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imabeautifulbutterfly · 2 months

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Ok, this is so fun! Congrats again!

I'll pick...Hunter (shocked, I'm sure.)

How about: "I don't think I've ever seen you smile" and "Oh, don't be cute"/"Wait, did you just say that I'm cute?"

Thanks!!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Thank you @clonethirstingisreal - I hope you love this Carol, it actually brought a smile to my face as I was writing it.

Enjoy, love oo.

One Meal

Warnings: knife flipping, allusions to loss, slight angst, fluff. I think that's it, if I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List | Star Wars Fic Roulette

Hunter flicked his knife back and forth in between his fingers, as he contemplated the next mission. Things were … different, since you joined. Not good or bad … just different. It been about six months, and yes, the Marauder was cleaner and didn’t have that lingering smell anymore, and yes, the meals had gotten better too, because you refused to just eat the ration bars the GAR provided. And … okay, it was nice to see your smiling face in the morning, compared to the miserable faces of his brothers.

Yet, he still felt awkward around you. He wanted to laugh with you, like you could so easily with Wrecker, to have deep discussion, like you could with Tech, even philosophical discussions like you did with Echo. Hell, he’d be happy if he could just do target practice with you, like you did with Crosshair, but … every time he opened his mouth, he was curt, short tempered, and on edge.

It wasn’t even your fault, it was just him.

He stood from his seat, heading down the ramp and taking in a breath of fresh air. You were cooking dinner, doing your best to teach Wrecker that just because salt tasted good, didn’t mean he had to put in a whole table spoon full.

It made him laugh a little as you tried to explain in your most patient voice possible, that you’d fix the dinner and Wrecker could go help Tech or Crosshair with something else. It was your polite way of saying ‘go away.’

Hunter tried but he couldn’t stop the smile on his lips, as he walked over to you.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile" you pointed out as he walked up to you. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Oh, I just saw how you were very tactful with Wrecker. It was funny.”

You shrugged trying to fight back your own laughter as you tried to fix the stew, by adding more water, “He tried. I’m grateful he’s willing to learn.”

“Need help? I’m not completely inept when it comes to cooking.”

You looked a little surprised when he asked, not that his offering to help was a real shock, it was the fact you realized this was the first time you two had a proper conversation. “Um … yeah, if you don’t mind using your handy dandy knife there, that you like flipping around so much, to cut up some of these veggies so I can add them, that’d be great.”

Hunter chuckled at your description, as he nodded, taking a seat and getting to work, “Where did you learn to cook?” He asked, hoping to get to know you a little better.

“My mom and grandmother. They were adamant that I learn how to feed an army if I ever needed to …” you chuckled, “I had a big family, back home. Usually there would be around twenty of us for dinner.”

“Twenty? Did you have a lot of siblings?”

“No. It was just me. But I had uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, neighbours, anyone and everyone who needed a meal could always come to our place for dinner. We never turned away anyone in need of a good meal.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was …” a sadness passed your face, as you thought back to what had once been your home, until the Separatist droid army showed up, and destroyed everything you had held so dear.

Hunter saw your smile slip, it pained him to see that you had been through so much, although he hadn’t heard about it directly from you, he did overhear what had happened when you were talking with Tech. “Well we appreciate all your efforts, especially when you’re trying to teach us neanderthals how to cook.”

You giggled a little, pushing away the sad thoughts that had encapsulated your mind for a split second, “You’re not neanderthals.”

“We’re not exactly proper either. Couldn’t say, we’re exactly suited for a posh dinner.”

You shook your head as you laughed, “You don’t need to be suited for a posh dinner, you just need to show up to eat.” You smiled as you turned to look at him, smirking as you saw how perfectly he cut each vegetable.

You walked over and grabbed the tray of veggies, and dropped them into the stew, “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

“Why do you take care of us? I mean granted the Marauder smells a lot better, and the meals you cook are much better than the GAR rations, but … why do you do it?”

You stirred the stew as you contemplated the question, “I guess … because you feel like family to me.” You turned to look at him, truthfully, he was the only one that you didn’t think of as family, you wanted something more with him, something special, but seeing as this was the first time you two actually talked, it might be a bit far-fetched to imagine that could possibly happen. “And, I love seeing how my food makes you guys happy. Wrecker, has the biggest smile on his face, whenever he eats when I cook. Tech has this adorable blush, although he’ll never admit how much he enjoys my cooking. And Crosshair … well he always comes back for seconds; and frankly, between you and me, he needs to eat more. He’s too skinny. I could break off his collarbone if I needed.”

“I enjoy it too,” Hunter clarified as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I might not say it, but I always look forward to your cooking.” He blushed and turned his head away, not wanting you to see how much of an effect you had on him, and not just because of your cooking.

You laughed at his reaction, "Oh, don't be cute” you teased, “I might have to walk over there and pinch your cheeks.”

Hunter started to laugh, when he realized what you said, “Wait, did you just say that I'm cute?"

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@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

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aberrantcreature · 3 months

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Obikin - World Between Worlds

Imagine this, if you will, a universe in which Anakin is brutally killed. He dies never knowing how much Obi-Wan loved him, because Obi-Wan never told him. His master never admitted how deep his attachment and fondness for his padawan went. How proud he was of him, how highly he thought of him, how much he loved him more than anything. Obi-Wan has to see his beloved Anakin die and know that he died never knowing any of that. Anakin died thinking his master cared about him in a more basic way, and Obi-Wan is swallowed whole with regret and sorrow.

It’s a regret he cannot live with. A world without Anakin is not one Obi-Wan can live with.

He leaves the Jedi Order, everything behind, with only one goal: to get Anakin back. The darkness offers him power in ways the light never could, methods and ways to possibly get him what he wants. He accepts the help willingly, exhausting every effort and getting rid of every obstacle in his way.

Eventually, his tunnel vision goal, the only reason for his continued existence, gets him to the World Between Worlds.

He walks down the passages of starlight searching and searching and searching. Looking into the doorways and not finding what he’s searching for. After all this time, after all he’s done, and he gets nothing for it?!

Just as he debated taking his red saber and ending his journey, he sees another figure down the path facing him.

Anakin. One with some grey in his hair and vibrant gold in his eyes. Tattered and tired and ruthless and goal-driven. Obi-Wan knows because he sees the same thing in the mirror every day.

It’s an Anakin that had lost his Obi-Wan.

And here, they meet.

#obikin #star wars #Obikin prompt #writing ideas #world between worlds #fanfiction #fan fic writing #blurb

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hanasnx · 13 days

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d...arth vad...er

"SO I SHARPEN MY TEETH 'CAUSE I LOVE THE WAY IT FEELS" — darth vader.

“You’re no easier than common game.” DARTH VADER spits in a condescending yet amused tone, talking down to your ability to give yourself to him so readily. Weakly, you pout, unable to protest him as he raises his hips into your willing hole. “Meek like a rabbit, too.”

You gain resolve, your fist hardening to curtly wack his taut arm. Apparently, you're beneath the use of words as your body ripples from his actions, bouncing as he helps you along. A deep chuckle rumbles throughout his chest, vibrating you in turn from your close proximity. He sits in his throne, while you straddle his lap, chests brushing one another.

"Tongue-tied?" he taunts, and you whine through your nose. "Confronted... with your own actions and you..." A breath is a shade louder than usual being pulled in through his respirator, your tissue contracting around what's left of his battered cock enough to cause him distracting stimulation. His helmet tilts back, and you try to go faster, fighting his metal fingers digging into the flesh of your waist. "...you retreat within yourself. It's entertaining."

"I'm glad you're having fun." you respond with exasperated attitude, and he manually slows your roll down with that aching grip he has on you. "Vee! Are you going to let me cum or not?"

"Patience. I like to watch."

#[🃏]#ch: vader #indy: drabbles #darth vader prompt #darth vader drabble #darth vader smut #darth vader x reader #darth vader x fem reader #darth vader x you #darth vader x y/n #darth vader imagine #darth vader fic #darth vader fanfic #darth vader fanfiction #vader smut #vader x reader #star wars x reader #star wars smut #reader insert

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thedynamicworm · 5 months

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I see all your “anakin was found by the sith as an infant” AUs and raise you:

Everything’s the same in Star Wars except the roles for the main cast in TPM are reversed (ie. Qui gon and obi wan are sith, while darth maul is a Jedi, though the Jedi order is still the same) but the events still play out largely the same (maul kills qui gon, obi wan takes anakin on as his apprentice, with palpatine keeping a close eye on his training, though the rule of two would be pretty much ignored by palpatine here, and padme is still saved, this time by maul). Basically the entire disaster lineage are sith in this, barring yoga and ahsoka. I want ahsoka to still be a Jedi in this, so maybe she’s mauls apprentice here.

I can see Obi wan still becoming a general, maybe he is masquerading as a regular military general, so he still gets to interact with the clones. When obi wan is sent to infiltrate the army, palps ends up taking anakin as his full apprentice. Also, I want ahsoka to be the one to

This can either make the prequels more tragic or less tragic, depending on how it plays out. The cast could have something like an almost redemption arc, only to have it ripped away at the last moment, falling back into darkness.

Or, by the end of the clone wars, with Padmes pregnancy and ahsoka convincing him, anakin turns back to the light, killing Palpatine. By this point, Obi wan would have already been secretly turned by either Cody or maul (yes I am a multishipper), so he’s also becoming a Jedi with anakin.

Yeah, I don’t really know where I’m going with this, so anyone feel free to add on :)

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kybercrystals94 · 8 months

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I Miss You

By KyberCrystals94

Read on Ao3 here!

Whumptober 2023|Day 5|Alternative Prompt: Playing Cards

Bad Things Happen Bingo|Prompt: Crying Themselves to Sleep

Rating: G

Words: 785

Summary: Echo discovers a message from a brother.

“Those look so old!” Wrecker declares, leaning on the upper bunk to scrutinize the playing cards Echo is sorting through.

Echo smiles. “That’s because they are old. I pilfered them off a graduated trooper when I was a cadet.”

“You stole them?” Wrecker sounds as impressed as he is surprised. “I thought you never broke a rule in your life.”

“With the right motivation, I’ve been persuaded to bend a few.” Echo chuckles. “Technically, they were contraband for the guy I stole them from. So, really, I was doing him a favor.”

Wrecker grins. “That’s neat you still have them even after they thought you were blown up.”

Echo’s smile falls slightly as he continues to set the cards out, dividing them into suits. “Yeah, when they thought I died, they went to my old batch mate, Fives. After Fives, they went to Rex, and then Rex gave them back to me when I-"

"Came back to life?” Wrecker offers.

“Sure,” Echo says. “When that happened.”

“I don’t think you could even shuffle them if you tried.” Wrecker laughs.

“They’ve definitely seen better days.”

The cards are dogeared, and every one of them has been folded into quarters because of the time Cutup tried to cheat at Sabaac. He folded a few of them so he could identify them in someone’s hand. When the other Dominos found out, they had painstakingly copied the folds on every single card so they all matched. Echo had been so angry at his squad mate, but he desperately wishes he could take back the harsh words that came out of his mouth. After all, they were just cards. A toy. Nowhere near as important as the individuals that played with them.

Echo finds the card he is looking for, the one that had made this deck obsolete. He had accidentally dropped the card in his cup of caf, discoloring it. Fives had suggested they stain all the cards in caf to match; however, Echo decided to retire the deck and get a new one. The old deck was tucked away in his storage bin in the barracks on Kamino, carrying too many memories in its deteriorated fibers to throw away.

Echo holds up the stained card for Wrecker's inspection. “I dropped it in my caf. It’s the reason we didn’t play with this deck anymore,” he explains.

“What does it say?” Wrecker asks.

“What does what say?”

Wrecker points to the back of the card. “On the back. There’s writing.”

Echo flips the card around, squinting to make out the ink of a pen on the intricately designed backing.

I miss you.

Echo feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs.

Fives wrote those words. There is no doubt in Echo’s mind. Not before the Citadel mission. After. After Echo died. After Fives went back to Kamino. Echo can see him. Sitting in their barracks, sorting through Echo’s meager collection of personal effects. He’s searching for a playing card stained in caf. He writes the three words, handwriting ragged by a trembling hand. A note for the brother he lost. That he'd never get back. I miss you.

“Echo!”

Echo blinks and finds that Wrecker has half climbed into the bunk with him, a hand on each of his shoulders. “You with me, buddy?” Wrecker asks.

“Yeah,” Echo croaks. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Wrecker’s good eye searches Echo’s face, trying to understand. “You scared me there for a second. You sorta zoned out, and then your breathing got weird.”

“Sorry,” Echo says again. Emotions bubble up, threaten to burst out of him, card still gripped in his flesh hand. Dark, inky, familiar script carving into his mind. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

“Did I do something?” Wrecker asks, climbing down from his precarious perch.

Echo shakes his head and tries to reassure the man with a thin smile. “No, you didn’t do anything. It’s just…” Echo holds up the card. “The writing. It’s a note from my batch mate, Fives.”

He leaves it at that, and Wrecker doesn’t ask for more. Instead, he offers Echo a kind smile. “I'm gonna go start my watch but let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Wreck, I will,” Echo says, and he means it.

Wrecker leaves the bunk room, and Echo gathers up the cards, tucking them in their tin. He keeps the caf stained card out. He lies down, back to the room, facing the wall, and holds the note in front of him. The last words his oldest brother ever gave him blurs in his watery vision.

“I miss you too,” Echo whispers, and silently cries until sleep claims him.

END

Read the prequel, You Promised, here!

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givemequeen · 7 months

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thats all that matters: anakin x reader

request:hi. could you please do a anakin x reader fic where ani comes back from a long mission and they have a little fluffy reunion and they missed each other a lot a/n: ive been waiting for this one! turn it up! (ps. this is acc an extract from a fic ive been working on. hopefully i can turn it into a long fic. lmk if you guys would wanna see that) word count: 437 (rly short)

“Ani?” you called out to the darkness, your voice low and unsure. You were stood under a fluorescent Felucian fern; its large size provided you some cover from any wandering Jedi. Not that you needed it; hardly anyone visited the Temple’s gardens on the top floor, and ever since the start of the Clone Wars, fewer and fewer Jedi came to visit the mystical gardens.

“Yeah, its me.” you could tell he was smiling even before he stepped around a cluster of mushrooms you were pretty sure originate from Endor, you could hear his smile in his voice.

As soon as you saw him, you broke into a run and leaped into his open arms, almost toppling him over. In that moment, you completely forgot you were in the Jedi temple, it was just you and him. No sneaking around, no secrecy, just your love for each other.

He pressed his face against your shoulder and tightly hugged you, his arms wrapped around your torso. His familiar scent enveloped you like a warm hug as you nestled your face in the crook of his neck.

"I missed you so much, Ani," you said, pulling away slightly to get a good look at his face. He kept his arms around you, pressing your bodies together, and his face broke into a warm smile, the type of smile that could light up an entire room and was extremely contagious.

“I missed you more, my love.” he leaned in to kiss you; he tasted nice.

“You had been gone for so long.” you pouted. “And we couldn’t even talk!”

Anakin’s latest mission had been hard on you both. He had been sent to Kessel on a no-comms mission to gather intel on some Separatist plot. But that didn’t matter anymore, all that mattered was now. His arms around you, his lips against yours. You didn’t know how you were going to say goodbye to him again.

“I’m sorry.” he always apologised, even though it wasn’t his fault. “You know how things are…” he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and smiled down at you. “But let's forget about that, okay?”

You nodded and, standing on your tip-toes, gave him a quick kiss. You could feel that gorgeous smile of his against your own as you kissed.

Anakin pulled you tight against him once more, desperate to feel you close to him. You could feel the way his heart rapidly beat against your chest. His warmth was nearly overwhelming, but not quite.

"We're here now, together." he kissed the top of your head. "And thats all that matters."

#anakin #anakin x reader #anakin fluff #anakin x reader fluff #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x jedi!reader #anakin x jedi!reader #star wars fluff #star wars fic #star wars x reader #anakin being cute #i love anakin so much #anakin request #anakin prompt #i love anakin skywalker #skydady

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magnusbae · 27 days

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Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

+++

Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

▾▾▾

"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him.

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—” His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his—

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…”

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along.

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so…

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have.

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was?

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan.

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man.

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain.

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over.

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist.

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember.

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess.

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze.

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected.

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised.

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like.

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former.

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again.

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down.

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time.

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried.

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor.

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond. He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly.

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years.

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-”

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips…

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should….

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness.

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet…

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and…

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night….

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows.

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan.

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him.

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good….

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving.

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too.

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

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whiskygoldwings · 3 days

Note

So, for the kisses, if you're willing to bring Obi-Wan into the kiss-a-thon, Obi-Wan/Fox with 40. Otherwise, Fox/Cody with 35. 💚

As your fics are the reason I will merrily go down with the Good Ship Obi/Fox, I will absolutely do my best to write them for you!

40 - An impulsive kiss

----

Cody's General is stunning, and for the first time in his (admittedly fairly short) life, Fox finds himself struggling for words.

He'd been reluctant to agree to attend Cody's house-warming party when he'd learned there'd be nat-borns there as well as clones, but Cody had turned that "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed" frown on him and Fox had sighed. Cody, knowing full well what that sigh meant, had smirked and simply told him to bring the other Corrie Commanders.

They were all still adjusting, after the War, but Cody had thrown himself into civilian life with all his usual determination and unrelenting perfection. The Republic had offered civilian housing to members of the GAR, and Cody had been one of the first to sign up (Fox, notably, still hadn't almost a year later and when the first apartments were finally ready. Thorn's glare gets deeper every time they discuss it). Apparently, General Kenobi had been delighted to help Cody in getting settled in and had talked about the nat-born tradition of a house-warming party with fondness.

And Cody, unwilling to get anything less than a perfect grade, had leapt upon the idea and arranged it with military precision.

Fox turning up 30 minutes late had been met with a raised eyebrow and rolled eyes, but Cody had let him in still.

Fox had been slightly hoping he wouldn't.

So now he was here, wearing his dress uniform trousers and a shirt in Corrie red. He'd intended to just wear his full dress uniform, but someone (of course it's Thorn, but Fox knows he'll never be able to prove it) had snuck into his clothes locker and removed all the tops, replacing them with this one. He'd almost closed the locker and gone to his office to complete datawork topless instead of succumb to their mischief, but Cody's disappointment was a fierce, ruthless thing.

So Fox had put on the shirt.

He would never admit that he kind of liked the way it contrasted with the grey at his temples. Thorn was far too smug as it was.

He might have to rethink that though, he thinks hazily, as the copper-haired Generals eyes slip to the small glimpse of chest-hair at the open collar.

Those blue eyes fly back up to his, and a faint flush warms the skin of the man's cheeks as he realises Fox caught him. He doesn't hide from the moment though, simply smiling with pink lips and tilting his head slightly, letting those coppery strands fall over his face as his eyes crinkle and gleam at Fox...

And maybe Fox hasn't had enough caf today, or maybe Thorn laced the red shirt with something.

Maybe he just really wants to be able to touch someone that beautiful and feel them touch him back.

But suddenly he's leaning forward, and pressing his lips to the surprised "Oh!" of General Kenobi's mouth in a kiss so impulsive, Fox isn't really sure he had any choice in his body's movement.

He jerks back with wide-eyes, meeting the General's own, and stammers out some kind of mangled apology before turning to run -

Only for a firm hand to catch his wrist.

Fox awkwardly turns back, trying to wrangle the nausea in his throat back under control, desperately not looking at the beautiful man in front of him and asks, in as formal a tone as he can manage, "General?"

The man himself laughs, rich and full and Fox can't help but look at him. His cheeks are round and dimpled with how wide his smile is, and there's something delighted in his eyes.

"I rather think you should call me Obi-Wan."

----

I hope this is okay!

You can find the kiss prompts here if you'd like to request a ship and a kiss!

#commander fox #marshal commander fox #obi wan kenobi #fox/Obi #Obi/Fox #Obi-wan/Fox #star wars the clone wars #fanfic #my fic #kiss prompts

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roughdaysandart · 13 days

Text

ABUELA DJARIN???

I'm sorry, WHERE is the fic of Din Djarin hiring a granny (60+) as a babysitter and her becoming like an abuela to him? WHERE? THERES GOTTA BE ONE OR THERE SHOULD BE.

Making kick-ass food, teaching songs and life lessons, making knitted things for grogu and Din (a knitted headscarf for under the helmet, knitted gun holsters and sitchings in the ripped cape, embroidered flowers?!)

And, oh yeah, maybe being a sharpshooter or some secret badass shit like that but using her granny appearance to her advantage? What if she's secretly a really old widowed mandalorian?! Maybe she's an apostate so she shows her face, maybe she did it for something important?!

"You think he's scary, you should see the woman."

"What, his wife?"

"No...his ma"

Forget SMUT, WHERE IS ABUELA DJARIN?!

HOLT SHIT SOMEBODY WRITE THIS I BEG OF YOU.

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wanderinginksplot · 8 months

Text

Commander Fox + Mercenary!Reader

As a mercenary, you travel in and out of Coruscant a lot. You find it more than a little strange that Commander Fox himself always seems to be on the Coruscant Guard team investigating your transport when you come back planetside...

Commander Fox x gn!reader (platonic-ish, with a hint toward future feelings)

Thanks to @nowait-whathappened for the prompt!

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: mentions of weapons, mentions of bodily injuries, implied lack of trust

Masterlist

---

“Transport 47816, prepare for boarding.”

The groans that echoed through the transport ship were instant and harsh. None of the familiar faces around you held an expression more pleasant than ‘irritation’, but you were well used to this by now.

“Why?” Kann bit out harshly. You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was a close thing. As the Lament’s near-constant pilot, Kann knew exactly why you were being boarded just outside of Coruscant’s airspace, but that didn’t mean he was going to make things easy.

“Transport 47816, you’re returning from a neutral star system. It’s protocol.”

Kann snarled. “Shove the protocol up your-”

“Shut up and let the troopers on the ship,” Skoh ordered. “I don’t have time for you to argue with the whole damn Guard.”

Despite his previous eagerness for a fight, Kann clenched his jaw and nodded. “Dropping shields now.”

Kann was one of the more reckless members of the Lament, but Nakte Skoh was a force to be reckoned with. When the tall Togruta spoke, every one of the mercenaries on the team listened. Disobeying him was a good way to get killed - sometimes by the enemy and sometimes by Skoh himself.

The troopers who boarded the transport were wearing the familiar Coruscant Guard colors. You even recognized a few of the patterns and greeted them with a slight nod. You wouldn’t have minded being a little more exuberant, but not among your coworkers. It would be unwise to show too much emotion surrounded by mercenaries.

“Everyone stand.” Grumbling. “Leave all weapons here. We will be interviewing each of you separately.” More grumbling, even as everyone started to reluctantly comply.

The trooper issuing instructions was none other than the commander of the Coruscant Guard, Commander Fox. You could recognize him by his visored helmet easily enough, but there was something in his voice. What exactly made his tone was hard to pinpoint, but if pressed, you thought you could pick it out of a crowd. Even if that crowd were made up of other clone troopers.

So you stood with the others, smoothly pulling your blasters and blades out from their usual places. The pile they made on your empty seat was respectable, the wear on the weapons a mark of your ability to use every one. With a last quick count to make sure none of the other mercenaries decided to take something that wasn’t theirs, you followed everyone to the link between your ship and the Guard’s.

“Hope they’ll be less stupid about their weapons checks this time,” Yarrex muttered to you. The Kiffar was impatient at the best of times, but she knew her stuff better than most. “Last time, they misaligned the power pack on my rifle. If I hadn’t checked, it would have taken all of us out.”

You nodded fervently, remember how close a call that had been. Yarrex’s rifle had been actively overheating by the time she returned to the transport ship and she had hissed loud curses the whole time she fixed it. You couldn’t blame her - the smell from the flesh of her fingertips burning had lingered in the ship for days.

There was a Coruscant Guard trooper just inside the larger ship, ushering you to your ultimate destination. “This way, down the hall-”

“-And to the right,” you finished. “I know, I know.”

“Been here a few times?” Yarrax asked over her shoulder.

You shrugged, glad there was no one else behind you. What you were about to say could easily turn into tales of bad luck, and eventually spiral into you not being hired onto as many jobs. “Every single time I come back to Coruscant.”

“That’s not fair,” one of the trooper protested.

You aimed a dry look in his direction. “We both know it is, Chase.”

“I didn’t know they had names,” Kann remarked as he was led to one of the interrogation rooms.

Yarrax hissed disapprovingly at his back. The trooper stammered, “I- I’m not Chase.”

“Save it,” Skoh advised with a nod in your direction. “That one can smell lies.”

Chase glanced at you, clearly nervous even through the protective cover of his helmet. You gave him a broad smile and went to sit down.

Chase and the trooper who had directed you to the interrogation area were watching the room. The unfamiliar one had a medic’s cross on one shoulder and you wondered idly whether the Guard was expecting trouble.

They shouldn’t, honestly. The standard Coruscant Guard procedure was to pull everyone into individual rooms to ask questions about the most recent mission. The Lament had some latitude in the way they conducted business, but everyone made a point of being as vague as possible in their answers. It was an entertaining game you all played when you came back to Coruscant.

Though, apparently, no one played it as often as you.

There were two interrogation rooms being used at the moment. The ship had at least a few more, but Lament missions were made up of ten mercenaries by rule - no more, no less. With Kann and another mercenary in the interrogation rooms, there apparently weren’t enough of you to warrant using more rooms.

Mercenaries weren’t the most lively and talkative bunch, especially not after a long mission. A few of them shut their eyes to catch a few moments of sleep. The lone Nautolan in the Lament, a female named Veng, worked on repairing a tear she had gotten in the shoulder of her shirt. The needle flashing in and out of the ripped halves was mesmerizing, but your attention was caught by Skoh.

Your leader was watching the room, gaze intent as he studied the mercenaries and the troopers watching you. There was no real tension in him, not even the kind disguised by the specific relaxation he took on when a negotiation was leading toward violence. But he was awake and alert, so you decided that you should be, too.

Not that there was any reason to, of course. Skoh and Yarrix were the next to disappear into interview rooms as the first two went back to the transport ship. You weren’t among the next two to be called, or the ones after that. When it was only you and Veng left on the Guard ship, the door opened for Khyr to step out. Commander Fox stood in the doorway, sternly announcing that you were next.

Veng didn’t glance up to see the amused look you gave her, but that was fine. It hadn’t really been for her, anyway. The commander stepped aside for you to enter the interrogation room, then closed the door before following you to the table.

“Commander Fox,” you greeted with a nod. “How are you? How’s the wife?”

The commander removed his helmet, all the better for you to see the confusion and exasperation mingling on his handsome face. “The wife.”

“Or husband,” you amended. “Or partner. Non-specific.”

“I don’t have any of those,” he told you. “Did you get hit on the head during this massacre?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the way you always did when he disparaged your line of work. “Not a massacre. Not this time, at least. We do things other than kill people, you know.”

“Yeah? What was the objective on this mission?”

It just so happened that the mission you were returning from had been far more violent than expected, so you stepped neatly around the question. “Anyway, the point is that I see you so often, I feel like I should get to know something about your life. With anyone else, I would know about their partner or children or pets or hobbies. I see you more often than my parents.”

“That so?” Fox asked, tilting his head to deliver his skeptical expression to best effect.

“Not in the slightest,” you admitted easily. “But it has come to my attention that not every Lament mission gets investigated by the Guard when they return to Coruscant.”

Fox stiffened slightly. “We do our best to stop every transport, but our team is spread thin…”

“I’m not doubting your work, Commander,” you assured, “just your selection methods. Why is it that my team is always the one to be stopped?”

“Coincidence.”

Now, it was your turn to be skeptical. “You’ll have to do better than that, Fox.”

His eyes widened briefly and you wondered if you had offended him by dropping his title, but he recovered in the next instant. “Are you suggesting that we should be suspicious of you?”

“No, but you are,” you countered. “Otherwise, why would you always be focused on my missions?”

“I told you: we aren’t.”

Despite the way Fox’s teeth were gritted, you pushed on. You had a trump card, and you intended to play it: “Then why are you here? You, specifically? The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, investigating a transport full of mercenaries? You have better things to be doing than this. It’s suspicious.”

“I’ve told you, it’s a coincidence.” Fox sounded overly stubborn, even for him.

You lifted your hands innocently in front of yourself and leaned backward in your chair. “Fine, fine. Total coincidence. Your complete lack of supporting evidence or further arguments has convinced me. Proceed with your interrogation, Commander.”

He scowled intensely at you, but sat in the chair across from yours and started with the typical round of questions. Name, address, interplanetary work-travel permit number, employer, job title.

When you had answered them all successfully, Fox set his datapad down on the table between you. “Now, tell me about the mission you completed just prior to coming back to Coruscant.”

“We were on Raydonia,” you answered easily. “We were hired to protect a village.”

Fox gestured for you to continue when you stopped. “And what were you protecting them from?”

“They were hit by two unknowns a few weeks ago.” The explanation was a little shaky, but it was the only one you had been given. It was still more than you usually got for a job and you were fine with that, but Fox seemed determined to think you were untrustworthy. “They took some of the most powerful warriors in the village. The village elders were worried some of the surrounding people might take the chance to attack them. They were right.”

“Were there any casualties?” Fox asked, carefully not looking at you.

You smiled despite yourself. “No Republic citizens were harmed.”

It was a vague and a polite way of reminding him that he had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Republic-controlled planets. Technically speaking, Fox had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Coruscant, but you wouldn’t bet on that stopping him.

“And among your team?” he asked. “No injuries or deaths?”

“Nothing major,” you told him with a shrug. “You can count. I’m sure you noticed all ten of us are here and accounted for.”

“What about minor injuries?” he pressed.

You knew better than to shift in your chair, or look away from the easy eye contact you had maintained up to that point. Fox was an expert, and a sharp one at that. The smallest possible tell and he would know everything there was to know. That was what made him dangerous.

“None to speak of.”

Even your flawless delivery left him looking distinctly skeptical. “Then why are you limping?”

Despite the surge of frustrated exasperation that rose in you, your lips curved into a smile. “You’re too observant for your own good, Commander.”

“Which isn’t an answer.”

That made you chuckle aloud. “No, it wasn’t. But since you’re so insistent on an explanation, I sustained a minor injury on the mission. I treated it promptly and it is well on its way to healing.”

“How were you injured?”

Dimly, you wondered if Fox realized that he had leaned forward slightly under the weight of his own intensity. But only dimly, because most of your attention was drawn to the way he was even more handsome from a shorter distance away.

“Why?”

Fox blinked, and it seemed to break the spell he had put himself under. An instant later, he was scowling again - a fairly regular expression for him during these stops. “Because I’m the Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard and I asked you a direct question.”

“I don’t answer to you,” you reminded him, privately savoring the look of profound irritation blossoming on his face. “Not about missions that take place in independent systems. Even if they result in injuries.”

“Maybe I have cause to believe that you sustained that injury in Republic territory,” Fox proposed. “Maybe I need proof you aren’t lying to me.”

For a mercenary, you were even-tempered. Remarkably so, in fact. It helped you get along with your more volatile coworkers. But you did have a temper, and when it sparked, you were far from subtle.

The slam of the chair’s front legs reconnecting with the floor was loud. Fox didn’t jump - he had too much control over himself for that - but his eyes darted to yours in a way that made his surprise evident. Your hands connecting with the top of the table between you was loud, too, the sound specifically and purposefully sharp.

You leaned in toward Fox and the expression on your face was unpleasant enough that he looked concerned. “I like you, Fox. I think you’re a good man doing your best in the galaxy’s worst job. That’s why I’m gonna give you this one warning: I do not appreciate being called a liar.”

“I didn’t-”

Your gaze was hard as you stared him in the eyes. Fox looked startled as well as concerned by that point. He had never seen you truly pissed before.

“Yes, you did,” you said firmly. “I will be the first to admit that I exaggerate. I dramatize. I embellish for comedic effect. But I do not lie. I have never lied to you or any of your men, despite what is verging on harassment. I do not intend to lie in the future, and I don’t want to file a harassment charge, but all of that depends on you.”

It was honestly a shock when Fox didn’t take advantage of your pause to speak. It told you that he understood how deadly serious you were. With his attention sharp on you, you told him, “I’m a reasonable person. I am willing to overlook this misstep… once. And that offer is entirely dependent on what you say next.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox said, honesty ringing in the simple words. You waited for more and he obliged: “You’re right, you have never lied to me - to any of us. Not about anything big. It was unfair of me to accuse you of it.”

“And why did you?” you asked.

The question felt a little like twisting a blade in an injury, but you needed to know. You needed to know that it wasn’t going to happen again, and if it did, you needed to know enough to anticipate it. Because you had grown to respect Commander Fox, damn it, and it had hit surprisingly hard to have him misjudge your morals so dramatically.

“I… don’t like the idea of you being injured,” Fox admitted, sounding mystified. You understood, since that explanation left you feeling a little mystified yourself. “I would like to know about your injury if you’ll agree to tell me.”

You watched the commander for another long moment, doing your best to gauge his sincerity. It wasn’t easy - especially since it required you to look past those lovely eyes and flawless bone structure - but you managed. It was one of your most reliable skills, after all. Fox seemed to be telling you the truth.

When you leaned your chair backward again, the tension in the room shattered. You sent him a cryptic half-smile. “You know us mercenaries,” you drawled. “We don’t give away anything for free. You ask your question and I’ll ask mine. A truthful answer for a truthful answer.”

Fox considered it for only a moment before he nodded. “How did you get injured?”

“One of the attacking villagers had better aim than I expected,” you said, smiling wryly. “After I pulled his vibroblade from my calf, I changed my previous opinion.”

“Do you have a bacta patch on it?” Fox asked. “If not, I can get you a fresh one before you go back to your transport.”

“I already have one, thanks,” you assured him. “And I’m feeling generous, so I’m going to point out the fact that I let you ask two questions. Now it’s my turn.”

Luckily for Fox, you really were in a good mood again. You only let him dangle in his discomfort for a few moments before you asked your question. “Do you always stop my transport on purpose?”

“Yes.”

For all that you had suspected that answer, hearing it directly was shocking.

Instead of responding immediately, you paused for a moment to take a breath. If Fox was targeting you specifically, you had to believe there was a reason. And since you had already come this far, you may as well find out what that reason was. “Why?”

Fox looked reluctant and faintly uncomfortable. It was the look you imagined most of the troopers got when they were asked to do an unpleasant chore. But, to Fox’s credit, he gave the answer he had promised.

“You’re not the typical mercenary.” You frowned, already opening your mouth, but he quickly went on. “Not that you don’t have your skills, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on the missions you’re a part of. That is, the Coruscant Guard has. There is a concern among the men that the Lament would leave you behind on a mission or allow an injury to go untreated.”

Well, it was an explanation, but you felt like it left you with more questions than answers. “Nice to know you guys worry about me, but I still don’t understand why you care.”

Fox shrugged, but the casual gesture was belied by the way his eyes were locked with yours. “You look at us like we’re human.”

You frowned again.

“And I… admire you,” Fox added quietly. “You have a code and you follow it. Unusual, especially for a mercenary.”

“Again with the insults about my work.” Despite your heavy sigh, your tone was playful, and you knew he would take it as the tease that it was. “I look forward to seeing you too, Fox. That’s why I haven’t complained about being stopped every time we come back to Coruscant.”

He gave you a disbelieving look and you laughed. “Okay, fine. That’s why I don’t complain too much.”

Fox didn’t immediately reply. Normally, the two of you traded barbs and witty remarks back and forth so quickly that it would make an onlooker’s head spin. But you didn’t feel the need to say anything further and, apparently, neither did he. The room filled with a surprisingly comfortable silence, warm and cozy in a way that durasteel interrogation rooms rarely managed.

“So you’ve decided against filing harassment charges?” Fox asked at length.

“I have no intention of it,” you told him. “We made a deal. Guess that’s more evidence of my rare and admirable moral code…”

Fox rolled his eyes and you laughed. Before he could say something sarcastic, you added, “Besides, I think I would miss seeing you guys if you stopped checking up when I return from missions.”

“You would miss us?” You would have accused Fox of fishing for a compliment if he hadn’t sounded so charmingly stunned.

“Of course,” you told him, narrowly stopping yourself from winking at him. He really was a very attractive man. “But I need to get back to the transport now. They wouldn’t leave without me, but one of the others might get a little grabby with the weapons I left behind. Especially since I have a sharp new vibroblade.”

Fox stood when you did, leading the way to the door with a suspicious look on his face. “This isn’t the vibroblade that…” He finished the question only with a vague gesture toward your injured leg.

“If someone stabs me with a knife, I get to keep it,” you told him seriously. “I believe that is common courtesy.”

“No new weapons on this next mission, then,” Fox said as he stood aside to let you pass. “No risks, no injuries, no killing.”

You shook your head in exasperation, already starting down the hall back to the Lament’s transport. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what being a mercenary is, Commander.”

---

Author's Note - Happy Fox day! I knew I wanted to write something for 10/10, and big thanks to @nowait-whathappened for giving me this prompt! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!

You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here. As always, I'm happy to remove you from the taglist if it's no longer in your interests.

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#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #commander fox #coruscant guard #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #fox x reader #fox x you #gn!reader #no use of y/n #fox day #cc 1010 #fic prompt #ink's fics

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 2 months

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Mimi ❤️!! Congratulations on hitting 450 followers 🥳!!

If you'd like, could I suggest Commander Wolffe and the prompts: 18 and/or 35?

😘

Awww @ulchabhangorm thank you, love!

I realized on my previous post, I didn't put a warning. Oops. Anyway, I'll include a warning this time.

Enjoy.

Just Breathe

Warnings: anxiety, slight panic attack, mentions of death, broken finger, surgeries, medical procedure, kissing.

Main Master List | Star Wars Fic Roulette

You took a deep breath, needing to calm down your mind. There’d been just too many injuries, too many bloody soldiers, too many you couldn’t save. It was just all too much. You just needed peace and quiet. Needed to remember you were more than just someone who stood by and watched soldiers die.

Wolffe was looking for you, he knew in battles like this, you always suffered the most. You always made sure everyone else took the time to recoup, while you ploughed through the difficult carnage. He smiled when he saw you standing outside of the camp looking up to the stars, he loved the way the moonlight illuminated your face, your bright eyes that were full of sadness pulled on his heart strings.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

It was the only reprimand he would give you on a day like this, he walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in close to his chest.

“I know. I just … I just needed to breathe.”

He rested his lips on the side of your head, pressing a gentle kiss, “Hmmm, and did you?”

You swallowed the anxiety, fighting back the tears, “I think so…”

“Doesn’t sound like it”

A shuddering breath escaped your lips; you hated how much Wolffe really knew you, how much you tried to be strong. You turned in his arms and held him close, burying your face in the crook of his arm and shoulder, wanting to escape from the reality that was this world.

“It’s okay, cyar’ika. I got you.”

You simply nodded, letting your tears escape, and finally finding the comfort you had been so longing for, as you felt Wolffe bury his face in your hair, his breath on your neck, and his hand rubbing your back up and down.

You shifted when you realized he kept his left hand elevated and away from you. You wiped your tears as you looked into his warm eyes that would always be your home.

“Wolffe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, ignoring the pain in his hand. He looked at his cyar’ika’s face which told him you didn’t believe him. He let out a sigh, he didn’t want you to be worried about him, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, cyar’ika.”

“Now, I know there’s something wrong,” you pulled back and looked at him, holding out your hand for him, “Show me.”

“Cyar’ika, let’s worry about you. I can wait.”

“I’ll keep standing here, and not saying anything until you show me your hand.”

“Well, I can play that game too, cyar’ika.”

You nodded, and stood in front of him, hand raised, keeping your eyes locked on his, with an unimpressed face. You stood there staring at each other for a good ten minutes before finally he caved, “Alright, alright. Here.” He placed his left hand in yours, his glove was off, his middle finger bent at an odd angle.

“Wolffe, your finger is broken!”

“Like I said, not a big deal.”

“I swear…” you started mumbling under your breath as you looked at his finger, “you need to thank the force, you didn’t have a pinched nerve or something. Otherwise, we would’ve had to amputate this, you do realize that!”

“As I previously stated, not a big deal” he smirked as he looked at you. He knew how much it drove you crazy, when he downgraded an injury, simply because he wanted to see how angry you got. Plus, it had the added benefit of making you stop thinking about your anxiety.

“Come with me,” you took his other hand in yours, interweaving your fingers. Shaking your head as you walked back to the med tent. Forcing him to sit down, as you tried so hard not to laugh at his best, ‘What did I do?’ face. You grabbed your supplies, pulling over a cargo crate so you could sit on it.

“Just so you know, this is going to hurt, okay?"

“You always say that, but how can it hurt when I’m looking at the most beautiful face in the galaxy.”

You smirked as he tried to distract you, “Keep it up.” You challenged him, as you looked in his eyes and held on to his finger.

“What, you think, you can make me cry?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Not possible, my most beautiful cyar’ika. Your eyes are … AHHH! Son of a nerf herder!”

You laughed as you straightened out his finger and braced it, wrapping the splint around his finger. “You’ll have to keep this on for three to four weeks, and no strenuous activity for two weeks after.”

“Doesn’t really work on a battlefield, cyar’ika.”

“Hence the splint.” You smiled as you leaned forward pressing a kiss to his lips, “Better?”

“Mmm, I think I need a little more” he threaded his good fingers through your hair and pressed your lips to his again.

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