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anxiouspineapple99 · 1 day

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Hi DJ! If you’re still doing the ficlet requests, can I get 24 (cuddles of reassurance) with Wolffe? Maybe fem!reader is having a hard time with sex and feels embarrassed/overwhelmed? (If that’s too explicit/uncomy feel free to ignore :))

Just a Little Bit More

A/N: Thank you so much for this request, Alli! I’ve actually been wanting to write a fic like this for a while. I feel like so much of the smut we see in fanfiction AND in published fiction/media in general is so idealized that even when it has elements of realism, it can present a distorted idea of what sex and intimacy can really be like. I’m certainly guilty of writing somewhat idealized smut, though I do try to maintain at least some semblance of realism (unless Sev is involved; all bets are off with that man). While there’s nothing wrong with having that fantasy, I think it’s healthy and important to also show the reality that it isn’t always easy or flawless, even with a caring, experienced partner who takes our pleasure seriously and does everything “right.”

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3.3K of straight smut with some cuddles

Warnings and tags: cuddles; hurt comfort; language; SMUT; oral sex; PIV; nipple play; light/playful spanking; body worship; sex toys; fingering; exhibitionism; voyeurism; creampie; difficulty with orgasm. AKA, the return of SMUTKEA.

Summary: Wolffe is the best you’ve ever had. That doesn’t mean it’s always perfect.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Fruit de La Créativité by Grès (raspberry & leather)

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Wolffe gazed up into your eyes as you rolled your hips slowly, searching for the perfect angle. You knew you could find it: you’d done it before, countless times. His strong, warm hands glided up your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer, thrusting deeper, guiding you closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel it building inside you, the tension gathering slowly.

Too slowly.

He smoothed one hand up your side, grazing along your rib cage until he cupped your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb. He knew exactly how much pressure you liked, and the way he touched you was perfect.

God, he’s so hot. Just focus on how hot he is.

Sweat glistened on your skin. The room hadn’t been this hot when he’d pulled you into bed, but after an hour and a half of vigorous activity, you were both slick with perspiration, saliva, arousal, and lube. He’d mapped your body with kisses, gliding his lips and tongue across your skin as he devoured you, bringing you right to the edge until you begged him to fuck you.

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist as he eased into you, a tormented groan rumbling from his lips as he felt your heat envelope him. Gods, he felt amazing, and when he started to move, you knew it would only be a matter of minutes before you came.

It took longer than you expected, and after a while, you realized something needed to change.

“Take me from behind,” you’d murmured, knowing how much he loved the way your ass pressed into his hips in that position.

“God, yes,” he’d replied, pulling out and rolling you over with enthusiasm.

You loved the way he handled you in bed. He was so fucking strong. He could toss you around so easily—it was hot as hell, but the best thing about it was the care he took to make sure you were comfortable and he didn’t accidentally hurt you. He lifted your hips up and positioned you exactly the way he wanted you. You heard a small click as he closed the bottle of lube, and then you felt his slickened fingers glide over your cunt as he ensured you were ready to take him from the new angle.

“Maker, that ass is gorgeous,” he said, squeezing your cheeks before giving you a playful smack.

Your mischievous giggle turned into a breathless moan as he sank into you, reaching deeper, stretching you wider, as his hand slid down your body to tease your clit. You loved the way he touched you, the way he caged you in with his body, making you feel incredibly safe and protected. And of course, you loved his cock. He knew exactly how to use it to ensure he gave you as much pleasure as he took—or more.

And still, your orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. He shifted, and for a moment, his body rested heavily on you before he resumed his rhythm.

He’s getting tired. Fuck. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. I need to give him a break.

“Want me to be on top?” you offered, hoping that yet another angle would be the one that finally pushed you past whatever mental block was keeping you from your release.

He paused, his hands resting on your hips. “Is that what you want?”

“Sure,” you replied. “If you do?”

He trailed his fingers down your spine before slowly withdrawing from your body. You turned to watch as he rolled onto his back and kicked the blankets off the bed. He reached for you with that sexy smirk that you loved so much, and you knew without question that he still wanted you.

He’s such a good man. Gods, he deserves the world.

“Hop on, darlin’,” he invited.

You crawled toward him with a smile, pausing a moment to kneel between his thighs. You traced your fingertips up his legs and over his balls, then ghosted a line up the underside of his cock. You glanced up to see his eyes fixed on you with an intense expression. Holding his gaze, you dropped lower and flicked your tongue over his tip, then slid his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over him. You could taste yourself on his skin—salty, tangy, unspeakably erotic. His hips flexed beneath you, and you heard his breath grow ragged.

He caressed your head gently, stroking his hand over your hair and jaw before coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he said quietly. “Come up here.”

You gave him one last defiant, flirtatious little suck before you released him, then you began to crawl up to him, kissing a trail up his abdomen and chest. You straddled his hips, kissing and licking your way up his throat, and as you reached his lips, you whispered, “You taste like pussy.”

“Then I must be delicious,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

His tongue slid into your mouth as his cock thrust into your cunt, and for a moment you were overwhelmed with the sensations of him filling you. A fresh wave of arousal had flooded you as you’d pleasured him with your mouth, and he slipped into you easily, rocking into you with his powerful thighs. You braced your fists against the mattress on either side of his head, pressing down to meet his thrusts as you rode him hard and fast, chasing your pleasure with a desperation that started to border on frantic as release continued to elude you.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna fill you up. You feel so goddamn good. Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

I’m trying, damn it!

“You feel incredible,” you replied breathlessly, and it was true, so why was this so kriffing difficult?

Your hips were starting to get sore from how long you’d been at it, so you shifted positions, bringing your knees higher and setting a slower pace to try to buy yourself enough time that you’d have the energy to make it to the finish line. Wolffe adjusted instantly, not even needing a verbal cue to understand the message your body sent. You found the angle that pressed his cock against the perfect place inside you, and you focused on trying to get as much stimulation there as you possibly could, cutting out all extraneous movement.

The longer it took, the more anxious and desperate you became. You tried to shut down the voice in your head that whispered, “He’s getting bored,” because you knew it was a lie. All you had to do was look into his beautiful, mismatched eyes to see how much he wanted you. And you were so close. So fucking close, if you could just get out of your own head long enough to let go.

You traced your fingertips across his cheekbone and along his jaw, grazing your thumb across his lips. You pressed gently, parting his lips to brush your thumb against his tongue, and then you leaned down and kissed him deeply, trying to lose yourself in the sensation of his lips and tongue against your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as you broke from the kiss and returned your hand to brace against the mattress. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Please stop talking. You couldn’t say it out loud; what kind of an asshole says something like that in response to a compliment?

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered instead. “You’re amazing at this.”

It was true; he was amazing. Unquestionably the best you’d ever had. In the time you’d been together, he’d learned your body completely, identifying every spot that made you shiver, testing different approaches until he knew exactly how and where you liked to be touched, kissed, caressed. He knew where to use his teeth, and where to use his breath; he knew when you wanted him to be tender, and when you craved roughness.

He knew you.

He knew you better than anyone ever had, and that made your current predicament even more maddening. Because sometimes it was easy. Sometimes you came so fast that your orgasm surprised both of you. But most of the time, it took more work. A lot more. And sometimes, like this one, you would get so close to the edge that you were only seconds away, only to feel the wave of pleasure ebb and be replaced with frustration and exhaustion.

Please, please, please. Just a little bit more.

Your wrists ached. Your knuckles were raw from grinding them into the sheets. You shifted your weight and lifted one hand off the mattress, stretching your fingers and trying to get the blood flowing to them. He glanced at your hand, then back up into your eyes.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Just… keep going,” you said desperately. “I’m so close—I’m so fucking close, and I just can’t—I can’t—”

Abrupt tears stung your eyes, and you buried your face against his neck to hide them, kissing his chest to try to distract him from your distress.

He wrapped his arms around your body, still rocking into you at the pace you’d set. “Do you want to take a break?”

“No, I want you to come,” you snapped, disappointment sharpening your tone more than you intended.

He stilled immediately. You felt his hand slide up your back to stroke your hair softly.

“Hey,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Look at me.”

You shook your head and burrowed your face obstinately into the nook where his neck met his shoulder.

“Talk to me, little one,” he urged. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The dam cracked and then burst.

“I’m so fucking tired,” you sobbed. “And I can tell you’re getting tired, and I just want it to be good for you, and every time I think I’m getting there, I lose it!”

Mortification swept through you that you were making a scene during such an intimate moment, and you tried to stifle your sobs, but it was too late. You felt him go soft inside you, and then he slipped from your body.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he rolled the both of you onto your sides, pulling you close against his body. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Holding you tightly with one arm, he began to run his hand lightly over your back, comforting you with his touch as he kissed your forehead.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated. “You just got tired. It’s all right, love. It happens.”

“It’s so frustrating,” you confessed. “So many times, I thought I was there, and then something would distract me, and it was just gone.”

“Was it something I did?” he asked.

“No, of course not. It was just… I don’t know. A noise? Or a weird thought that popped into my head at a bad time?” You paused, feeling a little guilty as you remembered that, in fact, you had gotten annoyed at an ill-timed remark from him. “And then the longer it took, the more it stressed me out about how long it was taking, until I was stressing so much about it that that’s all I could think about.”

He moved his hand to your shoulder and began to glide it up and down your arm in long, languid strokes. “Why were you worried about taking too long?”

You paused, unaccountably hesitant to admit the truth. He waited patiently, still caressing your arm, until at last you replied, “I was worried you were getting tired. Or bored. Or—I don’t know…”

His hand stilled in its progress, then slid around your back as he pulled you even closer to him. “I would never get bored with you.”

“But—”

“I love you,” he cut you off firmly. “I love being with you. I love fuckin’ you. You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and kriffin’ amazing in the sack. Do you have any idea how lucky I am? Most men only dream of finding a girl like you, but I got you for real. How the hell would I ever be stupid enough to get bored with someone as goddamn perfect as you?”

You didn’t know what to say. You lay in his arms, clinging tightly to him as the tears finally stopped trickling from your eyes. You shuddered quietly.

“Yeah?” you asked in a tiny whisper.

He rolled you onto your back and moved to lie on top of you so he could look into your eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied.

You swallowed. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said with a charming smirk.

He pressed his lips to your sternum as his hand slid lazily up your body to play with your breast. The weight of his body pressed you down into the soft mattress as you cradled his chest between your thighs. You took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, releasing the guilt and stress and self-recrimination you’d built up in your body.

He kissed you again, and again, then he began to work his way across your chest until he drew your nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue over your skin as he sucked gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt a spark of renewed arousal, but with it came a surge of anxiety that rose insistently in your mind.

“Wolffe,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I can. I really am exhausted.”

He looked up at you as he continued to tease your breast. At last, he released your nipple from his lips, giving you a devilish smile.

“What if we tried something else?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into an answering smile when he looked at you like that. “What did you have in mind?”

He pushed himself up off of you and leaned over to rummage through your nightstand until he retrieved a vibrator—the one you��d once jokingly called “Old Faithful” for its uncanny ability to get you off like clockwork.

“I want you to fuck yourself with this,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly pitch. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”

Your breath stuttered to a halt, your eyes widening and your heart beginning to pound at the idea. Your gaze flicked from the toy to his eyes and back again.

“Wh—what about you?” you stammered.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he replied. He switched on the vibrator and traced it down your abdomen, making you twitch as its buzz tickled your skin. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking the toy from him. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way works best for you.”

You thought about trying to pose for him, to put on a show, but you knew instinctively that wasn’t what he was after. If he’d wanted to watch a counterfeit, staged orgasm, he would have just found a holoporn. No. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to see your genuine pleasure.

“All right,” you whispered.

You took the toy from him, and he moved off of your body to lie next to you, observing you closely. You adjusted the settings to your preferred speed and pattern, then took a deep breath and began.

The instant you touched the vibrator to your clit, your entire body tensed, and you gasped quietly. You glanced at Wolffe and found his gaze riveted to your pussy, his one good pupil dilated so wide you could barely see the amber ring of his iris around its inky depths. You felt a little self-conscious until you saw the way his lips parted slightly as his breath became heavy.

You pushed yourself back into the pillow and closed your eyes as you adjusted the angle of the toy, pressing it exactly as you needed it. With your free hand, you began to play with your breast, caressing and squeezing and rolling your nipple between your fingertips. You felt the warmth of his hand as it settled onto your leg and then slid up your thigh. Your opposite leg curled up to brace your foot against the bed, opening your stance wider as you moved the vibrator exactly the way you needed it.

“Fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. His fingers grazed lightly over your pussy, but quickly withdrew.

“You can touch me,” you gasped.

He didn’t move immediately, and you continued to work yourself closer and closer to your orgasm, feeling the tension gather in your body and begin to tighten in on your center. Then his fingertips brushed over your cunt again, and you felt his lips and tongue descend on your hip. He didn’t try to take control, just touched you softly, kissing and licking and watching as you played with yourself.

You adjusted your position again, bringing your leg against his body, and you felt his slick, rigid cock press hard against you. You whimpered, so turned on you couldn’t even form words, and in response, he ground his erection against you. He kissed across your pelvis until he reached your belly, pressing his face into you.

“I’m so close,” you panted.

“Kriff, me too,” he growled.

His fingertip grazed into you, and your body jerked as you gasped sharply. He froze, and without thinking, you moved your hand away from your breast to grab his wrist and push him deeper. With an urgent grunt, he began to move his finger, stroking exactly where he knew you needed him.

Abruptly, your hips arched off the bed, and you let out an inhuman wail. If your brain had been functioning, you might have also heard Wolffe’s rough groan, but at the moment, you were aware of nothing but blinding, shattering pleasure as your body finally found the release it had been denied for so many hours. You jerked the vibrator away as the intensity suddenly became too much, and your body convulsed again and again until at last you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

Wolffe covered you with frantic kisses, crawling up your body until he reached your face. His body hovered over you as his tongue brushed between your lips and flooded your mouth with his taste. Your arms wrapped around his torso as your legs tightened around his hips, and you pulled him into you. His cock slid easily, and he thrust hard and fast, fucking you through the last tremors of your orgasm.

He came within seconds, flooding you with heat as he thrust hard, one last time, burying his cock as deep as he could inside your body. He stayed there, his entire body taut, until at last he exhaled a hard breath and relaxed onto you. His lips broke away from yours, and he rested his forehead against the pillow next to your head.

“Fuck,” he panted, the word hot against your ear. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You stroked your hands up and down his back, digging your nails lightly into his skin. He groaned and slumped heavily against your body. You loved the weight of him on top of you, but before long, you began to wheeze quietly as you struggled to draw breath. He heard the shift and immediately rolled off of you, pulling you against himself as he came to rest on the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you pressed your lips to his chest.

He laughed quietly. “Thank you. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Worth the wait?” you asked.

“Worth everything,” he murmured, drawing you even closer. “Everything, and more. You always have been.”

---

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anxiouspineapple99 · 2 days

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 8

In the Wind's Singing

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings and tags: fluff; bonding; discussions of autopsy/corpses; Coca-Cola is canon in Star Wars; no, I'm not joking; SMUT; masturbation

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The strike team returns from scouting Balmorra.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Voices are in the wind's singing

More distant and more solemn than a fading star.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The hologram flickered off, and Rex stared thoughtfully at the empty space where it had projected. Slowly, he said, “I want you to start looking into the clone assassin’s identifying code. Find out how it was wiped, and see if you can replicate the process.”

Cerra wrinkled her nose. “Does that mean I’m going to have to dissect his arm?”

“That’s for you to find out. I know you’ll do whatever it takes,” Rex said. “In the meantime, I’m grounding you for a few days. No sparring, no supply runs, no missions until your hand is healed.”

She felt a surge of impatience, but his tone brooked no argument, so she simply nodded. Some battles were simply not worth fighting, and she knew Rex would win this one anyway.

“I need to leave this afternoon to meet with a contact,” Rex continued. “Will you be all right alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Hand isn’t that bad.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you can get started on that ID code today.”

“Aye, aye, Cap,” she said with a mock salute.

Once Rex was gone, Cerra opened the stasis pod and examined the dead clone assassin’s forearm. Unlike the inhibitor chips, the identifying codes were not an implant; instead, the data was coded directly into the clones’ wrists. Nothing on the surface indicated how the ID data had been wiped. There was no scar, no wound—nothing except cold, smooth, brown skin. When she scanned it, a hologram appeared, but the contents were empty. She had a sinking feeling that she was going to need to remove the skin and examine it under a microscope to learn more.

Mechanical repairs were no problem for Cerra, but she was wildly unqualified to undertake any kind of medical examination, let alone an autopsy. For the thousandth time, she wished Kix were there. She worried that she would compromise the evidence, and the longer she had the stasis pod open, the more the clone assassin’s body would degrade. With that in mind, she sealed the pod again and began researching autopsy techniques on the Holonet. She watched autopsy vids for what felt like hours with a kind of gruesome fascination, barely noticing when the proximity sensor alerted her that the freighter had returned.

Echo, Fireball, and Gregor entered the garage to find Cerra sitting cross-legged on the couch, utterly engrossed by a vid projected from the holotable as she ate from a promising-looking container. Echo’s stomach rumbled.

“Boys,” she greeted them without looking up.

“Something smells good,” Echo said.

“I got takeout from Dex’s,” she said. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

“Is that brualki brisket?” Gregor asked.

“Yeah, I got extra for you,” she said. “There’s also brakkenback stew, nerfburgers, and two orders of each kind of protato on the menu.”

A woman of taste, Echo thought, heading to the kitchen to examine the options.

“Ugh, what are you watching?” Fireball demanded.

“Autopsy vids,” she mumbled around a bite of brisket.

“While you’re eating? Gross,” Fireball said.

“Gotta figure out what to do with our friend over there,” Cerra said, pointing at the stasis pod. “Besides, it’s not like I’m eating directly off a corpse.”

Echo pulled a face. Gregor went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets until he found a small medkit. Then he swiped the remaining container of brisket and a bag of fried protato wedges and flopped down next to Cerra on the sofa.

“Next time, you can buy dinner, and then you get to pick the holovid, Fireball,” Gregor said. “Cerra, did you take your antibiotics?”

“What antibiotics?” she asked distractedly.

“That’s what I thought,” Gregor said drily. He extracted a couple of pills from the medkit and handed them to her. “Take these.”

Cerra automatically took the pills and swallowed them, then handed Gregor a tub of glockaw sauce without taking her eyes off the holovid. “Ooh, look, they’re about to peel off the skin!”

Fireball gagged. Gregor dipped a protato wedge into the sauce and popped it into his mouth, chewing happily. Echo looked down at the container of stew he’d selected, and his stomach lurched, cheeks going even grayer than usual.

“I, uh, think I’ll hit the shower,” he said, setting the stew back on the countertop.

Cerra and Gregor didn’t respond, too immersed in the holovid. Despite himself, Fireball drifted closer, leaning over the back of the sofa with his eyes glued to the vid. He absentmindedly reached for a protato wedge, and Gregor slapped his hand away. Cerra wordlessly handed her half-empty bag of shoestring fries to Fireball.

Echo shrugged and headed to the refresher. He took his time in the shower, knowing that the rest of the group was likely to be distracted. The hot water relaxed the muscles in his back and soothed his aching limbs where his prosthetics connected. His mind drifted to Senator Chuchi—Riyo, as she’d insisted he call her. He couldn’t imagine the beautiful, gentle Pantoran watching holovids of corpse dissections. When Rex had opened the stasis pod to show Echo and the Batch the clone assassin, Riyo had carefully avoided looking at the man’s face. She hadn’t become desensitized to death and violence the way Cerra and his fellow clones had, but she was fearless, even in the face of Rampart’s attempts on her life.

She was so lovely. Sweet, but strong. As he pictured her smooth, cerulean skin, her soft lilac hair, and the subtle curves of her body, he felt his cock stiffen. Seizing the rare moment of privacy, Echo soaped up his hand and began to stroke himself, careful to keep silent. He braced himself against the shower stall with his scomp arm, tilting his head back to let the warm water flow over his neck and chest.

He envisioned Riyo around him—her mouth, her body, her sighs of passion and her enveloping warmth, her wide golden eyes glazed with need. His breath became ragged. It had been months since he’d been with a woman, he was acutely conscious that any of the team could walk in at any moment. Gritting his teeth to hold back his groans, he squeezed harder and increased the speed of his hand. Before long, the surging pleasure overwhelmed his control, and he spilled hot, white jets of cum onto the shower floor.

All his breath left him in a rush, and his head sagged to rest on the arm that braced against the shower wall. The water started to run cold, so he finished washing and toweled off, dressing quickly and returning to join the others.

Echo suppressed a laugh when he saw Fireball sprawled on the sofa with the other two. The two clones had removed their armor and now wore only their black body gloves. The holotable was cluttered with empty wrappers and takeout containers, and somebody had filled a bucket with ice and several bottles of ale, two of which Gregor and Fireball were already drinking. Echo noticed that the bulky bandage on Cerra’s hand had been replaced with a neat bacta patch, and the medkit had been put away. The group had turned raucous, and Fireball kept up a running commentary on the vid.

“You call that a primary incision?” he jeered. “I could do better blindfolded, with a vibrosword!”

“If you’re so confident, maybe you should do the autopsy,” Cerra said.

“No thanks,” Fireball said. “It’s one thing to watch a holovid. It’s something else when it’s a brother.”

“I know,” Cerra said. “That’s why I’m not drinking. Gotta keep my head clear so I can focus on the techniques.”

Echo grunted as he heated up a bowl of stew. “I can’t believe you’re still watching that. Why not put on something like the Great Galactic Bake Off instead?”

Cerra twisted around to look at him. “You’re a Bake Off fan? Have you seen this week’s episode yet?”

“No. I usually watch it with Omega,” Echo replied.

“Hmph, Charo Intan was robbed last week,” Gregor grumbled.

“You’re just saying that because the Sullustan got Galaxy Baker,” Cerra teased.

“His technical bake was a disaster!” Gregor exclaimed. “The judges are out of their minds.”

Fireball listened to the exchange with a look of utter bewilderment. “What are you even talking about?”

Three heads swiveled to stare at Fireball.

“You haven’t heard of the Bake Off?” Gregor asked incredulously. “Do you live under an asteroid?”

Fireball shrugged.

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Cerra said, punching the control panel of the holotable. “Prepare to lose your sanity and any hope of a social life.”

Echo was surprised at how nonchalant Cerra seemed, especially after the previous night’s disaster. He took his bowl of stew to the sofa and nudged Fireball out of the way as he sat down. It was a tight squeeze with the four of them, so Cerra scooted onto Gregor’s lap to make room. Fireball picked up her legs to drape across his thighs.

Echo couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between Cerra and Gregor. He had assumed they were a couple when he’d first arrived, but he had second-guessed himself when their obvious affection for each other never seemed to go beyond platonic demonstrations. But Gregor’s reaction to Cerra’s distress the previous night; the tender, intimate words he’d whispered as he comforted her; and in particular his anomalous hostility toward Rex made Echo reevaluate his assumptions yet again. But now the commando seemed utterly unfazed as Fireball joined their little snuggle pile, even as the younger clone settled in cozily beneath Cerra’s calves.

Fireball rolled up one of Cerra’s pant legs and began to doodle on her skin with a marker, drawing complex, abstract swirls in black ink. The familiar opening jingle of the Bake Off started to play, and Echo gave up on trying to unravel the complexities of—kriff—whatever was going on at the other end of the sofa, turning his attention instead to the holovid.

Once again, it seemed Echo was the odd man out. It seemed strange and wrong to watch the show without Omega, and he missed his brothers’ familiar camaraderie. He didn’t think Cerra was intentionally excluding him, but he couldn’t help feeling a little stab of envy at how easily she and Gregor had allowed Fireball into their little circle. The younger clone hadn’t needed to work for it at all; they’d simply absorbed him. Echo frowned as he wondered if he had done something to make Cerra hold him at a distance.

As if on cue, she rummaged through the bucket of ice, retrieving two bottles of ale and cracking them open. To Echo’s surprise, though, she held one out to him, and when he took it with a silent nod of thanks, she clinked her bottle against his and took a sip. Echo reflexively drank his as well, watching out of the corner of his eye as Cerra settled back against Gregor. The commando shifted to wrap his arm around her, tugging her closer to him and easing her head onto his shoulder.

“This is the week that useless Garr Tevv goes home,” Gregor declared. “I can feel it.”

“I don’t know, buddy,” Cerra said. “The judges don’t seem to share your opinion of Sullustans. I think he’ll make it to the finale.”

“What’s wrong with Sullustans?” Fireball asked.

“Heh, it’s a long story,” Gregor chuckled.

“You can’t judge all Sullustans by what Borkus did,” Echo said.

“Oh, can’t I?” Gregor asked. “How do you feel about Skakoans?”

“Fair point,” Echo conceded.

“Why are there so many contestants from Separatist worlds?” Fireball asked.

“Something about bringing the galaxy together after the turmoil of war,” Gregor said.

“By making them compete against each other?” Fireball sounded confused.

“Friendly competition,” Echo clarified. “Although it hardly seemed friendly when Timi Riniath stole Runa Mone’s conservator and left her custard out to curdle.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe they let Timi stay in after that,” Cerra complained. “Such a cheater.”

“I still think it was an honest mistake,” Gregor said.

“No way,” Echo and Cerra retorted in unison.

“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” Cerra said automatically.

Echo inhaled sharply, and Cerra’s face went rigid as they both realized what she’d said. How many times had Fives repeated that sentence? He and Echo spoke jointly so often that it was practically their catchphrase. Fives and Cerra must have shared the same tendency for her to have picked up the habit.

“Kriff,” she whispered. “Sorry, Echo. I wasn’t thinking. It just slipped out.”

“That’s all right,” Echo said uncomfortably. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

Gregor rubbed a soothing hand on Cerra’s back. Fireball looked more confused than ever, but he wisely didn’t ask questions and went back to his drawing.

“Good to know you shared the same brain cell with Fives as I did,” Echo said to diffuse the tension. “Feels like there’s still part of him with us.”

For once, it seemed he’d said the right thing, because Cerra visibly relaxed, and a small smile crept over her face. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

The recap segment of the show ended, and they all turned to the holovid. Fireball occasionally asked questions about how the competition worked, which Gregor answered enthusiastically, and soon the group became fully captivated. They cheered for their favorites and booed the contestants they disliked. At some point, a second round of beers was passed around, and by the end of the show, Fireball had already downloaded the old episodes onto his datapad so he could watch them next time he was on a long hyperspace jump.

Cerra looked haggard and was probably feeling the lingering effects of the sedative Gregor had administered as well as the aftermath of everything else that had happened the previous night. She didn’t manage to stay awake through the whole episode, lulled to sleep by the way Gregor absentmindedly rubbed her shoulders and the soft drag of Fireball’s marker against her leg.

“I’ll take first watch,” Fireball said quietly.

Gregor nodded, standing cautiously with Cerra in his arms and staggering a little under their combined weight. Cerra jostled awake with a startled grunt.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Gregor said. “I’ve got you.”

She blinked owlishly at him and looked around.

“Good night, Cerra,” Fireball said.

“G’night, Tup,” she murmured as she burrowed her face into Gregor’s shoulder.

Fireball and Echo exchanged confused looks with Gregor, who just shrugged and turned away to carry Cerra to the barracks. Echo and Fireball cleaned up the detritus of their impromptu watch party, and then Echo headed for the barracks as well.

“I’ll take the second watch,” Echo told Fireball. “I don’t think Gregor has slept at all in the last two days.”

Inside the barracks, Gregor had already tucked Cerra into her bunk and was changing out of his body glove into a pair of sweatpants. Echo eased down onto his bunk and detached his leg prosthetics with a sigh of relief. Gregor climbed into his own bunk, and the barracks descended into silence.

By some miracle of fate or the Force, Echo slept. When Fireball shook him awake to stand watch, Echo flinched away, his heart racing. Fireball held up his hands placatingly and returned to the main room. Echo dressed quickly and reattached his legs, then went to join him.

“All quiet?” Echo asked.

“So far,” Fireball said. “But I got a comm from my brother Nemec. He wants out. Do you think Rex will help?”

“I know he will,” Echo said firmly. “We’ll start planning the extraction as soon as Rex gets back.”

The anxiety in the younger clone’s face eased, and he nodded gratefully when Echo told him to get some rest. Before he returned to the barracks, though, Fireball had one more question.

“Echo?” he asked hesitantly. “Who’s Tup?”

“No idea,” Echo said.

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Next chapter

#echo tbb #riyo chuchi #captain gregor #captain rex #oc: cerra kilian #gregor x oc #echo x riyo chuchi #star wars #bad batch #star wars fanfiction #the pineapple loves this #the pineapple recommends this

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