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corvidscreams · 3 months

Text

Days 8+9: Suffer + Torment

A lil treat for @dragormir of Wolffe finding out just what it means to be a clone working directly for a sith lord.

(Prev/Next)

#commander wolffe #star wars wolffe #commander fox #star wars fox #my art #star wars #star wars fan art #whumpuary 24 #bit late on these next few cause eh life happens

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coffeeandbatboys · 2 months

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Battle Scars (Wolffe x Reader)

Summary: Wolffe comes home to you, but when you learn about his injury, he’s afraid you’ll leave.

Warnings: mention of Ventress and the injury, angst angst angst. Hurt/comfort. Also Plo Koon calls reader little one, but in a father in law kind of way.

A/N these keep getting shorter and shorter.

You waited off to the side of the hangar, making your presence known but not too obvious. Master Plo Koon crossed it and stood before you. One of the few Jedi who cared about the Clone’s personal lives, he allowed the relationship between you and Wolffe to thrive in the shadows.

“He had an…incident. Physically, he will be alright. But he is emotionally unwell.”

Your breath hitched as you saw Wolffe coming out of the ship. Half of his face was bandaged, while the other was twisted in pain.

“Thank you, General, for taking care of him.”

“He is a good man, little one. He deserves it.”

As the general walked away, you noticed that Wolffe had not come any closer, staying on the other side of the hangar. So you made a move, crossing towards him.

“Hello, Cyare.” He sighed, turning the bandaged side of his face away from you.

You reached up to caress his jaw “Oh, Wolffe. What happened?”

A slight shake of his head told you something serious had happened. So you lead him away to the barracks, hoping that maybe he’d be more comfortable speaking in private.

“Wolffe you need to talk to me. I’ve been waiting all this time to see you.”

He mumbled something incoherent. You hummed in question.

“I’m surprised you even want to see me.”

Your heart sank. Did he think you wouldn’t want him because he was injured? You carefully placed your hand on the bandages.

“Is this what this is all about?”

He nodded. You leaned forward and placed a feather light kiss to the medical cloth. You were ready to pull back when his arms locked around your waist and he held you like he’d never see you again.

“I love you Cyar’ika. I can’t…I can’t loose you.”

You chuckled a little bit. “I signed up for your bullshit, Wolffe. You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?” He mumbled into your shoulder.

“I promise, love. Now want to tell me what happened?”

“Ventress. She…cut through my helmet.”

You thought for a moment.

“That’s something to be proud of. Not being killed by a Sith.”

He laughed dryly, holding you a little tighter.

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

#Star Wars #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #wolffe x you #clone trooper wolffe #star wars wolffe #clone wars wolffe #clones x reader

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 1 month

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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.

Main Master List | Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@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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sinfulsalutations · 9 months

Note

Congrats on 500 followers! Can I see Wolffe with a female reader for Prompt 2 (“I can’t believe you’re mine.”)? Maybe something soft and domestic?

➼ ɴᴏᴜʀ'ꜱ 500 ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏɴɴɪᴇ! ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ꜱᴏꜰᴛʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇꜱ ɪᴛ 🥰

➼ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ☆ "ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ"

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 531

The morning air boils deep in your stomach when you awake, the sound of early rising birds chirping outside your window. You stir slowly, a deep groan leaving your lips as your senses come back to you gradually; first, your sight, as you allow your eyelids to peel back and gaze toward the sun peaking through sheer blinds, searing them half shut again when the light finally begins to burn your sight render less once again. Then, you become aware of the looming presence of a strong, muscular arm laid over your waist, hand pressing to your stomach to keep you pressed against his hard, sturdy chest.

You hum again when you feel his lashes brush against you and his lips purse, placing a lazy kiss onto your shoulders where he’d rested his head.

“Morning, baby,” He rasps in your ear, voice so honeyed and alligatored with misuse, and you smile softly to yourself.

“Morning,” you mutter back, turning over. Instinctively, your hands rise up to rest on his shoulders, and you bite your lip to contain your smile. He looks so good like this, bathed in morning light and still trying to get his bearings back. You don’t seem to be doing a very good job.

Wolffe leans in, and you purse your lips, expecting him to give you a sweet, afterglow-covered kiss, but instead, he slowly creeps up over you, pinning his knees over your thighs and his elbows by your head. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow, and he just leans in toward your temple, leaving a kiss there instead. He then asks in a hushed whisper into your ear,

“What time is it?”

“Not sure,” You respond, hands returning to their rightful place in the crooks between his neck and shoulder. “0900, something like that.”

“Hmm,” Wolffe rumbles, pulling his face away from the side of your face and finally slotting your lips together. You keep wanting to break away, allow yourself to smile in the basking glow of his affection, but instead let him kiss you silly until he’s forced to pull away and catch his breath.

He repeats the action from before, lips pressing against your temple, then your cheek, then softly swiping down to your jaw, before coming back to your ear.

“You sleep well?” He asks. You sense the slight rustling of blankets around you and feel his hand trail over your skin, delicate and innocent, yet it lights your body aflame all the same as the sensual and intoxicating caresses he graces you with in times of heated passion. Perhaps you just can’t help yourself.

“I did,” You answer coolly, tilting your chin up as he slowly journeys down again. When his lips linger on certain spots and you feel that slight curl of a smirk against your skin, you know he’s admiring marks he’s left from the night before.

Suddenly, he pulls away, and you whine meekly, looking up with wide eyes.

“Something wrong?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Wolffe sighs, eyebrows creasing together. But he doesn’t seem annoyed.

“I just… I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You giggle softly, pulling him down and pressing your noses together.

“You better start, handsome.”

tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @star-burned @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @aconstructofamind

#nour writes stuff #nour’s 500 follower celebration #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #104th battalion #wolf pack #tcw wolffe #wolffe x reader #wolffe smut #star wars wolffe #wolffe x you #rebels wolffe #wolffe pack #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars #reader insert

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vytels · 6 months

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I had a dream last night that the Star Wars: The Clone Wars didn’t exist, like the show just never happened??

Instead a family of brothers and cousins that look alike decided to perform on America’s Got Talent and create a story for the clone army, like through a mixture of dance, visual effects, and story telling. And they just basically retold the Clone Wars series through it? With some changes— like Dogma still killed Krell, but he sticks around and is treated like a hero, and Tup doesn’t shoot a Jedi but instead gets mind controlled by Krell?? So they send him to Kamino to see if that caused damage to him and Fives goes with, thus discovering the chips?

And the Coruscant Guard are like “there is nothing wrong with the Coruscant Guard” whenever they’re around and like Fox goes off stage, with Palpatines voice over saying “CC-1010, execute order…” and then the next scene he kills Fives

Also like Cody and Rex met on Geonosis, Cody paints the Jaig Eyes on his helmet and then shows him his two new troopers, aka Echo and Fives- who immediately get to pranking and Rex ends up flying across a stage on a wire at some point, I don’t remember??? I think

But like again… this is told through DANCE! So when they’re running, they’re like doing twirls and leaps… when they’re dodging bullets, they do the splits, and like it’s so poetic??

Not to mention, Wolffe is the only one who takes off his helmet when they’re performing?? Purely to say, “Look at my badass scar, I’m in charge here, you fucks” and then is the one that leads them to the citadel…

Idk what I was on last night but I wanna go back to it because it was just a master piece to witness. What a great dream.

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miseries-mistress · 1 year

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Okay idk if you write for commander wolffe or ahsoka but if you do can you write something spicy for either of them. You choose who idc, I’m just so down for these two LMAO

Also ur writing is so amazing, like it’s indescribably good ♥︎♥︎

RIPPED AWAY (SEWN TOGETHER) | COMMANDER WOLFFE

Synopsis: You wanted to shout, scream into the night to release your pent-up frustration boiling inside of you. The battle to take a separatist base was fruitless, and with Anakin's instance that none of you retreat and keep pushing forward, despite your protests leads to Ahsoka's injury. In your haste to retrieve Ahsoka, you step away from the ranks to her body in the center of the clearing. Chaos ensues.

Warnings: female reader, wolffe being mean, like more than usual, but it's okay bc i love mean men, injury, canon typical violence, blood, gore, injury, all the good stuff. W/C: 3,880

star wars masterlist

The battle raged like a storm without end, with each wave of blaster fire raining down upon you with the strength only death alone could possess. It didn't matter how many droids your men shot down or how many shots you and Anakin deflected. It wasn't enough.

Clouds of smoke spiraled around you, obscuring the moon while your body ached for respite under cover of the ever-twinkling stars. Retreat was becoming more of a prospect by the second, yet another dark reality to face as another volley of bombs dropped in your vicinity, the ear-piercing screams quelled by the exchange of blaster fire.

Another bolt was deflected. Another droid is down. Another man down. The cycle was endless, and you've had enough.

"Anakin!" you screamed over the clanking droids. "We need to retreat!"

Anakin's head whipped around to face you, his eyes wide before his eyebrows knitted in frustration, his face twisting in defiance.

"We can take the base!" he shouts, and a man behind you thuds to the ground, his organs mixing with the sloppy sludge of oil, mud, and blood. "If we can break their defenses–"

"The men can't hold out that long, and neither can we! Regrouping is our only hope of surviving this! We are losing them by the minute!"

"We hold our position. That's final!"

You wanted to scream, tear the hair out of your head if that meant reasoning with him. If this was your mission, you would have pulled back ages ago, having realized staying here any longer would be fruitless. Their forces were simply too many, overwhelming quick thoughts of attack. You needed a strategy, and it would be impossible to form one in the heat of battle while you deflected oncoming advancements.

You racked your brain for a solution, frantic to figure out some kind of strategy to not only reduce casualties but also take the separatist base. That was until a crackling, uneven voice spoke urgently over your and Anakin's commlink, his voice barely audible. "Commander Tano is down."

Every nerve, vein, and blood vessel was doused in frozen water, your blood running cold as you could feel it draining from the pores in your face. You've never seen Anakin move so fast, stepping back so Rex could cover him. "What?! Where are you?!"

"We are overrun– we need to pull back," the trooper spoke again, despair thickly coating his entreaty.

"Send your coordinates and hold your position," Anakin orders. You could feel, not in the Force, but physically feel his solicitude radiating off him in unprecedented waves of dread before switching off the commlink.

"General, go to Ahsoka's position! Rex and I will hold out here!" he orders you with the swiftness and composure he could muster under the circumstances. You curtly nod, your apprehension for Ahsoka outweighing your frustration.

You turn to your commander, your boots sticking to the mud and clinging to your feet. "Wolffe, Comet, and Boost, you're with me. Sinker, you lead the men while I recover, Commander Tano."

"Yes, sir." Wolffe squeezes Sinker's shoulder before the three troopers follow you as you weave through blaster fire, looking down at the coordinates Anakin sent you every couple of seconds.

The noise of battle is deafening. A sound that often haunts soldiers' dreams is all that pounds in a hysterical beat against your skull. Dirt and rubble fly around you, men howl in pain, and superiors scream orders in the faint hope of not seeing more numbers on a list of the fallen. Each sound terrorizes you, engulfs you in dark, endless black water, fated to drown you if you stop kicking for the surface where the light resides instead of the void of the darkness beneath you. All your years of training to become a Jedi and being one could never prepare you for this.

You reach Ahsoka's position in record time, and immediately you are met with red bolts of blaster fire showering upon you. It was worse, so much worse than where you held out with Anakin, and it showed by the disfigured bodies of blue and gray armor stacked upon each other, the stench of death almost too much to bear.

"Over here, general!" You follow the voice, your feet slapping against the mud as you catch sight of Ahsoka. She was groaning, her hand covering what you could already see as a nasty wound, the skin around it scorched and inflamed. Thick dark red blood oozed around her fingers as another clone pulled her back. He was almost to your position when a flash of light collided with his armor, and his body smashed to the ground next to her.

Your lightsaber sprang to life with a snapping hiss as you began defending Ahsoka's injured form. Wolffe, Comet, and Boost joined the battle as you did, reemerging into the flow of war.

You tried to inch forward to her position in the middle of the clearing with every battle droid that smashed into the grimy soil, but your efforts were in vain. For every droid that fell, another replaced it. Reinforcements flooded in an endless stream of metal as the bodies beside you grew, your friend's life force dwindling as she slowly bled out, so close yet so far. If only–

Your body slammed into the ground, your arms crumpling beneath your weight. There was an obnoxious high-pitched ringing in your ears, blocking the sound of anything else besides your thundering heartbeat. You blinked, clearing the black spots that had begun to dot your vision, the shock hitting you in full. The infinite dark sky is speckled with luminescent stars, mockingly watching you as they laugh at your collapsed form, doused in the weakest breath of strength.

Ahsoka.

You could see her closer now, and your head swam with the force of whatever injury you sustained that you couldn't feel. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting Ahsoka to safety. Whatever it was, it wasn't severe enough to stop you from stumbling to her, your body throbbing with the phantom of agony as you all but collapsed beside her, your knees wet with silt. You shook her with a ghost of the power you possess, your hands violently shaking as her eyes remained shut. Tears swam in your vision while your chest painfully constricted as you shook her harder, only for her eyes to crack open a moment later, her face covered in a thin sheen of sweat and ash. You could almost collapse in the burden of your injury and hers, but you held yourself up, not brave enough to look at her wound.

"Ahsoka," you cried in relief, and her features wrung in pain as she returned to a more steady form of consciousness, no doubt feeling the weight of her injuries. "I'm going to get you out of here."

"I-I'm okay," she wheezed as your arms dived under her head and knees, slowly rising to your feet with her. Colors flashed blindingly in your vision, and lightheadedness and dizziness nearly swept you off your feet. No matter how much your body screamed at you, threatening to crumple, your will filled your chest like a breath of fresh air, stealing your resolve. You had to do this. You had to push through, not for your sake, but for the young Padawan in your arms.

You two made it behind your forces, and a clamor of voices finally reached your ears after too long of nothing but ear-splitting ringing.

"They're back! Fall back! Fall back!" someone ordered as the rest of the men began to retreat to the carriers behind you to take you back to base. Even though with each step, pure singing misery rippled down your spine, you pushed for the promise of safety.

When you entered, the doors closed and lifted into the murky sky. A couple of troopers rushed to your side, carefully taking Ahsoka from your arms and scurrying off to the medical center buried deeply in the confines of the ship. Clones around you dispersed to their positions, and you cautiously lowered yourself to the ground, forgoing the seats as you leaned your head back. The ship was silent besides the roar of the engines, which you hid your labored breathing behind. Every expansion of your lungs felt like you were being burned within an inch of your life, seizing the air from your breast in one fell swoop. Tentatively you lifted your robes, hissing when the fabric caught on your impairment, only for your breath to be sucked back into your irritated lungs. Your exposed flesh was spitting out crimson liquid, the edges of your wound charred in a sickening state of black, and you could faintly smell your burning flesh, binding the torn fabric of your tunic to your heaving meat.

Just a graze, you thought to yourself as you lowered your tunic, something that could be dealt with when you reach Coruscant.

"You…okay?" a hesitant voice reaches your ears, and you turn your head to find Wolffe leaning against the doorway, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. It wasn't a look you often saw on him, making your chest tighten as if someone had reached into there and squeezed with all their might to rob the breath from your lungs. You find the same emotion inexplicably rising in the back of your throat.

"Yeah, yeah, just tired. That's all," you lie, pinching your lips as the intensity of your burned nerves sharpens by the minute.

He raises an eyebrow, his chin jerking forward. "Then what's all that blood for, sweetheart?"

Shit. You glance down to find that your blood has, in fact, seeped through your clothing, the dark patch expanding into the woven fabric of your wear.

"It-It's not mine. No need to worry," you grit your teeth. Wolffe scowls, and it's then you know you've lost the uphill battle of pride you were fighting. You sigh, slinking further against the wall, and he takes this as your sign of defeat.

"When were you planning on telling me? Before or after you bleed to death?" He kneels in front of you, and you cringe at the bite in his words.

"You're being over dramatic. I'm fine, Wolffe." you roll your eyes at his antics, but he scoots closer. Even when taking a knee in front of you, he seems to tower above you, his stoic presence alone engulfing the room. It's impossible not to notice the concern that laces his features as he gulps, his adam's apple bobbing.

"You're covered in blood," he points out.

"Like I said, it's nothing–" You yelp, doubling forward when he roughly shoves two fingers into your wound, blood instantly staining your outer robes from your tunic.

"Fucking liar," he snarls before standing up, his eyes flickering around the room for the first aid kit. You groan, curling within yourself as the damaged skin throbs from Wolffe's painful jab, your vision blurring around the edges as you try to keep your eyes focused, only for him to leave your peripheral a second later. Your eyes begin to droop as the weight of battle, and your injury finally starts to percolate the very fiber of your being. Sleep is now a call from the heavens, a gentle hand forcing your eyes to shut.

There is a clanging sound as a box hits the floor, and out of curiosity, one eye cracks open. Wolffe is back, digging fervently through the med kit on the floor for something…most likely for you. Your eyelids begin to close once more, now at peace knowing Wolffe would take the pain from you as he has done many times before.

Just as you began to drift off, the pain returned, only doubling in vehemence. You bite back a scream as the clothes melted into your pulsating raw flesh are ripped away. Wolffe places a firm hand over your chest to keep you from doubling over.

You throb with white-hot agony, every nerve alight as it feels like thousands of boiling hot needles are being shoved into your skin and torn out simultaneously. Your eyes squeeze shut, fat tears collecting in your scrunched waterline. Behind your eyelids, you can see a kaleidoscope of bright colors dancing across the infinite void behind your eyes.

The searing pain dulls as something cold and slippery runs over the affected area, the scalding burn dissolving into a dull throb.

"Shit, Wolffe," you whimper as he presses the bacta into your charred skin, his fingers roughly moving into every crevice of your wound.

"If you wanted gentle, you should have asked for my vod instead," he gruffly replied as you hissed in pain. The bacta was doing its job of settling the fiery burn eating at your flesh, but his hands were far from delicate, and you considered the idea that he was purposely trying to make this hurt more than it should. "Or told me sooner."

"You could be a little nicer. After all, I am–" you grit your teeth as fingers swirl over your side with unnecessary force. "Injured," you finish weakly, slipping further into your position on the floor as he begins to wrap the wound.

"If you weren't such a brat and tried to lie to me, we wouldn't be in this position, now would we?" he growls, his voice a baritone lower and substantially more gravelly. His eye flares and his lips curl into a snarl in his malice. You advert your gaze, shame filling your sternum, and you can't help but wallow in it while Wolffe finishes patching you up.

He sits back on his heels, admiring his work while your disheartened expression not going unnoticed by the burly commander. Those feelings, the ones he'd tried to suppress when he witnessed what appeared to be a fall while retrieving Ahsoka, which was now revealed as a blaster wound, came swarming to the surface, brimming at the edge of release. These emotions were dark and tenebrous and made his chest constrict with each second they remained pent up.

You were a Jedi, you didn't get injured. It was something he never had to fret about whenever you stepped onto the battlefield, but today...today proved that wrong in the nastiest way possible. Your flirt with death was unnecessary and reckless, a show of independence and strength. Your refusal to rely on Wolffe or his men to aid you resulted in your life-threatening injury and the worst part was there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"What you did today was reckless." Your gaze travels from the durasteel floor to the intense silver of his cybernetic eye, the crease between your eyebrows deepening at his accusation.

"What I did today saved Ahsoka's life."

"You needlessly put your life on the line instead of relying on your men to help you."

"I did not." you defend yourself, tenderly crossing your arms over your chest with an indignant huff.

"That's exactly what you did," he snarled. "Don't even try to bullshit your way out of this."

"I'm not!" you exclaim, wincing at the strain you caused on your side from your outburst. "I did what I had to do without risking your lives!"

"Oh, so now you pretend to care," he chuckles darkly. "You seemed too preoccupied with your little hero moment, sweetheart. I almost had the wrong impression."

Your eyes narrowed into crinkled slits, coldness bleeding into your gaze. "I was mindful of the risk and decided it was one I alone had to take!"

"And look where you wound up."

"You're a piece of shit," you spit. "You don't get to harass me about my choices."

"If I wanted to harass you, I would. I'm trying to get it in your thick skull not to put yourself in such unnecessary danger again."

"Oh, you're just full of nice things, aren't you, Wolffe?" you scoff, rolling your eyes skyward while your heart writhes in bitterness.

"Only for you," he sneered in retaliation.

The bickering is childish, but both of you don't seem to realize it, too caught up in your own bouts of fury to even consider the other person's words. It's horrible, but it's the only way you can talk to each other unfiltered, without lies to ease the validity of the situation. If you took a moment to collect yourself and remove yourself from the fervent argument, you're afraid he would stop spewing out what he truly feels in harsh comments and resign to silence, bottling up his emotions as he has done all his life. Wolffe's never been one to find the right words or the will to express what's eating away at his war-stained mind. You blame it on the Kamanoins and the environment he was raised in, which is why any progress in opening up the impenetrable vault of his heart is better than nothing, even if it means being on the receiving end of his insults. But, of course, you are not entirely focused on that, your anger stirring at his unreasonableness to listen to you, which in turn only eggs him on. And if you weren't so caught up in your emotions, you would realize that his invectives come from a place of regard for your safety and well-being after you were nearly killed.

It's not a familial care like he shares with his brothers, but a tender, heart-wrenching fear foreign to a battle-hardened soldier such as himself, hence his inability to process the emotion, turning to lash out in his distress. But of course, that goes over your head, nothing but determination fueling your self-righteous point of view.

You two stare at each other, and in your own rage, muddled aggravation, you can't pick out the exact emotion swimming in his irises, pushing and pulling against each other.

"If you are going to continue to be a prick, leave me alone. I'm done trying to deal with your bullshit," you bark, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your whimper as you adjust yourself, your wound pricking at the stretch in your torso.

Wolffe's eyes seem to soften at that moment as their former fiery irises give way to the ocean of regret that fills them. He wilts, his hand finding its way to his hair, carding through it in search of the right words.

"You almost died." It's not a question or command but a statement- a fact. Words fail you as you continue to stare into his mismatched gaze. "Your reckless behavior almost got you killed."

"But it didn't." You stare at him, begging him to notice your reassurance, to take it with open arms, but he doesn't. Wolffe is too wrapped up in the unfamiliar surge of emotions making his chest strangle with the lump impossibly forming in his throat. He wasn't used to this kind of trepidation for someone else, a worry running so profound it was stifling him.

"If I wasn't there..."

"Wolffe–"

"No– fuck listen to me...You would have died." You wrenched your gaze away from him as tears welled in the back of your eyes, the weight of your actions bearing down upon you with the ease only regret could tame.

"You could have died," his strangled voice bit out as you digested each word, your stomach sinking all the while. "God damn it, look at me."

Your gaze is ripped from the floor when Wolffe grabs your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes, muddled with too many gut-wrenching feelings to process. "Fuck– you can't do that to me. Can't… can't do that to me."

His words are awkward and unsteady as if he doesn't know how to, but there's a desperate plea for your understanding. He wants you to comprehend every word his tongue can't form, every emotion threatening to swallow him up and spit him out, as every facade comes crashing down in his moment of desperation.

So instead of talking, you lean over, despite your discomfort, and capture his lips between your own. He holds his breath, his body rigid with the sensation of your warm lips cracked by your constant biting. Then he understands the suddenness behind your actions, and his hands find your face instantly, pouring everything out into the open. His lips are feverish, swollen with spirit. He moves his mouth to taste the essence of your life, to devour your sweet taste as if it was the last thing he would ever do. It's as if he's reassuring himself of your beating heart (and flushed cheeks) as his tongue moves over your lips to seek refuge in the cavern of your mouth he calls home.

You don't see Wolffe in distress very often. Instead, you see a mask of calm, composed ruthlessness shielding his ever-cracked and dismantled soul. Your ability to peer through his walls frightened him at first, but over time as you spilled your hearts to one another over and over again, he found less of a need to keep the shields he had readily put in place, an action that came over time. Now, while his lips swallowed yours in a frenzy, his worry, an emotion that would make him a liability in war, was being poured over you. It was passionate how he moved over you, his hands moving to cup your face while the other slid across various parts of your body. He knew his action was not a display of lust but a solace to himself that you were, in fact, here, despite the deepest horrors his mind could conjure.

As the embrace slowed to a halt, pulling away for a gulp of air, the tension that once smothered the room in its toxic fumes dissipated, leaving peaceful tranquility in its wake.

"Don't do that shit again, you hear me?" he breathes, his voice hardened by the lilith that tainted his words.

"Okay." You nod along with your promise. "Okay."

His body sagged with relief at your reply, a short breath of air leaving his lips.

"I'm sorry." Wolffe shook his head, dismissing your apology. With the condolence you had so given him, the lingering air of hostility melted, and while it didn't soothe the ever-present fear that came with combat and your safety, the unspoken promise that you would heed his words and move less hastily without care for your life was enough for him. He knew you couldn't give him anything more because anything more would be a lie. His hand moved to cup your face as you nuzzled in the ever-present warmth of his hand, praying that your moment of reprieve would last forever.

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coffeeandbatboys · 2 months

Text

His pack (Wolffe x Fem!Reader)

Ok honestly I think Wolffe would go crazy at the thought of having a kid of his own.

Warnings: pregnancy, stretch marks, Wolffe absolutely adores the reader, OOC Wolffe.

Your lover has finally come home. After all the nights alone, all of the holo-calls and worrisome days when you didn’t hear from him, he was home.

Wolffe can’t help but stare. You’re standing in all your heavily pregnant glory, carrying a precious child.

His child.

The thought melts him and builds him up simultaneously.

His pack.

It’s been months since he has seen you in person, and each day apart from you made him more desperate to get home.

“Mesh’la.” He whispers happily into your temple, hands over the bump that has definitely grown since he’s been gone.

You gratefully lean into the gesture, before doubt clouds your mind. The dark striation across your skin becomes a burning reminder.

“I have stretch marks now.” You mutter with a frown.

He shakes his head. “Better to have those from a job not easily done than scars from battle. You…” he kneels to kiss your bump, specifically the areas with marks, “…are absolutely amazing Cyar’ika.”

The look he gives you is so full of love and joy. Maker, he may have a cold exterior, but he is yours till the day he will keel over and die. And you have a feeling that the same honor will be extended to your child.

His child.

His pack.

#star wars #wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #clone wars wolffe #star wars wolffe #clone trooper wolffe #wolffe x fem!reader #commander wolffe #tbb wolffe #wolffe x pregnant reader

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