#tcw commander wolffe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tanobatcher · 14 days ago

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moonlight

wolffe x jedi fem reader

summary: you’re a jedi with a budding attraction toward commander wolffe of the 104th battalion. even though both of you know that crossing any professional boundaries is simply off-limits, tensions arise when you find him with an injury after a long mission in the outer rim.

warnings: not a lot just wolffe’s back muscles.

a/n: tbh i don’t really like this and i wrote it instead of updating my fics on ao3 omg lock me up please. but i’ve been meaning to post a wolffe one shot for a while now so...yes. thanks.

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Space is terribly, inevitably cold. The soft layers of your robes do little to remedy any warmth along the goosebumps that prickle your skin, leaving your body slightly trembling no matter how closely you stand beside the heating outlet. This current state of being is not obvious to the naked eye, but you feel every excruciating second that passes as your fleet drives deeper into hyperspace. On route to Coruscant, you can only hope that the hour disappears faster than expected. The sooner you get off this desolate venator, the less likely you are to lose your frozen fingers. Still, even with how stiff and tingly your exposed skin feels, you’re grateful that you aren’t out there. Realizing this is as safe and sound as you’re going to get, you tuck your hands into your robes and venture through the halls in hopes of finding something to remedy the frigid temperature.

Everything falls to a calm silence as soon as you leave the bridge where most of the chatter and energy can be found aboard this massive ship. The corridors are quiet, only echoing your footsteps until you reach a storage closet a few doors down from the infirmary. You can hear some faint conversations coming from there, muffled through walls and permeating grief. After all, more death than life can be felt after what happened earlier today. There is nothing new about loss, which is merely categorized as casualties in those boring mission reports, but there is also nothing acceptable about it either. Trying to relax your mind with your master’s emphasized teachings, you release an absentminded exhale that loosens your chest before stepping into the closet. Maybe some heating pads or gloves will do…if you can find any.

You lose track of time in the following minutes before the door suddenly slides open behind you with a brisk whooshing sound that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. It isn’t the unexpected intrusion that provokes this reaction, though. It’s the person standing in the corridor, whose presence you recognize before you turn around to look at him. You sense his terse, rigid iciness that somehow warms your skin and accelerates your heartbeat. But when you glance over your shoulder, all that you reveal is a friendly smile you don’t expect him to reciprocate.

“Hey,” you speak first, “Are you looking for something?”

Wolffe’s body is unmoving at this question, not allowing him to take any step into the closet. But he also hasn’t walked away yet, which indicates his current consideration of what to do next. If there’s anything you know about him from fighting this war together, it’s that he’s a deep thinker. The only times he really opens his mouth to say something is when he’s dishing out an order or an insult. And yet, you’ve grown to trust him. Admire him, even. This is certainly not a bridge to cross any further, though. The Council would be terribly disappointed in your inability to control your feelings before they become attachments. Besides, you know that Wolffe is the last soldier you’d expect to break protocol. The loyalty of following orders is weaved into his blood so intricately that you don’t even think about attempting to unravel these threads. It’s hardly your place to do so.

“I’ll come back later,” he answers sternly despite the exhaustion you hear in his tone.

Turning your body to face him fully, you aren’t surprised to see that his eyebrows are drawn together in that instinctive scowl not necessarily aimed toward you. Such an expression is more natural than intentional—at least, for him. He meets your eyes for a brief second before casting them downward, leading you to wonder why he seems so uncomfortably stricken. You sense this, just as you sense the pain he is currently trying to mask under his stoic philosophy. What’s he doing here, instead of checking into the med bay? You wonder this while remembering the tumble he took—for you, technically—just a few hours ago during your mission. The memory of falling from that mountainous peak crosses your mind, immediately followed by the moment when Wolffe cradled your body with his on the way down so that his landing impact was much more painful than yours. You meant to thank him for this sometime after, but things got in the way as they do in war. Now that you’re in a position to bring it up, though, you’re not sure how.

“No, that’s okay,” you tell him instead, “I was just about to leave.”

“Did you not find what you were looking for?” He questions, flicking his gaze at your empty hands you rub over each other in an effort to warm them.

“No. Guess we ran out of warmers—we should really ration them better.”

“You’re the only one who uses them.”

You wrinkle your nose at his factual statement, not wanting to concede but also not finding anything to say in rebuttal. So, you ask, “Did you need something?”

He gestures his chin at the crate beside your body. “Are there any medpatches in there?”

“I didn’t see any in this one…” you look down for a moment before reaching toward another crate while asking, “You might have better luck at the infirmary, to be honest. It’s pretty empty in here.”

“The infirmary’s busy,” is all he responds with a slight impatience to his tone as he takes a few steps further into the closet.

You’re suddenly hyperaware of his proximity, moving toward the side a bit to make room. It’s not a large space, cluttered with shelves and boxes somehow devoid of its usual contents. But you have been on the road for a while now, which could explain the reason for this fleet’s depleting resources. Thankfully, Coruscant is only a couple of hours away.

“Sorry,” you apologize when your backsides brush against each other. The collision of your soft robes against his hard armor is hardly noticeable, but you still find yourself burning in embarrassment for a reason you can only rule off as stupidity. Reminding yourself that this is Wolffe, and that you’ve been in much more compromising situations with him than a mere closet where both of you remain by choice, you swallow hard and exhale quietly.

“It’s fine.” His voice is barely a whisper, low and absentminded like he’s distracted.

You purse your lips, falling silent again until you glimpse a sneaky package of a few medpatches a little deeper into the shelf in front of you. Snatching them up with one hand, you turn around and declare, “Found them.”

Time seems to slow when he turns around to face you, bringing your bodies closer together even though you’re leaning back against the shelf like your life depends on it. His face is shadowed from the dim lighting above your heads, which almost makes his cybernetic eye look like the moon. You perceive the white and silver as an illumination that pauses your breathing and gravitates your gaze toward his scar. Noticing where you’re looking, he frowns and reaches for the box between your fingers in a hasty manner that startles you. Still, quick to adapt, you hold the medpatches closer to your chest and ask, “Too busy…even for you? The infirmary, I mean.”

“Does it matter?” He carefully pulls the package out of your grasp, not once touching you in the process—even accidentally.

You let your arms fall to your sides before squeezing the fabric of your robes. “Well, no, but…it doesn’t not matter.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what I mean.”

He rolls his eyes at this, but even that familiar gesture feels half-hearted from his obvious fatigue. You peer up at him closely, wondering why neither of you has left the room by now. It’s already been established that you couldn’t find what you needed. Meanwhile, he got what he came for. The question is simple enough—it’s the answer that you struggle to put your finger on.

“What?” He asks roughly, causing you to realize that you’re staring.

Taken aback by your own lack of control rather than his hostility, you clear your throat and drop your gaze to his chest plate. “If you’re hurt, someone should take a look—”

“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me all the time,” he dismisses, but you’re not convinced. When it comes to him, you’re never fully convinced.

“I’m not worried,” you clarify, taking the box of medpatches from him to tear it open, “I know what you’re doing. I think it’s honorable, but you should let them take care of you, too.”

His expression is wary as he replies, “And what am I doing, exactly? If you care to enlighten me.”

You shrug, setting the opened box on the shelf beside you to free up both of your hands.

“What you always do. Putting your brothers first…” you say quietly while reaching forward toward his armor, “Making sure they—”

Your words cut off when he catches your wrists in one hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m helping you. Anyway, it’s my fault you need these in the first place,” you explain, trying to tug yourself out of his grip without too much physical force.

He only tightens his hold at this. Even though you can’t say for certain, you’re almost convinced that he leans in a bit closer before replying, “This is inappropriate.“

“Oh, please,” you scoff, ignoring the humiliation warming your cheeks, “You’re being immature. I’m sorry if you’ve never had your armor taken off by a woman before, but this isn’t that kind of context.”

You’re a bit surprised at yourself for these words as soon as they leave your mouth. Unsure if you just crossed a line, you press your lips together and anticipate a reaction. At first, all you receive is a clenched jaw and a burning stare that makes you realize a stomach-dropping truth. Maybe Wolffe’s right. Maybe this whole situation is inappropriate. If that’s the case, though, the question from earlier still stands. Why are you still here? Why is he still here?

“The women who take my armor off are none of your concern.”

This feels harsher than it actually sounds, but a stinging embarrassment pricks your eyes for a reason you try to discern without reading too deeply into it. Perhaps it’s his tone or the fact that he still holds onto you as if the thought of letting you touch him is simply unfathomable. Or disgusting. One or the other. Unfortunately, you also begin to think about the subject currently in question—the women who have undressed him in less professional settings. Places where you can never even dream of being with him. But you do, and you’re reminded yet again why you shouldn’t.

“I didn’t say they were,” you scowl, averting your eyes from his.

He’s quiet instead of responding, so you continue, “If you’re done proving your point, then let go of me. I’ll get out of your hair.”

A pause that almost feels reluctant passes between the two of you before he releases your wrists. You immediately tuck your hands into your robes, willing away the buzzing heat that strangely combats the cold you felt before this moment. This warmth quickly trickles away, though, diluted by the venator’s unfortunate temperature. But, just as you’re about to leave, it returns in the form of a softer tone you recognize despite not hearing it often.

“It’s not your fault,” he says in reference to your earlier statement regarding his wounds, “I’m fine. It’s a bruise at most.”

You glance up at him, surprised both by this reassurance but also the fact that he hasn’t put an end to this conversation yet. Pushing your back off from the shelf, you find yourself dangerously face-to-face with him as your feet slide into the gap between his legs. You’re standing at your full height now, but you don’t feel as confident as you might appear. Not when he’s looking at you through heavy eyelids that almost seem lazy even though he’s anything but that particular quality. Despite trying to sense his current feelings in hopes of clarifying this inappropriate situation, you’re only thrust into a hazy fog that confuses you more. It’s just as your master always tells you—strong, uncontrolled emotions cloud your judgment. No matter what they are.

“You’re always saving my ass,” you admit to him, “I don’t want that to catch up to you one day.”

His eyebrows raise at this for a brief moment. “You think it will?”

“No, but this war doesn’t care what any of us think.”

“That’s pessimistic. Even for you.”

“Really?” you reply sarcastically with a subtle smile, “I wonder where I got that from.”

He doesn’t react to this other than a flash of amusement that you catch in his eyes as he stares at you. His quiet intensity is so overwhelming that you plead with yourself to leave before you can embarrass yourself further, but the opposite of this wishful thinking occurs beyond your control. Instead of taking a step away, you take one forward. At this point, you’re even closer to him—but he does not move. Your hands are now clasped behind your back even though you’re not actively remembering his words from before—don’t touch me. It’s classic Wolffe to tell you what to do, but it’s not every day when you listen. What is every day, though, is your ability to call him out on his bullshit.

“I don’t know why you haven’t left yet,” you tell him before laughing softly, “Or why you haven’t told me to piss off…because you totally would. If that’s what you wanted.”

He swallows, leaving you wondering if he’s just as nervous as you are. Taking advantage of his silence, you briefly close your eyes and inhale so as to clear your mind. You’re now more certain there’s a way through this conversation rather than around, which will only be proven or denied soon enough.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…even though you don’t want my help…you’re still here,” you continue.

“So are you.”

“Because you don’t have to ask me to stay.”

Another beat of silence consumes the stare both of you hold before he sighs, “Stubborn ass.”

But the insult is hardly effective at offending you, even provoking another laugh that’s louder and sharper this time around.

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, “That’s why you’re not at the infirmary right now.”

“It’s busy,” he repeats his answer from earlier, “The other casualties are more severe. There’s only so many medics available.”

“Well, I’m no medic, but I can tell you that you might have more than a bruise from that fall,” you tell him.

“Well,” he copies your tone, “Since you’re not a medic, I wouldn’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes at this but ignore it otherwise because you know every second spent talking is one wasted in easing his pain. Trying one more time for good measure, you say, “We can just get this over with. It’ll be easier if you let me help you.”

Before he can respond with disagreement or protest, you reach for the top half of his armor again. This time, he doesn’t grab onto you. Instead, he squares his shoulders a bit and replies, “I doubt you can figure it out.”

When you glance up with furrowed eyebrows, he clarifies, “How to take all this shit off, I mean.”

Feeling a bit underestimated, you set your jaw with amusing determination. Of course, this isn’t because of his comment about the other women who might’ve done this before. You’re not even thinking about that—how silly to even remember such a trivial implication. Just as you’re about to prove him wrong, you realize you don’t even know where to start. At first glance, this kind of task doesn’t seem too difficult. But when you lightly tug on his shoulder plate out of curiosity as to what’ll happen (nothing did), you laugh and begin feeling your way around his upper body to find any openings that might make this easier. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t stop you, allowing you to figure this out before interfering.

“I don’t know,” you giggle quietly, slightly embarrassed but also entertained, “Feel free to step in at any point…”

“I think I’m good.”

“You sure? We might be here all day…”

You’re not looking at him as you say this, too far deep into concentrating on the many gimmicks that hold his armor together. Because of this, you miss the brief smile that twitches his lips—but you feel it. A sudden rush of energy sparks your senses, one that you’re aware isn’t your own. It’s similar to affection and joy but also hard to define. A little startled, you lift your head and meet his eyes as your laughter subsides into a calmer silence that seems heavier when considering how your hands are rested against his chest. You’re so close to touching his heartbeat but also so far.

“You’re enjoying this,” you tease despite your heightening nerves, “Watching me struggle.”

“Maybe a little.”

Before you can respond to this, Wolffe exhales and starts taking his armor off himself while holding your gaze. He begins with his arms, never once letting his eyes falter from yours. It’s almost too much to bear, leaving your insides a churning mess as your heart rattles faster against your chest, but it’s also worth the risk. You watch him closely, feeling more seen than ever before. Truth be told, a dark closet is the last place you expect to be found with him. Now that you’re here, though, you silently wish that nobody else comes searching. It doesn’t take long for the armor around his arms and shoulders to fall away, revealing a sight you’ve already seen before from the many missions you’ve endured together. But this moment feels different. You’re not surrounded by other troopers in a crowded medical bay where everyone is either armor-less, shirtless, or somewhere in between. You’re alone with him. He hasn’t even exposed any skin yet, but you know this is already wildly inappropriate. The only problem is…you don’t care.

Still quiet, you carefully brace your hands around the complicated parts of his chest plate. He seems to respond to this with his eyes rather than a verbal command, briefly flicking his gaze downward before meeting yours once again. You inhale a soft breath, letting both intuition and his guiding presence lead you toward the last of this barrier. The pieces of his chest plate are heavier than you anticipate, but you hardly struggle with their weight. Regardless, he takes them from you as soon as they unlatch themselves from his body. You can’t deny the exhilarated rush that floods your veins when you take in the sight of his upper half, still clothed with a skin-tight fabric that never fails to widen your eyes. The shape of his collarbones and the imprints of his muscles stare straight at you. Or maybe you’re just staring at them.

“Turn around,” you whisper, “And take your shirt off.”

His eyes narrow for a split second before he obliges from one order to the next. He turns around first, baring his backside to your perception. You can’t help but look away when he sheds his clothing from his top half, thinking this gesture will ease the intimacy of the present moment. But when you look up again, sliding your eyes over his dark and bruised skin, you realize there is nothing easy about this. The tension doesn’t just freeze you up, though. Through the dim lighting, you can observe every instance the hard plane of his back flexes and stiffens like it’s both anticipating and rejecting someone’s touch. Perhaps under different circumstances, you would admire such a broad and disciplined sight clearly bred from more than just favorable genetics. But when he asks, “How bad is it?” in a hoarse tone that startles you, the real reason for this situation interrupts once again.

You swallow the lump in your throat, unsure why your response is slightly delayed. “Not bad. Just some bruises, like you said.”

He tips his head back a little, supposedly looking up at the ceiling before releasing a breath. This soft sound stutters when you touch his lower back where most of the purplish bruising can be found. His skin is rough, fitting for a man like him. But it’s also warm, contrasting the cold that bites your fingertips.

“Does it hurt?” You murmur while applying a little pressure, “When I do this?”

“No.” But he sounds as if he’s in pain.

You draw your hand back, reaching for the medpatches off to the side. As soon as you begin placing them over his bruises, gently smoothing your hand down so that they stick, he immediately sighs in apparent relief. It sounds more like a groan from the low depth of his voice, though. Goosebumps prickle your arms, but you keep going until you’ve reached a satisfactory point where any remnants of his injury are now encased in this temporary method of healing. Honestly, you still believe he should have gone to the infirmary for a more professional diagnosis—but you cannot complain about this opportunity, either. Your hands are still on his skin even after you’re all done just because he feels so warm.

Suddenly, he breaks the silence. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, dropping your hands from his body to rub them against each other as if to savor the heat you absorbed from him. You can already feel it disappearing, reminding you that this moment hardly belongs to you. It shouldn’t have even happened. Helping your comrade isn’t necessarily against protocol, but this not-so-innocent favor drives a pang of problematic guilt deep into your heart like a blade wedged between two choices. It’s hard to say what these choices even are, but you already know where your duties lie. No matter how often you dream of another possibility that allows your feelings to truly blossom, you are stuck in the greenhouse where you’ve already pledged your loyalty. The sunlight that has nurtured you ever since you were just a youngling cannot be replaced by the moonlight you crave. Because flowers don’t grow at night. Only dangerous desires do, whispered like the voice in your head that tells you not to cross the line.

Right now, the most dangerous of them all has you wishing for time to move slower so that you don’t reach Coruscant as fast as you initially wanted. The fact is, though, what’s done is done—and you answered this yourself. You sealed it into permanence, widening the distance with every step you take away from his slightly quivering body. He’s shaking so subtly that you almost miss the desperation in his eyes that pierce through yours when he turns his head toward you. Closer to the panel that would open the door now, you pause and stare back at him while wondering if there’s something either of you should be saying. A quick sentence that can lighten the heavy mood bearing down on your shoulders and squeezing your heart. Or, nothing at all. You straighten your back and turn on your heel before anything can slip out. The corridors are much louder as you walk away from the closet, hardly leaving any traces behind but a lingering confession unspoken and unyielding.

It’s still chilly in here, you realize. Because space is terribly, inevitably cold.

#wolffe x reader #commander wolffe #tcw #tcw wolffe #tcw commander wolffe #jedi #one shot #star wars #star wars clones #wolf pack #104th battalion #clone x reader #the clone wars #clone troopers #tension

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yoitsjay · 5 months ago

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Betrayal

Pairings: Commander Wolffe x Gn! Reader

Summary: you had been knighted, and then confessed love to the man who helped you get there. And then everything fell apart... you were just so... angry..

Warnings: canon violence, torture, order 66, inquisitors, inquisitor torture. Insanity.

Word count: 2,284

“Congratulations Y/n L/n on passing your knight trials.You have earned the right to call yourself a Jedi Knight, and a General of the republic.”

Plo Koon spoke to you as you knelt down in front of him. He ignited his saber, moving it close to your neck as he cut the padawan braid which fell into your hands. You stared at it for a moment, tears welling in your eyes as you rose to your feet before pulling your master into a tight hug.

“Thank you Master.” You whispered, pulling away as your hand went to where the braid used to be, feeling the singed hair which would grow out with time and join the rest of your hair.

The Jedi in the council room all clapped for you, and you bowed gratefully as Plo-Koon took his seat with the council. You turned to Master Yoda, who was smiling. “A promising future, you have ahead. Grow stronger with the force, you will.” He said, and you bowed once more.

“Keep up the good work, and you might become a Master in the future.” Mace Windu stated, and a small chuckle left your lips. “I can hardly wait, thank you masters.” You stated, before leaving the audience room.

Waiting outside was your Commander, and his wolf pack, their helmets off as they turned to you, grinning. “Awoo! look at you go girl! Congratulations General.” Boost spoke up with a grin as he patted your shoulder. You laughed, pulling the whole squad in, including Wolffe, hugging them all.

“I wouldn’t have been here without any of you. Thank you.” You stated, pulling back as you turned to look at Wolffe, who had saluted to you, the rest of his men following suit. “You’ll be commanding your own squad soon, General. We’re proud of you.” He said, and you placed your hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll always be in my heart Commander, you and the wolfpack.” You started, pulling back with a smile. “Time for a wardrobe change i think.” You joked, waving goodbye as you walked off.

You smiled at the fond memory. It had only been a few months since you were knighted, and you jumped from battalion to battalion before you were told your permanent home would be with your original unit. Plo Koon already knew, but he wanted it to be a surprise for the Wolfpack, especially his commander.

You and Plo Koon were talking at the ship docking bay, watching as clone troopers walked by, waving or smiling as they passed. You had just arrived on your fighter ship, and now you and Plo were making your way up to the bridge.

The doors slid open with a hiss, and as you entered you noticed Boost, Comet and Sinker arguing about something stupid while Wolffe watched with his arms crossed. He was facing away from you, so Sinker and Boost were the first to see you. However you quickly placed a finger to your lips and they kept quiet.

You were now behind Wolffe, smiling brightly before you spoke up.

“I would think in my absence you’d have slapped these boys into shape. Goes to show I can't leave you boys alone.” You spoke up, folding your hands behind your back as your grin settled back on your face.

Wolffe spun around immediately, practically ripping off his helmet as he stared at you. You wiggled your eyebrows at him before pulling him into a hug, since you knew he wouldn’t innitate it. However he happily reciprocated.

“I thought you’d be getting your own squad? What are you doing here, General?” He asked, pulling away after a few moments. You chuckled. “The council requested a new battalion be created, but The republic denied it, so I hopped from Battalion to battalion until they decided I'd go back to my original squad.” You explained.

You then playfully punched his shoulder. “Why, wanna get rid of me already?” You teased me. “No!” Wolffe exclaimed suddenly, clearing his throat as he fixed his sentence. “No General, I am glad you're back.” He stated.

You grinned, patting his shoulder as you went on to greet the rest of the wolfpack.

It had only been a few months but Wolffe could pick out what changed in your appearance. Your hair was shorter and your skin was more tanned, from being out in the sun probably. You had a new outfit, something very different from what you wore as a padawan. There was so much more he could think of but the list would go on forever.

After all the hellos, Wolffe offered to take you back to your quarters which had changed since you were last here but you didn’t mind.

Because as soon as you and him were alone in your room he had you pressed up against the wall, gripping your hips in his hands, his lips against yours as he kissed you furiously.

You were in your early 20’s as a padawan so when you had met Wolffe you and him had a bit of a fling. And you had missed this terribly.

“Wolffe-” You whined, breaking the kiss as you panted for air, hooking a leg on his hip as you stared into his eyes. “I love you.” You whispered, watching as his eyes widened. “I- what?” He asked, breathlessly.

You grinned, sliding your hands from his chest upwards to his cheeks, dragging your thumb along the scar of his right eye as you hooked your leg on his hip. “I said I love you, Wolffe.” You repeated, feeling his hand slide under your thigh to help support you against the wall. You heard a noise from him, resembling a whimper almost.

“I love you too, Sarad.” He whispered, pressing his face into your beck as he inhaled your scent. “I want to take us slow, take you on dates…” He trailed off, picking you up in his arms as he brought you over to your bunk. But he wasn’t rushing, the mood had changed from needing, to all that love and softness that he held for you.

Wolffe removed his armor until he was just in his blacks, now holding you in his arms as he laid next to you. You rested your head on his chest, your hand splayed out against his torso as you sighed.

You talked with Wolffe for what felt like hours, about plans for the future and so much more. Eventually you got up, needing to use the fresher. You were humming to yourself, enjoying a short shower before drying yourself off and getting redressed. You were now drying your hair when you heard some voices from the other side.

You just figured it was Wolffe talking with his brothers over the commlink, or with Master Plo himself. But once you were finished when you opened the door you could immediately tell something was wrong with the way he was sitting, almost with a look of disbelief. He looked up at you, hate and sadness strewn across his face.

“You’re a traitor.” He hissed, and your eyes went wide. “Wolffe what? what are you talking about?” You asked, taking a step towards him, only to stop when he aimed his blaster towards you. You raised your hands in defense, feeling your heart break as he looked at you with such hate.

“The Jedi are being arrested for treason.” He sneered, and you just shook your head in disbelief as he walked towards you. However as he aimed for your head you shot your hand up, throwing the blaster out of his grip.

You grasped his arm and twisted it, kicking him in the torso before slamming his head against your desk, successfully knocking him out. You let out a sob, quieting your voice as you grabbed your lightsaber, hooking it onto your belt, taking Wolffe’s blasters, tucking them into your robes.

You then grabbed your commlink, calling Master Plo who answered with what you could assume to be a chipper attitude. “Wolffe just tried to kill me, Master plo! said that the Jedi were being arrested for Treason! you need to find a way off this ship.” You hissed, putting Wolffe back into his armor before flinging him over your shoulder. “I have a shuttle near the back of the docking bay, wait for me there and hide Master Plo.” You said over the coms before going radio silent.

It was a lie of course, Plo knew you didn't have a shuttle there but if the clones were now hunting Jedi, then he knew to head to the opposite end of where you just told him to go.

You heard voices outside your room, running past it. You waited for a few moments until you heard no voices and sensed no life forms. You opened the door and ran from one end of the hallway to the next, hiding yourself when you needed to. Your main goal was to get to the shuttle, but before you could get up and run again, you heard a stun shot, feeling it hit your back.

You grunted, turning to find Boost and Sinker. “You are being apprehended, on Order of the Chancellor.” They started before stunning you again.

Everything went black.

Your wrists were bound, all you could feel was the harsh cold of metal against your barely clothed back. You were wearing tight blacks from what you could see, and the room you were in was dark, minus the red lights in the walls.

You heard a shift coming from the door before it opened, and your eyes widened as you saw two men enter, along with a probe droid and other tools. You tensed against your bonds, trying to slip out of them… until you felt the force envelope you, squeezing you.

“I saw you in my vision, young one.” A voice, the one whom this force signature belonged to, rang out through the room, sending shivers down your spine. “You will break, and become a lethal user of the dark side, leader of the inquisitorius…” The man trailed off, the force squeezing you tighter, growing painful.

You let out a choked cry, clenching your hands into fists. “Wh- Where… is Com- Commander- Wolffe.” You choked out, a pained yelp leaving your lips as you felt something being injected into your neck. “Your beloved Commander… you may have him, as soon as you break.” The man hissed, before leaving the room. The second man stayed, and you stared as whispers flooded your mind, hallucinations of all your friends, clones, beside him, screaming things at you.

They said you were worthless, that you would never have made a good Jedi knight.

this wasn't real. it wasn't- it can't be real.

It took a month.

Exactly one month until you got that vision of Wolffe, he was hurting you, bruising your flesh as he pushed you around. Anger swarmed your vision as it went red, your blood boiling with that raw emotion.

The man who was always interrogating you witnessed firsthand as a burst of electrical force energy broke the equipment around you. You killed that man with your bare hands. He was just an inquisitor to replace.

All you could see was red as you slaughtered your way through the fortress. You heard a voice, a real voice, not the ones in your mind. It was that man, that sick man who had brought you here in the first place.

You spun around, eyes golden with that rage as the man grinned at you. “Yes… yes! you are perfect.” He stated, coming to a stop in front of you as you heaved with anger. “Use that anger, child. Harness your new power. The Jedi are traitors, your old Master couldn’t even save you.” The man hissed.

You clenched your fists.

yes… the jedi made Wolffe hurt you. The Jedi started the war… this wasn’t your fault. No, the Jedi ruined everything.

you would make them pay.

Weeks later you stood tall, overseeing the turn of many Jedi to inquisitors. You were a hunter, and a damn good one, and the inquisitorius was growing stronger.

You were currently on a different planet, rumored to be harboring Jedi. But you had requested additional backup… a specific man who you hadn’t seen since the jedi tried to make him kill you.

You heard a ship land behind you, and you turned around as Wolffe and his new squad walked down the ramp. You were wearing a white mask, made of bone so he didn't notice you.

“Grand Inquisitor.” The man greeted you. “Remove your helmet, Commander.” You ordered, your voice crackling with the modifier of your mask. However as he removed his helmet, You lowered your hood, and then removed your mask, clipping it to the magnet on your belt.

Wolffe inhaled sharply as he saw you, his lover, the one he once thought a traitor. Now standing in front of him with yellow glowing eyes, bloodshot, an almost insane aura to you. You stepped towards him, grabbing his jaw as you gave him a wolfish grin. “You are my personal commander. Wolffe, my guard, my trooper.” You ordered, releasing his jaw as you instead traced your finger over his scar.

“Y/n-”

“No!” You shouted, grabbing his jaw again. “You lost the right to call me that name.” You hissed, taking a step back as you sucked in a breath to calm yourself. “You may call me Grand Inquisitor until I have deemed you worthy to call me that name.” You stated, placing your mask back over your face.

Wolffe stared at you with concern.

what had he done…

➺

Tag list:

Wolffe tag:

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@moomoog017

#fanfiction #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #wolffe x gn reader #wolffe x you #tcw #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #tcw commander wolffe #tcw wolffe

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clu-ven · 2 years ago

Text

The Closet

Summary: The Wolfpack is sick of the constant arguing between you and Wolffe, so they take matters into their own hands. Surely if you and the Commander were accidentally locked into one of the supply closets, you’d come to some sort of middle ground, right?

Well, there’s one thing they’re forgetting… you’re claustrophobic.

TW: small spaces, claustrophobia, panic attack

Word Count: 4.7k

-> Reader uses she/her pronouns - masterlist can be found here <-

“It’s the perfect plan!” Boost exclaims, slapping the table in front of him for emphasis.

The mesh hall is relatively crowded today, many hungry troopers finally getting some time to relax after another tough mission. Despite the loud chatter of the room, Sinker keeps his voice low.

“I’m not sure,” he concludes with the shake of his head “it sounds risky and Wolffe is in a bad mood as it is, I don’t want this to make him worse”.

At the other side of the table, Boost shares a mild look of annoyance with Comet. “C’mon Sarge, this solves all of our problems!” Comet replies with a whine. It took him and Boost the past week to come up with this plan, putting more time into it than they’d like to admit.

With a deadpan voice, Sinker replies “Oh so this will end the war? And kill Dooku? And wash the gunships? Each and every problem we have will be instantly solved if we lock them in a supply closet?”.

Boost shrugs, trying to stay optimistic “You never know”. Sinker scoffs, rolling his eyes at his brother.

The plan was simple but Comet and Boost couldn’t do it alone. They needed Sinker for this to work. Sighing, Boost leans across the table “Look, all you have to do is get her into the closet on the lower deck, that’s it”.

Sinker is still unsure. “We’ll get the Commander, shove him in there, lock the door and ta-dah! Job done” Comet adds.

This doesn’t sound like a good plan. Sinker knows that but it is enticing. He’s not sure if he can handle another mission full of you and Wolffe’s bickering, the two of you proclaiming you can’t stand the other.

Missions would be much easier if you both avoided each other but no, despite the constant arguing you two engage in, you will still insist on being near one another, whether that be sharing the same holomap (which is an absolute nightmare to witness) or standing next to one another in a briefing (which leads to you interrupting him and vice versa for the entire. damn. briefing.).

Sinker wants to say no, to put a stop to his brother’s shenanigans but would this do any harm? Maybe if you both got the opportunity to confront one another and get all of this arguing out of your system once and for all, then you might come to some sort of middle ground and let bygones be bygones.

“If I agree to this…” he begins and Boost impulsively throws his fist in the air “Yes! You're in!”.

“I said if…” Sinker says sternly “if I do this then the two of you have to wash the gunships”.

Boost nearly falls off his seat “H-how many are you expecting us to wash, Sarge?”.

“I want four done by the end of the next rotation”.

Although Comet has never experienced a heart attack, he’s sure this is how it feels “What?! Four? C’mon Sinker, be reasonable”.

He folds his arms “Boys, if you want my help then that’s what it’ll cost ya”. Exchanging looks to one another, Comet huffs “Fine, we agree”.

***

The sound of your name makes you look up, eyes wide as you scan the corridor. Manoeuvring through some troopers, Sinker comes into view.

Closing your datapad, you give the Sargeant your full attention, a relaxed smile on your face.

“Sinker, what can I do for you?” You ask.

A flicker of sympathy crosses Sinker’s face as he answers “Well, I was just wondering if you could help me get some batca patches from the supply closet. There’s a whole box in there but, well, y’know me, I accidentally pushed them behind the shelving unit and now they’re stuck between that and the wall. Do you think you could get them for me?”.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, so quick to help that it makes the ball of guilt in Sinker’s stomach grow “lead the way”.

While usually you and Sinker always find things to talk about, he’s strangely quiet during your walk to the lower deck. It’s not something that alarms you but instead, it worries you.

It’s no secret that things have been intense lately. The missions have gotten deadlier, injuries are harder to aid and the Separatist army seems to be growing more and more by the minute.

Even something as simple as accidentally knocking some bacta patches behind a cabinet seems like a dire problem nowadays.

“It’s that one, just up ahead” Sinker slows his pace, pointing at one of the closets.

“You’re not coming in?” You quirk an eyebrow, slowing your pace to match his.

“Hm? Oh… uh, no I have to go help the General with something… sorry, I should’ve said that beforehand” he scratches the back of his neck, preferring to look down at the floor.

“That’s ok, you go on ahead, I’ll take care of this” with a firm nod, you open the door to the closet and disappear inside. Once Sinker’s certain the door has fully closed behind you, he lets out a long sigh. Kriff, that was harder than he thought it would be.

The inside of the closet is dark, the dim lights taking a few seconds to boot up. In your time serving the GAR, you’ve been on a multitude of ships, covered with the most cutting edge technology and yet in each and every ship, the closets are always neglected.

They’re a second thought in comparison to the other elements of the ship. Cluttered floors, racks that are full of various stock that are probably out of date, a musty smell in the air, dull lights that are incapable of doing their sole purpose. It’s not a place you want to be for a long time.

Trying to look behind the metal shelving units, you mumble a curse. It’s dark behind the cabinets with barely enough space between them and the wall for you to fit your arm through.

Stooping down, you reach into the darkness, trying to find this damn box of bacta patches so you can quickly leave again.

You’re so invested in finding the box, you pay no attention to the voices outside. “Why would the General want to meet me in there?” A voice says and without missing a beat, another voice replies “I’m not sure, Commander, I thought it was best not to ask”.

Behind you, the door opens but with the position you’re in, it’s hard to turn around and look. “I haven’t found it yet,” you call out “kriff, how far back did it fall?”.

The person doesn’t reply.

“I know you’re really busy just standing there and all, Sinker,” you huff “but I’d really appreciate some help”.

“Sinker?” the voice scoffs, making you freeze. Clumsily removing your hand from behind the cabinet, you stand up straight and come face to face with Commander Wolffe.

You have to admit, you didn’t think you’d come this close to him, your chest almost bumping against his as you sway backwards to give him some space. “Oh! Commander-“ you start but Wolffe talks over you.

“I know us clones all look the same but the last time I checked, Sergeant Sinker has silver hair and both of his biological eyes”. You can hear the venom in his voice, his tone laced in sarcasm as he continues “Just a tip, so you don’t mix people up next time”.

You can’t help scoff, retorting “Mix people up? I wasn’t even looking at you! Am I just supposed to sense how many biological eyes you have?”.

“You should look whenever someone enters a room,” Wolffe begins to lecture you “that’s protocol 101; always be aware of your surroundings”.

“My apologies, Commander, I didn’t realise I came here to get a lesson in GAR protocol” you snap back. This is a usual occurrence whenever you and Wolffe are near each other, neither of you backing down and arguing until you’re separated by the others.

With the rolls of his eyes, Wolffe gestures towards the door “Just go, I have an important meeting in here”.

“With pleasure” you mumble, trying to move around the Commander without walking straight into him or colliding with the multiple cabinets.

Wolffe leans to the side, huffing loudly just to make sure you know this is a bother to him, giving you space to step over one of his legs and move to the door.

Your fingers brush against the control panel to the door, lighting it up. Nothing happens. You wait a few moments before doing it again but this time you press harder on the panel. Still nothing.

“Huh…” you crease your brow, repeating the action for a third time.

You hear some movement behind you and Wolffe turns his body to face you, peering over your shoulder at the control panel. With his critical gaze on you, you try again but to no avail.

“Are you pressing it hard enough?” his voice is gruff and surprisingly close to your ear.

You jerk your head away from him “Jeez, are you trying to make me go deaf? Of course I’m pressing it hard enough!”. With extra force, you press down on the control panel again.

Nothing.

Wolffe rolls his eyes, reaching his arm around you and trying it himself “Obviously you’re not if the door isn’t opening”. Stabbing his finger at the control panel, you hear a small “...oh” from behind you when the door still refuses to open.

“Move over, let me have a proper look at it” Wolffe puts his hands on your shoulders, abruptly guiding you away from the control panel as you both switch places in a shuffling motion.

Now with Wolffe closest to the door, you lean against one of the cabinets, firmly planting your hands on the cool metal.

You can feel your face becoming flushed, a surge of warmth spreading across your cheeks. The door will open, of course it will. This is just a small malfunction, that’s all. And then you can leave this stupid closet and never come back here again.

Trying to distract yourself, you decide to subject yourself to small talk with Wolffe.

“So, why are you here anyway?” you ask, your grip tightening on the shelves as if you’re bracing for impact.

Wolffe keeps his focus on the control panel, fiddling with it as he answers “The General wants to meet me in here, says it’s something important”.

Are you hallucinating or did he just say the General? Clarifying, you ask “General Plo wanted to talk to you… in a supply closet?”.

“That’s what I said”.

“And the General said this to you himself?” you pry, trying to ignore the loud thudding of your heart.

“Not exactly” putting his hands on his hips, Wolffe pauses his investigation of the control panel “hmm, it was Comet and Boost. They said he wanted to meet me here”.

You force out a small laugh “And you believed them? Really?”.

Wolffe says something you don’t quite catch, something in Mando’a. Running his hand down his face, he gives the control panel a death stare for good measure.

“The bad news is the door is locked from the outside, so I can’t open it from here but the good news is the maintenance droids run on a tight schedule so one of them should be…” glancing over his shoulder at you, his words fail him and for a moment, Wolffe’s taken aback.

The puzzled look on the Commander’s face makes you feel even worse, an overwhelming feeling of dread consuming your senses. “What? What is it?” you question, your tone a little too confrontational but thankfully Wolffe doesn’t bite back (for once).

“Why is your face so red?”.

Your stomach twists in directions you’re not sure it’s meant to, utterly embarrassed by such a question. Averting your gaze, your eyes lock onto the shelves that line the room, so cluttered it feels like they’re swarming you.

If you reach your arm out, you could touch almost any shelf. Could you do that beforehand? Is the room getting smaller?

With the surprisingly gentle call of your name, Wolffe brings your attention back to him, his hands out in front of him as if he’s trying to tame a wild animal. “Just tell me what’s wrong,” he coaxes, moving closer to you “are you hurt? Is that why you're in here?”.

With his hand a mere inch from touching you, you flinch, pressing yourself deeper into the cabinet as you screw your eyes shut. It’s not that you don’t mind being touched but the thoughts of feeling such a dominant presence as well as the cramped aura of the room makes your stomach churn.

“No, no, I don’t like this room,” you blurt out, voice beginning to shake as you continue “everything feels too tight, it’s all too close, I-I don’t like it”.

Wolffe can handle fighting battle droids, kriff, he can even hold his own against a sith but this? He knows he’s out of his depth but Wolffe also knows this isn’t the time to freeze, not when it’s you. Right now, you need him and he’ll be damned if he doesn't help.

He notices your tight grip on the shelves, your knuckles turning white as if you’re holding on for dear life. “Do you want to sit down?” Wolffe keeps his voice uncharacteristically soft, stooping to the ground in the hopes you’ll follow.

Hesitantly opening your eyes, you scan the floor below. It’s covered in loose, discarded items that once sat on the shelves but have since been looked over and forgotten.

Is there any part of this closet that’s clean? That doesn’t feel crowded? Your head pangs, pain lingering across your forehead.

You let out a whine. Wolffe keeps one of his hands stretched out to you, opening his palm wide “Don’t be stupid about this, let me help you”.

You don’t think he can help, in fact you don’t think anyone can help you right now. But then your gaze meets his. Wolffe looks up at you with calm, hopeful eyes, his rough exterior and brazen nature slowly melting away.

You try to take a deep breath but the tightness in your throat makes it an impossible task. You don’t want to take his hand, you don’t even want to look at Wolffe right now, the embarrassment of your involuntary actions making you feel worse. But what other choice do you have? It’s not like you can walk away, you can barely take a step forward without face planting a cabinet.

Nervously nodding your head, you take his hand. Wolffe tentatively encloses his hand around yours, watching your reaction closely. At any sign of further discomfort or even the slight jerk of your hand, he would let go, not wanting to accidentally make matters worse.

“Good… finally, you actually followed an order” he jibes, the subtle smirk on his face letting you know he’s not purposely dissing you. Although this is a comment you’d usually roll your eyes at, you weirdly find comfort in his typical teasing.

With his hand to steady you, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. “There you go,” Wolffe comments “were you hurt? During the last battle?”. He knows you said it’s the room causing this but he doesn’t see how that’s possible. Not unless this was somehow caused by an injury you sustained in battle, one that’s only rearing its head now.

You shake your head, though that only makes you feel dizzy. “No, no… i-it’s too tight, this room, I need to get out,” you reply through laboured breaths.

Keeping one hand enclosed around yours, Wolffe uses his other hand to reach up and try the control panel again. He sighs when nothing happens.

Letting out a small whimper, you slip your hand out of Wolffe’s, using both of your hands to pull your knees up against your chest as you hang your head low.

You’ll never hear the end of this. Out of all the clones aboard, why did it have to be Wolffe in here? The one person you know will bring this up at a later date just to get the upper hand in an argument.

What makes it worse is that you know he’ll only view you as being weak after this. Wolffe is a man that’s been through so much in his life, surviving a countless number of battles, disasters and attempts on his life. The heavy feeling of shame makes you hold onto your knees tighter. Wolffe is such a strong soldier and here you are, crumbling because of a locked door.

The soft sound of your name drags you away from your internal self-criticism, followed by a poking sensation on your leg.

Barely looking up, you see Wolffe prodding your knee, repeating your name again as he adds “I can’t help unless you give me something to work with, tell me what I can do”.

Wolffe has always had mixed feelings about you but that doesn’t mean he wants to see you upset. Sure, you’re stubborn… and feisty… and a headache to work with but in fairness, you’ve always been there for the Wolfpack.

After a tough fight, you’ve helped them bandage up. When you don’t have full faith in a plan (usually one of Wolffe’s) you’ll create a backup plan for when things inevitably go off track. Even on those quiet rotations, when memories filled with loss and regret begin to flood his brother’s heads, you’re there, listening to them. You’re a comforting presence in many of their lives, even Wolffe’s.

But don’t even ask him to say that out loud. That’s never going to happen.

He pokes you again “C’mon, it’s not like I’m going anywhere… even if I wanted to”. You huff out a laugh, though that proves harder than you initially thought, your dry mouth making the laugh sound more like a cough.

If you don’t get out of here soon, you think you might get sick, the anxious feelings in your stomach continuing to gnaw away at you.

“I… I need to get out, I need to leave” with newfound determination, you begin to stand.

The second you plant your feet on the ground, you know it’s a bad idea, feeling your muscles tremble. It’s as if you can feel each and every one of your nerves twitching, your body involuntarily trembling with panic.

Wolffe is quick to follow suit, trying to stand without knocking into one of the shelves. “Woah, take your time” he says a bit more sharply than he anticipated.

“No, let me leave, I need to-“ before you can even finish your sentence, your legs go from underneath you. You drop, about to crash back onto the ground when Wolffe catches you, scooping you up in his arms.

“What did I tell you?” He mutters with a huff, fully enclosing his arms around you as he lowers you back down to the ground. “Stay low,” he orders “the last thing either of us need is you fainting and smacking your head against the floor”.

You thought the feeling of someone else near you would make this worse, adding a new layer of suffocation to your mixture of emotions. But it’s actually kinda nice, the warmth radiating from Wolffe acting like a warm, welcoming blanket of comfort.

Being in the professional setting of the GAR for so long, you’ve forgotten how soothing physical touch can be at times. Although your reaction is subtle, Wolffe notices how you faintly lean into him, your head a mere few inches from resting on his chest. He watches you for a moment, studying your face.

Thankfully, you have your eyes closed again so he’s not worried you’ll catch him staring at you. Even though you’re in the middle of a panic attack, you look more relaxed than usual. Or at least more relaxed than how you usually are around Wolffe.

Whenever he sees you, it’s only a matter of time before you both get worked up, the two of you bickering or making not so subtle jabs at one another. But looking at you now, there’s not a single trace of that annoyance he normally associates with you.

“Just relax, take some deep breaths” he encourages you, using his hand that’s resting on your upper back to give you a gentle nudge towards him. Wolffe isn’t sure how else to let you know it’s ok to relax against him, seeing the option of saying it directly being too awkward.

He gives you a small smile and an approving nod as you do exactly that, letting your body fall against him as you rest your head on his chest.

Your hand comes up to his chest too, clutching onto the firm fabric of his Commander’s uniform, something you’re grateful he’s wearing considering his plastoid armour would be way too uncomfortable to relax against.

With your eyes still closed, you attempt to take some deep breaths, your breathing hitching every now and again. You try to sync your breathing up with Wolffe’s, finding the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest to be a lulling piece of comfort.

The tight sensation that grips your heart doesn’t fade instantaneously but you have to admit, it’s nice having someone close. It gives your mind something else to focus on instead of the cramped room, Wolffe’s presence distracting you from your worries.

The only time Wolffe ever expected you to be this close to him is if you had enough of his shit and decided to swing for him. Never in a million years would he imagine you being so peaceful and close to him.

With your voice coming out as a small whisper, you mumble “Thank you”.

His heart beats faster at your small piece of gratitude, something Wolffe hopes you can’t hear through his uniform. He’s not used to things like this. Give him a blaster and Wolffe can handle himself just fine but holding someone and trying to comfort them? That’s not his strong suit.

Taking a deep breath, you speak again, this time projecting your voice a bit more. “Did you really think you were meeting Master Plo here?” you sniffle, your head still aching but thankfully, the pain’s beginning to dull.

Wolffe has to stop himself from doing another eye roll, not wanting to start a fight or get you worked up again. “That’s what I was told” he grunts.

To his surprise, you let out a small, genuine laugh. It makes his hands twitch, wanting to pull you even closer and relish in your laugh but he resists the urge.

“And who told you that again? Oh yeah, Comet and Boost, two troopers known for their unwavering seriousness and hatred for pranks” you laugh, something Wolffe is thankful to hear again.

“Alright you got me there,” he admits, knowing it wasn’t the smartest move to believe his troublesome brothers “but why are you in here? Did they say the same thing to you?”.

“Actually it was Sinker,” you reveal, getting rather comfy leaning against the Commander “he asked if I could get some bacta patches he accidentally dropped behind the cabinets”.

You can feel Wolffe deflate, puffing out a deep breath “Please tell me you didn’t actually believe that”.

“Why?” You crane your head to look up at him, watching as he tries to suppress his annoyed expression.

Although you’d never say this outloud, he looks nice like this. Looking up at him in this position gives you a great view of his jawline, both of his eyes peering down at you and a genuine smile playing at his soft lips.

Damn, maybe you did actually hit your head. Trying to refocus on what he’s saying, you push any admiration you have for the Commander deep, deep down.

“Because the batca patches are stored on the upper deck,” removing one of his hands from you, he runs it down his face “kriff, you’ve been on this ship for months and you don’t even know where the batca patches are stored”.

While you would normally jeer back a response or scoff at Wolffe’s remark, immediately becoming defensive, you find it hard to do that after everything that’s happened.

You finally feel relaxed again, a calmness settling in your stomach and putting your heart at ease. You’re in no mood to start a fight and frankly, you don’t think you have the energy for it either.

Instead you laugh again. After all, Wolffe has a point. You should’ve known where the bacta patches are kept and if you did then you wouldn’t be in this predicament. It was a silly mistake and at this moment, you can’t find the energy within you to do anything but laugh.

Wolffe chuckles too, appreciating your reaction. Shrugging, he admits “Can’t blame you too much, it was only last week I realised the caff machine in the mesh hall has more than one setting”.

“Seriously?” you laugh again “But the default setting on that thing tastes like droid oil”.

“I know that all too well” Wolffe shakes his head, almost tasting the sour caff on his tastebuds from the mere mention of it.

You open your mouth to speak again but before you can, the door slides open, the bright lights from the corridor making you squint. A droid whirls into the room, taking no notice of you and going about it’s own business.

And just like that, your time with Wolffe is over.

Giving him a small smile, you climb off of him, getting to your feet. Watching Wolffe stand too, a sudden awkwardness hangs over you. Is that it? What do you say now? Thanks for the help but I’ll still call you out the next time you’re a jerk?

Noticing Wolffe’s expression, it’s clear you’re not the only one feeling this way. “Well, I guess that’s that” he nods, gesturing for you to leave the closet. You do so gratefully, shuffling past the droid and stepping into the wide and spacious hallway.

When Wolffe steps out, you’re sure you see a flicker of reluctance in his eyes. But you quickly brush past it, blaming it on your vision still adjusting to the bright lights.

“Are you going to be okay from here?” Wolffe asks, though it takes you a few moments to process his words, Wolffe’s head hanging low and voice just above a whisper. You’re not sure why he’s talking so low, it’s not like there’s many troopers on the lower deck to overhear.

“Yeah,” you try to sound confident in your answer “I’ll take it easy for the rest of the rotation, just in case”. In an effort to persuade him, you give Wolffe a quick smile.

“Right, well you know how to contact me if you need me…” he replies before realising how soft that sounds, immediately breaking eye contact with you and clearing his throat “or just go to the medbay, yes, that’s the better option, do that instead of contacting me. I’m very busy today”

“Busy getting stuck in closets?” you playfully tease, trying to brush past this awkward energy.

He chuckles “Better me than you”. Kriff, that sounds too soft too. Wolffe’s not a tender, warm hearted kinda guy, so he’s not sure why he’s trying to be that around you, even if it’s subconsciously.

Quickly shoving his feelings to one side, Wolffe chalks it up to your rare vulnerable moment bringing out his protective nature. That’s it. The next time he’ll see you, things will be normal, none of this small talk or softened expressions to one another.

With the curt nod of his head, the Commander walks away. It’s true, he does have a lot to do today but if you were to contact again, he’d be there in a heartbeat… even though he’s not exactly sure why he’d feel so much urgency to be there for you again.

You blink a few times, surprised by his abrupt exit. But then you remember this is Wolffe so his sudden departure should’ve been expected. After all, he’s “so busy”. Rolling your eyes, you walk in the opposite direction, deciding to track down Sinker and give him a piece of your mind.

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #tcw commander wolffe #sw tcw #tcw wolffe #tcw wolfpack #104th battalion #commander wolffe x female reader #the clone wars fanfiction #tcw fanfic #tw claustrophobia #tw panic attack

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arctrooper69 · 1 year ago

Note

hello i come rolling in with a fic request because i adore your style of writing, but please don’t feel pressured! i understand you probably get a lot of requests

could you do a wolffe x reader fic (probably fluff or hurt comfort) where it’s based on “annie’s song” by john denver? i have an image of them slow dancing in the rain in a meadow in my head but you don’t have to include that

thank you so much!! 💚💚

This is such a beautiful song 😍 I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this to you! I hope I captured the essence of the song for you!

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Come Let Me Love You

...Let me lay down beside you. Let me always be with you. Come, let me love you. Come love me again...

Warnings: Bittersweet angst. Allusions to Order 66.

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Closing your eyes, you could almost pretend like it wasn't real - like there wasn't a war outside.

The sunlight danced upon your skin in a sweet embrace of a comforting warmth. If you kept your eyes closed, it felt like home. The smell of lilacs drifted through the trees; the long grass tickled the bottoms of your feet. They were here - all of them. Your boys in white. The same in face but their eyes told stories of their own. Some faded, flitting about as ghosts - only here to guide brothers still standing - but all were clad in armor of their chosen colors. They seemed content. No war here, only peace. The sleepy crashing of ocean waves, wind whispering through the sky and the feather-soft song of birds floated through the air in gentle harmonies of a melody you couldn't begin to describe. Familiar - yet an ethereal mystery.

"Dance with me, Mesh'la?"

The words sounded strange coming from the mouth of a battle-worn clone. Grey armor worn by a scarred face with one eye replaced by cybernetics. Intimidating; observant; yet kind and gentle in touch. Only you could see the man beneath the solider. That side of him made itself known for you and only you. What was once a weakness he hated, now became his strength to carry on.

Commander Wolffe was never one to give in so easily. Neither were you. He couldn't wrap his head around whatever cosmic force demanded that he hold you close. The angry storm of battle that raged within him seemed to quell - commanded into a silent peace - simply by having you near.

In a dream, the simple melody seemed to swell with pearls of youthful laughter as he took your hand and spun you around. If he could drown himself in that beautiful sound, what a way to go it would be.

Drifting through the waving grass, he held on tight as if upon letting you go, he'd float somewhere far away.

In a trance, together you drifted, like time itself did not exist. Nothing existed save for the grizzled Clone Commander and the object of his desires.

A gentle hand lifted your face to meet his eyes. Rough and calloused fingertips that soothed like sand.

"I have to go, Mesh'la. Duty calls."

Your lips moved as if to whisper a soft, mournful plea, yet no words were spoken.

Please don't go. Not yet.

As if called down by the pain of parted lovers, a misty rain began to fall. The universe itself was crying, mourning the violent innocence of artificial creation. Yet the rain was not all for sorrow. It felt cool and comforting - as though to sooth your fears - like the lips that ran gently across your face, telling you that everything would be okay.

Come, let me love you.

"One more dance?" The words came softly, slipping out as little more than a whisper - but you knew the words were heard.

"One more dance, my love. One more song."

The rain continued to fall, lightly tapping the leaves, wetting the soil where flowers bloomed - one for every fallen brother.

He was all around you. Strong arms guiding you through vibrant petals of red in a field of poppies that danced in the sweetness of a summer breeze. The aroma of a musky cedar and lonely petrichor intertwined and spiraled upwards emanating from somewhere around you. His scent - the one with which you had associated him from the first time he'd spoken to you down in the gardens of the Senate building that fateful morning.

Around and around he spun you, holding you together with arms that you supposed were strong enough to hold the world - dancing in the rain to that strange enchanting melody. Everything else apathetically faded into nothing as you let him fill your senses with that pure, yet melancholic bliss.

"Won't you stay?"

Let me lay down beside you. Let me always be with you.

Never let me go.

***

The low rumble of a brewing storm woke you with a strange gentleness. You lay unmoving beneath the sheets, unfocused eyes gazing blankly through the ceiling as though trying in vain to retreat back into the Commander's longing arms. The sensation of his lips lingered on your skin as you touched your cheek, fingers brushing the ghosts of his kisses. They came away wet. Only now did you realize the falling tears were your own.

Something had happened. The world was different now. The galaxy was grieving. You could sense it in the air and smell it's metallic sorrow in the rain as it fell outside the open window. A feeling of wrongness pervaded your senses. It was mournful and empty.

Commander Wolffe wouldn't be coming back this time.

Maybe someday. Maybe not ever.

Like being led once more through an unfamiliar dance, you rose and took the dress you'd lain out the night before. It hung lightly down to the knees, adorned with red poppies.

Perfect for dancing.

Quietly you hung it back on the wall. You would wait for your soldier.

Come let me love you.

Only then would you dance again.

Come love me again.

--------------------------------------------------

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rinwritesfics · 5 months ago

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Guys, the days I get @pinkiemme mail are always the best days. The photos are even more beautiful than they were on Patreon (where you can see the full versions).

#tcw commander wolffe

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kaminocasey · 2 years ago

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Congratulations on the new milestone of 700 fans (followers)! There should be many more to come😘🎉💖

Now, who would I be if I let the prompts go by without throwing in my own lill request?

No 10 “Tell me what you want” with the one and only Wolffe ! ( was thinking of going out of the always there list but Wolffe just fits too well here teehee!

Now crack open the bubbles and celebrate your fans gathering more and more!

My lovely friend!! Thank you SO MUCH!!!! I appreciate your kind words SO MUCH!!! Thank you for following me and sticking with me this long!!!! <3 <3

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Sexual themes, Smut-ish

Wolffe is finally back on Coruscant. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen each other. Months.

As soon as he walked through your door, all you were able to do was practically attack each other, ripping each other’s clothes off until he’d picked you up and carried you to your bedroom, his mouth all over you, hot and needy.

He tosses you onto the bed and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips. For a split second, he breaks his dominant demeanor and smiles warmly at you, leaning over you, kissing you softly, gently sliding his hand around your throat, holding you there, protected and safe.

“I missed you.” You sigh as he lets go so he can lay on the bed with you.

“I missed you too.” He admits, surprising you.

Months ago, he wouldn’t have admitted such a thing. Not in so many words. Months ago, he wasn’t as afraid. But since he’d been gone… all those days and nights at war… he realized just how precious life was and how he was wasting time not telling you exactly how he feels.

“You know what they call you at my work?” You tease Wolffe, tracing your tongue down his sternum when you crawl on top of him.

“Hm… There’s no telling.” He chuckles with closed eyes, enjoying your skin against his. “What do they call me?”

You slide your hands up his biceps until you meet his hands. Interlocking your fingers with his, you pull them up by his head so you can lean in close to his ear.

“They call you The Big Bad Wolffe.” You chuckle softly, placing kisses along his throat. “But I don’t really think you’re all that big or bad. I mean, look how I’ve got the great Commander Wolffe. At my mercy.”

He opens his eyes, staring up at you with one brown, one cybernetic. “Is that what you think, little one?”

Uh oh.

Nodding bravely, you can’t help the nervous smile. Without a word of warning, and before you can even blink, Wolffe flips you over so he’s towering over you, his teeth dangerously close to your throat, just like the animal of his namesake.

“Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” He murmurs, placing a lingering kiss to your jaw.

His lips against your skin causes your brain to go fuzzy and you can’t help the soft little gasp that escapes your own lips.

“Tell me what you want, cyar’ika. Use your words.” His deep chuckle rumbles in your chest.

“You said you missed me…” You pant, your arousal starting to flood your veins. “Tell me more soft things.”

“Oh.” He murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips ever so slightly over yours. “You want me to tell you all the nights I dreamt of coming home to you?”

You nod as he lightly brushes his lips over your closed eyelid and then the other before traveling back to your lips.

“I did. Every single night. I dreamt of these lips.” He whispers so kindly you have to make sure it’s Wolffe in front of you.

He’s never been so gentle with you.

“What happened?” You ask him.

He lays next to you, pulling you against him. “The usual horrors of war…”

“Wolffe…” You sigh.

He hums, kissing your collarbone. “I love how my name sounds on your tongue.”

“Wolffe…” You grin.

“I love you.” He tells you.

Looking at him with wide eyes for a second, you can’t help the shock of such an admittance from a usually stone cold commander. “You do?”

He nods as if it’s just such a simple thing. “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.” You crush your lips to his again and he pulls you back on top of him, his sign of trust.

“I didn’t think so.” He chuckles.

You roll your eyes. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you too.”

“Must be.” He reaches around to line himself up with you, finally giving you what you both have needed for the last several months.

When he pushes into you, he groans, almost not lasting. “Fuck, I really love you.”

When you let out a laugh, he rolls his eyes with a smirk, and then starts to thrust into you, a little more unforgiving. Probably for your earlier comment about not being big or bad. If it gets him to react like this, perhaps you’ll just have to provoke him more often. Especially if it also gets him to admit he loves you. It’s the best of both worlds.

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#kc700 #tcw wolffe #commander wolffe #tcw wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x reader #tcw commander wolffe

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