#valentinewritesbs

[mutilatemyheart]

"Scorch didn't reply. He could hear Fixer snoring mechanically in the next bunk, and the noise now seemed reassuring rather than something that exasperated him enough to pour a jug of water over his brother while he slept."

I often think about this passage from Order 66. Fixer snoring is just the cutest thing to me. It got me wondering if Scorch ever really did pour a jug of water on his brother in the past. Which then led to me writing this. -

The cockpit was quiet and peaceful when you were the only one awake. Scorch never liked the silence. He had told Sev that when he was still and alone, his thoughts grew too loud, but Sev didn’t mind being the one up late to make sure the ship stayed on course without incident. Sure, he was tired and his muscles ached from being in the heat of battle for days without end, but Boss would be up to relieve him soon. For now, he got to cherish his time alone and enjoy the view that being in hyperspace gave him.

The door behind him hissed open.

“Trouble sleeping?” Sev asked. Boss wasn’t supposed to be up for another hour.

“How can anyone sleep with Fixer snoring louder than the engines?”

Sev turned to look, not at Boss, but at Scorch. His brother crossed his arms and leaned against the control panel. Fixer’s snores were as annoying to Scorch as Boss’s gravely cough had been to Sev the last couple of missions. At least gargling bacta could keep their Sergeant’s coughs at bay for some time. Fixer’s sinuses didn’t care if he drank the entire container, his snores weren’t going away anytime soon.

“Plan H240.” Scorch shot a mischievous smile at his brother. “I’m doing it.”

“He’s going to kill you.” Sev shook his head and fought down the smile trying to creep onto his face. Plan H240 had always just been a joke, but he couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about seriously doing it himself.

“You can keep my helmet to remember me by,” he snorted and headed for the door. “What do you think would be big enough to use?”

Sev cast one last look out the viewport to make sure everything still looked fine before following Scorch. This was something he didn’t want to miss. He could already hear the sound that elicited Scorch’s loathing before they had even made it to the bunks. The almost perfect repetition of it echoed softly around them. He almost felt bad for his older brother. It wasn’t like Fixer was doing it on purpose, and sleep was such a rare and precious thing to all of them, but his curiosity to how it would all play out kept him from stopping what was about to happen.

Scorch rummaged around as quietly as he could until he pulled out a medium sized jug that he waved in the air triumphantly then headed for the ‘fresher. Light spilled across the floor as the door opened. Boss shifted in his sleep, his breathing hitching for just a moment before resuming it’s steady, deep pace. Sev shot a quick look at the two sleeping Commandos as the sound of water flowing from the tap whispered its way toward him. Waking any Commando suddenly was dangerous. Waking them this way was unfathomable…. And they called him psycho. They all needed to take a harder look at Scorch.

Water sloshed over the edge of the jug slightly as Scorch moved silently across the room. Sev felt like he was watching a large beast stalk its prey through thick underbrush. He hesitated as he loomed over Fixer’s sleeping form. His eyebrows knitted together. His teeth dug into his bottom lip. For a moment, Sev thought that Scorch had changed his mind.

Until the water made contact with Fixer’s face.

The Commando jolted upward, his head hitting the top of the bunk. Scorch jumped back instantly. Sev inhaled sharply through his teeth.

“Kriff!” Fixer shouted, grabbing his forehead.

“What’s going on?” Boss was awake.

Fixer stood up, water dripping from his body and falling to the durasteel floor like rain. Sev knew that Fixer was just as lethal as the rest of them. He had seen his brother kill on several occasions, and he also knew that Fixer preferred hands-on combat with a melee weapon better than anything else, and right now, Sev found himself grateful that Fixer was only in his blacks.

“What the kark is wrong with you?” he shouted when spotted the empty jug in his brother’s hands. Fixer slammed his palms roughly against Scorch’s chest. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Boss stepped between the two and nodded toward the ‘fresher. “Go dry off.”

His tone left little room for argument, but Fixer didn’t move instantly. He only stood there glaring into his younger brother’s eyes as if trying to rip out his soul through his eye sockets. Boss stood unwaveringly between them until Fixer turned away and disappeared through the door of the ‘fresher before turning to look at the smug grin on Scorch’s face.

“What the hell possessed you to do that?” Boss asked, folding his arms across his chest. His face was set in the ‘no-nonsense, serious boss’ look that he used mostly when dealing with Jedi.

Scorch shrugged. “C’mon, Boss. Don’t act like you’re not tired of his snoring too.”

Boss narrowed his eyes. “You won’t have to worry about his snoring because after you clean up the water, you get to keep watch in the cockpit for the foreseeable future.”

Scorch scrunched his nose in disgust before giving another shrug. “Still worth it.”

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: Sev sees everything, and he knows about your crush on Fixer. Warnings: I don't think any Pairing: Future Fixer x reader. Word Count: 798

The mess hall is fairly quiet when you find a seat tucked away from the others. You still haven’t fully gotten used to being here full time. The room the GAR gave you to stay in while your apartment is being renovated is tiny. You’re grateful they’re letting you stay, but you miss the luxury of having a space that is wholly yours. Your heart aches at the thought that the men around you have never known what that’s like. In a lot of ways, it must be nice to be surrounded by your brothers, but you wonder if they ever wish they had their own personal space to be alone.

A shadow comes over you, blocking the light. You turn your head and look up into the glowing t-visor of Delta Squad’s sniper. Sev is imposing in his fatigues, but he’s outright frightening in his armor. You glance around him to focus on any other member of the squad, but he’s alone.

He pops the seal of his helmet and pulls it off. “You got a second?”

You nod, ignoring your breakfast completely. They were supposed to already be gone on their way to wherever they were being sent, so why is Sev swinging his foot over the bench you’re on and leaning close to you?

“Is everything alright?” You ask. You sound nervous even to yourself.

He stares at you a moment, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to think of how to word the thoughts in his head or if he’s purposefully drawing this out.

“I see everything, you know?” he tells you. “I don’t miss anything.”

His eyes never leave yours, and you’re not sure what to say. The intensity on his face and the posture of his body reminds you of police interrogations you’ve seen in holofilms.

“Okay,” you say, shifting in your seat. “That’s…good? I bet that comes in handy with you being a sniper.”

He deflates with a sigh. That was clearly not what he wanted you to say.

“I saw your eyes light up.” He gives you a look like those words should trigger the conversation he’s really wanting to have. You stare at him blankly. He frowns. “Your eyes light up every time you see Fixer. What’s your plan there?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock. Is he really implying what you think he is?

“My plan?” You question. “Sev, I don’t even know what you’re talking about. My plan for what?”

A low, irritated growl leaves his throat. This is not going how he wanted it to, but he doesn’t seem to know how to get it through to you fully. He drums his fingers against the top of the table and glances around the mess hall.

“I know you’ve got it bad for Fixer. Scorch sees it, too. Are you going to act on it?”

So much for implying it. Sure, you’ve been increasingly more interested in Fixer, but you didn’t know you had been so obvious. How long have they known? Does Fixer know? Does he want you to act on it? Would it even matter if you did? Fixer had never acted like he was interested in a relationship when he was around you. Have you missed the signs?

“Sev, I don’t… I don’t know what to say. No, I don’t have a plan. Has he said anything about this?” You ask, searching Sev’s face for any clues he may leave unsaid.

“He-”

Whatever he’s going to say is cut off by the noise of his comlink going off.

“Sev, where are you? We should already be on the ship,” Boss’s disembodied voice says. He sounds annoyed.

Sev stands up and grabs his helmet off the table. “On my way. I’ll meet you at the hanger in a moment.”

“Now, Oh-Seven. We’re running late as it is.”

Sev’s eyes meet yours at Fixer’s words. He gives you a smug smile when you glance at the comlink on his gauntlet as if you would actually see his brother.

“On my way,” he says again. He looks back to you. “You have some time to work on that plan. Just don’t drop his heart on the floor because I’d hate to rip yours out.”

You know he’s not serious…or you hope he’s not serious, but he delivers it stone-faced. He doesn’t say goodbye as he walks away from you and your breakfast that’s beginning to grow cold. Not that you’re exactly hungry anymore. Maybe you should talk to Fixer about this. Maybe you should work on a plan to voice your feelings to him. You’re not sure how long they’ll be gone, but a sinking feeling in your gut tells you that their time away from Coruscant is going to feel a lot longer this time.

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: Scorch convinces you to play hide and seek with him and his brothers, and you find yourself in a dark closet with Fixer. Warnings: Mention of abuse. My unedited writing. I don't think anything else, but let me know if I miss something. Pairing: Fixer x fem!reader if you squint Word Count: 1749

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you move as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Can the troopers in the hallway see the anxiety that’s written all over your face? This was just supposed to be a silly, fun game. Instead, you’re now looking for a decent place to hide from the sniper of Delta Squad. Scorch had all but begged you to play hide and seek with them, but he hadn’t told you that Sev would be taking it so seriously. You knew you weren't in any danger, but your body hadn't gotten the message yet. Delta Squad plays to win. No matter how trivial the objective is.

The supply closet isn’t the best place to hide, but you’re out of ideas, and you know you can’t stay out here in the open. A sigh of relief pushes past your lips as the door slides closed in front of you. For the time being, you can catch your breath and relax alone for just a moment. Or, well, you think you’re alone. Someone clears their throat behind you, causing you to jump. Is it Sev? How had he known where you would hide? Has he been tucked away in here waiting? Are you that obvious?

The clone sitting on the supply crate with his back against the wall isn’t Sev. The dim blue glow from the datapad in his hands illuminates his face in the darkness of the closet. Fixer doesn’t budge from his perch on the crate as you stand awkwardly across from him. The two of you have barely spoken to each other in the few weeks you’d known the Deltas. He was polite enough, but he was never one to start up a conversation or any kind of small talk with you. You felt like Scorch had asked you for your entire life story when you met, but Fixer had kept his distance. A silent observer.

“This is the best you could do?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

Warmth spreads across your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the shadows surrounding you. You’ve been wanting to get to know Fixer better and had wanted to spend some time with him one on one, but this is not how you thought it would go. He probably thinks you’re an idiot for picking a stupid hiding place. You want to run out and take your chances being caught by Sev.

But you don’t.

“You’re in here,” you quip back.

He sets the datapad down on his lap and crosses his arms. You hadn’t realized how much muscle the commando’s armor hid. You’ve known that he and his brothers were solid, but the way the fabric of the red fatigues stretches across his arms and chest make your knees feel weak.

“Thought he’d search harder places to get to first. Places like this give me time away from Sev and Scorch’s osik. They take longer to look in simple spots.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other as his gaze bores into you.

“Sorry.” You turn back to the door to leave. “I didn’t mean to interfere with your alone time. I’ll find somewhere else.”

“Stay,” he says, shocking you. He scoots to one side of the crate to make room for you. “If they spot you, it may lead them to me.”

Ah. You sit down next to him, careful not to touch him. You finally have him all to yourself, and he wants you there. Okay, maybe not for the reasons you want him to want you there, but he asked you to stay. That’s something. So, why do you feel like an awkward teenager on a first date? You’re not sure what to say to him, but you want to break the tense silence that’s beginning to settle between you.

“Scorch and Sev have a competition to see who can find the most bizarre place to hide,” Fixer tells you. He keeps his voice low. “Boss had to use a jetpack to get Scorch off one of the ceiling beams above the parade ground. We’re not even sure how he got up there without his kit. My guess is he got one of the Omegas to fly him up.”

“Without his kit? He was up there without any kind of tether?” you ask, bewildered.

You had been told the rules to their version of hide and seek and the perimeters of where you could hide before the game had started. No armor allowed. No loaded weapons. You couldn’t go past the parade ground. No hiding in the ventilation shafts. You had thought it odd that Boss had mentioned that no one was allowed to be anywhere that took being extracted from, but you hadn’t thought too much into it at the time.

“Yeah.” A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. “The di’kut was up there laughing his shebs off. Boss threatened to leave him up there for the night, but that wouldn’t have been worth the hiding we’d all get from Sergeant Vau if he found out.”

You’d heard them mention their former training sergeant before, but you never asked too much about him. While they all seem to respect him and care for him in their own ways, the stories they told weren’t very pleasant.

“I thought he didn’t have anything to do with the army anymore?”

“He’s no longer a sergeant, but he’s around. He keeps tabs on us to make sure we’re not embarrassing him,” Fixer tells you. A dark look clouds his face in the dancing shadows cast by the eerie glow of the datapad, and the tone of voice he uses makes you feel for a moment that you’re around a campfire listening to a scary story. With the way he and his brothers were raised, he may as well be telling you one.

“Maybe he just wants to make sure you guys are alright?” You suggest, hoping to pull him out of whatever dark place his mind had gone to.

Fixer snorts as if your words are unbelievable. His eyes focus on the door across from the two of you as if he's waiting for Vau to burst it open and berate him for wasting time. Does he carry that fear of not living up to expectations with him everywhere? You had heard Sev mention how their former sergeant would react if they ever failed. Does Fixer also have that voice in his head telling him he has to be perfect? Does he know that he’s enough just the way he is?

“Do you ever get in on it as well?” you ask, changing the subject.

Fixer frowns. His eyebrows knit together in question when he looks back to you.

“The competition,” you clarify. “To find the most bizarre hiding place. Or, do you prefer moments like this instead?”

His teeth capture his bottom lip slightly, and you wonder what it would be like if it were your own teeth pulling it in. You meet his eyes and try to push the thought from your mind. You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t become involved with any of your new friends romantically, but in this dark little room with his body so close to yours. You can’t help but notice how much warmth radiates off of him… or how nice he smells.

He huffs a laugh. “Can’t say I’ve ever had a moment like this. I’ve never been alone with a pretty girl before.”

Your eyes widen. Did he really just say that? He clears his throat again and looks pointedly anywhere but at you. His expression looks as if he’s asking himself the same question.

“I can be just as competitive as they are, but it depends on how the last mission went if I join in,” he tells you. He doesn’t elaborate further. “I was surprised you agreed to play along.”

You were more surprised when they asked if you wanted to. You knew that Delta Squad kept mainly to themselves. You were an outsider in every way, but they didn’t treat you like it. Not anymore, at least. When Scorch had first brought you around, they had looked at you like you were lost, and honestly, you had felt it at that time. You wonder what changed for them, but you’re thankful for whatever it was.

“I like hanging out with you guys. I missed you-”

“Did you hear that?” Fixer interrupts you. His body tenses.

You shake your head and look toward the door. Is someone coming? Is it one of the Jedi? How are you supposed to explain why the two of you are so close together in a dark closet to anyone other than his brothers?

The door slides open and casts you both in blinding light. You feel like an animal of prey with the eyes of a hunter on you as a silhouette fills the doorway.

“And what do we have here?” Scorch’s voice is much too cheerful. “You know, if you two wanted some time alone, all you had to do was ask.”

Fixer relaxes beside you and mumbles something in a language you don’t understand.

“Does this mean ‘game over?’” You ask.

Sev peers over Scorch’s shoulder. “Yeah. Boss wants us back at the barracks. New orders just came in.”

The grins on their faces more than tell you that they’re going to rib Fixer about this later. If the annoyed look on his face is anything to go by, he knows it too. He stands from his seat on the crate and offers you his hand to help you up. His skin is warm against yours. His hand lingers in yours for just a moment before it slips away.

“Thank you for letting me hide with you,” you tell him, already missing the feeling of his skin on yours.

He nods. “We’ll pick a better place next time.”

Next time.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” you grin.

You wish them all a good night as you step out into the bright lights of the hallway and watch as they make their way toward the barracks. Fixer glances back for just a brief second as he follows behind his brothers.

“Who said you get to hide with her again?” Scorch asks. “Maybe we want to, ner vod.”

They’re too far gone to hear Fixer’s response, but Sev’s laugh echoes through the corridor back to you. You really have missed them.

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: You haven't heard from Fixer since the almost kiss. Now's he's at your door asking to come in. Warnings: There's like one curse word. Pairing: Fixer x fem!reader Word Count: 1169

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The overhead light buzzes like an irritated insect in your tiny room. Your caf has long gone cold, and the grey walls aren’t doing much to improve your mood. You’re not sure which is worse: the constant annoying sound that seems to seep into your skin or the waiting. You know they’re back on Coruscant. Scorch had sent you a transmission that their campaign had been a success, and they would ‘be back on Triple Zero in two rotations.’ Of course, it had been Scorch to let you know. You haven’t heard from Fixer in weeks. Not since the almost kiss in the medbay. You two have been teetering on the edge of something more than friends, but now, you’re not sure where you stand with him. Had he decided that he didn’t want to be with you after all? Had Vau discouraged him from being with you? You wish he’d just tell you what happened.

You’re half-tempted to go search for him yourself. Even if it is just a quick glance at a distance, you’ll feel better putting your eyes on him. Just to make sure he’s okay, of course. It’s not like you have to speak to him or approach or –

Two sharp knocks on your door echo around you. Crossing the room on shaky legs, you stand by the control panel and wait to see if they knock again. The last time someone knocked on your door, it was Sev telling you that Fixer was injured. Is that why he hasn’t contacted you? 

They knock again, and you hit the buttons to open it. Peeling green paint on white Katarn armor greets you. Fixer’s helmet is tucked under his right arm, and he stares back at you with tired brown eyes. Damn your stupid heart for beating so loudly.

“May I come in?” he asks.

His voice is calm and steady, and if he’s nervous, he’s hiding it well. So, why is your stomach in knots? Why do you feel like his words have the ability to shatter you into a million pieces at his feet? Your heart is just another target waiting for him to eliminate.

You nod and step back to let him enter. He takes in the cramped quarters that the GAR has given you. He keeps his back to you as if looking at you again might be dangerous. You focus your eyes on the glowing blue “40” on his backpack and cross your arms.

“Is there something you need, Fixer?” You try to match his tone.

He releases a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. It almost seems like he’s readying himself to take on an opponent. He turns to face you and takes a step forward but changes his mind and retreats backward again.

“I know every GAR regulation. I know protocol for every situation on the battlefield. I could calibrate my Deece blinded if I had to.” He moves to place his helmet on the little table that had been given to you for a desk. He stares down into the t-visor as if it will tell him what to say to you. “I’m a good soldier, but I don’t know how to be anything else.”

You open your mouth to tell him that he’s so much more than a soldier, but he continues before you can speak.

 “There aren’t guidelines or textbooks for what to do when you’re in love with someone, and Sergeant Vau sure as hell didn’t teach us. I can’t prepare for this, and I don’t know what I’m doing and that scares me.”

In love with someone.

You try to bite back your smile as you close the gap between you. He balls his hands into fists against the table top.

“I think that may be the most you’ve ever said to me at one time,” you joke, trying to lighten his mood.

Fixer sighs and rolls his eyes.

“But if it makes you feel any better,” you continue. “No one ever really knows what they’re doing when it comes to love. We just do our best and hope that’s enough.”

“No, that doesn’t make me feel better,” he mutters.

“What do you want to do, Fixer?” You run your fingers gently along his jawline and give him what you hope is an encouraging smile. “Just say what you want. That’s all you have to do.”

He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Having a choice in life wasn’t something a clone was used to, and this is something he has to decide for himself. There are no COs or Jedi telling him what to do. Had he discussed this with his brothers? Do the other Deltas know that he’s awkwardly standing in your room telling you that he’s in love with you? Had they encouraged him to tell you? They all know how you feel about their brother. It’s not a secret you kept well hidden.

“Any relationship we could have would end in tears,” Fixer says. He relaxes his hands and places them palm down on the table. “Probably yours. I wasn’t created for a long life even if I do survive the war. But… if the opportunity is still available to see where this catastrophe leads us, I’d like to see it through to the end.”

 You laugh, unsure of whether this is the best way you’ve ever been asked to be with someone or the worst. Does he truly think there is no chance for you two to have a happy ending? You hope not, but if he does, you’ll just have to make him believe otherwise. He deserves to be happy.

“The opportunity is still available. I can take the pain if this doesn’t end how we want it to. You’re worth it. Any time I’m given with you is worth it.”

He gives you a rare smile. “Uh, so, what is protocol in this situation?”

 You tilt your head and pretend to debate your answer. “Hmm. Well, you could kiss me,” you suggest.

“Yes, sir,” he breathes.

He leans toward you but stops just short of placing his lips to yours. His eyes search your face as if silently asking if this is really what you want. If he is really what you want. You grab the back of his neck and pull him in the rest of the way, your lips melding together in a clumsy kiss. His hands find your hips to ground himself. Or maybe he wants to be sure this is real. Please, you think to yourself, let this be real.

He breaks the kiss and places his forehead to yours.

“Scorch was right,” he whispers, his breath a ghost on your skin. “I should have done that a long time ago.”

“We have all night to make up for lost time,” you whisper back, afraid to break the bubble of peace that you two have found.

“And I don’t plan on wasting any of it.”

He pulls you in again.

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: Mij hasn't known a moment of peace while Fixer has been in the bacta tank, but the commando is finally awake, and it's time to find out how much he heard you say. Warnings: I don't think any. Attempts at flirtation. Not edited. Pairing: Fixer x fem!reader Word Count: 1098

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Mij Gilamar is many things. He’s a Mandalorian, a surgeon, a sergeant in the GAR, a damn good Sabacc player, and your newest friend. He’s kept you updated on Fixer’s condition for the past several days. He informed you early on that Fixer’s condition wasn’t quite as critical as Sev had made it out to be. You knew the Deltas were shaken seeing Fixer injured that badly. They weren’t used to having to send someone home to the medbay. The games of Sabacc helped to keep your mind off the fact that the other Deltas were now off as a three-man team in the middle of a firefight. Sure, General Jusik had gone with them, but you know it has to be difficult not having their brother with them.

The medbay doors slide open in front of you, and you’re instantly greeted by the smiling face of the Mandalorian doctor. You’re grateful they asked him to come back on as a trainer. You’re not sure that the other doctors here would view the critically injured clones as worthy of being saved. Your anger at how your friends and the other troopers are treated by the Republic grows every day, but it gives you hope to know there are some out there who truly do care about what happens to them.

“How are you today, ad’ika?” Mij asks as you make your way over to him.

“Good. Even better now,” you say with a smile. “How are you?”

“Fine, but I know you’re not here for me.” He throws a glance over his shoulder. “Fixer! You have a visitor.”

Your heart stutters at the sight of the commando sitting on the edge of the hospital bed in his blacks with a datapad in hand. He doesn’t look injured or tired anymore. He looks whole, and the smile on his face when his eyes meet yours is worth all the days of stress and heartache you’ve endured. It takes every ounce of self-control not to throw your arms around him.

“I didn’t believe him when he said you’d been by every day,” Fixer says, setting the datapad to the side and focusing his attention on you.

You turn to shoot your best evil eye at Mij, but he’s already made his exit to give you two some privacy. What else had he told Fixer. You shift your weight from one foot to the other. Does he remember what you told him that first night he was brought in?

“Of course I did. I was pestering Mij about your condition every chance I got.” You don’t trust yourself to look him in the eyes for too long, so you focus your gaze on the way his hand rests on the edge of the mattress. His fingers lightly press into the foam, and you wonder briefly what they would feel like on your skin. “I was so worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. Though, I have to admit that it’s nice to know that someone would care if I didn’t make it…especially when that someone is you.”

“Me?” You don’t try to hide you smile when you look back up at him.

He nods. “You. It’s rare for us to meet someone who handles Scorch’s humor and Sev’s…everything as well as you have. Boss joked about making you an honorary Delta just to try to keep those two in line, but I shut that down quickly.”

You heart sinks. The chances of you ever going on a mission with them is slim to non-existent but knowing that Fixer wouldn’t want you there even if you could be stings. Maybe his brothers were wrong. Maybe he just wanted you to leave them all alone.

“Not that it wouldn’t be nice to see you more,” he continues, drawing you out of your thoughts. “But I’d never be able to focus. You’re very distracting.”

“Aren’t soldiers supposed to be able to tune out distractions?”

He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes slightly like he’s debating his answer. “Absolutely. I can tune out most background noise like the sound of voices or nature and put my attention where it needs to be, but I can’t get you out of my mind when you’re not around. It would be impossible if you were close by.”

Your feet move on their own until you’re just a breath away from his body. The rise and fall of his chest and the deep brown of his eyes are like stepping out into fresh air after breathing in the recycled air on a ship for weeks. He’s beautiful and alive and he thinks about you when he’s gone.

“We need to celebrate your recovery.”

You run your fingers along the new scar above his jawline.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, and you want to kiss him. You want to taste the life on his lips and feel his breath against your skin.

“You did say we could go anywhere I wanted,” he smirks.

So, he had heard you. His eyes open and search your face for any clue you regret what you had told him all those nights ago.

“I did say that, and I meant it. All of it.”

Your words seem to be confirmation enough for him as his hands find your waist and pull you closer to him. You're so close that you can count the shades of brown in his eyes. Your heart thrums in your throat as you lean forward.

“Am I interrupting?” a voice asks from somewhere behind you.

You jump away from Fixer and fight to keep the string of curse words in your mind from spilling out of your mouth. So close. You were so close to finally kissing him. You turn toward the owner of the voice, ready to tell him that yes, he was interrupting. But the words die on your tongue as a tall figure in all black armor approaches. A six-legged creature who looks like a wrinkled mass of skin stares up at you and sniffs the air curiously.

“Sergeant Vau.”

Fixer’s voice is back to its usual serious, no-nonsense tone. Any hint of the playful, flirty tone that had laced it before is gone. The tension in the air is almost suffocating.

“You should go,” Fixer says to you. His eyes don’t meet yours.

“Yeah, uhm…good night.” You throw one final glance at him before you step around Vau and make your way to the door. You almost miss the sad, quiet ‘good night’ that slips past Fixer’s lips.

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: Sev wakes you up in the middle of the night to let you know Fixer has been seriously injured. If you're going to tell him how you feel, this is the time. Warnings: Injured character. Mentions of surgery. Hospital type setting. Nothing graphic - bandages and bruises. Some cursing. Pairing: Fixer x fem!reader Word Count: 1023 A/N: the second part was seriously supposed to be the reader going to 79's with Delta Squad and flirtation with Fixer. I don't know what possessed me and wrote this. Sorry not sorry. Part 1 Part 3

Loud knocking on your door jolts you from your sleep. Your heart beats like timpani drums in your chest as you reach for the lamp on the bedside table. The person on the other side of the door knocks again. It’s hard and impatient. Have you overslept? Are you late for your shift? You look to the chrono, but it’s barely past three in the morning.

Your bare feet hit the cold floor as you dash toward the controls to open the door. A fist is eye level with you, ready to knock again. The gloved hand lowers, and you look up into the bloodshot eyes of Sev. He looks dead on his feet, but the worry etched onto his face scares you more than anything.

“I hope you planned out what you’re going to say to him because this may be your only chance.”

“What’s going on?” You ask, quickly putting on a pair of boots and stepping out into the hallway. “What happened?”

Sev shakes his head. “They always give us the shit jobs, and … Fixer was hit hard. We were able to get him stable enough for transport, but he needs a bacta tank, and Gilamar said he needs surgery. They’re prepping for it now.”

He doesn’t stop to breathe as the words spill from his mouth. His pace is brutally fast, but you don’t dare ask him to slow down as you jog alongside him to the medbay. You played several scenarios out in your head while they were away about what you would say to him, but all the lines you rehearsed disappear one by one from your brain. Only one thought repeats in your mind. “He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.” He has to be okay.

The medbay doors slide open to reveal Boss and Scorch hovering over a hospital bed that you know Fixer has to be in. You’re almost thankful they’re blocking your view as you prepare to see him. Scorch grabs you in a hug as soon as you approach. He squeezes you hard, and the Katarn armor is almost painful against your chest, but you hug him back just as tightly.

“He’s in and out of consciousness,” Boss tells you. The fear on all their faces makes your stomach churn. “But Doc Gilamar says he may still be able to hear us. We’ll give you a minute.”

Sev steps up closer to his injured brother. “We’ll be just on the other side of the room. We won’t leave you, vod.”

The three of them walk away and huddle together near the doors, but you still feel their eyes on you. Releasing a deep breath, you look fully to Fixer. Bandages cover part of his chest, shoulder, and arm. A bacta patch is on his left jaw, and dark bruising covers his cheek. He’s not supposed to look like this. He’s not supposed to be bloody and bruised and broken in a hospital bed.

You gently run your fingers along his hand and lean in close to him.

“You’re going to be okay,” you tell him. You try your best to sound reassuring, but the cracking of your voice betrays you. “You’re going to pull through this, and then we’re going to celebrate your recovery. Just us. We’ll do whatever you want to do. I…”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, and squeeze his hand gently. His eyes remain closed, but you continue anyway.

“I should have told you before how much I like spending time with you. How happy it makes me when you’re around. I should have told you that you’re my favorite person, and that I really love you. I’m so sorry it took you getting hurt for me to be brave enough to tell you.”

You pull away from him as footsteps approach. You blink away the tears threatening to spill past your eyelids and turn to face the other Deltas. It’s not one of your friends approaching, though. The man looking at you oddly isn’t a clone, but you recognize him from your time living here. Mij Gilamar is out of the gold Mandalorian armor that you’ve always seen him in and geared up for surgery. You’re suddenly very aware how strange you must look standing here in the clothes you slept in and a pair of boots.

“Who are you?” Gilamar asks.

“She's with us,” Boss says, walking up behind the man.

Gilamar’s eyes dart from Boss, to Fixer, and back to your teary-eyed face.

“I see.” His voice is much softer, and he looks at you like he’s just figured out a puzzle. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We can fix, Fixer. I’ll take good care of him.”

You nod, but the burning in your throat keeps you silent.

“You all need to get some sleep. You can’t do anything for Fixer if you’re in a bed next to him due to exhaustion,” Gilamar address the other Deltas. “You don’t have to go far, but I do expect you all to rest while we’re operating. You can choose beds here, and I’ll wake you when he’s in recovery.”

 You watch with the others as they take Fixer away for surgery.

“I can walk you back to your room,” Scorch says, his eyes still on the closed door they took his brother through. His voice contradicts his words. You know he doesn’t want to leave for even a moment.

You shake your head. “No, I want to stay with you guys.”

“That’s probably not the best idea,” Boss tells you. “If anyone catches you here, it won’t look good. They don’t like you civvies getting too friendly with us.”

“Yeah, they’re afraid we may start thinking like normal people instead of how they programmed us,” Scorch grimaces. “Don’t worry. As soon as we know anything, we’ll let you know.”

Reluctantly, you agree to go back to your room. The hallways are quiet, and your pace is much slower than when you ran here with Sev. You walk alone and let the tears fall freely. He’s going to be okay.

He has to be okay.

[mutilatemyheart]

Summary: Mij Gilamar is always taking care of everyone, but who takes care of him? Pairing: Mij Gilamar x fem!reader Warnings: NSFW (Minors Do Not Interact), somewhat edited, I'm terrible at smut, oral (male receiving), mentions of fighting and blood. Word Count: 2102

Rain slammed against the windows and ran down the glass like the blood that had been cleaned from the floor of the mess hall. It hadn’t surprised anyone that someone had taken Dred Priest to task, but you have never seen Mij Gilamar as furious as he had been in that moment. It had taken Jango and Wad’e to pull the doctor off the man. His knuckles were almost as bloody as Priest’s face.

You follow the blinding lights down the hallway to Mij’s quarters and rap your knuckles against the door and wait. Silence. You knock again, louder and harder this time. A chair scrapes against the durasteel floor, but the door remains closed. You wonder if he thinks you’re some other Cuy’val Dar member here to reprimand him. Honestly, you can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t pour Mij a tall glass of tihaar for the pounding he’d given Priest.

“Mij!” you call out. “It’s me. Open up.”

Footsteps shuffle behind the door before it slides open to reveal the disheveled face of the man you know instead of the rage filled executioner you had seen moments ago. A swollen, bloody gash is on his cheek from a well-placed hit from Priest, and the skin under his eye is already becoming an angry shade of violet. He steps back to let you into his room.

A first-aid kit sits nearby on a table. Gauze and bacta gel are scattered across the table’s surface, and you know he’s not going to have an easy time tending to the knuckles of his dominant hand.

You nod toward a chair. “Sit.”

He raises an eyebrow, but he does what you tell him to. You grab an alcohol wipe from the kit and take his hand in yours. You expect a hiss as you run the small cloth gently across the cracked skin, but he remains silent and stoic. He doesn’t look at you as you clean him up. How many times has he dealt with his own wounds? Guilt floods you at the thought of him having to take care of himself when everyone runs to him with their injuries. No one wants to see the Kaminoan doctors or the medical droids. People want warmth and kindness. Both things are hard to find in Tipoca City.

He watches you closely, his eyes scanning your face that’s set in concentration. You want to know what he’s thinking. It’s probably that he should have gone for Dred Priest’s jugular with a scalpel.

“I can do this myself,” he tells you after a few moments. However, he makes no move to stop you.

You don’t look up at him. Instead, you grab the bacta gel and continue your work.

“I’m aware,” you say, rubbing the gel into his wounds the way you’ve seen him do it a hundred times. “You’ve patched up almost everyone here, myself included.”

 “You’re the one I have to treat the most,” he chuckles. “I’ve never met anyone else who was such a hazard to themselves.”

“I’m lucky you’re here to always put me back together,” you say, grinning up at him. “But, tell me, who takes care of you?”

Grey eyes meet yours as he smirks. “Are you wanting the job?”

You wrap his knuckles in gauze and reach for another wipe to clean the small gash in his cheek. Any anger that had lurked under his skin is gone, and he smiles at you as you rub the gel gently across the cut. It won’t take much of it to do the job and won’t even require a bandage.

“What if I am?” you ask. “Would you let me take care of you?”

He doesn’t move or breathe or look away from you. You can almost see the thoughts buzzing around in his skull. Does he say yes and move out of safe territory or does he respond politely and tell you he doesn’t need to be taken care of? Would things change so much if he just let you in?

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he says quietly. “Though, I have to warn you…I’m not always the best patient.”

You grin widely at him. “Noted. Anywhere else needing tended to?”

He smirks. “I can think of a few places.”

You almost miss his mumbled words.

“What was that, Sergeant Gilamar?” you shoot back.

“Nothing,” he says. “But I think that hut’uun might have gotten me in the lip.”

The light in his eyes is back, and you much prefer it to the dark blood-lust from before. This is the Mij you know. The one who jokes with you as he applies bacta patches to your injuries. The one who takes care of the soldiers who come to him for aid. The man who genuinely cares about the well-being of not just his men but all the others as well. Being around him has already combatted the darkness that lurks in Tipoca City.

“Let me have a look then.” Your fingers rest gently against his jaw, stubble prickling at your skin as you run your thumb along his bottom lip.

He looks at you with half-closed eyes that seem to beg you not to let him go as a ragged breath pushes past his lips. Has the six years on Kamino made him fell as desperate for the touch of another as it’s made you feel? Does he miss the feeling of being held and loved…even if it’s only for one fleeting night with a stranger you met in a bar.

“I think I know what it needs,” you say, hoping you’re not misreading the desire in his eyes.

His eyes crinkle with the smug look that takes over his face, and he leans in so close to you that your noses almost touch. “And what is that?”

You press your lips to his, and he wastes no time reciprocating and pulls you in deeper. A moan thunders through your body and escapes from your throat. His tongue delves into your mouth, chasing the sounds and trying to draw them out of you. He grabs your waist and pulls you roughly into his lap. You grip the edge of his armor, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears like the waves that crash against the large beams that hold the city above water, and gods you’re willing to drown in him.

A gasp rips from his mouth as your teeth sink into his neck. His pulse beats wildly against your tongue as you run it along the hot skin. The salt from his sweat is almost like a delicacy on this isolated water-world, and you haven’t tasted anything so wonderful in years. His hands wander your back, slipping under the hem of your shirt to explore the skin beneath as if the feel of your body alone could heal the loneliness that had settled in his soul. You grind your core against the hard beskar of his codpiece in search of any friction to relieve the throbbing in your cunt.

“Do you want to move this somewhere more comfortable?” he asks, nipping at your bottom lip. The deep, lusty sound in his voice is something you want to commit to memory forever.

“Please,” you breathe.

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrap around his waist and you dive back in to worship the skin of his neck and throat, desperate to get his armor off and feel his body against yours. You came to his quarters to help him heal, but the way his mouth moves on your body makes you think that he’s still the one doing the healing tonight.

He gently lays you on the bed before he begins to unfasten each part of his beskar’gam and places it on the floor. He peels the top of his grey undersuit off and stands before you. The expanse of his skin is littered in small scars that you want to trace with your tongue. You want to find each and every one on his skin and under them and do your best to kiss away the pain that they’ve left. The rise and fall of his chest is shallow, and you wonder if he wants you just as bad as you’ve craved him for weeks.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Doubt fills his eyes as he draws his bottom lip into his mouth.

“You’re sure?” he questions. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not one-hundred percent comfortable with.”

You nod and move to sit on your knees at the end of the bed. “I want you. All of you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

His fingers run through your hair as he pulls you to him, moaning into your mouth as your fingers dance along the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders. Every dip and groove of his body is unexplored territory that you want to map out. The bulge in his pants brushes against your thigh, and you want nothing more than to take him in your mouth and take all the stress and tiredness away from those gorgeous grey eyes of his. You want to make him lose himself in you and forget about Dred shabla Priest and the aiwha-bait and the grief that haunts him like a dark shadow lurking in the crevices of his mind. You want nothing more than to draw out all the sadness and loneliness that clings to him and make him feel loved.

You pull him down onto the bed with you, his body a nice weight on yours that you can’t wait to enjoy later. But tonight is about him. Latching your arms around him, you roll him onto his back and kiss your way from his neck, down his chest, and to the waist band of his pants. The groan that ripples through his body is almost silent to your ears, but you feel it move through him like earth shifting below you. Running your tongue along the coarse hair below his navel, you release his cock from the confines of the dark fabric.

You grip the shaft of his member and revel in the sound of the ragged pants coming from that beautiful mouth of his as you stroke him. He props himself up on his elbows to watch you work him. The pupils of his eyes are blown wide as you smile sweetly up at him from between his thighs.

“Come here, Mesh’la” he whispers, reaching for you.

You shake your head. “No, I want to take care of you.” You lower your head to his cock, your eyes never leaving his. “Let me take care of you, Mij.

A shaky breath racks through him the moment your tongue swipes across the head of his cock. You savor the taste of the precum leaking from him before you take him in your mouth.

“Kriffff.” He hisses the word, elbows going out from under him. 

He grips the sheet in tight fists as his head falls back to the pillow. You moan around him at the sight, taking as much as you can in your mouth and wrapping your hands around what you can’t. His breathing comes in ragged pants, and the noises he makes is a symphony for only your ears. You haven’t heard anything this beautiful in years. Gods, you hope he’ll let you hear him more. You hope that this isn’t just one night to forget about the Hell you both agreed to be a part of. You’re tired of being lonely. You’re tired of rainy days and nights and those stupid long-necked Kaminoans. But this… this you don’t think you could ever tire of. The sound of him falling apart because of you. The look of devotion in his eyes as you take care of him. You want to him to look at you like that forever.

His fingers find your hair as he calls out a strangled warning, but you don’t stop your administrations. You want it. All of it. Whatever he’ll give you.

His back arches slightly as he fills your mouth with cum, and you swallow all that you can like a person starved. And gods, have you been starved in a way that you think only he could sate.

He reaches for you when you pull away from him. The hunger in his eyes still burns brightly as he smiles at you.

“It’s my turn to take care of you,” he says, pulling you up to him.

Placing your forehead to his, you whisper into the night, “You always do.”