you had never been happier

#commander fox #fox x reader #fox x you #commander fox x reader #pfol 2025 #pabus festival of love #star wars #clone wars #PFoL2025 #pabu’s festival of love 2025

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