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sollis-occasum · 5 months ago

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you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 1 of 3)

summary: After failing to save you from a painful death, Darth Vader remembers his past with you and realizes why he can never completely leave Anakin Skywalker behind.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, reconstructive surgery, blood, mentions of major character death (or not who knows), darth vader is his own warning

word count: 3.8k

a/n: First of all, I must say that English is not my native language. Also this is my first x reader format fanfiction. I'm pretty sure I made some mistakes but I hope you don't mind guys. I am always open to your suggestions ♡

part 2

Darth Vader, the master of the dark side of the Force, the legendary lord of the Sith, the tyrannical leader who terrorized the galaxy, remembered very well the moment when he swore to dedicate his worthless life to Lord Sidious, his lord and savior.

While his body, burned and torn apart by the lava, was trying to be fixed by the health droids, he was writhing in despair and moaning in a painful voice. The wave of pain spreading from his lungs to the rest of his body with each breath showed him a type of physical pain he had never experienced before, and even the cold metal hands touching his burned skin were insufficient to alleviate his pain.

"He should be unconscious by now," he heard a distant and very deep robotic voice, which he thought belonged to one of the medical droids. Yes, the pain he felt at that moment would be enough to kill another human being and maybe even drive them insane, and God knows that's what Anakin wanted with all his heart as he lay on the operating table screaming. But how could this be possible when he sees your lifeless body over and over again every time he closes his eyes?

In fact, he had calculated all the possibilities down to the smallest detail while making his plan. There was no war he wouldn't fight, no enemy he wouldn't face to create a future that included you. He was ready to turn his back on the entire galaxy just to see you smile one more time. Moreover, Palpatine had made a promise to him. He said that contrary to popular belief, it was possible to resist death and that he knew how to do it, and that he would help Anakin in trying to save you. All he had to do was accompany him to the dark side. Anakin had done everything he was told. He had given up on who he was, accepted the name his new master had given him, brutally executed separatist leaders, and led thousands of clone troopers in attacking the Jedi Temple he once called home. Even killing those little children who looked at him with admiration with the lightsaber they saw as a symbol of peace was not important to him. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself for betraying what he believed in in his past, but he also knew that what he did was a small price to pay to save you. So why didn't what he did work? Why couldn't he prevent the scene he had seen many times in his nightmares from happening?

He gripped the operating table tightly with his mechanical hand and mumbled your name in a voice only he could hear. He kept saying your name over and over again, as if he was drawing strength from you, as if you could come and save him if he said it enough times.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than your pained facial expression and bloodied body. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to rise up and take revenge for what was done to you, he had to find a way to endure the pain he suffered, and what was there in this life that gave him as much strength as you? He tried desperately to remember the moment you first met.

Nearly a month had passed since Qui Gon Jinn's death, and during this time his new master Obi Wan Kenobi had begun training him to become a Jedi. He was grateful for the opportunity given to him and did not want to be ungrateful. However, there were so many moments during his training that he despaired and wanted to return to Tatooine... First of all, Obi Wan Kenobi was not the person he imagined. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that he was a powerful Jedi. He was also smart, very smart. Anakin knew there was a lot of thing he could learn from him. However, it hadn't been long since he had ended his life as a padawan and Obi Wan had obviously not yet fully figured out how to be a good master for his young student. There was no distance or formality between them that there should be between a padawan and a master. They were more like two brothers who fought often. Obi Wan was pushing Anakin very hard to teach him basic things as soon as possible, and Anakin was always managing to drive Obi Wan crazy with his smarty-pants attitude.

He could also sense how the younglings at the temple felt about him as he began to learn how to use the force. Although none of them were directly mistreating him or making a rude remark, Anakin would sometimes catch their gaze. There was displeasure in those looks, obviously his presence disturbed them. A child who appears unexpectedly becomes a padawan without training in the temple and becomes the center of attention of the entire Jedi council... The other younglings must have felt unfair. But one day, he met a young girl who looked at him differently than others: You.

With your bright smile that could light up the whole galaxy and your compassionate gaze, you extended your hand to him and introduced yourself, telling him that he could always come to you if he needed anything. They said you were 9 years old like him, but it was so hard for him to believe it.

You were different from all the other children Anakin had met at the temple, with your confident demeanor and room-filling presence. Your surprisingly mature attitude and wisdom gave those who saw you the impression that you never made mistakes and that you always knew what was right, causing them to respect you.

Moreover, you were beautiful, very beautiful. Even your messy hair waving in the wind, your face dripping with sweat, and your loose-fitting uniform couldn't prevent Anakin from seeing this beauty. When his eyes met your beautiful, understanding eyes, he immediately looked away and wanted to run away. There was no doubt that you were the angel the pilots who came to Tatooine were talking about. However, he could not find the courage in his heart to admit this to himself or to tell you. He felt so small, so helpless in front of the being that he wanted to get away from it as soon as possible and think about what this warm feeling that filled his heart that he had never felt before was.

Yes, he wanted to run away from you when your eyes met. But ironically, this was the first time he didn't want to return to Tatooine to his mother.

For the 3 years after you met, you had no communication other than chance encounters at the temple and furtive glances at each other. Even a life form without eyes could easily understand that you wanted to be closer to each other, but you had neither the time nor the courage to do so. You were very busy with your studies. In the future, you wanted to be a female Jedi as respected as Shaak Ti, or even more so, and you were working very hard to achieve your goal. Anakin, on the other hand, began to go on missions given by the council with Obi Wan, and the difficulty of these missions was increasing. You were so close to Anakin, yet he felt like you were hundreds of light years away from him. You were unreachable to him.

Anakin heard that you were accepted as a padawan by Plo Koon when you turned 13. According to rumors in the temple, the Jedi knight from Dorin noticed your great potential and volunteered to train you. Maybe you weren't as good at using a lightsaber as the other padawans, you might not have been as strong or as durable, but you were smart, very smart. Your dangerously high intelligence level, combined with your composure, easily compensated for your other weaknesses, making you a promising Jedi knight candidate. Even the council had high hopes for you. That's why they didn't interfere with Plo Koon's training style and allowed him to take you out early on missions that could be considered at least partially dangerous.

It was thanks to one of these missions that you came together again. The Senate thought that a small newly established weapons factory on one of the republic's planets was making some irregularities and put pressure on the Jedi to resolve this situation. The council assigned you and Plo Koon to inspect this factory.

It didn't sound that difficult, actually. You would make a short journey to reach the planet in question, tour the factory, talk to the engineers, examine some documents and intimidate the managers.

What could go wrong with such a simple task? To be honest, you weren't known for being lucky, and as usual, trouble had found you.

Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't even need to contact Plo Koon to realize that the Senate was right about the factory producing weapons for Mandolorian terrorists. Less than a day after you arrived on the planet, you reached the council and reported that the factory was completely abandoned, saying that you were trapped and surrounded by thousands of droids and asked for help. The council also assigned Obi Wan and Anakin, who had returned from a mission to a nearby planet, to support Plo Koon and you. Anakin still remembered Mace Windu's explanation word by word when he explained the urgency of your situation to his master Obi-Wan. And how those words filled his little heart with fear.

"You must reach the weapons factory as soon as possible, Master Kenobi." Mace Windu said in a stern tone. "Or it might be too late to save them."

Even if these words had not been spoken, the more serious expression than ever on Mace Windu's face would have been more than enough for even the most primitive creature in the galaxy to understand the situation.

As the spaceship they were on made a sudden return to your planet by order of his master, Anakin was wondering why he was so worried about a girl he had only talked to a few times. While he could keep his cool even during missions where his own life was threatened, why did the idea of you in pain make his heart beat faster and his head spin? He was trying to breathe to calm down, but even his breathing was so irregular that Obi Wan felt the need to turn to him and reassure him that everything was okay. How could Anakin explain to his master that he was afraid for you, not himself? Would he understand if he told him?

While the young padawan was in these thoughts, the ship entered the atmosphere with a sudden jolt and landed near the factory. As the deafening noise of explosions and droid weapons filled his ears, he got off the ship and started running without waiting for his master's command. He could hear Obi-Wan calling to him to stop, but he didn't have the time or patience to wait. This was not a scene they were unfamiliar with anyway. When all this nonsense was over, he would happily hear Obi Wan's scolding and humbly accept his punishment, but right now wasn't the right time to think about that. The only thing that mattered at that moment was saving you, and he was going to do it no matter what it took. Because it was his heart, not his brain, that told him to do this, and Anakin was not mature enough to resist his heart. With a swift move, he pulled out his lightsaber and sliced the first droid he encountered in half.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps mixing with the sounds of the battle droids, he realized how close he was to them, but he didn't even slow down for fear of being late for you. He was destroying all the war machines in front of him, clearing the way and moving towards the direction where he sensed your presence.

When he and his master, who finally managed to catch up with him, arrived at the production facility where you were fighting the droids, he started looking around for you, without even bothering to check how Plo Koon was doing. Plo Koon was one of the most powerful Jedi, someone like him could survive without the help of a padawan, but not you. He could feel with all his being that you needed help, but no matter how much he looked around, he couldn't see you.

While Anakin was looking around the burning production facility to find you, he saw two silhouettes in the smoke. One of these silhouettes, the one leaning on the ground and cowering against a wall, belonged to a young girl. The other was the silhouette of an armed droid, as tall as a human but as skinny as a skeleton. Moreover, this droid's gun was pointed at you and was about to be fired. Anakin knew his feelings were not wrong. You were in a difficult situation and needed his help.

He was sure that he wanted to run towards you, save you by smashing that droid into thousands of pieces, and then kick its ugly metal head and throw it to the farthest corner of the galaxy. But he knew he didn't have time for that. So he did something even he didn't expect and threw his lightsaber towards you, hoping you could catch it in time. He knew that this move was madness. What kind of maniac would give up the only weapon he had among thousands of battle droids and leave himself defenseless? Especially if he doesn't know the other person well?

But Anakin had never regretted what he had done, not even for a moment. He saw you pull the thrown lightsaber with force and catch it, then slice the droid in half before he could fire to you. Yes, you were safe, but that safety was only for a brief moment. He had no time to relax, otherwise he knew you would be open to attacks from other droids. Without wasting any time, he followed the green lightsaber shining among the smoke and reached him. You were finally in front of him.

To be honest, your situation wasn't looking so bright. You were seriously injured and your body was covered in blood. Anakin had knelt down next to you and gently held your face between his fingers, afraid of hurting you even more. He could feel the warm drops of blood running down your face, flowing from his fingers to his wrists, but he didn't care about anything other than your safety at that moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to hide how worried he was. Just by looking into your eyes, he could see how much the conflict you were experiencing had worn you out, but you put on a brave and determined expression and nodded, trying not to let the pain you were feeling reflected in your voice, "I'm fine." you muttered. "I'm fine, but I think my legs are stuck and I can't move them."

"Don't be afraid, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

He could see a shattering mass of metal pinning your legs. He took the lightsaber from your hand, carefully opened it, and held it up to the metal plate. "I'll try not to cut off your legs," he said, trying to smile to calm you down, and then added. "At least one of them."

You must have liked Anakin's little joke, too, because your lips turned slightly to the side despite your helpless situation. "Don't worry." you said, laughing. "They will break off on their own anyway, even if you don't cut them."

After receiving a sarcastic approval from you, he began to cut and separate the metal pieces with great patience. He made every move carefully and attentively, afraid of hurting you. When your legs were finally free, he took a deep breath and looked at your face again.

"It's not safe here. We have to get out of here."

"But my master is still fighting." Even though you tried to object, Anakin did not accept it. "He can take care of himself, and the support sent by the council is on the way."

His tone and expression were so determined that you gave up and surrendered to Anakin. You didn't have the strength to resist even if you wanted to. He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, stood up and started walking towards the factory exit. To be honest, you were a little heavier than you looked, and your blood was staining his clothes, but as long as you could rest your head on his chest and he could feel the warmth of your body, nothing else mattered.

Your next meeting was in the infirmary at the Jedi temple. 3 days had passed after your unfortunate duty at the factory and you had just regained your consciousness. During this time, Anakin began to help Jocasta Nu in the archives, upon his master's orders. It could not be said that he was very happy with his situation, but he still considered himself lucky that the punishment for his disobedience during duty was so small. Besides, even though organizing the archives was a tedious task, it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed it.

Every moment he wasn't busy with something, he was thinking about you and what happened at the factory that day and trying to make sense of what he was feeling. That strange feeling that he thought he had forgotten years ago was back. Why did his heart beat faster and his face turn red every time he thought of you? Were these normal? His master had told him that a Jedi should not become attached to anything, but he should also be compassionate. Anakin could not understand this contrast. He was also afraid of being attached to you. But this was very illogical. Could one person become so attached to another person in such a short time? All these questions confused little Anakin more than ever. Finally, he realized that he could not bear these questions any longer and decided to visit you in the infirmary at the end of the 3rd day. Besides, he also had something that belonged to you, and he had to return it to you as soon as possible.

When he came to you, he saw that you were much more cheerful than he expected. You still looked very weak and you were obviously going to be in the infirmary for a while longer. Still, without letting this demoralize you, you were patiently waiting for your recovery, and in the meantime, you were trying to pass the time by reading the war history texts you took from the archive.

Still, you smiled so widely when you saw Anakin that he was convinced you were glad to see him, too. Trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, he put on a confident expression and quickly walked over and sat on your bed.

"You look better." he said with the light of hope appearing in his eyes.

You smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Anakin." you said. "I feel better too."

After a brief hesitation, he pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak and handed it to you, "I think this is yours." he said. "I found it at the factory."

Just seeing the familiar blue color of the lightsaber brought peace to your soul. You happily took the saber from Anakin's hand and began to examine it. "God, thank you so much Anakin. I thought I had lost it."

"My master always tells me that the lightsaber is a Jedi's life and they must protect it at all costs."

Even though you lost your lightsaber for reasons beyond your control, what Anakin said made you a little embarrassed. "Of course, I'm not trying to justify my irresponsibility, but what happened that day was unexpected. I must have dropped it during that chaos."

"To be honest, I've lost my lightsaber too many times."

The confession of the padawan in front of you made you smile a little. Actually, what you should have done was to politely thank Anakin for saving your life, and when the time comes, pay him back at all costs. However, owing your life to him placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders that you felt crushed under this weight, no matter how humble the attitude of the boy in front of you. Before you even thought, the words were coming out of your mouth. "Master Kenobi says that our lightsaber is our life, right? So, according to the master's logic, you entrusted your life to me in the factory, and you also saved mine by finding my lightsaber."

Anakin looked at you in surprise, not knowing what to say at your words. Yes, your reasoning based on his master's words was correct, however, he did not expect you to approach the subject from this perspective. Fortunately, you continued talking without a long pause, and he was spared the trouble of finding an answer to give you.

"I am grateful to you for saving my life, Anakin, and I swear that one day I will repay you. Please give me your lightsaber until that day, and you can take mine."

"So you want us to surrender our lives to each other?" Anakin asked with mixed emotions. Wouldn't this agreement create a commitment between you? Anakin could not comprehend the depth of this devotion.

You nodded decisively in response. "Yes. So we can remember this promise between us for the rest of our lives. These sabers we exchanged will be a symbol of our friendship and trust in each other, and one day I will repay my debt to you. Until then, I want to remember the promise I made to you every time I look at your saber."

Then you added timidly, "If you want too, of course."

Anakin thought for a few seconds, then without a word, he handed you his lightsaber and accepted this pact that would bind your hearts and bodies together forever. Thus, a very special bond was formed between you that will never be broken again. Who knew that this innocent bond established between two children would one day bring disaster to the galaxy...

#x reader #hayden christensen #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader #darth vader x reader #plo koon #obi wan kenobi #hayden christensen x reader #star wars x reader #fanfic #x you #anakin x you #angst #anakin skywalker angst #darth vader angst

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oceansssblue · 8 months ago

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SW REQUESTS:

"Would love to see a Wolffe x reader fic where the AFAB reader is injured in battle, Comms him and then their Comms get jammed and he's just freaking the hell out. Love some angst of him carrying her back to a ship and losing his mind over it"

Some minor alterations but I'm SO HAPPY with how this one came out! I love wolffe and there aren't that many fics about him. Do recommend your favourites! Xx, sky.

"RADIO SILENT" –WOLFFE/F READER

WARNINGS: BATTLE, WOUNDS&BLOOD, ANGST AND FLUFF. 📩💔💖

Halsakaa is a nightmare. The Republic hasn't been able to redirect more forces to the Outer Rim planet to help you; and your troops are struggling to keep the droids battalions at bay. It honestly feels as though the Republic –and the Jedi– have abandoned you to your wrath; no-one coming to this remote location in the galaxy to save you. The destine of your own life, and the lifes of your soldiers, are solely in your hands. And you'd give everything for them, even sacrifice yourself if you have to. After so many experiences together, for almost three years straight now, they have becomed such an important part of you it feels as if you have ingrained every single one of them in your soul. You know you should'nt be so attached to them; Master Ploo quietly reminds you from time to time –though you know he's not exactly indifferent either–. The wolfpack is his own just as they are yours. Yours. Growing up as Jedi you haven't had this kind of... ownership over anything but your saber. Obviously, you don't see the clones as something you can posses, use; but they do belong to you in some sense, and in that way, it's your responsability to command them, to take care of them. And you... love them. It's a dangerous word for a Jedi. But it's the truth. It is the reason why, right now, your soul aches. Each death is a strike right to your heart. But how can you see them any different, when they are such loyal friends? Such fierce soldiers, who fight and die selflessly for the freedom of other citizens in the galaxy, a freedom that hadn't been given to themselves?

Your dark emerald green lightsaber flies in your hands, deflecting one bolt after the other one. Sweat makes your usually comfortable jedi robes stick to your body; minor scratches and wounds tingling painfully at the friction of the fabric. It doesn't make you move any slower, though; you feel unstopable jumping from a cluster of droids to another, the hum of your saber following you around while you slash through your enemies with persistent focus and skill. General Ploo is doing his own thing on the other side of the battlefield; your clone troops split in half to defend both sides of Halsakaa's capital.

You don't know how much longer you can hold this off. All of you have been trained for this, and you're used to drawing strength from the Force, increasing your usual endurance; but even you are feeling exhausted, muscles straining like painful cords, and the thing about the droids is that they never tire out. You know this has to end eventually. Right now, Master Ploo's orders are to hold on til some other battalion can come to your rescue –the other option abandoning Halsakaa to the separatists, which would cause a disastrous impact on the Republic–; though you don't know when that will be. It may be days, or weeks. A month, maybe two. Even with the system of rest-and-takeover you've got established with the clones you're afraid you're going to lose.

The night falls, and some troopers fall back into the delicate safety of the makeshift camp, a decent distant away from the battlefield; they'll try to shut the eye for some hours before replacing other brothers positions again. You keep fighting, completely exhausted but knowing perfectly well that your presence in the battlefield equals the force of ten clones; pushing through your energy limits and fiercely holding your own.

Hours pass, and the two suns of Halsaaka rises again; your tired eyes getting used to the new light while you keep slashing droids with your saber.

"We're pushing them further away from the South Door" Master Ploo's calm voice picks up through your coms. "I have been informed that the 442th have been dispatched in our way. They will join us in two sunrises".

You can't help but give a relieved sigh. The 104th have worked with the 442th more than once in the past. They are heavy infantry; and you wouldn't say no to some of that now. Any fresh soldier would be a welcomed addition. You can see the strain on your troopers; though none of them would dare say a word out loud.

"Copy that" you answer through your channel with your Master and the 104th's commander and sergeant. "I'll feel as happy as a kid with a popsicle when I see that green stripped armour along our light gray one".

You dodge a shot and use the Force to push a wave of droids to the side; your troopers quickly using the oportunity to blast them down.

Wolffe's deep husky voice pipes up in a tiny, well-humoured comment.

"Still a kid yourself, General" he teases you, voice still firm and contradictionally serious.

Your lips pull up on a tiny smirk.

"We can't all age in a blink of an eye, my dear Commander" you chirp back.

The coms pick up his raspy chuckle before the frequency goes back to silence.

The droids make way for something bigger and you groan under your breath. The first bolts make the earth beneath your feet shake slightly; orders and screams shouted all around you.

"Bad news, boys" you open the general coms this time so everyone gets updated in this very unwelcomed surprise. "We've got some spiders".

You focus yourself on them; flying through the battlefield and jumping on one droid after the other one, sinking your saber into their red sensors or cutting off their laser canions. Then, when you're in the middle of jumping off of one, a surprisingly well aimed bolt crosses the air and hits you; and you fall down with blood quickly soaking your side, staining the fabric of your Jedi clothes.

"Fuck" you mutter out loud, jaw clenching til your teeth hurt while you stand up quickly and deflect another bold with your saber, trying to cope with the pain. You open your private frequency with Sinker and quickly inform of your state.

"Sinker, I've been hit" you grit between your teeth while you kill the droid responsible for your wound and step back between your troopers to cover yourself momentarily.

You pull your clothes up and quickly glance down at the wound. Usually the bolts inmediately cauterizes the wounds; but this hadn't been a normal droid, but a combat-J1, with it's weapon specifically designed to make the most damage to human's skin without it's predecessors side-efects. The apparently less dangerous bolts are quite the opposite; dividing into smalller ones that diverts into different directions when hitting a surface with enough resistance. Right now, there's only one entrance wound on your right side; but you know they may have carved more than one path inside of you, making it a life or death situation depending on how lucky you are.

"How bad is it?" He asks, slowly but effectively advancing through the droid lines towards you, an easy person to locate with the shine of your emerald saber.

You grunt in pain, hand soaked in dark scarlet blood, and take a deep breath in, knowing what you need to do for now.

"Bad" you just answer, carefully lowering your own saber towards the wound "It's a shot from a J1. I'm going to cauterise the wound for now, but I might go into shock in the next hour. Just a heads up."

You chuckle weakly, and then carefully graze your lightsaber against the wound. The skin quickly hardens and clots; the smell of the burn quickly reaching your nose. Your knees buckle while you swallow your scream of pain; legs shaking weakly and tears springing to your eyes while you finish putting a momentarily solution to your wound. At least you won't die from blood loss for now.

"Maker, General" Sinker is suddenly there, taking a strong hold of your opposite hip to stabilize you. "That really doesn't look good. You should go back to camp, Sir".

You find solace in his strength for a minute before rightening yourself again and getting ready to move. You close your eyes and center yourself with the Force. You're hurt, but you're still in the middle of open fire; you need to swallow the pain and dizziness down and hold on.

You give Sinker a firm nod.

"I'm letting this side of the battlefield on your hands, then" you tell him, his own back inmediately straightening too under such responsability. "Just one more night and we'll have reinforcements with us tomorrow".

Sinker nods in understanding, appreciating your words of encouragement. He quickly orders Comet to help you get safely back to camp; while he inmediately takes the role of leader and commands your part of the 104th clone troops. You need to protect the North Door of Halsaaka while Master Ploo and Wolffe take care of the South.

One arm around Comet's shoulders and finding strength in the Force, you quickly start your dangerous way back to safety. Even though Comet's alert with his own blaster and you're still deflecting bolts with your saber, you're vulnerable now. You just hope you're both able to make it.

You open your coms to inform of the new situation.

"I've been hit with a J1" you warn Master Ploo and Wolffe. You don't like how weak your voice sounds. "Wolffe, I..."

There's a small explosion right beside you; and the force of it pushes both you and Comet to the ground. You whimper in pain, but quickly grab him and push the two of you back up, resume walking –more like stumbling forward–. You try the coms again, wanting to tell Wolffe you've left Sinker with command before retiring for the night; you grumble in irritation when you see your com device has detached from your forearm and has been left abandoned behind.

"Do you have your com?" You ask Comet.

His voice is barely audible under the protection of his helmet.

"My audio appears to be broken after that last fall, General."

You sigh, tired. There's nothing you can do about it now. Sinker will communicate with them sooner or later.

"Let's just make it back to safety then" you say, and Comet nods diligently.

You'll just focus on not collapsing to the ground before reaching camp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe's heart stutters inside his chest when he hears your voice in the coms. You're always strong, always fierce; something he had admired from the very first time he had had the chance to work under your command. He had been cold towards you back then; not purposedly harsh against you, but not friendly either. You hadn't cared. When one of his men had pointed out to you it wasn't personal, but just Wolffe's reserved, unpolished personality, you had answered unbothered and completely understanding. He could still hear those words in his head; "I get it. I'm a stranger that holds the lifes of his brothers in her hands. None of you know me yet; trust is earned. I hope I will with time. I'd like us all to be comfortable with each othef. But if not, it doesn't matter. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to fight. I'm here to protect people; and I'm here to direct my assigned troops as best as I can in order to achieve the best results with the minor number of casualties. If Commander Wolffe opens up to me I'd be honored. If not, I'm sure we could still be good comrades in this war". He still remembers the way you had tilted your chin upwards; staring defiantly at the clones in front of her, completely unaware of him standing not so far away at her back. "Now, I believe there's still some preparations needed for Jaal; and we're taking off in an hour". With that not-so-subtle signal that the conversation had ended, the troopers around you had quickly fell back to place; and Wolffe had silently followed Master Ploo Koo towards you. "Look at you, little warrior" the older Jedi had told you, a pleasant smile wrinkling the corner of his covered eyes. "Already displaying such good lidership traits". You had turned around in surprise; so many life presences around you, and experiencing a rush of your own emotions, you hadn't been aware of both of their presence. Your cheeks had flushed slightly; though that same defiant glint hadn't left your eyes. "Master" you had slightly bowed towards him. "You see me with good eyes" you had smiled softly at him, in a clearly opened affectionate way Wolffe wasn't used to seing in other Jedi. "Just having a chat with the troops". Master Ploo had chuckled quietly and pointed at him with a hand gesture; Wolffe quickly taking a step forwards towards them. "I have just had a quick meeting with the Council. Commander Wolffe will update you on my behalf, as I need to go have a word with the pilots" Master Ploo had glanced back at him pointedly. "If he'd be kind enough...". Wolffe had inmediately nodded, firmly. He had high respect towards that specifical Jedi; and he didn't usually hold others in such high regards. "Of course, sir" he had then turned towards you. "General, if you can follow me to the strategy room...". You had firmly hold his stare for a few seconds; and the quiet inquisitive gaze had felt as if the young Jedi Warrior had scanned his own very soul. Wolffe had had his first tingle of that uncomfortable but curious feeling back then; a feeling that had only increased with the following years. Nowadays, he...

Wolffe cleared his thoughts and focused on battle. Your voice had sound weak and tired, but you were perfectly capable of holding yourself, and this wasn't the first time you had been hurt before. He had actually patched you more than once in the past and... And then you mentioned a J1, and whispered his name, and there was a loud ringing sound through the coms that sounded too close to an explosion for his comfort and... And the sounds died, leaving nothing more than radio silence. And Wolffe, going against everything he had learnt and was trained for, pannicked.

"General?" His frantic, afraid voice was enough for Master Ploo to focus his attention on him, a graze at his Force life enough to make him understand his commander's feelings. "General. Come on. Com in, kid..."

There was only static.

Wolffe's heart pumped faster, adrenaline shooting through his veins. His hands trembled. A knot formed in his throat, slowly chocking his voice. He never broke down. He never broke down, but...

"Cyar'ika" he begged in a whisper. "Please, please answer and tell me you're okay".

He still got no answer back from you, and he felt his soul hurt.

Master Plo's hand suddenly renched him back into reality; a comforting wave of what could only be his Force washing over him. Wolffe turned his face towards him. The Jedi watched him in understanding.

"I can feel your turmoil. It is such it's difficult for me to focus on anything else. You are in no state to stay in the battlefield" he told him, cautiously gentle. "If my padawan has been gravely injured someone has probably helped her return to camp. You must go and make sure she's okay".

Even if Wolffe wanted nothing more than to start of a run and find her, he still hesitated in front of his General. He was a soldier. A commander. He couldn't leave his place just because he had stupidly, oh so fucking stupidly, fallen in love with her...

Master Plo squeezed his shoulders once. He knew him so well.

"Go" he insisted. "That's an order".

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Wolffe quickly wrenched the flimsi excuse of a door of the tent open. He had gone to the makeshift infirmary first; his doctor quickly informing him of the state of his Jedi, and where he could find her resting at the moment. "A dangerous wound, but surprisingly stable" he had told him while he took care of the wound of a fellow brother. "She's a tough one, our General. It was a good idea to use her own lightsaber as a cauterizer. She wouldn't have probably made it all the way back here otherwise". That probability had made Wolffe tremble.

His own eyes quickly scanned the Jedi's state now. She was laying down on a rucksack, unusually clad in just a sport top and his Jedi pant's; outer robes discarded and clean bandages effectively wrapping around her lower torso, with just a small amout of blood transpairing on her side. Her lightsaber had been carefully placed at her side. Her hair was untied and a mess; some sticking to her dirtied face and some falling around freely behind her. Despite her evident exhaustion, Wolffe hand't ever been so happy to see her.

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"Commander?" You asked in a surprised voice, slowly and carefully propelling some of your weight in your elbows in order to see him better. "Shouldn't you be back on the battlefield?"

Your face quickly changes into a deep, worried frown as you scan him up and down quickly.

"Are you hurt too, Wolffe?"

His heart clenches again. He steps inside the tent, slowly falling down on his knees besides you, and closes the door.

"No" he simply answers, observing you quietly.

You're completely lost. He's looking at you in a different way. He... Feels different, in the Force. Usually he feels much more reserved, almost as if he had learnt how to shield his emotions from a Jedi; however this... This felt raw.

"I'm afraid I don't understand" you chuckle and then wince at the way the movement tugs at your wound, a bit nervously now. You pointedly look at him. "You wouldn't be here just because you got worried, right?"

Wolffe's expression doesn't change.

"You went radio silent" he answers, quietly.

You arch an eyebrow.

"Our coms died" you explain, still confused about his attitude.

Wolffe can't help himself. He reaches forward and carefully grasps your chin in his right hand; eyes boring into yours. You gasp in surprise and can't do anything else but stare at his breathetaking mismatched eyes in response; emotions inside of you swirling dangerously with his move.

"You were hurt" he enfasises, almost as if he's trying to tell you something else, something you're not quite understanding. "You were hurt, and you went radio silent".

Oh. Oh. He thought you might be... You might have...

"Oh, Wolffe" his name is an understanding, affectionate sigh on your tempting lips. "I'm okay".

He doesn't want empathy. Doesn't want that almost condescending type of comfort. He needs to make sure you're still here; with him. He needs to exteriorize all this raw, painful emotions he has been keeping hidden for so fucking long, and he wants you so fucking bad it makes his mind and soul burn...

He bends down over you, holding himself against one hand proped against the floor while the other one tugs your neck forward, and then he's kissing you –fiercely, dominantly, real–; he kisses the same way he fights and a surprised but delighted whimper of a moan can't help but escape from your lips, hands quickly clinging onto his shoulders desperately.

You... You hadn't thought you'd end up having this. With you being a Jedi and him being such a perfect, respected clone Commander, you had always brushed your wants aside and...

"Wolffe" you whisper, trembling inevitably when his plush warm mouth moves from your lips to the side of your neck, biting gently. "Wolffe, I...".

He breathes and looks up at your face again; cupping your cheek with his right hand and observing your reaction with his eyes shimmering in needs and desire.

His Force signature blasts. He loves you. He loves you, and you...

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum" you whisper, risking it all and giving your heart to him.

Tears blur your sight. They're not sad tears; they're not happy either. They're a mix of emotions that make you feel like a mess and...

Wolffe sighs. You love him. You love him, and the fact that you've told him in Mando'a...

He closes his eyes and gently presses his forehead against yours; finding solace and peace in your embrace, in this Keldabe. His eyes then flutter open, and he holds your face in both of his hands, slowly joining your lips in a kiss much more sweet and unhurried than those from before. You hum, surrendering in complete bliss.

He caresses your smuged cheek with his thumb, taking some of the dirt and exhaustion of the battlefield away.

His voice is a secret whisper as well.

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, cyare".

Your fingers tug at the hair at the back of his neck, and you crash your lips onto his.

You imprint those five mandalorian words in your soul.

THE END.

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This one was a blast to write! Felt the emotions so raw myself tooo bfbfbsfb this two are so cute. I hope I get to write more of Wolffe in the future, I really like the guy.

Did some minor alterations –like him not been the one to actually carry you back to safety– but it kinda wrote itself and I'm happy with how it came out. Hope you liked it as well!

Also, dear friends, if you ever want to request something longer than a one-shot, you're able to do so as well (if the plot goes accordingly or I find it expandable). I'm not writing whole stories, but a short one of maybe 2-5 chapters max would be okay.

Stay tunned for the next one yall. It will be a little angsty one with Echo, and then we'll have a flirty fun one with Crosshair.

Xx,

Sky.

Back to main masterlist here!

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kateii · 6 months ago

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somebody is still writing plo koon fanfictions?:(

i miss him so much and i feel like we forget about him

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kometqh · 11 months ago

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𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂..

Captain Rex x F!Reader x Fives

Pt. 2 Every night, without fail, you wake up crying, heaving as you realise the monsters of your nightmares have been long left behind on the battlefields you fought on alongside your beloved Clone Troopers, the 501st Legion. Every night, without fail, you note down all your thoughts and feelings onto paper, into your beloved Diary that your Jedi Master has given to you as a gift. What happens when the Captain and Trooper of the 501st get their hands on your prized possession? Word Count: 2845 Warnings: Very much unedited, most definitely not lore-accurate as I have just begun to watch Clone Wars. A/N: A spur-of-the-moment kind of fic, it will be a two parter story :) It does say Female reader as that is what I had in mind, however there are no pronouns or descriptions used that allude to the reader being female!

Your body shot straight up, sweat rolling down the side of your temple, shoulders heaving up and down rapidly through heavy breaths. You wearily scanned the area, the room you found yourself in, your bedroom, hidden under a blanketed darkness. You could vaguely make out the different shapes of objects in your room; the steel wardrobe, the desk seated in a faraway corner, the tall frame of the door. The small line of light that peaked through provided some comfort, some more visibly.

A shaky hand reached for the night light beside your temporary bed - a silver steel, upright lamp that provided a bright, white light. It didn't provide much comfort as hard white light flooded the room, but it was enough to convince you that the terrors in your dreams weren't physically present in your waking days.

Heaving a slow, heavy sigh, you slid back down into the pale comfort of your sheets, hugging a pillow to your body.

As you laid there, light still on, eyes shut, you were engulfed in the sound of deafening silence. You could almost hear the light buzzing of the mechanical structures of the ship, ringing in your ears.

You sighed again, turning your body to face the door. The light from the outside tickled at your eyelids, forcing them to flutter open. With a groan, you shoved your nose deeper into the soft material of your pillow, beginning to count down, hoping that, the mental image of numerous General's jumping up and down like innocent sheep, would lull you back to sleep soon enough.

Mini Skywalker's, Plo Koon's and Obi Wan Kenobi's cluttered your mind, hopping over a tall fence as you silently counted, 'One.. Two.. Three' and so on. It was definitely interesting image to think of, but in the meantime, it did little to stop your body from tossing and turning, heaving and sighing, twisting in your sheets.

With another, heavy sigh, you reached into your bedside draw, pulling out a small notebook and pen. You flipped it to the most recent page, jotting down the date and time, a small curse leaving your lips as you noticed the time; 01:25.

You were going to become a zombie at this rate.

Nethertheless, you began spilling words onto the page, the crease between your brows easing as time passed, the fast pace of your heartbeat steadying with each word that slipped past the boundaries of your mind.

By the time sleep had finally pulled you into it's clutches, your mind could tell the ship was leaving hyperspace, and approaching a new atmosphere, your diary and pen abandoned at your side, left open on the most recent page yet again.

You awoke when the ship had landed; merely five hours later. The metal hit the ground with a thud, successfully forcing your eyes open. You laid there for a long while, ears twitching as you listened to the distant sounds of clone troopers wandering the hallways, accompanied by loud chatter and laughter.

Those moments, those peaceful moments, where your men could take a moment to relax and unravel were your favourite. You fought hard to keep every single one alive, the guilt chipping away at your sturdy resolve, discipline and beliefs in the Jedi rules.

You had broken one of the most important rules from the very beginning; it was forbidden to form attachments. How could you abide by such a cruel rule, when you were stationed with the same men for the last three years, getting to know them, living with them, laughing and sharing meals? To you, such a rule shouldn't exist. You could tell many other Jedi also disagreed with it - Anakin Skywalker being one amongst many. Even Obi Wan Kenobi, whose rebellious personality did very little to hide his affections for a certain Mandalorian Senator..

Taking in a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes, looking around the room.

A warm glow peaked through the tightly shut curtains, warming your skin in a gentle embrace. Even though your eyes burned with exhaustion, you had willed yourself to get up. It was already 07:00, your men were definitely up and ready for their mission briefing.

Though they'd have to wait a little longer, you supposed.

This was meant to be an easy, diplomatic mission centred around a Neutral planet. You and your troops, the 501st, would be ensuring the citizens' safety, and potentially discussing joining the Democratic Republic.

After spending some time getting ready, you left your quarters, silently stalking through the hallways, a distant rumble of the canteen ringing in your ears. The closer you got, the more shouts and lively conversations you could hear.

All of those men shared the same exact voice, but the small differences in speech patterns, accents, tone and volume, were enough for you to be able to distinguish between your squadron without even seeing any of their faces.

Tugging your robes closer to your body, you entered the canteen, heading straight for the food buffet. It was going to be a simple mission - grab some toast, some water, and escape before anyone could notice you.

And simple it would of been, if it wasn't for a certain Captain's sharp eyes and enhanced instincts; as if an alarm went off in his head anytime you appeared within his vicinity.

In no time, you felt his warm breath fan over the back of your neck, his chest close enough for you to feel the coolness radiating off his body armour.

"Good morning, Captain." You spoke softly, a hint of tiredness still laced within your voice as you blinked slowly, placing a piece of toast on your tray.

"G'morning General," His voice came out a rolling, warm rumble, directly by your ear as Rex leaned over you, "What are you having for breakfast?" He asked, his honey-brown eyes scanning over your food tray.

"Nuffin special, Captain, just a plain toast and water, how 'bout you?" You asked, moving away from the queue and to an empty table. You looked to Rex, noticing the corners of his lips tugging upwards, the sight warming your closed-off heart. You desperately wanted to cradle the side of his face in your palm, to soothe over the lines that wedged themselves between his eyebrows, noticing his exhaustion still showing even after a decent night's sleep.

"I've already had my breakfast with Fives and Echo, woke up quite early actually." He spoke softly, a chuckle escaping his lips as his palm rested on the small of your back, leading you to your seat.

Confusion took over your body as you sat down, bringing the toast up to your lips, taking a bite. "So, why are you here then, Captain?" You asked through a mouthful, eyeing him up and down, confusion clear as day across your face.

At that, his face hardened into one he wore often during meetings and battles, an uncertain heaviness clouding his eyes. His fists clenched atop his lap, his lips pulling into a thin line. He wished to discuss the mission with you; hoping to lessen the number of men needed. Though he wasn't sure how willing you'd be to give your men a small vacation, he still wanted to attempt to provide his brothers with some respite.

What kind of Captain would he be if he didn't consider his soldiers' health?

"Actually- I wanted to discuss the mission with you, General," He paused, breaking eye contact as his gaze dropped to his lap, then scaled back up to focus on the ice-blue, steel table separating the two of you, "I was thinking-"

"Thinking too much isn't good for you Rex, you've got enough lines on your forehead already." You joked, interrupting the clearly tense Captain. As you eyed him up and down with a soft smile, his shoulders visibly relaxed, the thin line his lips had become turning into the softest of smiles, his cheeks puffing up into marshmallows over the stretch.

"W-Well, I was wondering if you could allow my men to take this time to rest." He stated, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he eyed you from underneath a curtain of lashes. He was using his best puppy eyes, knowing very well what effect those had on you.

You blinked once, then twice, your eyes widening owlishly as you stared at Rex.

Was he.. Trying to woo you?

You sat just the smallest bit straighter, your shoulders stiffening as you begged the Maker for Rex to not pick up on the sudden stiffiness that clutched onto your body with a steel grip.

Why was he making things so much harder for you?

"R-Rex.. I'm not sure I-" You started, your stomach dropping as he released a defeated sigh.

"I know General, I know.. It's just that, after the last mission, we're all still quite exhausted." He spoke, his gaze unwavering as he leaned closer to you, his scent invading your nostrils. He smelled of the Canteen's breakfast, a faint scent of aftershave lingering over him. Had he shaved already? You never got to see more than a hint of stubble on his jaw and chin, before it was gone with the wind; like it never even existed.

That's why you were grateful for Fives; that man's goatee could never disappoint. You were sure a beard of some sorts would suit Rex so well - it wasn't too difficult to imagine with his brother around, serving as an example.

What would it feel like to feel the short hairs underneath your fingers? To feel the smooth skin of his cheek under your palm? The soft plushness of his lips against yours-

"General?" He interrupted your fleeting thoughts, a glint of hope shining in his eyes as you shook your head lightly.

It was the defeated, gentle sigh that gave you away.

If it were anyone else, Rex would never dare to ask such a question. But with you- with you, his men felt most comfortable, most safe. They respected you, and could feel you returning that respect every time you'd prioritise their lives over yours, telling them to retreat, to find cover as you had a handle on every situation, on every battle. You never abandoned them.

"Fine.. But I'll need at least one of you to accompany me." You paused, quirking a brow at the Captain, conveying your seriousness in just one look. "And I'll need the men to be on guard, okay? We can't risk being caught off guard if anything were to happen." You finally finished, your toast long forgotten, cooling down in the chilled canteen, as Rex graced you with the gentlest of smiles, his gaze softening the longer he listened to you.

He knew he could count on you, and he would prove to you that this wasn't a mistake. That it wouldn't be.

Clearing his throat, Rex stood up from his seat, rounding the table to you.

"Thank you General, I can assure you that the squadron will be ready for any and every circumstance, and I will personally escort you to the meetings. You have my word." He spoke, reaching his hand out for yours. Confusedly, you extended your hand into his grasp, a hint of pink dusting your cheeks as he pressed a swift kiss to your knuckles.

"R-Re- Uhm, Captain," You stuttered and paused, clearing your throat as you prayed for the blush to go away, "There is no need to thank me." You insisted, slowly getting up from your seat. His gaze followed you, tracing over your body with an unknown emotion hiding behind his thick lashes.

"Thank you General, now if you'll excuse me, I'll go inform the others that haven't heard." He stated, bidding you a goodbye, cheers following soon after as Rex lifted a hand, signing a thumbs up to some of his men behind you. Your gaze followed his form as you watched him exit the canteen, his head turning to look back at you one last time before the doors slid shut behind him.

"What the hell was that.." You whispered, continuing your breakfast as your thoughts ran at tens of miles an hour, a blush permanently settled on your cheeks.

"Captain, are you sure this is a good idea?" Fives asked as he adjusted his helmet, following Rex as they made their way to your quarters.

"Yes yes, I'm sure. She should be in here anyway." Rex stated, waving his brother's concerns off as they rounded the corner, your bedroom doors coming into sight. "Besides, she said we should meet her at her quarters before we depart." He insisted, coming to a stop by your doors.

Raising his fisted hand, Rex knocked on your doors three times before backing away, waiting for a response.

As a moment turned into a minute, and a minute turned into three, Rex knocked again, this time calling out your title. "General? Are you in there?" He asked, his voice raised in uncertainty. When he received no reply once again, he shook his head.

"I don't think she's in there." He turned to Fives, feet ready to start moving again as his brain racked over any other locations on the ship that you frequented. Fives looked at Rex, quirking a curious brow at him, though his helmet covered any and all expressions he shot in his brother's way.

"Maybe we should go in? Who knows, maybe the General got herself stuck in the refresher." He quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as Fives made his way over to your door. Pressing a button, the doors swiftly opened before him.

Walking over to the doors of your refresher, Rex followed after Fives, taking his helmet off, unable to, unwilling to, stop his eyes from wondering all over your room, taking note of the lack of personalised decorations in your bedroom. There was a desk, numerous multi-coloured folders stacked neatly on top of it, a small lamp next to them.

He looked over your wardrobe, his fingers itching to pull it open, to see what other articles of clothing you owned apart from your Jedi robes.

As Fives knocked at the refresher doors, his helmet at his side, Rex inched closer to your bed, noticing a small notebook hidden just beside your pillow, still open on the most recent page. His fingers reached over for it, eyes scanning over the yellow-coloured pages, gloved hands gliding over the leathery spine of the small book.

"Oooh, what's that?"

Before Rex could react, the book was snatched from his grasp, his head snapping upwards to see Fives flipping through the pages, turning and closing the book, only to gasp. That had Rex's ears almost twitching, a curious brow quirked up.

"What? What is it Fives?" Rex asked, standing next to his brother.

The silence that followed made him uneasy, and leaning his head closer, he looked to the book, his lips gaping open.

"Do you see what I see?" Fives inquired, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned his head to Rex. All that Rex could do was nod in stunned silence.

"Y/n's Personal Diary.." Fives whispered aloud, eyes scanning over the firsts page.

A lump built up in Rex's throat, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides as Fives read over the words you had messily written in your diary, his heart thumping as he recounted each memory, a soft smile tugging at both brothers' lips as they could feel every emotion you had spilled out onto the pages.

Though they quickly scrambled to hide the small book behind their backs, interrupted by the sound of your bedroom doors sliding open.

A scream left your lips as your gaze landed on the two armoured men, heart racing wildly at the unexpected scare. Their gazes didn't linger on you for too long, a faint pink ghosting over their cheeks as they looked anywhere but you.

"H-Hi General, we tried knocking but-" Rex begun, unsure of how to explain why he and his brother were snooping around your quarters.

"We were worried that you got stuck in the refresher when we heard no answer, so we wanted to make sure you were safe and ready for our trip." Fives finished Rex's sentence, casting his brother and Captain a side glance, his lips stretched into an awkward, innocent grin on his face.

"R-Right.. Sorry, General, it won't happen again."

"That's quite alright, I'm actually flattered you men were worried about me," You spoke softly, hand covering your mouth as you giggled at their explanation, your heart warming at the thought that the two cared so much for your well-being. Though you wouldn't let yourself show just how much that thought made you blush. "Now come on, we've got meetings to go to." You exclaimed, waving the two men over as you made your way out into the hall.

Giving each other a knowing glance, Rex and Fives followed, quietly telling one another to hide the diary. Rex nudged Fives with his elbow, now too far gone to quietly and innocently return the book to its original place.

"Just shove it into your bag.." Rex hissed out through thin lips, rushing after you as he cast his brother one last glance, making sure the diary was stored safely in one of their backpacks.

#captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars clone wars #clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fives x reader #clones x reader #501st legion #501st x reader #jedi #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #plo koon #galaxy #space

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mnnulat · 6 months ago

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Room for More

TBB x fem!reader (platonic)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Summary: A Jedi padawan of Master Plo Koon, you'd been on the run since Order 66 was executed after the Wolfpack betrayed your master. Mostly hiding out in Ord Mantell, you soon encountered Clone Force 99. After helping out with some of their missions for Cid (and always hanging out with Omega), the Batch welcomed you under their wing. However, you don't talk to them that much if it isn't mission-related. A certain mishap may change that.

Warnings: mentions of death, minor angst, metions of Order 66, mentions and description of vomit and GERD (PLS DO NOT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU)

A/N: Not proofread or edited. Reader should be around 20 years old. Also, reader's experience with GERD is based on my experience with it (I'm no medical professional so disclaimer!!)

The journey on the way back to Ord Mantell is not always vibrant, but this time, it is. Blue streaks decorate the blackness of space as the Havoc Marauder travels back to Ord Mantell. The energy in the ship is unusually jolly after a mission; you could feel everyone's energy.

Cid's client this time was a sheriff. He hired you and the Batch to act as temporary bodyguards to drive away mercenaries from his town on a tropical planet. While you were there, you and the Batch befriended the local villagers. As a thank you gift, they gave you tons of food—enough for a real meal for the five of you—for the journey back to Cid's.

It seems they packed you some sort of noodles. It's incredibly saucy—almost a vibrant red—not that you mind. The smell is delicious, mild enough for Hunter to enjoy it properly, but enough that you can smell the blend of several different spices. Chopped out pieces of vegetables and meat are mixed into it, as well.

You sit on your bunk, quietly observing the Batch as you heartily eat the noodles. Wrecker, who practically wolfed down his big portion of the food, is now playing dejarik with Omega, who is multitasking between eating dinner and playing the game. The girl giggles as she continues to beat the gentle giant.

Tech and Echo are both seated by the ship's console. You could sense that they're relaxed and satisfied, as opposed to their usual tired state after a mission. They both eat the food while chatting with each other, a smile on each of their faces.

Your glance finally lands on Sergeant Hunter. With his food in hand, he leans on the wall as he watches over his crew. Looking at him, you can feel warmth radiate through your body, and you know that feeling to be Hunter's; it's just the Force's way of telling you how happy he is for the time being.

You smile to yourself, it's not every time that the Batch could enjoy like this. Your heart feels light just by watching them. They reminded you of the Wolfpack.

Oh.

Your heart turns heavy. You're quite past being angry with them: about turning their backs against the Jedi Order; about betraying the cause they fought for; and about killing Master Plo.

No. You just miss them. You miss how things were. You miss the warmth they brought with their presence. You crave for Master Plo's fatherly advice and care. You want to feel Wolffe's comforting hug after a failed campaign. You want to hear Sinker's and Boost's corny jokes that would distract you from the horrors of the war.

You just want them back—just like the old times.

Breaking out of your thoughts, you feel a lingering sensation. Looking up, you find Hunter looking at you with worry. It still surprises you, that after months of being with them, you still can't quite figure out how his enhanced senses work.

Regardless, you send him your signature tight-lipped smile. That awkward smile that graced your features upon your introduction to your new master. The one you gave the 104th battalion at your first campaign as their Commander. The one—

You huff, internally berating yourself for going there again. You really should control your thoughts better.

You quickly finish your food, before properly disposing of the container and utensils. Quickly, you head to the fresher to brush your teeth. Once you're done, you feel something in your stomach, as if you're still hungry, as if something is bubbling inside. You ignore it, just wanting to sleep so that your mind won't be plagued by unwanted thoughts. It's hard at night, the dark thoughts always seem to get worse then.

Heading to your bunk, you collapse on it; everything you and the Batch did the past few days finally catching up to you as your adrenaline drops. It doesn't take long before you're curled up on your bunk, asleep.

You don't even know how long it's been, but suddenly you sit upright and swing your legs over your bunk. Without thinking, you walk briskly to the fresher, slamming the door shut before hunching over the toilet and immediately expelling your dinner.

You groan, slumping down on the fresher floor. You could feel something bubbling in your stomach again, forcing it's way up, along with a strong pinch in your abdomen. The aftermath of your vomit tastes like dinner and something sour.

Just then, a knock is heard. "Are you okay?" Hunter's gruff but calming voice calls out.

Shakily, you stand and flush the toilet before washing your hands.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you reply calmly, masking the pain that you're feeling.

Hunter suddenly opens the fresher door, making you jump. He looks at you worriedly.

"I can hear your stomach, doesn't sound good."

You walk past him into the direction of your bunk. You feel Echo's and Tech's eyes on you as well, but you just want to go back to sleep.

"I think I just ate too fast. Don't worry about it," you mumble tiredly as you resume your slumber.

Echo, Tech, and Hunter all look at your sleeping form but decided that perhaps it's best you get some rest.

The peace continues for around half an hour. You wake up again, hurriedly walking to the bathroom. You don't even notice the worried glance Tech gives, or even the fresher door that you left open before throwing up in the toilet again.

You groan, slumping on the fresher floor.

Someone pulls you up gently by your arm.

"It's alright, I got you," you hear Hunter say as you see Tech flushing the toilet.

You sigh as he brings you back to your bunk, laying you down on it.

"Sorry, Hunter. Did I wake you?" You ask.

He just chuckles. "Yeah, but don't worry. How're you feeling?"

You slump back on my pillows. "Tired."

Just then, Tech suddenly appears, typing away at his datapad. He looks at you before talking.

"It seems that the contents that you expelled included acid, aside from the food you ate for dinner," he then looks at Hunter, "you said you could hear her stomach?"

"Yeah, it sounded like something was bubbling upwards."

Tech nods, seemingly satisfied. "Figured as much," comes his robotic-like voice. He looks at you again, with one eyebrow raised. "I had a theory, so I looked for your medical files from the GAR. You have gastroesopheagal reflux disease. It is most likely that the noodles that we ate triggered it."

"Yeah, kinda figured that out after I threw up the first time," you mumble. You bring the blankets up to your chin, wishing that you could disappear from their scrutinizing gaze.

"I've also checked our medpacks—we do not have any antacid at hand. We'd have to wait till we arrive at Ord Mantell to restock."

Hunter frowns. "Do you need anything?" He asks you.

Your gaze lingers a bit longer on him than you would've liked. His eyebrow are arched upwards, causing lines to appear on his forehead. While crouched, you could still tell that his torso is slightly leaning forwards towards you. He keeps one hand on your bunk, too. For a brief moment, you see a man with a GAR-standard haircut, a cybernetic eye, a scar over it, and white and grey armor. But it's as if your vision shifts, and you see the man with long hair, face tattoo, a red bandana, and colorful armor.

"No, nothing. I'm fine," you reply dryly.

"No, you are not," Tech bluntly points out.

"I'll sleep it off," you mumble, rolling over to your side as your eyes begin to droop once again from exhaustion.

Hunter and Tech both sigh as you quite literally turn your backs on them. At this point, they're quite used to you being closed off, but this is the first time they've seen how you're like when your sick. You're more distant than you usually are.

After some time you feel the familiar pinch in your stomach and your labored breathing. The acid quickly rises in you, and it feels as if it were knawing through its pathway.

You quickly turn to the other side of your bunk in hopes to reach the fresher again. Instead, your eyes meet a metal bucket beside your bunk. Unable to hold everything in, you expel the acid in the bucket.

You cry out in pain; the muscles of your abdoment working overtime to push the acid out of you. Your hair drapes around your face as you throw up, getting in the way of the vomit that not only comes out of your mouth, but also some through the nose.

You vaguely feel a hand gathering your hair and holding it away from your face, and another hand gently rubbing your back.

"Hey, it's okay. I got you," it says soothingly.

Warm tears stream down from your eyes, to your cheeks, and pour down to the bucket.

You lie back down, breathing heavily. The bitter-sour aftertaste of the acid makes you cringe. Your eyelids flutter heavily, and you drift in and out of sleep. You don't even notice that Hunter disappeared until you hear the fresher door open and the bucket being settled down beside your bunk again.

"I could've done that myself," You mutter tiredly.

Hunter crosses his arms over his chest, a big frown on his face. "No, you need to rest. Let me help you."

"It's my problem. I'm the one who's sick."

"Uh-huh," Hunter grunts, looking very unimpressed. "C'mon, ad'ika. Let me help."

Ad'ika.

As he says that, you could hear Wolffe's voice. Your eyes dart around the room, trying to find him. But the only other person you see is a concerned Hunter looking down at you.

Logically, you knew you needed someone to help you with the bucket, and other things that may come up. Your heart clenches at how you wished it was Wolffe, or Boost, or Sinker, or Comet, or Master Plo. But deep inside you, you know that if you try to do this all by yourself, you may end up vomiting on the floor or elsewhere where you shouldn't be. You wouldn't want that.

"Fine," you concede. Your voice no longer holding the fight it had previously.

Hunter flashes you a faint smile as he leaves. Your head lolls on the pillow as your eyelids close on their own and your mind becomes blank.

You wake up once again to someone tapping your shoulder. In your hazy vision, you see Hunter holding out a bottle of water to you. Sitting up, you take it gratefully, taking a few sips. You hand it back to him before resuming your slumber.

And so under the lights of hyperspace, the cycle continued until you reached Ord Mantell. Every thirty minutes or so, Hunter would wake up after you throw up in the bucket; he would flush it before returning it to you clean. Occassionally, he would refill the bottle with water, as well.

In your delurious state, sometimes you would see Wolffe instead of Hunter moving about. And it would seep into your dreams, too. You would see the blur of grey and white armor of the Wolfpack instead of the colorful armor of the Batch. You would hear Wolffe's voice—gruff and strict—telling you to take it easy.

But as the hours tick by, you no longer see or hear anyone from the Wolfpack, whether it be in your dreams or reality. You don't see the grey and white. Instead, you see flashes of color; you see flashes of grey mixed with yellow, red, cyan, and orange. You don't hear Wolffe's strict voice, Boost and Sinker's jokes, or Master Plo's comforting advice. You hear Hunter's gruff but caring remarks, Wrecker's booming laughter, Echo's gentle reminders, Tech's steady comments, and Omega's soft greetings.

And as you arrive at Ord Mantell, you accept their assistance without protest as you disembark from the Marauder. You know that Master Plo and the 104th would always have a place in your heart, but you know now that there's room for five more colorful people.

#star wars #clones #the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #tbb tech #clone force 99 #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #commander wolffe #master plo koon #star wars oneshot #tbb x reader #clone trooper boost #clone trooper sinker #104th battalion #clone trooper comet

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arctrooper69 · 2 years ago

Note

hiii! i just found your hurt/comfort dialog prompt list you had tagged and i'm such a sucker for that kind of stuff. could you please do prompt 34. "you're covered in blood, need to tell me something?" with wolffe? maybe even a little bit of prompts 20 and 35 from the the hurt/comfort sprinkled in there too? i absolutely adore your work and your such a fantastic writer, i look forward to everytime you post, and you do such a beautiful job on your writing that i can't wait to read this once it is done (if you decided to do it) . feel free to change it how you want, and thank you for taking time out of busy day to read this. love you <333

Hey! I'm so glad you've been enjoying my work! Sorry it took me awhile to get this out to you. I had so many ideas for it but I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. Hope you enjoy it! 😁

Prompt# 20: "How long did you think that you could hide that?"

Prompt# 34: "You're covered in blood, need to tell me anything?"

Prompt# 35: "It's just a headache, I'm fine."

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Love is a Battlefield

The new General doesn't want to ask for help. Commander Wolffe does so anyway.

Warnings: Blood. Angst. Battlefield scenes. Hurt/Comfort.

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"Okay, today officially sucks." You grumbled under your breath, cursing whatever cosmic Force led you to be in your current state. Groaning you dragged yourself back over the ledge and collapsed in the mud. Everything hurt. Your clothes were stiff with dried and drying blood and at this point, you weren't sure if it belonged to you or to those damn splox who's nest you'd fallen into. Probably both.

Ok, now to find the rest of the company. You were sure that you hadn't strayed too far from the battlefield when you'd been drug off by battle droids and thrown from a cliff in the resulting fight. But hey, at least you took them down with you. You thought, cracking a smile. Master Plo would've been proud. On the other hand, you frowned, you had gotten separated from everyone else - so maybe not so much.

You drew a sharp breath between your teeth. A burning, grating feeling radiated from your side as you stepped over a rock and nearly fell to the ground. You paused for a moment to let your tunneling vision focus again, fighting back the urge to throw up. Maybe some of the blood was actually yours. The trek back to camp was going to take much longer than you expected.

Good. Maybe that would give you time to mull over the conversation you'd had yesterday morning with the commander of you battalion.

You were sure it was the reason that Commander Wolffe was ignoring you earlier today.

***

You'd chosen to continue on with the battalion after Master Plo had received an urgent message from the Council, recalling him from the field. Wolffe disagreed.

"You're injured!" He snapped, more forcefully than intended.

You sighed rolling your eyes. "It's just a headache. I'm fine. You know I've had worse, Commander." It was more than a headache, probably a concussion due to the nausea and dizziness that currently plagued you. But he didn't need to know that.

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose.

"General, I saw that spider droid fling you halfway across the battlefield. Can you at least go to medical to get checked out? I need you-" He froze, then coughed quickly, trying to pass off his slip-up as though he'd been interrupted mid sentence. "We. We need you. Your men need you at your best, general."

He coughed again and quickly left the room, leaving you frozen in place.

***

Did he really say that? You replayed his words in your head over and over again.

"I need you."

You couldn't deny that it had shaken you. You couldn't deny that it had hit you in such a way that made your whole body tingle and flood with warmth. As much as you tried to suppress it and convince yourself it was nothing, you had found yourself staring at the Commander a lot recently. The way he confidently carried himself, the subtle spark in his eye, the way he cared for his men even though he hid it behind that abrasive and sarcastic front - it was all so perfect. So attractive. So him.

No, he couldn't have meant it like that. You were his superior and even more importantly, you were a Jedi. No attachment allowed. He definitely couldn't have meant it like that. It was simply a slip of the tongue. He felt nothing for you and you felt nothing for him. You told yourself that your infatuation wasn't real. Commander Wolffe was a good solider and your fondness for him was simply a professional sense of pride. That's all.

Distant voices interrupted your brooding. Several clone troopers were searching high and low, calling out for someone but you didn't quite catch the name.

"Who are we looking for?" You walked up to the trooper closest to you. His shiny white armor was streaked with mud and ash - one of the new guys. Splash, they'd christened him on account of the puddle of mud he'd landed in immediately after jumping from the gunship into the field. It was hard to believe you'd only been here for three days. It felt like three years.

"We're looking for the General!" He explained hurriedly, hardly giving you a side glance.

Your heart dropped. Surely not Master Plo. Had he not left for Coruscant after all? Your hero and former master had seemed invincible ever since he'd chosen you to be his Padawan.

"General Plo Koon?" You asked hesitantly.

Splashed grunted as he stepped over a log. "No, the other one."

A wave of relief washed over you. You could've laughed out loud if your head wasn't so cloudy. Your side screamed with every step. You took a shallow breath, trying to ground yourself.

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me.

Supplementing with the force wouldnt last long and it was draining, but it was better than the agony you'd been in. You took a deep breath, allowing the pain to become a whisper and looked back up at the clone.

"Well you found her!" You joked.

"What?" He stood up looking confused. Then he looked over at you.

Splash straightened up upon realizing that he had indeed found the General. He was glad he was wearing his bucket because he could feel his face turning red with embarrassment. He scrambled stiffly to attention. "Uhm, sorry Sir. I mean Ma'am. Uh, General." He stuttered, trying to compose himself. You chuckled, wincing as the movement pulled at your wounded side. Splash looked alarmed as if he'd just realized that his General was covered in blood. "Are you injured, Ma'am?"

You grit your teeth to hide the pain. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I believe it all belongs to the splox that I killed. Fell into a nest of em."

He looked at you, unsure if you were being serious or not, trying to recall if the regulation manuals told him what to do in a situation like this.

"We should probably make our way to medical, all the same." He concluded. "Just to be safe. Get you checked out and all." He offered his arm.

You shook your head. "No that's alright. They're much too busy right now, seeing as the battle has just ended."

"Well I'm sure..."

You put a hand up to stop him. "It's fine, Splash. I can take care of myself. Let's worry about making our way back to camp."

"Of course, General."

***

You made your way back to camp and bid Splash a farewell. Exhausted, you yawned and slowly made your way back to your tent, passing the Commander's tent on your way there.

"General!" Commander Wolffe sprang to his feet the moment he saw you. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

His eyebrows knit tightly together with a frown. If you didn't know better, you almost thought he looked concerned. Worried even. But that would be stupid. You were reading too much into it. He was simply a solider looking out for the welfare of his commanding officer. That's it. Nothing more.

"I'm good!" You grinned, hoping he didn't notice the way your teeth ground against the pain in your head and now your side.

Wolffe's face became unreadable.

"Just good!?" He growled. "General, you are covered in blood. 'Good' does not even begin to cover it. Do you need to tell me something?"

Yes. I think I'm in love with you.

"No not really." You nonchantly shrugged. "It's not mine. Fell into a nest of those giant splox beetles and had to take em out before they ate me. You know how it is."

Wolffe rolled his eyes. He didn't believe you, but what could he do? He wasn't your superior, he couldn't order you to tell him. He made a note to ask Cody and Rex to let him into the clones-with-stubborn-generals club. He could sure use some advice.

"Could you be anymore bull-headed?" he wanted to yell at you as you left the room, interpreting his silence as the end of that conversation.

Wolffe groaned in frustration. Why did he care so much? Why did the thought of you being wounded send waves of terror cascading through his core. You were acting strange, subtly walking as though every step sent agony shooting through your body thinking nobody would notice. He noticed. He wanted to pick you up in his arms and bandage your wounds. He wanted to softly kiss each scar on your skin.

You were a good leader. He understood wanting to be tough, wanting to be strong for the soldiers under your command. If he was honest with himself, he did the same.

You trudged wearily back to your tent, ignoring the pain that was slowly returning to full force with a vengeance as though it was angry at being willed into submission.

You made it a point to avoid medical. The dwindling amount of medical supplies worried you. It was only a matter of time before they would run out if they weren't sent relief. The chief medical officer had drastically downplayed the dire straits the company was in when you asked him. You'd seen the inventory. It was scarce. It wouldn't be right, going to medical right now. Not when you could most likely patch yourself up with the small medkit by your bunk. The clones made up the backbone of the GAR, it was only right that they take priority over you.

***

It was a miracle of the Force that you hadn't passed out by the time you reached the tent. Biting your lip to keep you from making too much noise, you peeled off your shirt to assess the damage, grabbing a towel from the shelf.

You bit back a pained moan and your vision swam as you gripped the edge of your cot to steady yourself. A large gash curled around the side of your chest from the bottom of your breast to your hip. The torn skin bled heavily, quickly turning the towel a crimson red.

This was...not good.

The com chirped, making you jump. You felt dazed and exhausted. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before answering the com. Sergeant Sinker's brisk voice echoed from the device.

"General, the clankers are moving in from the North. They've engaged the front and the 501st is calling for aid. What are your orders?"

Your men needed you. Who were you to ignore them? What kind of leader would you be if you sent them off while you stayed behind. "A good leader leads by example" Master Plo always said. You were tired of the animalistic way the clones were treated - as if they were only droids or worse. You would be there for your men, fighting right up front beside them. Right beside Commander Wolffe.

You lit up the com. "Proceed with the request, Sergeant. I'll be there shortly."

You looked at the medkit. Well, so much for that. You quickly taped up the wound and slapped some bacta treated gauze on it. Then you quickly changed your clothes, willing yourself to ignore the nauseating pain. You steadied yourself with a hand on the wall before wiping the cold sweat from your clammy skin. You tried to breathe, once more closing your eyes in meditation once again squashing down the pain. The show must go on. The General must lead her men into battle.

***

General Skywalker was right to call for aid. The Separatist forces were throwing everything they had at you. You jumped over the guns of a tank, slicing through the controls to disable it. Droid after droid came at you from all sides and you cut them down. If only the Commander could see you now in all your glory.

An explosion knocked you off your feet, wrenching you from your stupor. Pain surged through your body as you pushed yourself to your feet. The continuous onslaught of enemy forces wasn't so fun now. You began to realize just how tired you were. Trying to catch your breath felt as futile as swimming in honey. Your mind felt sluggish and your arms felt like lead. A B2 took aim and fired. You saw him fire and raised your saber to block but it was a fraction of a second too slow and the blast hit your shoulder. Kriff. You hit the ground hard, letting the awful, searing pain wash over you. You wanted to close your eyes. You wished you could just rest. Just for a moment.

Your eyes flew back open. No. The men need you. Get up. Shakily you forced yourself to your knees and onto your feet. One more time. You knew this was abusing the force but it was for an honorable reason. Right?

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me. Pain is temporary. Accept it simply as a signal sent by the body. Accept the pain. Respect it. Don't fight it. Ask your body to begin to heal.

You let out a feral scream, pouring every last ounce of energy and willpower into your prayers, knocking back an entire wave of droids. And then you felt nothing.

***

My head. The first thing you noticed upon regaining consciousness was the skull splitting headache that you could almost feel radiating down your entire body. It felt as though someone was spearing red hot needles through your eyeballs, twisting them through the many sections of your brain. The pain made you nauseous.

An agonized wheeze drifted from your lips as you tried to raise your hands to cup your face. When did my arms get so heavy? Pain shot through your side and shoulder as you tried to move. Panic gripped you when you couldn't.

"Ah kriff," a gruff voice cursed. "Hey! General. General, it's okay. Calm down. You're safe." You'd know that voice anywhere - it was the only clear thing that cut through the haze of pain. Commander Wolffe.

He barked a command at someone and after a few minutes the pain had loosened it's claws. It wasn't much but it was better than before.

"What do you need, General? Are you still in pain?"

"Lights," you managed to groan. Even that took too much energy and you desperately hoped that you wouldn't be sick in front of the Commander.

Wolffe immediately jumped from his chair, quickly shutting off the lights. That helped some, but not much. It still felt like your head was being lobotomized by a pickaxe. Your side and shoulder felt like they'd been broken off and trampled by a bantha. A bantha that was on fire maybe.

"You are so kriffing stubborn, you know that!?" Wolffe growled. Seeing you wince, he lowered his volume but continued with the hard and bitter tone.

"How long did you think you could hide that!? Hmm?" He motioned to your side.

"You almost died yesterday." He said, softening his voice ever so slightly.

Wolffe looked tired. His eyes were sunken and even his cybernetic one had a dark shadow beneath it. He looked like he hadn't shaved or showered since the battle. His grey armor was still scuffed up with dirt and grime. A small bacta patch adorned his right eyebrow.

You looked away, shame burning at the corners your eyes, adding to the overwhelming pressure in your head. You failed him and now he hated you. You turned your head away from him wincing at the pain but you couldn't bear to have him see the tears that rolled down your cheeks.

"Look at me." A command. He didn't have the authority to give you a command, but you felt compelled to comply all the same. Hastily wiping your eyes in a futile attempt at seeming alright, you turned towards him. Your breath caught as he wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling it from your face.

"Stop kriffing pretending that you're okay." Still a command, but this one felt softer. His voice still held the rough, bitter edge that defined him so well but as you met his eyes, they held an uncertain gaze of vulnerability.

"Your men need you alive. They care about you, General." He paused, pacing back and forth in the dark room. He came to a stand still by the foot of your bed, refusing to meet your gaze, as though he had something he wanted to say. Finally he took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Oh kriff it." He snapped. "I care about you, damnit!" He shook his head and began to pace again, the anger returning to his visage.

"General Plo said you could've died." He spat. "He said that you had spread yourself so thin, used up so much energy that you could've killed yourself. Do you..." He cut himself off and took another breath, clenching his fists tightly. "Do you know what that would've done to this company. Do you know what that would've done to me!?"

There was fire in his eyes when he looked back up at you. "It would've killed me too."

You lay there in your bed staring at him - shocked at this outburst. What was he saying? That he cared for you? That he loved you? That he thought about you as much as you thought about him?

"I.." you began softly.

"No. I'm not done."

You shut your mouth.

"General, when you came back to camp covered in blood, I had to restrain myself from throwing you over my shoulder and taking you to medical myself. I knew something was wrong but I trusted that you knew what you were doing. It was the same when I saw you collapse yesterday. It took everything in me not to race to your side."

He shook his head, disappointed in himself, and angry with you. "I should be holding the line with my men, not babysitting my General!"

You stared blankly ahead, letting his anger wash over you. So that's how he saw you. That solves one problem, you tried to convince yourself. It was good that he didn't reciprocate your feelings. That made it easier to cleanse yourself of any feeling of attachment. But then why didn't hurt so bad? Why did it feel like a part of your soul had been sawed away? Wasn't letting go of your emotions supposed to bring you peace? This crushing weight of disappointment and heartbreak was anything but peace.

The room was quiet save for the beeps and whirs of the medical equipment around you. The silence felt deafening. Then finally Wolffe let out a sigh.

"I'm....sorry..." The words dragged themselves reluctantly from his mouth.

You didn't respond.

The bed buckled slightly as Wolffe sat down on the edge. He tentatively rested a hand gently on your back, expecting you to recoil or stiffen under his touch. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as you leaned into his touch instead.

He sighed, rolling his neck. "Look," he began awkwardly. "I'm not good at this kind of thing so I'm just going to be honest with you. I..." He stopped. You turned your face towards his. He took a breathe, not daring to make eye contact. "I think I'm in love with you. Kriff. No, I know I'm in love with you."

You gasped, the dam broke and tears began to stream down your face.

Wolffe jumped up, startled and clearly embarrassed. "I...I mean... I... I didn't mean..." The normally confident Commander stumbled over his words in a shameful horror.

"No," you sobbed. You felt so relieved. Everything felt right again. "You didn't do anything wrong." He looked down at you, eybrows knitted upwards in confusion. "Then why..." He motioned to your tearful face.

"Because I love you too and I was afraid that you hated me. I was afraid that everyone would see me as a terrible General. And also my everything hurts and..." you sobbed, "...and I love you so much."

Wolffe looked down at you with amusement and a strange softness took hold of his features - a foreign look for his usually serious demeanor.

"You look nice when you smile," you whispered with a small grin. "But you can go back to frowning if that's more comfortable for you."

Wolffe rolled his eyes as he settled down in a chair beside your bed. "You should get some sleep, General." Back to his serious old self again but he kept that twinkle in his eye. Only for you. he thought.

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

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knightprincess · 10 months ago

Text

Scars (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader) Part 1

Words: 2.7k Warning: Implied injury - stubborn, suspicious Wolffe - Bit of fluff Pronouns Use: She/Her - (Y/N)

Everything seemed normal enough when (Y/N) arrived at the temporary military base the 104th and Master Plo had set up. The command center had the perfect tactical advantage, a view of the battlefield, but at a safe distance, it couldn't be easily attacked. A perimeter had been set up, with an airfield, ensuring all those coming and going would be safe. Next to the commander center were the barracks, mess hall, medbay, and weapons depo, all perfectly organized.

Plo had met (Y/N) at her designated landing bay; he greeted his former padawan in a similar manner to his warm greeting to Ahsoka. Full of care, fatherly and warm. His words to follow the same and filled with gentleness and wise advice. Almost as if he knew there would be an instant coldness between his former Padawan and his trusted Commander. After all, Wolffe had made his destain almost hatred for the Children of Dathomir plain, and (Y/N) would be the first Night Sister he would truly be dealing with since Ventress had taken his eye.

The hours after her arrival hadn't been much trouble either. Wolffe hadn't been seen, normally preoccupied with other tasks that come with being Commander. On the other hand, the other troopers had greeted her with friendliness and curiosity. Boost, Comet, and Sinket had been the first three to approach, neither of them being afraid to voice their questions or try their hand at flirting. One by one, others came by with a hello and the intention of introducing themselves; neither one acted like she was any different from the other Jedi they worked with. Instead, the one to point out her obvious Dathomirian features was the Civvi Medic assigned to the 104th; the other Wolffe seemed to avoid like the plague or growled if they had to interact. Although to be fair, the petite woman did seem to avoid the commander just as much, normally shaking with fear and likely unspoken judgment when attending to him.

When the afternoon was slowly turning to dusk, (Y/N) left the safety of the perimeter, hoping to find a quiet area nearby to meditate; being extremely attuned to the force, the unheard voices were loud in the base, as were the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. (Y/N) clumsiness had led her to discover the unstable ground, leading to cave chasms that went down for miles; the darkness seemed to swallow everything that fell down it, even the glow sticks meant to offer light.

Making a mental note of the undesirable drop and likely death trap hidden within the endless shadows (Y/N) found a flat rocky surface to sit upon; there, she shifted until she was comfortable and began to meditate or attempt it. Within minutes of finding peaceful mindfulness, she had sensed another heading her way, navigating the minefield of unstable ground and dropping to uncertainty. Upon realizing the approaching intruder wasn't someone she recognized, she instinctively reached for her lightsabers, prepared to defend herself if needed, although she had hoped it wouldn't get that far.

As if sensing something was off, (Y/N) opened her eyes, surveying the area in her proximity, although she did not see anything out of the ordinary. The rocks from the nearby cliff rushed down the drop from the wind left behind by the passing ships; the land around seemed to stretch for miles, and the droid army seemed to be struggling to rebuild their own commander center far into the distance. A planned surprise attack was unlikely to be on their agenda just yet.

"Careful, the ground ..." started (Y/N), finally seeing who the intruder was. Commander Wolffe. His low growls had cut off her line of thought and subsequent words. His stiff shoulders and crossed arms over his chest made it clear he wasn't in the mood to converse with her. Although it was rather obvious, he followed her. The question was whether that was entirely out of concern, suspicion, or something else.

"You left the base," he stated, his voice direct and to the point, although void of all emotion, matching his cold demeanor.

"Well noticed," (Y/N) replied, failing to stop the sarcasm before it could fall from her lips. Although she held back the chuckle that threatened to follow it upon sensing the eye roll, Wolffe sent her from beneath his modified helmet.

"Why?" asked the commander, although frustration and annoyance rang through his voice this time, once again suggesting he'd literally rather be anywhere but in her presence.

"To meditate," she commented, returning the annoyance and frustration presented to her, although the Jedi Knight at least tried to keep a neutral expression, even in the face of judgment and unwarranted hostility. "I'm not fretting with the enemy, Commander. I just needed quiet; the emotions and voices can be overwhelming."

"That's what your quarters are for," he uttered in a quick response, drawing an eye roll from (Y/N) as she climbed down from her position on the flat lump of rocks. Refusing to utter another word, she began to walk away from the Commander, further away from the base, hoping to find another quiet place to continue her meditation. A sigh quickly escaped her upon sensing Wolffe was once again following her, although this time only a few feet behind.

"Woah!" yelled Wolffe upon the ground, cracking and giving away like thin ice the moment he stomped on it. He expected to fall helpless into the darkness, but instead, he'd stopped in mid-air, just dangling. The force someone was using the force to prevent him from falling to certain doom. Immediately, Wolffe presumed it was General Plo, the ever-caring fatherly figure. Confusion took over when Wolffe looked up to see (Y/N) trying her hardest to use her power to bring him to safety, a concentrated look painted on her features, determination mixed in. "It's cracking," called the Commander upon noticing the ground beneath her about to give way.

But by the time his words reached her, both of them were falling. All Wolffe could do was flay his limps and yell out as the darkness swallowed him. He hit several rocks and other hard surfaces on the way down before the fall ended with a loud, wet splash into the freezing waters of an underground lake. He soon climbed out of the water, resting on the rocky bank, looking up with the hope of seeing daylight, only to be met with the unyielding darkness that seemed to go on forever. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he began to assess the damage to his armor. The chest plate had been cracked, and a shoulder and forearm plate shattered to the point of being unless.

Just as he was about to continue, his attention was drawn to the lightsaber lying by the rocks of the bank close by. The hilt was mainly black with silver decoration; it appeared damaged and stained with something. Just as Wolffe was about to question who it belonged to, his heart sank upon recalling the ground cracking.

"Nightsister," called Wolffe, a prang of guilt flooding him as he regretted his refusal to learn her name. "Nightsister," he called again, pushing the fear away when no answer came. However, that sudden wave of fear grew upon noticing the lightsaber hilt was stained with blood. The realization hit him: she was injured and had been by selflessly trying to save him from the fall. Ignoring his own pain and obvious injuries, Wolffe got to wobbly feet and slowly began to shuffle forward across the bank in the hopes of seeing the Jedi who'd tried to prevent his fall.

He hoped she was ignoring him; after all, he'd ignore someone calling him if they treated him as he'd done with her, but the more he searched, the more he called out Nightsister in an attempt to locate her. The feeling of dread gripped him. What if she wasn't ignoring him? Could she be injured? Was she even in the same part of the cave as him? Did she even fall down the chasm in the first place?

"She's not in the cave with you, Wolffe," muttered Wolffe, his voice as cold as the lake he'd landed in. As he began to shiver, about to give up, the commander noticed something. A trail of blood, it was fresh; someone had landed there and was trying to hide, injured. "Nightsister," called Wolffe again, this time softer than before, quieter as if trying to convey he wasn't a threat despite his previous demeanor and actions. "I'm not going to hurt you," he called, realizing if she was injured, she likely believed whomever she was trapped with was trying to harm her. He'd been the same after Ventures had slashed out his eye. Even General Plo was considered an enemy in his mind. Anyone with a lightsaber had been for a short time.

"Wolffe," came a quiet voice, no louder than a whisper. But in the quietness of the cave, it was loud enough for the Commander to hear to locate her. Hearing his name fall from her lips only made his guilt grow. She knew his name and took the time to learn it instead of calling him by his identification number or his rank of Commander. And he'd refused to learn anything about her after learning she was a Child of Dathomir. "Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice heavy with deep breaths filled with pain; she was hurt but refused to admit it.

"Not as bad as you, Ca'tra," answered Wolffe, grimacing as he moved to sit beside her, holding her lightsaber out as if to return it. Slowly, he surveyed the extent of her injuries, almost horrified. Several joints had been dislocated, a large gash stretched across her side, and a nasty laceration now adorned the side of her head. There was little doubt she'd suffered broken bones as well.

"Sorry about your landing," (Y/N) whispered. "It was either that or impaled on the rock spires," she added, lifting a shaky hand to point in the general direction of the spires in question. "There's a small med kit in my pack," she instructed, being thankful she'd been wise enough to have a pack ready for emergencies. Inside was a medical kit, water, ration bars, glow sticks, other forms of light, and another communicator in case the one attached to her arm was damaged.

"Stay awake, Ca'tra," voiced Wolffe, softness beginning to take over, as was the worry and concern. In the minutes since finding her, her eyes had glazed over, and she was slowly losing consciousness. "Talk to me," he added, reaching for the pack and its scattered contents, a renewed sense of determination. She saved him twice in a matter of minutes, with little regard for her own safety or well-being. She suffered because of it. He had to repay the debt he felt he owed her.

"Ca'tra," (Y/N) tiredly responded, confusion just about present through the pain. "What does it mean?" she asked, looking to Wolffe with glazed-over eyes, a grimace quickly flashing across her features upon pain tormenting her further.

"Night sky," admitted Wolffe, deeming it be better to call her that than Nightsister. Especially now when he was beginning to wonder if calling her by Nightsister was offensive in some way. "I don't know your name," he added, shame washing through his whispered voice. Swearing under his breath when he dropped the contents of the medkit, his hands shaking so much from the cold. In his rushed attempt to collect all the items, he hadn't noticed (Y/N) reach for the stem cell injections. Although she did hold out the bacta gel

"(Y/N)," she spoke in response, not arguing when the call of sleep as it became too persistent to fight, too strong to ignore. She hadn't been given the chance to say she liked the small nickname. The small kindness meant something to her, even if it didn't mean anything to Wolffe.

"(Y/N), wake up," called Wolffe upon grabbing her shoulders to shake her. The shakes had been little more than light nudges, hoping to prevent her from falling asleep, but gotten rougher upon the Commander realizing she'd already fallen for the lure of the peaceful oblivion. "You're not getting away from me that easy, Ca'tra," he added, remembering he had the bacta gel. Upon applying a generous amount to her wounds, he turned his attention to his own and his previous task of assessing the damage to his armor.

"Little (Y/N), Commander Wolffe," spoke the wise and welcome voice of Master Plo, concern flooding his otherwise fatherly voice. Wolffe quickly grabbed (Y/N)'s arm, puzzled by how the small communications device was still intact, let alone working. "(Y/N), Wolffe, can either of you hear me?" asked Plo, his voice fuzzy now, as if he'd moved away from the area.

"I read you, General," spoke Wolffe, relief ringing in his own voice, mixing with his concern and pain.

"Are you okay? Is (Y/N) with you?" questioned Plo, likely already realizing the ground had given way. Although where was the question? Once again, Wolffe focused on looking up, hoping to see some sort of light that would say how far down they were, whether from the sky so far above them or the light of a rescue ship. But again, was greeted with nothing but empty darkness.

"We're both pretty banged up; I would have been worse off if she hadn't pushed me out the way," admitted the Commander, thankful for her selflessness but still feeling guilty. Even more so upon the realization hitting him, she'd put herself in far more danger by forcing him away from the spires and towards the freezing lake. "She's currently unconscious and needs immediate medical attention," he added with haste, once again reaching to gently shake her with the hopes she'd wake up, again being met with no response.

"Keep the communicator on; we'll use it to track your position," stated Plo, the authority now ringing in his voice, likely to mask the growing concern and worry for his commander and former padawan.

"Come on, Ca'tra, wake up. Help is coming," started Wolffe, finally removing his helmet and allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the glow sticks. Finally, he noticed his visor had been broken during the fall and a gash towards the bottom of the scraped helmet. "Why did you save me? Why would you risk your own life like that? I'm just a clone; only my brothers and General Plo would care if something happened to me," he mumbled, not hearing the ow to escape (Y/N)'s lips or even notice she'd barely regained consciousness.

"Wrong. I care," she whispered with a broken voice, startling the Commander trapped with her.

"But ... but I was cold to you ... harsh ... unfair," stammered Wolffe as he attempted to put his scrambled thoughts into words and overcome the shock; not only had she heard his words but answered with the last thing he'd expected to hear. She cared despite everything.

"I know," replied (Y/N), trying her hardest to show her understanding. "I understand why you were quick to judge me. Fear can be cruel even to the toughest of men. I do not blame you for it. No one does. That was your way of dealing with the trauma, to ensure it wouldn't happen again," she replied, recalling her similar response to trauma as a child. She'd been incorporated into the order the same year Anakin Skywalker had joined the Jedi. She was ignored and judged with fear because of something she had no control over.

She'd lost everything, and just when she had settled into what would be her new life. Things had gotten worse; someone had taken her from the temple and hurt her. Someone she should have been able to trust. Her rescuers had been far kinder. A pair of renowned bounty hunters, Cad Bane and Jango Fett. They saw her as the scared and broken child she was rather than the threat she'd been treated as.

"I lost trust in the council a long time ago. Blamed myself for what happened," she breathed in response; a pained chuckle escaped her lips upon seeing the confusion written across Wolffe's bruised features. "If it wasn't for the efforts of Master Plo and a few others. I likely wouldn't be civil with the majority of them," admitted (Y/N), although refusing to relive what happened all those years ago by talking about it. Not that she could. Chancellor Palpatine had locked all files about the incident and her life before the Jedi. Reasoning it was for her own safety and to prevent what happened repeating again.

Series Masterlist

#star wars #reader insert #reader interactive #the clone wars #jedi reader #star wars fanfiction #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x jedi reader #cross posted to quotev #cross posted to wattpad #cross posted to inkitt #cross posted to ao3 #cross posted to neobook #plo koon #star wars the clone wars

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dukeoftheblackstar · 1 year ago

Note

got any plo koon fic recs? looking for some new stuff that's good. one shots and long fics welcome! I'll take anything i can get

Shamelessly promoting my own:

Dom!Plo ask by yours truly, submitted by the lovely @mild-disorganization

Some tired dad!Plo headcanons maybe?

And for some that I have read and adored:

Plo Koon Masterlist by @my-head-is-an-animal (Mixed)

Thigh Kink with Plo by @saradika (NSFW)

Not a fic, but hella spice by @saradika (SFW & NSFW)

Friendship - Plo Koon & Wolffe by @wild-karrde (SFW)

PloKit Art (their entire blog) by @uiro-mgmg1 (NSFW - mostly art)

SFW & NSFW Alphabets for Plo by @samspenandsword

My favorite ♥:

Sovereign (PloKit, idk if you're into it, but I am) by @tits-fisto (NSFW but very wholesome)

The Tiniest Councilor by Quiet_Shadow (SFW)

Name and Soul by @decepticonsensual (SFW)

Haven't read but is on queue when I have the mood and will power to actually read and not thirst for our Kel Dor Emperor ♥

of claws and tusks by my bestiecakes ♥ @saengak <- Apparently, it's hella angsty and I reserve the angst for weekend when I'm not out here thirsting for this King.

in deditionem by my bestiecakes ♥ @saengak <- I've seen them write ♥, it makes me squeeeeeeee ♥

Helium by @cynderiaopus who also made my current bomb AF pfp of Plo steepling ♥

Other materials and interesting read:

@exosorcery has very interesting comics and posts about Kel Dors in general. Here's one specific of Plo Koon:

A few faves from them:

@veny-many for their AUs and Plo Koon & Wolfpack Art (also includes others) <- Presenting you the bebbis ♥

My faves:

The entire post AU 66 where Plo lives is a quintessential to any post AU 66 imho because I'm heavily invested in this and I'm about to cry because I need to organize my bookmarks (and update this) so I can give you the proper start to fin link.

I'd post more from @veny-many and @exosorcery, but if you spend a good 10 minutes scrolling, you'll be there forever. Quality art content!

You may also want to check World building and ConLang Kel Dor study, apart from their OC x Plo Koon art. Big thanks for this neat document by @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows

[[ @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows I hope it's okay to share. If not, I can take it down ♥ ]]

So far just these at the top of my head. Thank you for the Plo-related ask :D! I enjoyed sifting through my bookmarks ♥

Don't forget to give love and reblog, comment, follow these amazing people who do so much for the Plo Koon, Dorin, Kel Dor tags ♥

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yourneighborhoodporg · 1 month ago

Text

The Guardian

Chapter 12: Separated

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: graphic descriptions of war injuries and medical solutions, angst, light banter, confused Ani, Obi hurtin' :(, special guest 👀, guilty reader, Cody my bff, allusion to self-sacrifice, Ahsoka doing her best, wow everyone needs like so much therapy.

Summary: When the Republic's secret medical station becomes the Separatist's next target, you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan are forced back together from across the Galaxy to confront the threat. However, as you lead your end of the charge, distractions of the weeks prior cloud your thoughts and coerce you to confront the culminating impact of Qui-Gon's death. Hoping for a distraction from the consequent blunders, you try to focus on the mission at hand. Until an unexpected force's personal journey compels you to deeply reflect on your own.

Song Inspo: I Lost a Friend — FINEAS

Words: 12.8K

A/n: I'M ALIVEE. Apologies for the lengthy hiatus. Life got really crazy but I'm back with some more of ✨The Guardian✨ (and I'm going to start working on the requests in my inbox soon I promiseee!). Remember to comment with what you want to see in future chapters. Enjoy!

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

For these words of good, evil, and contemptible are ever used with relation to the person that useth them: there being nothing simply and absolutely so; nor any common rule of good and evil to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves — Thomas Hobbes

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan huffed impatiently from the convergence on the Negotiator’s bridge, arms folded neatly across the chest as he absorbed with purposefully raking eyes the striking, streaky holocomm image of his former Padawan’s excited upper torso.

The azure image sheepishly fluttered against the backdrop of glowing round sensors and flashing rectangular buttons. Their various configurations and proportions formulating the prismatic hemicircle control panel which stretched out beneath the trapezoidal viewport, evenly segmented to swallow the far wall. An enveloping frame that transformed the barrier into an existence of distant, flickering stars amidst an endless, jet-black mass that hardly distinguished it as a wall at all.

At least, not to Obi-Wan.

To the Master Jedi, it was an unseen path. A blindness rallying Force-sensitives’ reliance on the all-encompassing flow that had always guided his each and every move. Yet, there was such a thing as being too far out to sense its intricate indications of a war that spanned countless parsecs. And that meant, even to a Jedi with a warship each straddling his spearlike class leader, a Galactic war could pose quite the surprise at any turn.

And fuel a steady disquiet in moments like these, when the Force felt awfully clouded by an imperceptible numbness.

Though that was far from the main distraction drawing Master Kenobi’s heavily pointed eye beyond his maneuvering lips.

“You simply cannot be late to an emergency meeting you yourself called.”

“My bad, Master,” Anakin expelled.

Though his neck remained creaked downwards with baby blue eyes flicking side-to-side, acting as tight straws siphoning in information beyond Obi-Wan’s view. Each beat punctuated by the Jedi’s shoulders subtly gesturing alongside hand movements inputting far-off data. And just as smoothly as the Chosen One’s mind navigated the rolling screens Kenobi had imagined he was negotiating, the self-assured former Padawan still seemed to effortlessly communicate the situation at hand.

“Ahsoka and I had to get the strike force out and moving toward Grievous’s ship first. We might not have as much time as we thought.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan hummed while curiously eyeing the young Jedi, brows shifting from unease at his words as once crossed arms released to their respective, comfortably postured sides. “Care to share?”

“Still waiting on one more invite to this meeting,” Anakin explained, invisible fingers finally allowing forearms to rest as his shoulders relaxed into a slump, followed by a fluttering blue gaze now attentively rising toward the bearded Jedi.

Odd, Kenobi mused. Usually Anakin’s last-minute calls either involved relaying information vital to the war efforts or, in most cases, a change of plans— either of which Obi-Wan could easily pass along through the necessary channels. Rarely did it necessitate others’ involvement. And it surely couldn’t have included another Council member, since they would’ve arrived in an earlier fashion as the Master Jedi himself.

“Who?” Obi-Wan questioned.

But before Anakin even had a chance to release his jaw in response, a new holographic swirled into existence beside him, completing the triangle of bodies with a deep-bellied thrum.

A similarly flickering, cobalt specter whose back revealed the robed figure’s linen-wrapped arms and legs and lightly armored shoulders leisurely swiveled to face the holocomm’s emitter. Yet, despite the uniform tinge that consumed all such holographic images, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but divert his trailing gaze up their wears onto the set of sharp, gleaming eyes that secreted a hint of silver.

And after a brief pause in which those very same eyes adjusted to the forms before them, an inkling of once quirked lips and lifted cheeks trickled into a singular expression of finished neutrality and professionalism.

One too novel to be shared among friends.

“Master Kenobi,” you nodded simply.

Obi-Wan’s steady chest faltered with an uncomfortable celerity.

It’d been only a week or so since he’d seen you last. Even longer since Obi-Wan left you in your quarters that evening following the surprise ambush on Lanos. And, now that he thought about it, likely two weeks since the bearded man began to notice how the air between you two grew more delicate as your tactful efforts to mold a parrying dullness swelled into a steady rainfall.

A fortnight since you appeared to have misplaced his first name.

It was as subtle as standing on the opposite side of a leadership meeting, deliberately placing yourself between two clones who’d naturally allow the General a respectful gap between himself and the Regiment. It was the conscious avoidance of the Negotiator’s refractory whenever Kenobi experienced a rare chance to sit down for a meal, or the decision to reside on the mirror end of the chamber when he was present. And it was the one time you did finally engage with him a few days later during a system strategy meeting that took place by way of a similar holocomm exchange.

“Master Yoda expressly stated that King Katuunko would only allow the alliance negotiations between himself and the Senator representative on Rugosa to continue as long as a Jedi emissary was present,” Master Plo Koon continued neatly with his black, patchwork eye guards trained on General Kenobi.

“Don’t the Toydarians know we don’t have the manpower for a babysitter?” Anakin rather agitatedly expressed, nostrils flaring into his thick eyebrows as if repulsed by a pungent smell. “Even if we did send someone, it would be no use to them.”

“For once, I must agree with my former Padawan,” Obi-Wan lyrically vocalized with a hand subconsciously motioning at the idea. “I highly doubt that a Jedi would rival a trained senator in the exercise of diplomacy.”

“I can go, Master!” Ahsoka piped up brightly from her Master’s rear with lifted eyelashes and gently shaken montrals. “I mean, if it’s just a Jedi that needs to be there, I can do that.”

Anakin glared at the young Togruta with thinned lips, deliberately crossing his arms and angling to the side all to firmly mutter a simple command:

“Not now, Snips.”

“I’ll go.”

Obi-Wan’s head whipped toward your once noiseless form stood a few meters off from him, staring into the collection of holograms opposite its emitter with a steely creed buttressing each syllable as dancing, sapphire illuminations molded interlacing shadows to distort your countenance.

“That seems appropriate,” Master Plo readily spouted, head nodding neatly in agreement while his charcoal antiox breath mask bobbed along otherwise elliptically sculpted, ochre features.

But what Master Plo did not yet know, was that beyond this political snafu, Obi-Wan too had his own ongoing obligation to manage. The task of integrating The Guardian into the Order while ensuring their protection from dark forces who were sure to take action if they’d learned of your identity, and what that meant. A danger so great, that Master Yoda had yet to decide on how to inform the rest of the Council about its development. And with that, came the task of keeping you as far away as possible from blackened powers so to guarantee such a calamitous future never saw the light of dawn.

So, considering your state of being in the days prior, more than ever did Obi-Wan sense your disregard for these concerns from such an offer.

It was the wrong time for you to be going off on your own. And Obi-Wan had a responsibility to make that known.

“Silvey has been assigned by the Council to assist me with my Regiment,” he countered quickly, bolstered by a charged arc, yet even tread. “I do not believe I can do without them at this moment. They are also recovering from an injury during one of our most recent run-ins with the Separatists, which I’m sure requires more time to heal.

But not even the seasoned Jedi himself was truly prepared for the sheer impersonality of your businesslike regard as you twisted toward his form with an expressive detachment that, when compared to the prior months, rendered you unrecognizable to his vigilant, cerulean eyes.

“Master Kenobi,” you spoke evenly. “My leg is healed enough after a few days with a bacta patch. And I trust that you’ll be able to carry out the rest of this mission without me.”

Your true stare remained levied on his gaze as a hushed exhale fell past your lips. So placidly, that were Obi-Wan’s attention not solely focused on your next words, he would’ve certainly missed the faint wobble coloring its receding steps.

“I’m putting in a formal request to be temporarily transferred to Rugosa so to aid in their negotiations.”

Even now, a week later on the Negotiator’s bridge when faced with two Jedi dialing in from thousands of parsecs away, Obi-Wan recalled the tenuous stiffness that tugged at his breastbone in that moment. The sinking weight accompanying his realization made right then and there:

That his efforts to keep you nearby so to have any hope of acting as a barrier between you and the dark forces watching from the shadows was only forcing you to yank farther away from his necessary observation.

Maybe that’s why, for the sake of your future collaboration,

For your budding friendship,

The Master Jedi settled to meet you where you were at. To give in to exactly what you were pressing for in order to ensure your safety.

To give you… space.

It was with restraint equal to your own, Obi-Wan remembered, with which he approved the request. Respectfully downcast eyes and a simple nod had sent you on your way later that very same day, along with a small group of clones led by the reputable Commander Cody. The only clone in General Kenobi’s Regiment that he truly trusted to keep an eye on you in his place.

And a soldier the General knew would follow any carefully communicated instructions to the letter.

Still, Obi-Wan hadn’t predicted that it would take this long to cross paths with you again.

“You look well,” Kenobi expressed with scant ineptitude, granting enough freedom to the interval in between your spoken word and his to give pause to Anakin’s freshly perceptive expression, which raised a curious brow at the duo.

“The negotiations are wrapping up nicely,” you formally relayed, seemingly ignoring Skywalker’s questioning bearing in favor of communicating a timely report. “My squad and I are cleared for departure and may rendezvous with The Negotiator whenever it’s convenient.”

“That’s good timing, because we’ve got a problem,” Anakin butted in, suspiciously shifting gaze left to the wayside in favor of narrowed brows that was the Chosen One’s signature expression of solemnity. “Grievous’s warship attacked a convoy of medical transports near Ryndellia. We think he’s after Kaliida Shoals.”

“The medical center?” Obi-Wan questioned with thinly veiled surprise. “Anakin, that facility was supposed to be a secret. How did the Separatists learn of its existence?”

“I don’t know,” Skywalker echoed. “But they know about it now. My squad of Y-wings are taking a shortcut, but I’m not sure if we’ll get there in time.”

“I’ll contact the Naboo to request their assistance and let the facility know that I’m on my way as well,” Obi-Wan assured.

“Warn them of my arrival too,” you promptly raised, drawing Kenobi’s attention to ambivalently narrow at your words.

Though that did little in the way of stifling your stride.

“I’m closest so I’ll help with the evacuations. There’s probably an extra fighter here that I can borrow since we have so many protecting the negotiations. That way I can get there before the Naboo fleet.”

You nodded to yourself, seemingly appreciating the evolving plan as it swirled into existence past still-moving lips. "My clone squad will follow behind with a larger ship to supplement the facility’s escape shuttles.”

“No Silvey,” Obi-Wan voiced, tongue fluttering your name for the first time in a while. “That will bring you quite close to a Separatist leader. Something Master Yoda has advised you to avoid.”

He raised an emphatic brow, even restraining his voice as if an empty room of swirling sensors and buttons could decipher its meaning.

“We have your identity to think about.”

“The risk is low,” you expounded toward the bearded Jedi unflinchingly. “I doubt General Grievous has any desire to contact that facility directly.”

Then, while a touch of uncertainty skidded by upturned eyelashes, your hands rolled into a shrug as you twisted to address both men equally.

“Either way, isn’t this why I was requested to join this meeting? Because of my proximity?”

“Silvey’s right, Obi-Wan,” Anakin posited, angling toward the cerulean-eyed Jedi’s less-than-merry gaze. “They’re our best chance at getting the facility evacuated in time before the ion weapon arrives.”

Master Kenobi couldn’t help how Anakin’s unfortunately reasonable words delivered a feeble pinprick to his adeptly impartial posturing, breaching the seal for a taste of his inner thoughts to leak out in the form of a finely charged sigh that expelled through set nostrils. Stiff fingers reaching to stroke the corners of his auburn beard as if to draw out the rest of the swelling frustration that narrowed cobalt orbs into tapered brows.

And from the chilly, detached churn of your sideways peer at his form, Obi-Wan could still markedly discern that, no matter the stony stance you attempted to elicit by pitching your arms akimbo, the veiled fashion with which you chewed at your inner lip exposed just how stubborn you remained to his argument. Even when the cogs of your mind turned in a direction opposite to your body.

Though, in which bearing, he did not know.

“Uh, did I miss something?” Anakin suddenly queried, lips parted slightly while he puzzledly peaked at you both.

Yet by the way in which your glittering silver eyes cast asunder from his own, chest rising as you deeply inhaled into its discomfited crevice with a mind reflecting focus on some other Rugosian movement, Obi-Wan understood that this was perhaps a poor time to concentrate on such a subject.

“Fine, I’ll inform Nala Se of your arrival,” Obi-Wan yielded as his shoulders relented his beard-stroking arm to the side, all while your ever-watchful gaze returned to his. “But bring your squad along. They will be unable to aid you if left to follow along in a slower ship.”

“Time is of the essence, Master Kenobi,” you straightly reminded. “The fighters on Rugosa are the fastest transports available, but they only have room for a copilot at most.”

“Then take Commander Cody,” the elder Jedi practically ordered.

Obi-Wan watched as the ligaments in your throat twitched from your quiet swallowing.

“Yes… General,” you acquiesced with delicately raised brows pitched over lips pursed illusively.

Yet that retort appeared to only heighten the incontrovertible befuddlement that nearly furrowed Anakin’s brows into his monitoring baby blue eyeballs.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan expelled before his former Padawan had the chance to probe any further through loose lips. “Our main mission is to protect that facility. We all know our part. Comm this channel with any updates.”

Roping his hands to fold back into each other against a straightened spine, the Master Jedi ended the meeting of quivering blue, holographic streaks and notably disparate impressions with one last memento.

“May the Force be with you both.”

—

No matter the weightlessness of your footsteps, your treading boots still kindled soft, echoing thumps like an infant flame as you traversed the narrow, cubic hallway that led to the medical center’s main command. That, of course, meant Commander Cody’s comparably lumbering stride resonated with a vigor that supplied an unforgettable reminder of the facility’s smooth, metal construction like a chronometer. With its reflective navy floors, rusting chalk walls, and highly collaged paneling, it was a wonder how the normal bustle expected in such a regional hub wouldn’t generate an endless barrage of clamoring turbulence.

A testament to the VenteX Construction Yards’ quality technology, according to the short facility report you perused during the brief journey here.

Thank you, Cody, you hoped to say once more. From what you learned in Rugosa, he always seemed to be prepared. And that meant, so were you.

Still, you weren’t ready to bestow praise upon such talented, Republic builders just yet. It was instances like these, in which overwhelming silence subsumed your surroundings like a vacuum sucked out air, and in which a ticking beat centered the mind as would an ancient meditation tool, that you found yourself left with something you were really trying to avoid.

Your thoughts.

It was quite the adjustment, you were beginning to realize. Transitioning from a life of static, icy days to an existence among so many different kinds of beings.

A life of unfamiliarity,

Of war,

And death.

So, so much death.

And it seemed like it only took seizing those experiences in their rawest form and stabbing them into your cerebral cortex like a hammer to a cold, rusty nail for that very catalyst to coerce you into considering their verity, arriving in stillness like a strong gust that stifles breath into unavoidable, beating ruminations.

It compelled you, to finally register, to truly internalize, that Qui-Gon was gone.

Just like Getter, and just like that creature of purity.

Your friend, was gone.

And, in that moment, whatever tiny piece of childlike hope, whatever illogical thought about his return that remained all this time in the deepest crevices of your mind, seemed to disappear too.

You truly were alone.

Until Obi-Wan appeared.

In one of your most conflicting hours, in which you were coming to terms with your Master’s death and the consequences of such a fact, he placed a hand atop your fist. He lifted your chin from troubling thoughts.

And he caressed your hand—

No, you internally adjusted, slightly shaking your head to loosen that particular memory from your mind as your well-adjusted footfalls carried you away from the stiffly wrapped wall paneling by which it fell.

Because you just couldn’t do it.

At least, not right now.

You enjoyed Obi-Wan’s company, you thought. Appreciated his mind, and respected his character. All factors that contributed to the growing friendship you sensed budding between the two of you.

And it was for that exact reason that, in a knee-jerk reaction, you pulled away.

Your mission was Anakin. Guarding the Chosen One. You couldn’t afford the clouded nature your mind embraced as you journeyed through Qui-Gon’s death. And that meant you couldn’t sustain another.

You needed to wait. Felt compelled to temporarily lock the gate to your strengthening fellowship. For, in this unpredictable time of war, if you’d lost him too, your last connection to Qui-Gon, alone would fail to describe the depth with which you’d feel disconnected from the Galaxy.

But, even as you passed through the last charcoal archway into the command center’s grimy white staging area of encompassing red and silver panels and rambunctiously flashing buttons, the new atmosphere failed to in any way hinder the invariably thrumming shame that churned your gut and shifted your demeanor. As you stood beyond the handful of medical clones rushing commands with expertly trained fingers through the computerized workstations lining the rear wall, such excitement too was futile in impeding the elusive hurt that swam behind his cerulean eyes in those memories of avoiding his approaches, attempts at conversation, or dependably questioning gaze.

No matter, for now, with two feet easing into a standstill before the medical officer ranked highest by three red dots hugging his white-draped sleeve and the superior Kaminoan with similar garb wrapped below a protracted neck, you could take comfort in the fact that such a circumstance would never be the case with Anakin.

In all likelihood, considering your position, you’d be the first to go in the line of duty protecting him. He’d always be there while you were around.

At least Obi-Wan was right about that.

“Nala Se, my name is Silvey—“ you uttered clearly, relying on the familiarity of her pearly white complexion and metallic, oval head medallion from your temporary right hand’s report.

Speaking of.

“—and this is Commander Cody,” you nodded at the soldier stood firmly beside you. "We’re here to assist you in any way we can to usher along these evacuations.”

The Chief Medical Scientist of Kamino’s towering figure offered a gradual, appreciative nod which moved as seamlessly as her blackened eyes creased in regard.

“Silvey, Commander Cody,” she acknowledged with an almost regal air and buttery tone. “Master Kenobi informed us of your arrival.”

You bit at your inner lip as a subtle twinge of an already swirling gut twisted at the raw nerves like a freshly seared burn. Though you swiftly brushed it aside, all in favor of absorbing Nala Se’s speech which echoed with congruence to this mission.

“We appreciate having another Jedi here to aid us.”

And it was a good thing you were focusing that weening attention, too, because this was certainly unexpected news.

“Another Jedi?” You questioned aloud while still supporting the movement of your lips atop businesslike breath. “This is great to hear, but, I thought I was the Jedi closest to this facil—“

“—Sectors C, F, and J are ready for transport.”

You barely caught the echo of nimble footfalls that preceded the adolescent voice which rang with a tone leveled only to communicate with clarity, yet tempered beyond any hint of vociferation.

A lick of curiosity hoisting your ears, you comfortably twisted toward the articulation’s source as Cody followed suit beside you, only for silver eyes to land upon a strangely familiar sight…

Teeth-like horns mirrored down their skull tattooed with curving lines and sharply jagged arrows.

Characteristics too similar to that unknown thing. That devil being from your dreams of weeks ago that, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t seem to forget, even when faced with an inkling of similarity that most would not discern.

“Thank you, Mill,” The Chief Medical Officer approved as her arms crossed into a lock behind her pencil-slimmed figure.

“I’ll head to the next set as fast as I can,” Mill expressed confidently.

Yet your thoughts only mulled over that point for a short time. Because as your purposed gaze trailed across other features, like the short tuft of jet black tied just behind her head, the swirling Force encircling her nut-brown vested and ivory-robed being, and the very noticeable limitations of her stature, you quickly realized that this was the Jedi Nala Se spoke of.

But with that also came the observance that this Jedi appeared to be—

“A youngling?” Commander Cody doubted with faintly mixing unease as his hesitant stare drew the lips below into an unlatched slump.

And it was that not-so-subtle oratory that sprung the young Jedi’s button-sized orbs to bounce toward you both, remaining equally unaffected as investigative of the new presence your figures fueled into the surrounding Force.

“Master Jedi Rig Nema and her Padawan Mill Alibeth were recently assigned to this outpost as our Jedi Liason,” Nala Se explained calmly from behind your turned figure. “Although the Healer was temporarily called away a few days ago. It was urgent. I believe to an off-world battle site deemed too dangerous to bring Mill along.”

“Mill,” you expressed to the observing Jedi. “I’d be honored to help you carry out the rest of the evacuations while my Commander aids Nala Se in the remainder of the planning.”

Your straightforward regard quickly flicked both silver orbs toward Cody who was still situated at your side, earning from the attentive Commander a nodding salute to your orders before you refocused that attention on the young woman before you.

“That is,” you progressed with utmost openness. “If you’ll have me.”

Enough to tug a small smile from the Jedi’s stoically taught mouth.

“I could really use the help,” she replied honestly, which lifted your own cheeks as you broke your stance and moved toward the Jedi who stood a few meters away.

“Many of the injured need help and instructions on how to get to the shuttles,” Mill continued with an earnestness that defied the essence of her youthful voice, like a creature who's lived an entire life through glories and hardships in only a few seconds.

“It’s important to note, Silvey,” the Kaminoan opined from the center console, inciting you to halt just as you reached Mill’s being to turn toward the Chief Medical Officer’s words. “We may not have enough shuttles to evacuate the facility’s full complement.

“Let me worry about that, Silvey,” Commander Cody piped up as he shuffled beside Nala Se to take a peek at the data screen emanating below her fingers with focusing brows. “We’ll find a way to make do and get these boys to safety. We have another ship on our tail ready to board as soon as they land.”

You nodded gratefully.

“Here,” Mill cleanly expelled while leaning into a smooth yet charged pace toward the Command Center’s primary exit, leading you to follow along as you passed under that same charcoal-tinted arch into the eerily stagnant hall. “I’ll show you which sectors still need to be evacuated.”

You barely hid the subtle quirk of your lips that momentarily lifted your features as you kept your gait swiftly ahead.

Despite Commander Cody’s assumption that the Jedi careening evenly beside you was simply a Youngling, it remained a struggle to grapple with that preconceived notion. You had to admit that there were few and far between opportunities to engage with peers when you were her age, but that didn’t prevent you from surmising Mill a Being well beyond her years. Still, you tried not to consider why for too long. For no reason other than she, in some ways, reminded you of yourself during those times.

You remembered quite well the experiences you inescapably traversed to develop similar mannerisms. And beyond all else, you understood that independence born out of necessity always craved a modicum of guidance.

At least, that’s what you recalled.

And it was clear that Mill could handle it.

“Have your lightsaber ready,” you advised while the two of you careened around a sharp corner in your trek down the station’s winding passageways. “It comes in handy when you need to lead the way. Especially for large groups.”

A flurry of shuffling, pearly fabric flitted through the air as a duo of medical clones with mahogany brown boots squeaked by you both before disappearing down a left coordinator in a rush that left a slight breeze. All the while you sensed an uneven crinkle shimmy into the Force’s very own cloth as if the slightest touch tugged a loose thread.

“I don’t have one.”

Your once hurried pace drained into a muddled falter, expressive brows stitched into genuine confusion as you angled to fully face the young Jedi. At that same instant, your probing gaze tracked Mill’s depleting drive, siphoned away from a once urgent gate and into a withstanding regard of some tolerant shade. Only leaving heavily relaxed facial muscles as the framing sight from Padawan Alibeth who similarly eyed you head on.

Though you were not yet intimidated.

“Really?” You genuinely inquired, once again asking yourself whether you were showing your lack of knowledge of modern customs. “I thought the ritual of The Gathering happened when a Jedi was still in Initiatehood.”

Yet the slight but unyielding tilt of one addled brow upwards on her otherwise collected expression did thrust you back one mental step to reassess what you’d so impulsively uttered.

“You say that as if you’d not seen them yourself,” Mill expounded, a slight smile crawling up her cheeks to erase any previous hint of uncertainty. “It’s hard to miss the loud groups bouncing down the Temple halls every season.”

You mirrored her expression with a nearly tickled one of your own as you clawed onto the escape Mill had somehow so expertly plopped straight into your palm.

“I’ve been away on a very long mission that spanned on before the war began,” you casually delivered, motioning your hand in the air in place of a shrug. “I suppose it hasn’t helped me in the way of keeping up with current practices.”

You raised your head toward the corridor’s main stretch that tunneled to a turbolift, breathing in the heightened energies spattered throughout the medical station as the sensation drove you to hastily renew your step, like a starship sucking on hypermatter fuel that tugged on Mill to tag along with an invisible lure. A mixing pot of swirling anticipations of what was to come, and a general unease of impending doom that reminded you all too well of the potential conflict had against these Separatist forces if you didn’t reach the appropriate sectors soon.

You exhaled. “And it hasn’t warned me of this Galactic contest’s nature.”

“That’s why I can’t have one,” Mill quickly related, thoughtfully gripping at your attention as she kept pace with each and every step you took to reach the turbolift.

Marking too the first instant you felt a hint of misgiving tempt the flow around you.

As an almost tranquil silence bloomed between you both, you each entered the contraption’s silvery-clear aperture that swirled open at your very presence. It was evident among those slight shuffling and intermittent creaks from an overused transport system, that there were still many words Mill was leaving unsaid. Trapped inside her thoughts much like how the wall of transparisteel at the turbolift’s rear blockaded the vacuuming essence of space from your comparably flimsy forms. Still, such musings did little to stop her from selecting the correct floor on the rusted button panel, clearing the doors to shut, and initiating your leveled descent.

But it was only like that for a moment longer.

“If it’s true that you were gone for all this time, then you didn’t see what I saw,” she released quietly, eyes drilling holes into the turbolift’s aged panel as the soft buzz of its mechanics grayed the silence. “The aftermath of Geonosis. The battles that followed. Maybe you didn’t even see the HoloNet News.”

Mill shook her head with an involuntary drag, rocking her neck as a mother would a crib while the visceral words flowed from her.

“All that blood. The pain. Anguish felt through screens and wires. Through medical encampments. Those people. The ones the Order is suppose to protect. I can see it all.”

“All of it?” You questioned lightly, keeping your eyes respectfully ahead to provide a modicum of space for the young Jedi whose stirring mind was beginning to flower open.

“Each emotion for me…” she twisted her knuckles as if wringing a towel, eyes focused on the nothingness of the solid turbolift ahead. “It’s like a color that’s part of an unbalanced rainbow. And anytime one shows through the Force, I can feel it like a scream in an empty room.”

Until those same button-brown eyes rounded toward your own, burrowing into your very being.

“And every time, in some way, it’s all at the hands of a lightsaber.”

You couldn’t help but hear the distant voice of Qui-Gon Jinn echo through your skull as you absorbed Mill’s eloquent words that swiped one more shallow cut across your understanding of this strange world.

“Only use violence as a last resort, my young Padawan.”

It was clear that holobooks, well-stocked libraries, nor storied pasts would aid you now in understanding how to apply that particular guidance since you’d witnessed Hoth’s sunset for the last time.

All you’d known of the Galaxy was from fantastical holobooks describing the High Republic, but all you’ve known since crowned a Jedi Knight was violence, demise, and despair.

Deep in your bones, you still resonated with the Order’s teachings learned from your former Master and the occasional old-style book he’d bring during his visits, and of course the lightsaber’s symbol throughout history. But for the life of you, there seemed to be no way to truly reveal such truths to a being who’d clearly experienced this time of chaos far longer than you.

“This is not the era I grew up in,” you expressed earnestly, sensing the turbolift slow as a gentle pressure built at your heels like the squeeze that threatened your throat to uncomfortably swallow. “I’m sorry, Mill, that this is what you’ve learned to associate with the Order.”

And just as quickly as those utterances escaped your lips, a dearth of words sucked the air dry.

Because there was nothing else either of you could say.

—

“Alright!” You ringingly called out from the anterior of the chilly sectional recovery hall, drawing the balloon of deep-set, chatting echoes to sputter into an empty husk. The snow-white medical beds evenly distributed against the walls with the occasional cabinet and sporadically placed stone-tinted, blocky armchairs were brimming with disparately injured clones, all of which swiftly angled their attention toward you and Mill who stood quietly by your side as she gazed out at the crowd through a subtle frown.

You tried to keep your eye on the task at hand, mentally calculating how long this evacuation would need to successfully usher out the countless heads beholding you with bated breath for orders, including the small groups that stood at attention in various pockets of the hall the instant you made yourself known. But even though the medium-sized pathway striking through the room’s core offered any flitting gaze a moment of solace from the surrounding carnage, it was not enough of a centering force for your observant mind, which fixated on those scattered, recuperating soldiers who’d so clearly been dealt an inferior hand.

One on the far left sported a thick bandage, wrapped firmly around his corner head all the way down to the eye. And had you not once employed such an old fashioned device in your past, you would’ve thought they were all manufactured to be a crimsoned red. Much like the cuts and scrapes dispersed across visible patches of skin like paint splatter.

The flick of your eye to the room’s other far side, and you couldn’t help but rake your silver stare up and down a clone who’d scurried upwards with the aid of a dodgily constructed cane of metal scraps and angled bolts the moment your resonant voice chimed through the room. It wasn’t until he raised fully that you noticed the black ligature wrapped tightly above one of his knees, and the nothingness that remained below. It just wasn’t there.

His leg. It was gone.

And all he had left to say for it was another arm in a sling that appeared exquisitely clean against the bloodied gauze decorating the hall’s bodies and swipe-stained floors, leaving an eerie odor that only appeared in the Force as a steady pulse of yanking anguish.

Yet still he chose to stand as those with lesser injuries opted to do. To show you a respect you were beginning to wonder if you really deserved.

Though it was easy for a mind thrumming with the ebb and flow of a weighted chest to wander toward that conclusion in any regard. It was fermented more potent by the swirling uncertainty of what to do with Obi-Wan, and the guilt that pushed through the dirt like budding shrubbery.

It was exactly why you needed to accept that guilt, you reasoned. It was what you had to do to center in on the mission at hand. To prevent another lapse in focus like you did when Qui-Gon clouded your thoughts on the battlefield not so long ago.

But the crumbling wall of words that fell like boulders into a lake as they rocketed away from each exchange you shared with Obi-Wan crashed as loud in your mind as did the splash of those heavy rocks.

How are you to focus on the next mission you’re lumped together on? What of when you’re forced to discuss those parts of yourself only a handful of beings know? And when Anakin becomes the topic of discussion, and your eternal tether to him, how will you protect him by pushing his Master away?

Thrusting him away as Mill had with her chance at a lightsaber. The chance at a supporting hand. At something she needn’t fear. And a device, a piece of herself, that if she remained without, would make the trials the young Padawan was bound to face down the road much worse.

Then you were making things worse, you considered fleetingly.

And if in any way you were putting The Guardian’s mission at risk from such decisions, then maybe you really didn’t deserve the eyes of thousands of clones centered on you with an eminence of trust and respect.

But whether you earned it or not, still needed was this attention that accompanied the title of General to lead them to safety.

“Sectors K, L, and M,” you announced with a tight core, reaching your hand to your belt as you wrapped your fingers around the attached saber’s cold hilt.

Springing it free with a whoosh and empowering its gray luminescence to blind the air above you, you displayed its heated might before the hundreds of heads that seemed like mere dots within the six-story ship bay that was converted into a sort of field recovery station, towering in height and breadth beyond some of the larger ships you’d become acquainted with this past month and a half.

“We are evacuating the facility. I want Group 1, all able-bodied clones, to line up in the middle,” you projected, cutting your saber down center for all to clearly see as those who fell into the category sprung or lumbered to their feet with a steadily bustling clamor. “Group 2, men who are unable to move on their own, remain where you are.”

You waited a few moments, allowing these soldiers with patches for wound dressings, injuries dealt to less severe locations, and minimally broken or dislocated bones to bustle toward the central stream against squeaking floors before, handful by handful, the mass of gray-clothed patients turned forward in staggered arrays, most patiently awaiting their next command as whispers flowed by the line like sand through fingers.

“Now,” you began loudly, gesturing between the two groups with your brightly buzzing lightsaber as the mumblings dissipated. “Everyone partner with a person in the other group. Individuals in Group 2 who are unconscious or are otherwise completely bedridden will need two soldiers from Group 1 to take them out on a Hover Stretcher,” you confirmed with two raised fingers.

“Um, Silvey?”

You quickly glanced at Mill’s nervously stitched brows, eager eyes just as distended as her mouth with a battery of words stuck at the tip of her tongue. “We don’t have any more Hover Stretchers.”

It seemed this facility was running low on many necessary supplies during such a frantic evacuation, you marked internally.

Alright, you readily accepted. You’ve dealt with worse.

Your neck flicked back toward Group 1’s already parting sea as the endless line of clones split off to either side of the hall in search of a partner, morphing a once relatively uniform line into an expanding blob of varied, struggled movement.

“No more Hover Stretchers!” You exclaimed swiftly. “Use the bed sheets, or carry them if you have to. Make your way out through the South Entrance in a single file line.”

Raising your saber once more down the middle, you signaled the appropriate exit at the other end of the transformed ship bay.

“Move!”

With a deep breath, you disengaged your saber, keeping your gaze alert while returning it back to your belt with a metallic snap.

“Don’t worry,” Mill expressed calmly, dragging your vigilant survey away from the slingshotting voices reverberating off bordering panels that surrounded clones in various stages of gradually hooking arms with compatriots and carrying each other to the far wall. “We’ll get them all out.”

“I know, Mill,” you smiled gently, warming at her intrinsic compassion while tilting your eyes back toward the swarming clones to assess their progress as a handful began to exit through the South Entrance. “We’re doing well on numbers. I know you’d tell me if we weren’t.”

“Then why are you feeling… regretful?”

Your neck snapped toward the young Jedi, a flood of questions desperately trying to manifest through your features as you held the flood bag with a simply raised brow and a smile faded into tensed lips.

Not Master Jedi, not even a Grand Master, but a Padawan Learner? A Padawan learner was the first to sense a hint of what your mind autonomously hid in the Force? You knew for a fact that your countenance failed to divulge the deep harboring of such an emotion that you were still trying to discern as such.

“You can sense what I’m feeling?” You questioned, perplexed.

“Usually, I can sense a range with groups and people,” she began matter-of-factly, tensed brown eyes swaying toward the buzzing clones before you both. “But yours are pretty clouded. The only reason I can sense that one is because it’s pretty strong.”

Perhaps Mill Alibeth was not only a wise, but a powerful Jedi. And while you certainly sensed a stronger glow in her connection with the Force than others her age that you’ve encountered at the Temple, such a reading remained a speck of sand in an ocean when compared to the Masters who’ve tried again and again to dissect your mind.

Meaning one thing and one thing only.

Something must have changed.

Though what, you had no idea.

A charged yowl cracked through the air like the blast of a horn, reverberating down the hall as a noticeable thump sounded from the same general location before chasing after the dissipating cry into the void.

Your neck snapped toward the tumult’s direction before quickly discovering that the hastening throng of clones rushing past each other to pair up and race for the exit clogged your view of the wider hall from where you stood. Even as you tried to focus your mind on the beings around you, hoping to pinpoint the pain of that cry through the Force to find the afflicted’s position, you struggled to parse through the torrential flood of indistinguishable trauma that clouded your mind as much as your eyes.

Anguish. Agony. Fear. Vexation.

All eddying into a tempest of incomprehensible noise, like pouring every color known to the universe into one bucket of black hole goop.

“This way!” Mill suddenly shouted, grabbing your wrist to tug you along as she sprinted into the crowd.

Your feet caught up to the sudden charge, falling in step with the young Jedi’s hurried pace before she released your arm so that you both could navigate the thicker junctions of the whisking horde. All the while you took particular care in keeping an eye on the small, nut-brown cloak hanging off her back so as not to lose her darting figure in the crowd.

Arms snapped up against your shoulders and torsos collided with your arms while flying commands seemed to cultivate either eardrum as a doorway for the indiscernible racket, leaving you no choice but to adapt to the unstoppable swarm. With each duck and shimmy, you eventually settled into a rhythm through each twist and turn of the crowd. Waves of streaming bodies that crashed into interlocked, haphazard footpaths steered your figure through a slew of precise dodges, all the while you found your focused eye unintentionally memorizing the marginally bobbing hood of Mill’s robe so not to misplace her in the masses. And it was the exact instant that you realized such an intense stare had nearly burned the chaotic rush into your retinas, that the young Jedi finally burst through an opening in the rabble of soldiers fueling gusts of injured groans and strident cries amongst stampeding boots which plunged behind you once the horde finally spit you out.

Your silver eyes adjusted to the far emptier space hugging the hall’s right wall: a handful of medical beds mostly unoccupied and disarrayed with sheets crumpled and tossed asunder from the rapid charge of this evacuation.

That was, except for one bunk on which a clone lay curled into themselves, one hand firmly clutching their leg. Crying out, teeth bare to the ceiling with such might his torment was sure to break right through. It was certainly enough to heighten the two clones who frantically bent over to asses him from either side, wondering aloud through their countenance alone what to do and how to make the awful noise stop.

“What happened?” You pressed firmly, lips depressing into a thin line while you slowed at Mill’s side as the aura of his suffering inked the Force’s everlasting stream with an unavoidable, pounding strikes.

The left soldier spoke with a rich tone as his bushy eyebrows and speckled beard dimmed in anticipation of his own words.

“We tried to move him and his mechnosutures snapped.”

At the same time, you watched as the convulsing clone’s hand slipped from their inner thigh, revealing a deep crimsoned gash that spurted a miniature fountain of blood the instant its spout was uncapped. Splattering the outspoken clone still hunched to his left with a healthy spray across his gray tunic in the injured man’s effort to roll off the cot.

Your eyes widened, the sudden gush which consumed your vision ramming your legs into a full sprint before propelling you to nearly leap atop the gravely wounded man as you jammed two fingers into the humid cavity to cork the leak.

“Mill!” You called over your shoulder as you struggled to find and hold the bleed that oozed past your fingers with a steady, warm pulse. “Bacta spray!”

“We’re all out on this side of the station, sir!” The right clone sporting a young, bare face interjected just as Mill darted to your side.

“It’ll take too long for any one of us to make that trip,” the opposite soldier noted, brushing any remnant cerise droplets from his deep-stained shirt as he rose to his full height. “And he’s in no condition to be moved.”

You briskly sorted through your years of survivalism and relevant readings that supported your life of Hoth, gravely considering each and every option at your disposal to save this clone as his cries galloped after each other in their echoing race into the ether.

Because, despite the rapidly declining seconds you had left to solve a femoral artery bleed, you knew it was still more time than you had to save Getter.

It was still time in which you could do something.

No Bacta Spray, so perhaps a tourniquet.

“I need a thin rod and some bandages,” you spouted urgently. “Do we have anything like that?”

“There aren’t any medical supplies in this section at all,” Mill clarified nervously, rubbing her wrist as she briskly spoke. “The recovery rooms ran out of supplies last week. We were still in the process of transferring the new supply delivery throughout the facility when Nala Se ordered the evacuation.”

“I could give you my shirt,” the scruffy soldier suggested, pointing at his blood-soaked garment. “But I don’t know where we’ll find you any sticks.”

“Bandages alone won’t work,” you audibly exhaled, feeling the steady throb that would easily cut through a simple cloth.

“What about your lightsaber?” The cloaked Jedi inquired, pointing at the delicately hanging device strapped to your belt.

“Unfortunately, I need something thin,” you explained, eyes rapidly scanning your surroundings for anything even close to what you needed. “My lightsaber is too—“

You paused.

You hesitated because, with that comment, Mill may have certainly saved this man’s life.

But you knew from experience that this was going to really, really hurt.

“Men,” you ejected forcefully past the icy chill running down every nerve in your body, reaching your free palm to clasp the saber and disconnecting it with a clink from your side.

“Hold him down.”

A steady thrum of timorous buzzes flickered into the Force to the left, luring your outwardly mollified gaze toward the apprehensive Jedi beside you who watched on with ever-widening eyes.

“You’re right, Mill,” you quietly expressed, redirecting your attention to the task with a gaze that lowered just as deliberately as your body fell into a deeper crouch beside the bedridden man whose entire life relied on the thread plugged by a few fingers.

Though your words seemed to crack her restless daze in half as she whipped her head toward you, short ponytail flying after the sudden movement.

“You’re right, that a lightsaber can harm,” you softly continued, flicking on the weighty device with a shockingly bright drone that emanated between you and the young Jedi, reflecting in her brown eyes like a distant star.

“It can kill with ease,” you gradually moved the weapon through the air, allowing its buzz to vibrate through the atmosphere as the hall’s glaring light reflected its hilt. “Elicit misery out of those who least expect it.”

You returned your conflicted stare back to the disoriented man stuck beneath your digits, neck twisting in and out of consciousness too rapidly to permit any awareness of where his miracle cure was coming from.

It was probably best that way.

Because, either way, this needed to happen.

And it was that very notion that finally put into words what you’ve always felt about the Jedi’s most holy artifact. What you knew was true but struggled to explain to this Padawan all the same.

Until now.

“But you’re also right, Mill, that this same weapon will save him.”

You hovered the saber above the delirious clone’s wriggling form, held moderately still by the two soldiers on either side of him who seemed equally displeased with where this was going.

“It will be the opportunity to live another day. A healing energy to save the desperate. A bright light in the darkness.”

You paused, lowering the weapon to your side for just a moment, fingers still firmly held against the wound as you turned toward Mill as wholly as possible. Capturing her cautious gaze with your own meaningful stare.

“Because they aren’t good, and they aren’t bad, they just… are.”

You glared at its metallic shaft, crafted with great care and precision during your trip with Qui-Gon to Illum to collect your Kyber crystal. You observed its checkered black grip that snaked up the whole of the hilt, an intentional design you implemented to increase its resilience to Hoth’s cold nights. The triangular-shaped dent in the blade emitter from a particularly nasty run-in with a Wampa bite a few years back. The small puncture at the hand grip’s base, chinked by those pirates who stole it off you ages ago.

“They are their own Master,” your lips quirked gently. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

You peaked at Mill whose intent stare swirled with a galaxy of evolving thoughts, chest rising and falling through each breath solely motivated by comprehending your meaning.

“I alone can decide the purpose my lightsaber serves.”

You exhaled rigidly, circling toward the man clinging to life on the cot before you as you lifted the saber above his puncture once more with clenched teeth.

“And I choose to heal.”

With a heedfulness akin to threading a star cruiser through a pinprick-sized wormhole, you sunk the tip of the saber down toward the gash. Recoiling your blood-soaked fingers just as its gray luminance touched down on the spouting artery.

An overlapping murmur of groans from one chapped mouth swelled into a jarring shriek of intolerable magnitude as his vocal cords rawed at the sputtering roar. Saturating the Force with an incessant burden that threatened to collapse your sternum under its simultaneously consuming, draining anchor.

The scent of charred flesh smoked your nostrils as you observed pools of blood begin to blacken a charcoal brown alongside the bordering skin. And in that instant, you didn’t need to use your eyes to sense the young Jedi beside you shoot her hand to her forehead, clutching it fiercely as her eyes squeezed shut with a stinging gasp.

But soon, a subsiding energy overcame that temporary darkness that plagued the nearby Force Sensitives, like releasing a muscle strained into one, sun-beaten position for hours. It arrived with the shaky exhale that flickered past the maimed clone’s settling lips. Along with a sudden relief that oozed from his figure and infected his fellow comrades with similarly soothing sentiments.

“He has more time now,” you swallowed with sharp eyes pointed at the bordering clones as you rose to your feet. “Now get him out of here.”

The soldiers stood at the ready, acknowledging your request before promptly moving toward either side of the injured clone so to follow that very order.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Silvey,” Mill voiced while meeting your stance as the soldiers before you twisted the ends of the bedsheet in their fists to create a makeshift Hover Stretcher.

You eyed the Padawan whose conflicted gaze and curled brows twisted her jaw through a holobook of responses before settling on one that seemed to burst through all the others as a cough would stifle conversation.

“Now we’re running out of time.”

—

“It looks as though Skywalker has failed. He’s lost almost half his ships!”

The head Medical Clone’s vehemently unsettled tone aimed at Nala Se whipped past your ears in its journey as you and Mill led the last group of clones through the frantic energies swirling through the Command Center. It happened to house the getaway hatch to the last escape shuttle on board the medical station, beside your clone squad’s extra shuttle which had already been filled to capacity. And all that meant was that you were bound to receive an update on the battle unfolding beyond its walls whether you liked it or not.

Either way, your focus remained on leading the small batch of five to seven soldiers to the hatch’s entrance, one of which whose shattered kneecap obligated that an arm hung rigidly over your shoulders as you supported his weight through those final few limps.

And that was certainly not doing wonders for your own recently healed leg.

The Kaminoan’s advisor sighed drearily beside Commander Cody who watched on with an analytical gape over to your left as the advisor continued. “We should go, Madam.”

One more step and you reached the small, square hatch that stood from the floor no taller than your waist. Quickly scanning its side panel, you motioned for the other clone beside you to scoop his own grip under the injured clone’s armpit, enabling you to gently release him into his comrade’s company. Soon you accepted the lifting of that digging pressure as permission to drop down to the dingy panel clasped to the door so to input the release override.

“I will stay,” Nala Se tranquilly expressed as she turned to address the Lead Medical Clone.

“That won’t be in the clones’ best interests,” you cautioned swiftly, rising to your feet as the hatch whirred open behind you amidst a high-pitched beep and fogged-over emitter that struggled out dulled, red wisps. “You and your team should leave with this escape shuttle. The others will need someone to help coordinate the care for those more injured. More so than before considering the evacuation exacerbated their conditions.”

You observed with the corner of your eye as, one by one, the line of clones dropped to their knees so to shimmy through the tight-fitting hatch, aided by Mill who remained at each of their sides to support along those more mangled through the ingress. All throughout Nala Se’s carefully hidden hesitation fruitlessly defied your shrewd gaze.

“Silvey’s right, Madam,” Cody assuredly reminded. “With this last group, all the patients will have been evacuated. There’s no point in staying to find out what the other end of that giant Ion Cannon looks like when we already know it’ll kill life support and seal the escape hatches with the power surge.”

And despite the subtle rumblings of uncertainty that the Kaminoan frothed through the Force’s otherwise steady stream, the disappearance of the final soldier’s booted foot through the getaway hatch in combination with Cody’s loyal support of your stance seemed to sway her to respond.

“I will follow your guidance, Master Silvey.”

“Alright clones,” Cody called out while spinning around to the remaining staff furiously typing away at their stations, some standing like a string tugged at their tailbones while they moved through screens of defensive data as if to punch in one last key before being yanked away like a loose puppet. “Drop what you’re doing and load on that shuttle.”

The Commander calmly angled back toward Nala Se as the strings snapped and the puppets scurried free, his arm unfurling into a pointed finger toward the hatch entrance behind you.

“This way, Madam,” he instructed while the towering Kaminoan offered a gradually angled nod of acknowledgment.

You observed as the two of them cooly strolled forward with the Lead Medical Officer in his professional garb inching behind, all amidst the rushing forms and swiping legs of her remaining team shutting off workstation permissions before they made their final, fleeing departure.

Until the flinging movement of a small shape rising upwards caught the corner of your eye, all while an unexpected coolness invaded the Force from your left.

“I sense pain.”

You glanced strangely at Mill’s sudden revelation, taking in her crinkled eyelids while the nerves that twisted around her facial markings pulsed in concentration, palm cradling her vein-pulsed forehead.

“What is it, Mill?”

“There’s someone still here,” she coerced through crunching teeth. “Someone we forgot. They’re below us somewhere. Like a red blob.”

You caught the break of Nala Se’s once steady step from the corner of your eye, tugging at your gaze to serve her patent dithering with your full attention as if caught in the crossfires of a blaster bolt. Even the Commander seemed to take note of the acknowledging release of breath escaping your lips while he simultaneously focused on guiding the last few stragglers away from their stations with firm commands of “let’s go” and “leave it be.”

“Don’t worry,” you clearly conveyed to both Jedi and doctor before focusing your mind on the younger one’s concentrating gaze.

But, even with a turned head, your intrinsic intertwinement with the Force made it impossible to ignore the watchful eye of Commander Cody who reserved a slice of regard for you that more than tinted the everlasting stream.

“Mill, I’m counting on you to ensure this last group’s successful evacuation: Nala Se’s team and the patients in the escape shuttle. Work with Commander Cody. He will help yo—“

“But what about you?” She fiercely interrupted.

Cody finally cut in, “Silv—“

“—I’m going to get that soldier,” you promptly established as you twisted your neck toward the second-in-command who eyed you with oddly laden disquiet, firmed torso communicating the same inevitability to the young Jedi as well.

The words barely escaped your lips as you stormed toward the overhanging archway exit that would swallow you back into the space station’s bowels, heels fully contacting the metallic floor with each step to avoid any other objections of the matter with the all-to-familiar rhythmic clang.

But still, as the final swarm of clones swiveled around you like a parting sea to navigate toward the rear escape hatch, a light-footed figure seemed to cross that distance twice as fast with another heavier-set bunch clad in chaffing milky armor converging from the opposite angle.

“Silvey!” Mill called, swinging around to your side as you swiftly straddled your stride to avoid knocking over her fleeting form.

“I wanted to say… thank you,” she continued, the hint of a sigh crawling along her words as Cody’s striding figure levied its last few steps toward your right.

You quirked a brow at the young Padawan while stretching out a soft hand in signal of Cody to slow in wait. And you sensed him do as you willed, stuttering his gait to a halt like a ripple in the flow surrounding you as your head tilted with a slight curiosity amidst Cody’s respective silence. Still, your muscles stood taught as you prepared to sprint to the station’s lower levels at a moment's notice. Though even then it was a task to derive your focus away from Mill’s big brown eyes which churned with a form of tempered contemplation you’d not quite seen on the young girl before.

“—for showing me the bigger picture,” she continued in another breath, eyes levied at the ground as she worked through tumbling thoughts. “Anytime I felt pain I only saw it for what it was. Something uncomfortable. Something black and white. I didn’t see that some pain could be needed to heal. To do good.”

Mill’s hair flicked to the side as her chin swung back up toward yours with brows raised in relief.

“But saving a life makes it worth it.”

You remained with a steady gaze, relaxing your arms as shoulders released into an attentive expression that urged her to go on.

But with pursed lips that yelled move quickly.

“All this time,” she caught on with a push of breath. “When the Masters said that a Jedi’s life is sacrifice, I thought they meant what we were losing in this war. But it’s not that at all, is it?”

She got it.

You gently smiled.

“It’s what we go through, what we help others go through, to save them.”

Her brows crinkled into a conclusive regard that strained to loosen with the last three words she uttered.

"It’s our pain.”

You allowed for one more minute pause so her thoughts could settle before responding with your chin pointed teasingly downward, eliciting a warm tone.

“You’ll need a tool for that.”

Her lips settled upwards.

“The next Gathering is in a few months.”

And with an approving nod, you took off toward the archway once more. But not before swiveling into a backward pace with Cody following determinedly along so to relay one last piece of guidance that you nudged the young Jedi to carry with her through a gliding tone alone.

“May the Force be with you, Mill. Always.”

“I’m coming with you,” Cody began not a second later as Mill sprinted back toward the escape hatch while you whirled through the archway, the Commander hot on your heels.

“We’re running out of time, Cody,” you implied as you leaned into a jog that he so aptly followed with an armor-laden trot of his own. “I need you to follow orders.”

He spoke plainly, “I am following orders.”

“Well they aren’t mine,” you relayed through a sarcastic twinge that seemed to reach your not-so-healed leg under the weight of a running form.

“General Kenobi instructed me to keep an eye on you if this mission got dicey.”

Of course he did, you internally objected.

Yet you also couldn’t help the fleeting thought that Obi-Wan was jumping through hoops to ensure your safety while you avoided him at all costs.

And if Mill had the courage to take on the Gathering, to face that pain, then you must have, somewhere, in some deep crevice, some semblance of bravery to make allies of those who were sure to aid you in your sole mission.

Starting with that blue-eyed, bearded man.

But you couldn’t worry about that right now.

There was a life at stake.

You twisted on your heel toward the determined soldier, placing a firm hand on his shoulder as he ebbed to a stop against its resistance, stark chestnut orbs wrestling with the notion of failing to follow his General’s orders before your very eyes.

But Obi-Wan wasn’t always right.

“You will only slow me down,” you relayed earnestly, gradually lowering your arm when it was clear the clone’s attention was fully on you. “Jedi have a way of moving quicker and bringing you along will only threaten that man’s chances. If you want to help me, go make sure that shuttle leaves with everyone on it. You’ll still be following orders.”

The soldier’s lips parted ever so slightly as he took in your words, only to clasp shut while the commander’s mind accepted that you were, unfortunately, correct in your calculations.

Even with a sorely palpitating leg.

Still, it was clear from tensely pursed lips and only a brief glance over his shoulder at the command center that the loyal man had one more thing on his mind.

“What about you?” He inquired, confusion etching across his brows.

Your cheeks lightened.

“You’d know better than I, Commander,” you teased. “I distinctly remember you mentioning the handful of scattered single escape pods still located on the lower levels from when VenteX’s constructors needed a plan B during a plasma leak.”

The Commander’s eyes rounded in remembrance as an air of approval dusted off his subsequent nod. “Good catch, Silvey.”

He took a few strides to his rear, angling to jog back toward the Command Center as the determined man left you with one final promise.

"I’ll see you on the other side of this.”

And you certainly planned to keep that appointment.

But that meant drawing on the Force’s all-encompassing existence to guide your way.

You closed your eyes, reaching out your fingers to feel its comforting endlessness energize your veins like a tingling drone as you leaned into a sprint. Its volume remained gentler than the weeks of past, almost reminding you of the calming expanse on Hoth. With a medical station nearly void of life, there wasn’t much to upset its delicate balance as you sensed the escape shuttle’s hatch spin closed with a twist far behind you to secure in the last of the escapees. It enabled your mind to focus intensely on any indications of a disturbance. Whether that be dodging a wall to turn a corner or thoughtlessly punching in floor levels inside turbo lift after turbo lift as you attempted to sense this being lost in an endless array of intertwined hallways and rooms.

Until, while traversing alongside towering walls of precariously placed, foggy cargo containers held within one of the station’s high-ceiling storage lots, you suddenly felt it.

Your eyes slammed open.

A dull jolt in the everlasting stream, pulling at its ripples like a confused animal, and, from what you gleamed, located somewhere alongside the far wall that was sectioned into outstretched viewports inviting in the expanse’s brightest stars. Though those specks of white were vastly overshadowed by the eloquently zipping fighters whose choreographed dips and dashes pirouetted amongst a swarm of red blaster bolts, painting the Galaxy’s complexion with streaming tears of blood. Yet the source of her sobs, no matter how large her function, remained out of sight.

Your feet peddled through the sweeping repository with greater haste, bringing you mere yards from the transparisteel separating beings from the blackness beyond when you heard to your left a tenuous groan leak from its creator.

Your head swiveled toward the sound as a weakening malaise perfumed your senses.

Trapped underneath a lofty cargo container inscribed with gray geometric lines of Basic was the whole right arm of an older clone that maintained a graying beard and sported the brown garb of a supplier logistics technician. The side of his ribs pressed against the floor with intense pressure as he wrestled to shimmy the limb free from its metallic captor, teeth grinding into nubs from the striking pain of likely broken bones shattering still. An electrocuting sensation traveling down legs that dragged at the floor in an attempt to break himself free. Enough so that you caught wind of the oddly twisted placement of an ankle which flopped limply from the thrashes.

Without a second thought, you rushed toward the clone, arm outstretched as you landed on your knees to hold his chilly one still.

“Hold on!” You expelled while your mind tapped into the surrounding stream, allowing you to guide its energies into yourself as you focused your crumpled brows on nudging the container through the outstretched fingers of your free hand.

"You should get out of here, Sir,” the clone expressed through a weak huff.

The large box sharply groaned with a slight shake as you gasped through tense lips at its noticeable heft, fingers curling tighter until its vibrations evolved into the crackling pop of the container losing traction with the ground. Not by much, just a few inches at most, but enough for you to shimmy his arm out from underneath the lifeless beast’s grasp as utterances of excruciating cries and relief-drenched pants shot out of the man’s mouth and ricocheted across the echoing chamber.

The graying clone rolled on his back, cradling the damaged arm with squeezed eyes as he allowed the waves of salient affliction to wash over him while you stumbled back to catch your breath.

“Yes, I should,” you aired breathily as you bent down to help the injured man with a palm under each armpit, hoisting him up high enough to rest a good arm around your shoulder amidst protesting grunts so to limp him a few feet forward. “Now shut up and move, soldier.”

“Yes, Sir,” the weary clone moaned with a subtle shadow of ease as he hobbled through one lumbering step after another, digging into your shoulder with each footfall while you held the majority of his weight firm amidst a damaged ankle likely broken when the cargo container fell.

And for a brief instant, despite the significant setback spawned by the discovery of a severely inured clone, and the increasing pressure on your vibrating leg, you thought that the two of you had a pretty good chance of making it out of here, given that one of the escape pods you’d gleaned from the medical station’s blueprints was on this very level, in one of the inner hallways just a few turns away.

That was, until the staticky pop of your wrist comm buzzed to life with the sound of a familiar yet resistantly tense voice crackling through its speaker.

“Silv— Sil—vey. Come —in. Silvey—, are — there?”

You stretched your dominant hand toward your opposite shoulder, answering the call through a tap to the answering button without losing your grip on the saddling soldier.

“Anakin, I hear you.” You acknowledged forcefully with another step forward toward the storage repository’s sweeping, double-door exit that you carefully eyed a dozen meters away. “The weapon is causing some interference. We’re about to depart. What is it?”

“You nee— out of there! Not s— can’t— hol— —off”

A tingling eeriness ignited in the Force to your rear.

You spun back around toward the storage area’s rear wall of geometric viewports only to glimpse a dash of electrifying purple sparks rotate into the far left segment’s view amidst the endless streaks of red cuts into the Galaxy’s inky fold. A massive, circular charge that revved as the face of the expansive, shark-like ship Malevolence threatened with a roaring breath to blow away any chance you or this clone had for survival.

You remembered what Cody said. One strike from that destructive weapon would shut off the escape hatch releases you’d been relying on for your escape. And with all other systems offline, it would effectively annihilate any life left on board.

This was going to be a problem.

Until a swarm of marching fighters swung into view, veering about one big loop through and out the cannon’s neck as one after another launched an explosive, fiery torpedo that streamed into its wide gullet, supplying a smoky black beard that puffed outwards from the consecutive detonations as the beast’s electrifying, violet mouth roused wider at the provocation.

And just when you thought that the deadly spit of this wild creature would consume your vision, a wide array of clustering, rumbling copper blasts pimpled the shark’s decelerating form, caking the surrounding space with blotches of a wider, billowing smog. An apt fireworks show to welcome the arrival of several Republic warships that swung in from hyperspace within mere seconds like the flying bolts of before that now laid dormant.

“Anakin, do you copy?"

The firmly smooth yet urgent undertones of Obi-Wan’s voice broke through the speaker with an abrupt clarity that snapped your thoughts back into the present, empowering you to recognize that Anakin’s team foiled the imminent threat. You released tensed shoulders that had tightened at the height of this ordeal, enough so to liberate the older clone’s arm from your grasp. You leaned your chest toward the floor as his weight reclined against your back, sliding his arm across your wingspan in order to better grasp each armpit all to gradually lower his form down to rest against a few cargo containers stacked to your left.

“I’m here,” Anakin acknowledged, his transmission having audibly improved as you rose back to your full height to face the viewports once more, feeling the deep sting of a leg that appeared to have seen too much action a moment too early. “And Silvey is too. From the station.”

A flicker of white noise. Hushes of circuits and wires that marked General Kenobi’s line as open. Yet, in those few seconds, no words traveled across its waves from the lead warship drifting comfortably at a distance that characterized its structure as a miniature figurine.

Still, it was enough of a lull to catch your notice with the elicitation of a slumping sensation in your gut as your stretching senses reached through trained eyes to get just a glimpse of the damage you’d begun to realize you’d done.

Though your sight could never reach that far.

“Well,” he started with a bump. “I’m glad to hear you’re alright. Thanks to the success of Anakin’s mission. Congratulations.”

“Partially, but Grievous is still alive,” Anakin corrected just as swiftly as Obi-Wan spoke, though rumination deepened his tone. “The battle was pretty rough on my men. We’re heading for the medical station.”

Grievous…

It was clear he posed a threat. Not just to the Republic’s success in this war, but to Anakin too if these violent exchanges were to continue. The Chosen One and his entire team were nearly killed at his order.

And, to you, that was unacceptable.

You understood the Masters’ weariness which governed the decision to separate you and Anakin on the battlefield. You really did. Lest your proximity allow the enemy to discover your connection, and by association, your eternal mission. But you’d do no good in fulfilling those responsibilities when stationed so far from Skywalker’s battlefield skirmishes.

It was time to take matters into your own hands, it seemed. Because while it had been a little while since you last spoke with Master Windu, you were positive that neither he nor Master Yoda himself would approve of you joining Anakin on his next mission.

No matter, you knew you had to anyway.

It was time to finally fulfill your responsibilities as The Chosen One’s Guardian.

And, maybe then, you could address the mistakes you were beginning to realize you’d made in your friendship with Obi-Wan.

Maybe then, you could face your fears in stride like Mill Alibeth, in hopes of a better future.

“I’ll remain here to help with the return efforts and the injured,” you justified succinctly, unintentionally dipping into the professional drone you’d so expertly habitualized in conversations with the bearded Jedi these past few weeks.

It would also be worth having your leg looked at, you internalized.

But that thought flitted away as another shimmer of peppery nothingness filled the airways with empty feedback.

Yet this time, out of the automative choir that filled your eardrums, you felt a tenuous lug in the Force’s most inner threads, drawing a sliver of confusion to crinkle across your brows as you perceived this foreign sensation not only emanate from within you, but from a distance too far to pinpoint.

“Stay if you must,” he uttered. "Not all paths need to run side-by-side, after all.”

The sarcastic lilt of his mechanically transmitted voice tugged at the cogs of your mind, but not staunchly enough to process the Jedi’s meaning before his cogent air collided with your eardrums once more.

“Perhaps I’ve asked too much of you.”

You felt your cheeks chill an icy warmth as your body tried to reckon with the blood escaping to flood your features, synapses snapping with an equal potency of guilt and unease that threatened to spin the temperature of your ligaments into endless dials.

“But don’t worry,” he quickly finished while redirecting a more sanguine vocalization toward his former Padawan with the succinctness of a head turn. "we’ll call you when we need you.”

As you felt Anakin’s awkward hesitation from a filler word loosely pass across his comm line and directly into your very bones, you came to the solemn acceptance that the damage you’d chipped and chipped into existence this past week, was done.

And just as briskly, your motivation to mend your mistakes dissipated into the ether along with Anakin’s final sign-off.

“We’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 1 year ago

Text

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

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

Word count: 4,665

Midday

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

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

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

"I'm not that pale."

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

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

That's more than okay.

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

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

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

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

Wolffe.

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

Maybe, while he's distracted…

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

Maker alive let's just get this over with.

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

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

"Looked like he was about to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kri-?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Getting painful?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terrible blue flower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will carry out your judgment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm in agreement."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really.

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

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

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

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queer-irritator · 7 months ago

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An Unexpected Padawan | Obi-wan x GN! Reader

!MINORS DNI!

A/N: This is my first obi-wan fic and I sorta mashed a lot of the ideas I had into one super long story (you've been warned). I'm just down so bad for this man. It's a slow burn, but worth it in the end 😉

I also did not proof read any of this. I just finished writing it at 2am, the endings kinda rushed but I might make a little sequel in the future.

CW: Violence, assault, strong language, alcohol, smut, unprotected piv, oral, afab anatomy described

Word count: 7.8k

(Set during the clone wars)

You always felt different than everyone around you. Everyone told you it was just part of growing up, teenage hormones. But only it never went away. In fact, it got worse. The older you got, the harder it became to control your feelings and emotions. You were celebrating your 25th birthday in your favorite club when everything escalated.

“25! You finally got that fully developed brain everyone’s always talking about!” Your friend playfully elbowed you and handed you a shot glass.

“Yup, guess this is the brain I’m stuck with now!” You chuckled, clinking your glasses together then swallowing your drink in one gulp.

“Woah, did I hear there’s a birthday over here?” a man approached you and placed his hand on your lower back.

A chill shot up your spine as you recoiled from the strangers touch and moved away. You looked over the man, he was visibly drunk and could barely stand upright.

“Uhm, I don’t know anything about a birthday, man.” You lied, hoping he would leave you alone.

“Ah, I know what I heard! Lemme buy you a drink, sweet cheeks.” He persisted.

“C’mon, they’re obviously not interested. Just let us enjoy our night.” Your friend chimed in.

The man sighed and dramatically rolled his eyes, “No one fuckin’ asked you, bitch.”

A twinge of anger coursed through your veins and you balled one hand up into a fist.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” You warned the scumbag.

“Or what?” He prodded, crossing his arms over his chest and giving you a smirk.

Your jaw clenched and your fist tightened, you didn’t want to cause a scene, but this guy was going to get what was coming to him. Before you could open your mouth to tell him off the man gasped for air and began choking.

This brought some slight amusement to you, seeing as karma had taken care of this jerk before you could. But when his hands grasped at his throat and his lips were turning blue, your anger turned to concern. You unclenched your fist as worry overcame your thoughts, but just as suddenly as it began, his fit ended. He collapsed to the floor, tears welling in his eyes and face red as he desperately tried to catch his breath.

You crouched down by him, “Are you okay? Do you need some water??” Sure, the guy was an asshole but he didn’t deserve to die for being a drunken idiot.

“Get away from me!” He yelled, backing up from you, “What the fuck did you do to me?!”

“I… you were choking, I didn’t do anything!” You defended yourself.

The man scrambled to his feet and mumbled something about a jedi before bolting out of the club.

“Serves you right, asshole!” Your friend called after the man.

You stood up and glanced around, noticing all eyes were on you. Your gaze awkwardly darted across the room and it landed on a stranger. The stranger looked away from your gaze immediately and hurried to leave the establishment.

You sighed and ordered another drink, trying to put whatever just happened to the back of your mind, “Some birthday, huh?”

The next morning you awoke to loud knocking at your door. With sleepy eyes and a pounding headache, you reluctantly got up from your bed and dragged yourself to the door. When you opened to door to your small apartment, you were greeted by the stranger you had briefly made eye contact last night.

“Can I help you?” You squinted as sunlight from behind the figure glared into your vision.

“Yes, I am here on behalf of the Jedi Council. My name is Plo Koon.”

You straightened your posture and perked up, “Oh, hello sir! What brings you here?”

“You. I have reasonable suspicion that you may be force-sensitive and have been overlooked when you were a child.” Plo Koon explained.

“Me? Are you sure you have the right person?”

Plo Kloon recited your full name, your parents names, and your home planet.

“Wow.. uhm, so what does this mean?” You didn’t know if this was some weird hangover dream you can’t wake up from.

“We would like to take a blood sample, and if my suspicion is correct, come to meet the Jedi Council on Coruscant.” he explained.

“Wow.” You repeated yourself, “Well, I guess a blood test wouldn’t hurt… Please, come in.”

You stepped aside to let the Jedi in. You watched as he set down a small machine and set up some supplies. You’ve never encountered a Jedi before, but from what you heard they were incredibly serious and strict.

“It will just be a poke on the tip of your finger.” Master Plo Koon approached you.

You nodded and held out your hand for him. He gently took your hand and pricked your finger, collecting a drop of blood on the machine he held.

“It will just take a moment to get the results.” He assured you, sending a message over his comlink.

You wiped your finger clean and went to your small dinette to get a cup of caf to try and wake you up some more.

You invited Master Plo Koon to sit on the couch with you and offered him a cup of caf he gladly accepted. You made small talk for a few minutes before a message came over Plo Koon’s comlink.

“The sample you’ve sent contains midi-chlorians consistent with those who are force sensitive.”

“Thank you.” The Jedi spoke into his comlink then looked to you, “Would you come to meet the council?”

“Right now?” You got a sudden wave of anxiety. Is your whole life about to get uprooted because some idiot decided to harass you in the bar last night?

“Yes. You are already 20 years late.” The jedi joked.

You chuckled, “Okay… just give me an hour to get ready, please. You’re welcome to wait here.”

You stood up and headed to your bathroom to take a shower and prepare for this adventure.

It took the entire day to arrive at Coruscant, but the cushy Jedi accommodations helped the long journey. Master Plo Koon led you to modest sleeping quarters and bid you goodnight.

You took a moment to take in your surroundings. The room was decently sized, but was too industrial for your liking. Plopping your bag on the bed, you dug around for your nightwear and got ready for bed. You could only assume it would be a long day tomorrow.

“Rise and shine.” A robotic voice jolted you awake.

“Uhm, hello…” You warily greeted the droid that barged into your room.

“I am BNI-393, but you can call me Bunny.” The droid explained as she set down a bowl of food for you, “In 15 minutes Master Plo Koon will escort you to meet the Jedi Council.”

You nodded as you sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Thank you, Bunny.” you said, starting to eat your breakfast.

You enjoyed a comfortable silence as you finished eating and got dressed for the day. A knock at your door signaled it was time to go.

You opened the door and greeted the Jedi with a smile, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, (y/n).” He reciprocated.

Plo Kloon guided you through the Jedi Temple. It was much larger than you could have imagined. He pointed out different rooms and wings of the temple as you made your way. He led you through a large door and you entered a circular room with the members of the Jedi Council sitting in chairs arranged in a circle. Most were there in person, only a few holograms. You looked around the room, starting to feel quite intimidated. Trying to calm yourself, you took a deep breath.

Master Plo Koon began to address the Council, “I am here before you with (y/n), someone who I believe was unfortunately overlooked as being a force-sensitive child. They display impressive strength for never having knowledge or training in the ways of the force.”

A hologram popped up with your midi-chlorian readings.

“Just two days ago I personally witnessed a display of (y/n)’s strength.”

The hologram switched to a video of the events that unfolded on your birthday.

“I believe this was not done intentionally. However, without proper training and guidance I suspect (y/n) will unknowingly cause harm. Or worse, the Separatists will get to them.” The Jedi concluded.

Your attention was redirected from Plo Koon when a voice spoke up, “Aware of your actions, were you?”

You turned toward a small green man, “No, I didn’t know I was hurting that man. I didn’t mean to.”

“Hmm. Confusion and isolation, I sense in you.” he continued.

You nodded slowly, “I… I always felt different than everyone else. But I had no clue it was because of something like this. Can you help me?”

“They are much too old to begin Jedi training.” One man noted

“Yes, but what choice do we have? They’re obviously powerful, without training who knows what could happen.” A younger man with a scar across his right eye chimed in.

“I have to agree with Anakin.” A slightly older man with light brown hair and a full beard said.

“(y/n)’s choice, it must be.” The green man said, “Use them for our own gain or out of fear, we cannot.”

All eyes were on you, waiting for an answer. “Yes, I would like to be trained.” You needed to know how to control your emotions.

“Join the younglings, you will.” He stated, “Advance quickly, I suspect you will.”

You smiled and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

The next few months were filled with studying, learning everything about the Jedi code, the force, your brain was jammed so full of knowledge, you didn’t know if you could physically read another sentence.

You were in the library, head face down on the desk with five different books open in front of you. You needed a break.

“Studying hard I see.”

The sudden voice filling the silence made you jump, you looked up and a smile spread across your face.

“I’m trying to, Master Kenobi.” you admitted sheepishly.

You two always seemed to bump into each other, and it didn’t help that you’ve become fast friends with Anakin. At first Obi-wan had seemed very stoic, all business. But once you started to talk to Anakin and he told you stories when he was Obi-wan’s padawan, you started to see his cool demeanor was a front. You only caught glimpses of the real Obi-wan, when you walked into a room where he was alone or with Anakin and he was able to take a break from being a General. The moment he noticed you he would straighten up and play the part of a typical Jedi Master. To be honest, you’ve become infatuated with cracking him.

“Well, I’m not sure sleeping in the library is going to help you.” He poked fun at you.

You playfully scoffed at him, “I was not sleeping, I was just… taking a break.” You defended yourself.

“Ah, well would you like to take a break outside with me?” Obi-wan offered.

You nodded, closed your books and followed him to a balcony nearby. It was a few hours past mid-day, the usual hustle and bustle of the planet could be observed in the distance.

“The council has noticed how hard you’ve been working.” Obi-wan spoke, looking out to the horizon. “That’s good.” You shifted your gaze to the man beside you. Since you first saw him in the council room, you thought he was absolutely gorgeous. So far you’ve been able to ignore your feelings by drowning yourself in training.

“Yes, it’s so good in fact,” he turned to face you, “that they have appointed you to be my padawan.”

You couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping open and your eyes widening, “Are you serious??” Obi-wan let out a chuckle, “Very serious, my young apprentice.”

A huge smile spread across your face and you enveloped your new Master in a tight hug.

“O-oh my.” Obi-wan was caught off guard by your actions, but he placed a hand on your back.

You released him from your death grip and beamed up at Obi-wan, “So, Master. What will my first lesson be?”

“I was thinking sparring.” Obi-wan lifted his hand to his chin.

“You’re on.” you smirked and walked to the training room, matching your stride with Obi-wan’s.

After giving you his spiel about how your lightsaber is like your life and how important it is, the real training began.

“Show me what you’ve learned.” Obi-wan held up his lightsaber in a defensive stance.

You nodded and activated your lightsaber. After taking a few deep breaths to regulate your emotions and excitement, you began your sparring match.

Obi-wan was expertly blocking each of your strikes, giving you tips or praise depending on how you were doing. Before long, you were out of breath and starting to sweat. Meanwhile, Obi-wan still looked utterly perfect.

You took a break and were taking a long sip of water. Your chest heavily moved up and down and a few droplets of water were dripping down your neck. You could feel a pair of eyes on you, so you opened your own to catch Obi-wan staring. You swore you saw some light pink sprinkled on his cheeks before he turned his head away.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “We need to work on your stamina.”

You almost choked on your last drink of water from his words. They caused some very inappropriate images to come to your mind of different ways Obi-wan could “help your stamina”.

“How do we do that?” You asked once you regained your composure.

“More practice. It will increase in time.” He turned to face you again, “But for now, you’re doing well.”

“Thank you, Master. How about we celebrate tonight?” You proposed. “Oh, I don’t know…” Obi-wan got the feeling he would need to enforce strict Master-Padawan boundaries with you.

“Come on, I know you’ve had a padawan before, but this is my first time having a Master!” You protested.

You could see the hesitance on your Master’s face.

“...Please, Obi-wan?” You walked closer to him and gave him your best pout and pleading eyes. He reluctantly met your gaze, and after thinking for a moment he gave in, “Fine.”

You smiled at him, “Great! I’ll go get ready!” you said as you ran off to your room to shower. -

Later that day, you had cleaned up and gotten ready in your best clothes and were currently sitting in a speeder, waiting for Obi-wan. You’d sent him a message telling him where to meet you.

Obi-wan approached you, “Does Anakin know you’re using his speeder?”

“Uhm…yeah, of course. I wouldn’t use a Jedi’s vehicle without their permission.” You tried your best to seem convincing. Obi-wan raised an eyebrow at you, but got into the speeder anyway.

You looked him up and down a few times and let a small “Hmm” escape your lips.

“What?” Obi-wan questioned you as you began flying.

“Nothing.” You tried to assure him, trying to focus on your flying skills. Anakin had only given you three lessons so far.

“It must have been something.” He pressed.

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off, chewing on your lip.

“Just what?” Obi-wan was beginning to sound inpatient and childish.

You chuckled at his serious Jedi Master facade cracking, “I just had a feeling that’s what you’d wear.” You finally admitted.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” His defensiveness was honestly adorable.

“Nothing’s wrong with them! I guess I just couldn’t picture you in anything else but your Jedi robe.”

Obi-wan huffed softly and crossed his arms. You glanced over at him.

“I didn’t know you thought so highly of my opinion, Master.” You teased.

He sighed, “You’ve been spending too much time with Anakin.”

Once you parked and hopped out of the speeder, Obi-wan was able to get a good look at you. You wore tight-fitting pants that clung to your body nicely and a slightly cropped shirt with fishnets underneath it. Obi-wan watched your ass as you walked in front of him. He noticed something very important missing from you.

He stopped you in front of the bar you were about to enter, “Where is your lightsaber?”

You gave him a confused look, “Uhm.. hidden.” You pointed to the boots you were wearing.

You were about to question why he was looking for your lightsaber when he interrupted you.

“Oh, good. You should always be prepared.” Obi wan opened the door for you.

You decided to let it go and walked right up to the bar and ordered a few drinks. Obi-wan strolled up next to you.

“Quite a lively crowd tonight.” he commented.

“Tonight? You come here often, Master?” You leaned against the bar and looked at him with a sultry smile.

“No, I just-” He began to defend himself but was cut off by the drinks being served.

“My stars, how many drinks did you order?” He questioned, seeing the line of cups grow.

“A normal amount, calm down.” You assured him, dividing up the drinks between the two of you. You each had two shots and a mixed drink.

You handed him the first shot, “To Masters.” You clinked your glass with Obi-wan’s and swallowed the liquid and Obi-wan followed your lead.

“To Padawans.” You followed the same ritual with the next shot.

“And, to us.” You raised the mixed drink.

“To us.” Obi-wan repeated before clinking your glass one last time and taking a long sip of the drink.

A band came on a small stage at the farside of the bar and began playing some music. “Ooh, come on!” You started to walk towards the band.

Obi-wan followed behind you reluctantly, downing his drink on the walk over. Seemingly out of thin air, you handed him another shot and drink and started to sway to the music.

After downing his shot Obi-wan shook his head, “I drink, but I don’t dance.”

“Come onnnn.” You urged him, taking his hands and swaying them to the beat. “No, no, really. You don’t want to see me dance.” He continued to protest

You began to move your hips to the beat as well. You were looking at him but his eyes were fixated to your body’s movements.

You stepped a little closer to him, “I do. Show me your moves, Master.”

This time Obi-wan couldn’t turn away to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks. He silently scolded himself for letting his emotions overtake him for a moment. Instead of taking the chance on saying something that would make a fool out of himself, he reluctantly began to sway to the music, avoiding eye contact with you.

Your smile grew and you chuckled, “There you go!” You encouraged him as you finally let go of his hands now that he was getting in the groove of things.

As the song continued on and the drinks were starting to take effect, Obi-wan seemed to let his guard down some more. He took your hand and gave you a twirl. You gladly followed his lead and began to dance with him, not just next to him.

With the music getting louder, he had to dip his head down next to your ear so you could hear him when he spoke, “ You’re a great dancer.”

You laughed in response, looking up at Obi-wan’s face, seeing his smile and the way the corners of his eye crinkled, you realized he was being genuine.

It was your turn to lean upwards to talk in Obi-wan’s ear, he lowered his head slightly to help you, “You must be drunk if you think that.”

He echoed your chuckle from just moments ago, “It’ll take more than that to get me drunk, young padawan.”

You smirked, “Good to know!”

The two of you spent the next few hours cycling between dancing to your favorite songs and sitting at the bar. You could definitely feel the full effects of the drinks you’ve been consuming now and Obi-wan had a light flush on his face, but was still acting somewhat put-together.

“I don’t think either of us can drive back to the temple.” You confessed to your Master.

“Yes, I believe you’re right.” He agreed. “We could always call a cab.”

You shook your head, “Nu-uh, no way am I leaving Anakin’s speeder outside a bar all night. He doesn’t even know I took it!”

“You told me earlier he let you borrow it.” Obi-wan raised an eyebrow at you.

You giggled slightly, “I lied.”

“Well, there’s a hotel just down the street. We could stay there for tonight.”

“That sounds good.” You were glad he was more observant than you had been, “I’m getting pretty tired anyways.”

“Let us go then.” Obi-wan stood up and offered his elbow to you.

You took it happily and followed him outside, where it was much quieter. You walked the block to the hotel in a comfortable silence. Mostly, you were trying to focus on not stumbling and leading on just how much the drinks had affected you.

Obi-wan checked into the hotel and got a room for the night, he was also kind enough pay extra for a droid to pick up the speeder and bring it to the hotel. The moment you walked into your room you collapsed on the bed. You swore you heard a chuckle coming from Obi-wan, but when you lifted your head towards him he was locking the door. You decided to let it go and sat up. The entire room was spinning but you managed to pull off your boots without falling over. It wasn’t until you noticed Obi-wan laying an extra blanket he had fetched from the closet on the floor that there was only one bed in the room.

“You’re sleeping down there?” You questioned him.

He stopped in the middle of smoothing out the blanket to tilt his head to meet your eyes. He stood up straight from his previously bent over position.

“Yes, I figured this would be the most… appropriate.” He took a moment to find the right word to describe the current situation.

“You’re gonna throw out your back if you sleep on this floor, Obi.” Your words were starting to slur slightly, but you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

But he did. He also noticed the new nickname you’ve appointed him.

Before he could start to protest, you continued, “Get comfy and come up here. This bed is huge anyway.” You scooted over to one side of the bed and started to undo your pants.

Obi-wan snapped his head away from you and he felt his cheeks warming up, “W-What are you doing??” He put a hand up to further shield his eyes.

“Gettin’ comfy. I can’t sleep with these tight-ass pants on.” You explained as you lifted your butt off the bed and slowly peeled the pants off of your body, tossing them on the floor next to you then getting under the covers.

He let out a deep sigh, more so to calm his energy than anything else. “Are you finished?” He questioned, not daring to look over to you. “Yes sir.” You answered him sarcastically.

Obi-wan cautiously let his hand down and glanced over at you. Seeing you tucked in under the covers was… underwhelming. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but deep down he was hoping to see you spread out half-naked on the bed, waiting for him. However, he did tell himself that you were right about the effects of sleeping on the floor. It would be irresponsible to knowingly cause his body more strain.

You watched Obi-wan as he stood quietly for a minute before he took off his boots and picked up the blanket he had previously spread out on the floor. He turned off the light in the room and made his way over to the opposite side of the bed and sat down on the edge.

You could make out the silhouette of his back as your eyes were adjusting to the newfound darkness. He took a few minutes before swinging his legs onto the bed and laying down stiffly. He kept himself as close to the edge of the bed as possible. It was almost comical how large of a gap there was between the both of you.

Too tired to argue with him further, and not wanting to push his boundaries you closed your eyes.

“Goodnight, Obi.” you muttered as sleep overtook you.

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

After a while of laying in silence, Obi-wan turned his head towards you. Your mouth was parted slightly and your chest was slowly rising and falling with each breath you took. It had been so long since he last shared a bed with someone. The war had taken up every waking moment of his time and attention, he rarely even talked about anything that didn’t relate to it somehow. He would need to answer a barrage of questions when he got back to the temple about where you two were tonight, but it would be worth it. His eyes were starting to feel heavy.

Obi-wan could have sworn he’d only shut his eyes for a few minutes, but when he woke up there was light pouring into the room.

He sat up quickly and turned on a news hologram to check the time. It was already midday.

“Oh no…” He mumbled to himself. He was going to get hell from Anakin for being out all night and half the day.

“(Y/n), we have to get going.” Obi-wan said as he turned to you. His cheeks immediately turned pink when he saw the state you were in.

You had kicked the sheets half off of you in the middle of the night and were laying on your stomach with one leg bent, putting your ass on full-view. To seal the deal, you had worn quite revealing underwear due to your choice in pants the night before.

Obi-wan felt his blood rush to his crotch as he stared at your ass. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to regain control of his body. It took a few minutes, but eventually he was once again in charge of his body and thoughts. You were his padawan, an apprentice. Nothing else. His job was to teach and train you to harness the force and the power you possess. Jedi cannot form attachments. Especially not to their padawans.

He carefully draped the sheets over your lower half and placed a hand on your shoulder, “(Y/n). It is time to wake up.”

You groaned and buried your face further in the pillow. “Come on, it’s already midday and I’ve missed two meetings this morning.” He removed his hand from your shoulder and got his boots on.

“I feel like shit.” You didn’t bother to lift your head from the pillow.

Obi-wan could barely make out what your muffled voice, “And whose fault is that?”

He grabbed your shoes and picked up your pants from the floor and sat them on the edge of the bed.

“I’m going to get the speeder, please be ready when I come back.” He said before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

You groaned louder and reluctantly rolled over and got up and dressed. After you washed your face and gotten a cup of caf from the hotel lobby, you walked outside. Squinting as the sun’s rays violated your pupils, you saw your Master pull up in the speeder. You climbed in the passenger seat and took a long sip of your drink.

“Did you get me any?” Obi-wan asked.

You looked to him, silently cursing yourself for forgetting about Obi-wan, “Uhm, I figured we could share!” You attempted to save your skin as you handed him the cup.

“Oh, did you?” He looked from you to the cup you were offering. After a moment of internal debate, he took the cup from you and sipped the drink.

You smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder as he flew back to the temple.

Obi-wan had gotten an earful from Master Windu, when the two of you had arrived back to the temple. Obi-wan was swept into a meeting and you were left to your own devices for a while.

For the next week Obi-wan seemed to be more strict with you, keeping conversation to business only. After the initial week, you two had slowly fallen into a more comfortable and casual routine. Although he didn’t allow himself to relax as much as he had the first night you were together. It had been just about 3 months since becoming a padawan. You were doing great with everything, except for meditation and wielding the force.

“Master, I just don’t have the attention span for this type of stuff.” You sighed, becoming frustrated with yourself as you once again failed to enter a deep state of meditation.

“You do, you just don’t believe you do.” Obi-wan corrected you.

You were sitting cross-legged in the middle of a meditation room you and Obi-wan had to yourselves, due to your struggles. There was calming music, the sunset shining in the room, you wore comfortable clothes, there was a miniature waterfall for stars sake. But you couldn’t do it. You tried again to focus on your breathing, listening to your environment. You heard Obi-wan’s footsteps as he slowly walked in a circle around you. You could feel his eyes on you.

You groaned and opened your eyes, “Master, I can’t… I need a break. Can’t we do some sparring?”

“Your combat skills are coming along very well, you don’t need anymore practice at the moment. The only thing keeping you from success is you.” He always had something vague and cryptic to say, disguised as sage advice.

“I don’t even know what that means.” You looked up at him with a slight pout.

“It means, young padawan, that there’s something on your mind keeping you from achieving your goals.” He explained.

Yeah, you were staring directly at what was on your mind. Obi-wan distracted you. He annoyed you, frustrated you, but worst of all he made you want him. When you made him laugh and crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks firmed up. When he was being consulted on important matters and his brows knitted together and he placed his hand on his beard. It was infuriating. Because you couldn’t have him. You were quite sure he didn’t even see you as anything besides a padawan.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed Master Yoda enter the room until Obi-wan turned to greet him.

“Any success, you are having?” Master Yoda questioned Obi-wan.

“Not yet. But we’re close, I can feel it.” He assured Yoda.

You couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. You stood up and greeted Yoda.

“Hello Master, it’s always a nice surprise to see you.” You smiled at the shorter man as you stood besides Obi-wan.

“A mission, I have for you.” Yoda got right to the point, “Ready, are you?”

You stood up straighter and nodded, “Yes, Master.”

“To Naboo you will go. Represent the council, you will.” Yoda concluded.

You almost couldn’t believe your ears. You would get to represent the jedi council with THE Obi-wan Kenobi.

“This is such an honor, Master Yoda. Thank you so much!” Your smile was beaming.

“If you would like a head start, leave tonight you must.” Yoda turned to walk out of the room.

“Of course, Master.” Obi-wan assured him.

Once the door had closed, Obi-wan turned to you, “Looks like you’re getting that break you wanted.”

You chuckled softly, smile still spread across your face. “I’m gonna go get ready!” You ran out the door and to your room. You can’t believe you finally got assigned your first mission as a padawan.

It had been an uneventful few days in the starship. Your excitement had died down about 6 hours into the trip when you realized you would be stuck staring into space for a week straight. You’d gotten more used to the idea of the cramped ship being called home for the time being and you had some clothes strewn about the ship and trash from energy bars stuffed in your bed cubby. Obi-wan had complained about your mess earlier that day, so you figured you would surprise him by cleaning up while he took a nap.

You started by disposing of the trash around the ship, wiped down the windows, then got started on picking up your clothes. The hiss of a door opening grabbed your attention, you quickly realized you were devoid of any pants, which had been a recurring issue since being on the ship with Obi-wan. To you, comfort = no pants. You found them to be constricting and uncomfortable so you never wore them when you were alone or asleep.

Obi-wan stopped just a few inches short of bumping his crotch directly into your ass. He sighed and averted his eyes, “How many times do I have to ask you to wear clothes when I’m around…?”

You blushed and quickly pulled on a pair of shorts and stepped out of the way for him, “Sorry, Master…”

“Don’t-” Obi-wan had to stop himself. He was about to tell you to not call him ‘Master’. He never had an issue with anyone else saying it. But sometimes the way you said it made him picture some very inappropriate scenarios.

“Just… do try to remember from now on.” He sent you an apologetic glance before heading to the cockpit.

You nodded your head and continued to clean up.

Obi-wan just needed a few moments to regain his composure. When he closed his eyes to focus, all he could see was you bent over in front of him. And the image was getting to his dick.

“I cleaned up for you.” You said as you sat in the seat besides Obi-wan, “It was supposed to be a surprise, but…”

“Oh, I got a surprise alright.” He retorted.

You whipped your head to see Obi-wan’s eyes screwed shut and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. You also noticed that he was breathing heavier than normal.

“Are you okay, Master?” You asked cautiously, unsure if he was upset with you.

He could feel his dick hardening, his only saving grace was to hope his layers of clothes hid it.

“Yes, I’m fine.” He said, opening his eyes and putting his hand down.

“I’m sorry. I really thought you were going to be asleep for a while.” You explained, but Obi-wan kept looking straight ahead.

You didn’t get an answer, which was extremely unlike your Master. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on connecting to the environment and the force. You started to pick up a strong feeling coming from Obi-wan. You focused more intently on the feeling and then suddenly it was like you were inside his brain. You felt heat and arousal pool at your core and get a flash of an imagine of yourself bent over before your concentration was broken.

“Are you inside my head??” Obi-wan was finally looking at you.

“I…” You were at a loss for words, “I finally meditated.” You said with a sheepish grin.

Obi-wan’s cheeks had a light dusting of pink growing across them, “(Y/n), that is a major invasion of privacy.”

“I didn’t know that’s what I was doing! But- aren’t you proud of me?” You attempted to lighten the mood.

“...Yes.” He reluctantly answered you, but adjusted his gaze so he was once again looking out the front of the starship.

Your eyes stayed glued to him. You both knew what had just happened. That Obi-wan was aroused at the thought of you, and that you knew about it. You started to chew on your lower lip, the only questions that hung, unsaid in the air was if you were going to pretend this never happened or if one of you were going to make a move. You knew Obi-wan would never be the one to initiate something romantic.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, “Do you think of me often, Master?”

You visibly saw Obi-wan’s breath get caught in his throat when you asked your question.

“That’s not an appropriate question, padawan.” He replied plainly, trying his best to ignore his feelings and bodily instincts.

“Well, I don’t think you’re having very appropriate thoughts right now.” You said, standing up from your chair and begging your legs not to give out from under you.

His eyes shifted slightly to glance to you but then were immediately fixated back on the stars ahead, like it hadn’t been your view for the last days. You started to walk towards him, closing the few feet that separated you. This caused his full attention to be turned to you.

Obi-wan waited until you were standing directly besides him before looking up at you and speaking, “What are you doing?”

You gave him a soft smile and turned his chair so he was facing you. You leaned down so you were just a few inches from his face. You paused, waiting to hear his protests, but none came. The only sound was Obi-wan’s shaky breath he was desperately trying to hide. You placed one of your hands on the side of his chair and closed the gap between you, gently placing your lips on his.

After a brief moment of shock and a sharp inhale, Obi-wan closed his eyes, used his hand to cup the side of your face and kissed you back. You let out an exhale you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. As you relaxed into the kiss you were sharing, you tilted your head to the side to deepen it. Obi-wan matched your enthusiasm and stood up from his chair, causing you to take a step back but never detaching from your lips. He placed his other free hand on your hip and backed you up until your legs were met with the control panel. He grazed your lower lip with his tongue which elicited a soft moan from you, allowing Obi-wan to slide his tongue into your mouth, which in turn elicited a bigger moan. You explored each other’s mouths and one of your hands came up to the back of Obi-wan’s neck.

Seemingly, just as fast as it had started, Obi-wan broke away from you, panting slightly, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

His gaze held yours. His words said one thing, but his eyes said another.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked him, afraid that he had come to realize this was a big mistake.

“No.” He admitted, almost too quickly. “Do you..?” He shared your fear of rejection.

You shook your head, “No.”

Obi-wan connected with your lips once again and lifted you up onto an empty section of the control panel. Instinctively, you spread your legs and Obi-wan slid perfectly into the new space you made for him. He moved his mouth down to your neck and began to suck on a spot in the crook of your neck.

You moaned in response to his actions, grabbing a fistful of the robes he was wearing, “Please, I want you.”

He responded by removing your shirt and then dropping to his knees and tugging down your shorts and underwear in one swift movement. All you could do was watch in anticipation as Obi-wan hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and placed soft kisses on your inner thigh. You opened your legs wider as he got closer to your throbbing core. His beard continued to tickle your thighs as he buried his head into you and started to lap you up.

You moaned as your head fell back and bumped the glass windshield of the spaceship. Oh, the spaceship. This was Anakin’s ship and Obi-wan Kenobi was eating you out on the control panel. Your thoughts were brought back to the current moment when he took your clit into his mouth and began to suck on it. You entangled your fingers in his hair as sounds of pleasure escaped your mouth. That was seemingly always-perfect hair, well it won’t be after you were done with him.

Obi-wan’s tongue was relentless on your soaking cunt. You gripped his hair tighter as you felt your climax building up.

“Shit, Obi,” you panted, arching your back and grinding yourself against his mouth, “‘M gonna cum soon.”

He moved his hands to your hips in an attempt to pull you closer and shove his face even deeper into your pussy. It was working, with one hand still on Obi-wan’s head and one hand with a death grip on the side of control panel, your orgasm washed over you in waves. Your moaning and panting echoes off the industrial metal of the starship and your thighs tightening around Obi-wan’s head as he continued to suck and kiss you all over.

When you came down from your high, you opened your eyes to see Obi-wan panting in between your legs, his beard wet with your own juices. He looked utterly perfect sweaty, panting and covered in the mess you had made. He used one hand to get some excess mess off his beard before he stood back up and kissed you. You could smell and taste yourself from the kiss.

“You are breathtaking.” He praised you when he broke your kiss, but kept your foreheads pressed together.

“I could say the same thing about you.” You smiled at him and sat up slightly.

You couldn’t help but glance down at the very evident bulge protruding from Obi-wan. He followed your gaze and looked down at himself as well.

“You don’t have to-” You cut him off by beginning to peel his layers of clothes off.

Layer after layer of beige and brown were beginning to frustrate you, “Good hell, how many clothes does one man need to wear?” You muttered, more to yourself than to Obi-wan.

He chuckled, as much as he enjoyed watching you undress him, he had been hard as a rock for some time now. So, he opted to help you out. After removing his top half, you paused to admire his body as he took off his pants. He was much more toned and muscular than his attire led on. He also had quite a few scars across his torso. You scanned his body as he stood upright once again. Your eyes led you down to a happy trail from his belly button, to where his dick was barely being contained. You noticed a small pool of wetness against the fabric from where his pre-cum and saturated the fabric.

Words were tumbling out of your mouth before you even processed what you said, “Please fuck me, Master.”

You reached between you to push down his underwear and watching his cock spring free. His dick was also a pleasant surprise, he had so much hiding underneath the layers of his jedi attire. You stroked him softly as you looked into his eyes.

“Can you do that for me?” You questioned after not receiving a response to your earlier question.

“Yes, sweetheart. Of course.” He assured you and kissed the top of your head.

You leaned back once again and hooked your legs onto Obi-wan’s hips as he lined himself up with your entrance and slowly began to push himself inside of you. You gripped his biceps as you adjusted to his size as he filled you up. He started with a slower, rocking rhythm but was building it up so he was just pounding away inside you. He was savoring the way you looked beneath him, memorizing the sounds you made and the ways your face contorted in pleasure.

“So beautiful.” He muttered to himself.

He leaned over you to adjust his position and kissed your shoulder. Having his mouth right next to your ear was extremely welcomed. You could more clearly hear his grunts with each thrust. “I wanna hear you, Obi.” You encouraged him to not hold back, gripping onto his shoulders as you felt your second orgasm building up.

You felt him nod against you, “Not going to last much longer, darling.”

The sweet names he kept calling you were filling your heart even more than his cock was filling your pussy, if that was even possible. You began to help him out by meeting his thrusts and grinding against him, causing the tip of his dick to brush against the sensitive spot inside you.

You let out a load moan and repeated your movements over and over again until you were cumming for the second time, digging your nails into Obi-wan’s shoulders. His movements were becoming slightly sloppy as he began to moan against your shoulder, then you felt his cock pulse inside you and shoot cum into your walls. With a few final thrusts, he emptied all he could inside of you and sloppily kissed your neck.

You brought moved one of your hands to rubs Obi-wan’s shoulder blade lovingly, “You feel so good.” You gave him a final praise and kissed his cheek, that still vaguely tasted like you.

“That’s good.” He said, still coming back down from his orgasm. He pulled himself off of you, your sweaty skin wanting to stay stuck together. He carefully pulled out of you and his large load came spilling out and trickled down your thigh.

If he wasn’t so exhausted, Obi-wan would have taken you again at that very moment.

“Stay here.” He instructed you as he walked out of sight, only to emerge a few seconds later with a towel to clean you up.

You watched him as he gently wiped his dripping seed from your skin. You couldn’t help but smile, even after he had just fucked you senseless, Obi-wan was still such a gentleman.

“Thank you.” You said softly, almost like talking any louder would burst the fragile bubble the two of you were in.

He looked up at you after throwing the towel in the disposal, “Of course, darling.” He smiled sweetly at you and gave you a soft kiss.

It was a stark contrast from moments ago. He was rough, needy, and primal but now he was soft and gentle.

For the rest of the trip the two of you existed in your own reality. The next evening you enthusiastically repaid Obi-wan for the oral sex. Then you proceeded to have sex on every surface you could in the cramped starship.

~ Fin ~

@creatureoftheunderworldd

@onlystarwarsamdmarvel

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