#plo koon's world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jetii · 3 months ago

Note

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

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

For One Night

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

Words: 10,745

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

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

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

You’ve never seen a storm this bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you notice a glint of metal in the distance.

"Wait." You hold up a hand.

Wolffe stops immediately, his hand dropping to his blaster.

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me go first," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. "Why?"

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

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

"I still need to check."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good work."

“Don't sound so surprised."

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now...

Well.

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

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

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

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

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

"This place is a shithole."

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

"Hm."

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

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

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

"It's not so bad."

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jet'ika. Little Jedi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

Neither one of you have the freedom to be together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I'm cold."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

"You know why."

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

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

Almost.

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

"Good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really."

"Fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

"Yeah, but—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course I am."

"You're also insufferable."

"And yet, you put up with me."

"For some reason, I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wolffe, I don't—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, much."

"Good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still."

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

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

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

"Yeah, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

"Wolffe, we can't do this. It's—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wolffe," you say, your voice strained.

"I know," he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolffe smirks, his eyes dark and heated.

"And so sensitive," he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It'll bruise," he warns.

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

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

"In that case..."

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

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

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

"Oh, kriff. Wolffe!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wolffe, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Needy little thing," he murmurs against you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like that, jet'ika?"

"Yes," you hiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good?" he asks, and you nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wolffe," you whisper.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs against you.

"I'm ready."

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yes."

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

"Easy," he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wolffe," you whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't move," he murmurs.

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

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

"Don't."

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

"Don't say anything."

"Wolffe—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," he murmurs.

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

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

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

"I do."

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

"Fuck," he whispers.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"What are you saying?"

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

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

"Wolffe," you breathe, "what—"

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

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

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

"Yes," he murmurs.

"Even though..."

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

"What do we do now?"

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

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

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

"I know."

"Can you live with that?"

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

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

"Okay," you murmur. "Okay."

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

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

"Stay with me," you plead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even in a galaxy as cruel as this one.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak @lovelytech9902

@frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana

@resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild

@ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster

@lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777 @schrodingersraven

@megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy

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

#wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #the clone wars #clone trooper wolffe #clone x reader #roy writes #as promised here is the sad smut

401 notes · View notes