ECHO & FIVES // Same Heart, Same Blood —"We Did What We Had To Do, Sir." —"What Any Clone Would Have

when you hold me, it holds me together.

Chapter 1: the air in my lungs may not last very long, but I’m in

fandom: Star Wars, the bad batch

read on AO3 here

Author: Heyitsshay

Word count: guys it’s only 5.6 K. I did it, I wrote something that was a reasonable length 😂

Summary: No one has ever held her like this. 

Sure, the Kaminoens did, on a few occasions, carry her with the upmost reluctance. Usually, when too much time in the labs under experimentation had left her too weak to even stand. When it seemed like they had taken everything from her and left her meagre small body as the scraps.

But it was never like this. No one had ever just, held her, held her like She mattered, carried her as if she was something precious to them, cradled her against them like they truly cared for her, beyond what her body was capable of supplying to them.

Or

The first five times 1 of her brothers hugs Omega. Plus the one time she doesn’t expect it.

Hilarious!

Some Bad Batch tweets! Headcanon that Vice Admiral Rampart has a very pathetic 100% one-sided hate crush on Crosshair. Solely for the memes.

Echo! Sweet and badass!

Echo canonically being sentimental (and a sweetheart)

With his armor, there's also the "For Hevy" memorial, the fact he kept Rex's handprint, and that he put the Bad Batch skull on his armor before he even joined them

Echo holding 99 as he died has always stuck out to me as one of the saddest/sweetest things in TCW (especially since the show rarely actually shows clones mourning/expressing much emotion)

I also noticed that Echo is often the one to mention his brothers by name, and make sure they're remembered. And of course his entire thing about saving his brothers and leaving no one behind. (Also that he turned the call signs into this like nickname/inside joke thing with Omega is so adorable to me ahh)

--

And then there's whatever this is:

Not even a reaction to the name (and we know they are good at implying expression under those helmets)! I know this is old news but it bears saying lol. They had the perfect opportunity here to not only address Echo's loss, but also to honor Fives and the sacrifice he made to discover the chips. A sacrifice which saved Ahsoka, Rex, and now the Bad Batch. This is obviously not the first time Echo and Rex talked about Fives, he knows he's dead (I firmly believe he would not have left the 501st if Fives was still alive), but come on! This did the bare minimum to check the box of 'mention Fives.' How about you cut Wrecker getting attacked by a sarlacc or whatever and give that screen time to show us an actual conversation?

Like I found this bit in an interview:

While the conversation obviously never happened onscreen, Corbett says that doesn't mean it never happened, suggesting the two talked offscreen, saying "For Fives, I imagine that Rex and Echo had that conversation after he was rescued off of Skako Minor, and I know in Season 1 we did have Rex reference Fives on Bracca," adding "So, in my headcanon, they've had many conversations about Fives."

And I'm just like... Jennifer! You don't have to have headcanons, you are literally the writer! Show us!!

(Also he should have gotten his handprint again no I will never let this go)

The prologue, paving the way for what I feel…know…will be a wholehearted adventure. Thank you @legacygirlingreen for this undertaking along with @leenathegreengirl. #this is already amazing #hooked on Perdita and Wolffe #already cleaning my specs waiting for more

"Now we are even" || The Introduction || Commander Wolffe x OFC! Perdita

Author's Note: I am so excited to drop the first installment of a story involving Commander Wolffe. This is my first time writing for him, and I won't lie, I cannot express how much I've enjoyed getting in his head. I want to thank my lovely and dear friend @leenathegreengirl for helping breathe life into not just Perdita through her art, but also this story at large. This was truly a whim in every fashion of the word, but as Bob Ross once said, there are no such things as mistakes, only happy little accidents. I am really proud of what bit's I've come up with this pair so far. I apologize for future works involving them, because while this is an introduction set after TBB, I plan to go back in time a bit (wouldn't be part of the Filoniverse if there wasn't chaos with the timing I suppose). Also I'm still racking my brain over a shipname so I'd love the suggestions... Any who, enjoy loves - M

Summary: A story as old as time itself. A Clone Commander. A Jedi. Two people bound by honor and duty. Lives defined by unwavering codes. But now, everything is shattered as the Empire orders the galactic execution of the once-peaceful warriors known as the Jedi. When Wolffe unexpectedly crosses paths with a fleeting figure from his past, he faces an agonizing choice. Will he obey the Empire’s command, or will he risk everything—his identity, his loyalty, and his future—in the desperate hope of rediscovering the man he once was?

Pairing: eventual Commander Wolffe x OFC! Perdita Halle

Warnings: Mentions of Order 66, Brief mentions of assisted suicide, angst with a hopeful ending

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist || Next Part (coming soon)

Wolffe often found the hum of space to be unnerving. Not that space itself had a hum—space was cold, dark, and empty. The hum came from the ship, a constant, low vibration that resonated through its walls, a reminder of its fragile protection against the infinite void outside. He hated this liminal space, this time spent outside planetary orbits, where nothing anchored him.

The vacuum had nearly claimed his life once. He could still feel it if he thought about it too long—the suffocating press of nothingness, the frozen tendrils of death creeping up his spine as his oxygen dwindled. The darkness had wrapped around him like a shroud, a cruel mockery of safety. Skywalker, his padawan and the Sentinel had pulled him back at the last moment, but something about him had stayed behind, left adrift in that endless void. He’d survived, but a part of him hadn’t.

He wondered, often, if death would feel the same. Cold. Empty. A silence so profound it swallowed everything. Or would it be something entirely different? Something warmer, like the faint memory of a sunrise on Kamino’s horizon or the strength of a brother’s arm slung across his shoulders after a battle well-fought?

Plo Koon had once told him that death was not the end but a transition—a merging with the living Force. The words had stayed with Wolffe, though he wasn’t sure if they brought comfort or dread. The concept was simple enough, but it opened too many questions. Would he still be himself in the Force? Would his memories, his regrets, his flaws follow him into that eternity?

And what of those he had lost? Would he see them again? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. The idea of facing the Jedi again, seeing their calm, unwavering gazes, filled him with an ache that felt too large to contain. He respected them deeply, but respect came with weight, and he often felt crushed beneath the burden of their trust. Undeserved, he thought. Always undeserved.

He stared out the viewport, watching stars streak by as the ship hurtled through hyperspace. The endless cascade of light reminded him of something—he wasn’t sure what. A memory tugged at the edges of his mind: Plo Koon standing beside him, hand on his shoulder, as they stared up at the night sky from a dusty outpost.

“There’s always light in the dark, Wolffe,” the Kel Dor had said, his voice steady, unshakable. “Even in the emptiest parts of space, the Force is alive.”

Wolffe had nodded then, silent as always. Even now, the words felt too far away. The darkness pressed in closer these days, even when he was surrounded by his squad, even when the hum of the ship reminded him he was still alive.

Maybe death was different for men like him—men who had taken orders, done what they had to, and carried the weight of it in silence. Maybe for him, death wouldn’t be a warm reunion with the Force but a cold, endless void, like the vacuum that had almost claimed him.

Maybe that was what he deserved.

He tightened his grip on the edge of the console, the familiar vibrations grounding him, even as the void outside seemed to call his name. The stars streaked on, indifferent to his musings, and he stayed where he was, caught between the hum of life and the silence of the dark.

Sure, right now he might be aboard an Imperial transport ship, tasked with carrying a highly dangerous prisoner marked for execution. But in his mind, he was still in the Abragado system, sitting in a pod, waiting. Waiting for the moment his life would be snuffed out in a war he neither fully understood nor had ever truly wanted to be part of.

He hadn’t believed Master Plo when the Jedi had reassured him, promising that someone would come looking for them. Wolffe had learned early on that he was expendable, a belief etched into him by the longnecks on Kamino. He was just another number, another body in an endless sea of soldiers bred for war.

Then came the Jedi. Their compassion, their respect, their quiet insistence on treating clones as individuals—it had shaken the very foundation of everything Wolffe thought he knew. In a world where duty and obedience were everything, where each clone was molded to fulfill a singular purpose, the Jedi had introduced something foreign—something that made him question the very core of his existence. 

Master Plo Koon, in particular, had made an inerasable impact. There was a quiet strength in the way he carried himself, an unspoken understanding that resonated with Wolffe on a level he hadn’t known was possible. Master Plo didn’t just command him; he listened—and more importantly, he understood. The way he treated Wolffe wasn’t like a subordinate or a mere tool of war, but as someone with thoughts, desires, and a sense of self. He spoke to him not as a soldier on the battlefield, but as a fellow being who had hopes, fears, and a need for connection.

When the order came, he didn't want to believe it. He hated how easily his finger had complied, how instinct had overridden thought. The words echoed in his mind, even now when he laid down for sleep: Good soldiers follow orders.

But in that moment, as Master Plo Koon’s starfighter plummeted from the sky, spiraling toward the ground in a fiery descent, Wolffe felt an emptiness unlike any he had ever known. It wasn’t just the shock of watching his commander, his ally, fall—it was the crushing realization that he was complicit in the destruction. The weight of betrayal was a heavy cloak around his shoulders, pressing down on him with unbearable force.

He had followed orders, as he always had, but this time, there was no duty, no justification that could soothe the gnawing ache in his chest. For so long, he had prided himself on his loyalty, on his ability to uphold the ideals of the Republic and the men he fought beside. But as the remnants of Plo Koon’s ship burned in the distance, Wolffe couldn’t help but feel that he had lost something far more vital than the life of a Jedi. He had lost the sense of himself as a man who stood for something honorable.

The world around him seemed to blur, the familiar sound of blaster fire and the chaos of war drowning out in the silence of his thoughts. For the first time, he saw the full, horrifying scope of what he had become—a tool of an Empire that had twisted everything he had once believed in. His identity, his purpose, had been shattered in that instant. As much as he wanted to believe he was still the same soldier, the same Commander, a part of him knew that he had crossed an irreparable line.

Wolffe had never felt further from the idea of being “good.” Not just because of the life he had taken, but because of the loss of the man he had been—the soldier who had once believed in the nobility of his cause.

The last time Wolffe truly felt in his heart that he had done the right thing was the night he learned Rex was still alive. He could still see Rex’s face—pleading, desperate, filled with a conviction that cut through Wolffe’s carefully constructed walls. Rex had begged him to see the truth, to understand that the Empire’s orders were wrong. That hunting a child wasn’t justice.

Wolffe had spent years trying—vainly, tirelessly—not to question his orders. He was a soldier. And good soldiers followed orders. 

But good soldiers didn’t hunt children or order their friends to be killed.

Good soldiers brought in criminal lowlifes, the kind of scum he now had locked in the brig, to justice. At least, that’s what Wolffe had assumed when the prisoner had been described to him as “highly dangerous.” But maybe it was his more recent desire to question his orders, or the way something about this mission didn’t sit right, that sparked the flicker of curiosity. Maybe it was the sentimentality he’d been battling since Rex’s reappearance, or the uneasy edge that always came with being in space.

Whatever the reason, he made a choice. He sent his men off for an early retreat, claiming he’d stand guard himself. He told himself it was for tactical reasons, but it wasn’t. It was personal.

Just like opening the cell door.

The door slid open with a low hiss, revealing a dimly lit chamber. Wolffe expected to see a hardened criminal, someone rough around the edges, beaten down by years of wrongdoing. Instead, his breath caught in his throat.

Seated on the floor, her back pressed against the cold wall, was a woman—young, though her posture bore the weight of someone who had seen more than her years should allow. She didn’t flinch or rise as the door opened, her bright green eyes snapping to him with an intensity that felt like a challenge. Even in the faint light, they glowed, piercing through him like a blade.

“Commander Wolffe,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, the hint of an edge betraying both recognition and caution.

He froze. His hand hovered near his blaster, not out of fear but reflex. “How do you know my name?” he asked, his tone sharp, though his heart hammered in his chest.

A faint, bitter smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You don’t remember me, do you?” She shifted slightly, the movement revealing the scar that ran across her pale face, a jagged line that seemed out of place on her otherwise delicate features. “Not surprising. It was a lifetime ago.”

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. Her appearance tugged at a distant memory—a mission gone wrong, the deafening silence of space, and a bright flash of light. Falling out of the escape pod into waiting arms. Bright Green eyes. The scar.  His breath hitched as it clicked into place.

“The rescue,” he murmured. “Abregado.”

She inclined her head, her expression softened ever so slightly. “I was,” she said simply. “And now, here we are. Funny how the force works, isn’t it?”

His grip on the blaster faltered. This wasn’t a hardened criminal. This was a Jedi—a Sentinel, at that. She had pulled him from the pod, her face masked with the exception of her eyes. But he didn’t forget the voice, nor could he forget her scar.

He also didn’t forget the way she’d accompanied him to Aleen, attempting to calm his frustrations at the locals after the earthquake. He was built for combat, not a mercy mission. But she’d been there, calming that raging storm in him with her soft spoken words and delicate place of a hand on his skin. General Halle. Perdita. 

As he studied her features for the first time, he realized the shroud she had always worn concealed far more than he had anticipated. She had once explained to him that part of her trials as a padawan had been overcoming her vanity. After that moment, she had either been encouraged—or perhaps felt the need—to keep herself covered. The distinction between the two was significant, though he now found himself unable to recall which version of the truth it had been. The Jedi’s appearance had never been something he had been allowed to fully see, and so witnessing her efforts to hold her shoulders and chin high under his gaze felt wrong. Not that he hadn't been curious—he had. But seeing more than just those bright eyes and that scar across her face felt intrusive, as though he were crossing an unseen boundary.

Seeing her now, with her ghostly pale skin, so light that it was as if it had never touched sunlight. Her hair, equally fair, was a tangled mess of long braids and matted strands, though the right side was sheared close to her scalp, hinting at the harshness of the life she had experienced. Bruises etched into her neck, a testament to her resilience, showing that she hadn’t been easily subdued.

She was far more delicate than he’d imagined for someone of her position. She didn’t match the mental image he had formed of the woman who had once saved his life with her luminous eyes and sharp voice. Yet, in her very features, there was a contradiction that unsettled him. Her soft, pale skin was marred by a jagged scar that seemed to tell a story of its own. Her long hair clashed with the shock of short strands that spoke of some past confrontation. Her gentle eyes, framed by dark kohl. Her delicate lips—so soft and inviting—contradicted the clipped, controlled tone of her voice.

There was a complexity to her, an unsettling blend of contradictions, and it was that stark difference between appearance and reality that made her all the more enigmatic.

Not to mention, she truly was much more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Even after their brief conversation together. He’d wondered, but to see it in front of him now, he found words difficult on his tongue. 

She wasn’t like most Jedi. Distant. Quiet. She wasn’t one to preach or stand at the frontlines of politics. Instead, she focused on the people of the Republic, working directly with them in ways that often went unnoticed, or at the Council’s rare request. But she was no stranger to rebellion either. He remembered how she’d stormed away when General Skywalker's padawan had been placed on trial—angry, in a way that Wolffe found unexpected. He had always been told Jedi were supposed to rise above emotions, especially anger. Yet here she was, as human as anyone else.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of his own disillusionment pressing down on him. “Why would the Empire want you dead?”

Her smile disappeared, replaced by a shadowed expression. “Because I am breathing,” she said, her tone defensive. “And because that’s enough to be a threat to the Empire,”

Wolffe’s stomach churned. He wanted to call her a liar, to draw his blaster and end the conversation, but something about her words rooted him in place. She didn’t move, didn’t press further, as if sensing the storm inside him.

However, her eyes flashed with realization, and Wolffe felt the rare tug in his mind. He wasn’t immune to it. The Jedi, though usually respectful of a clone’s privacy, occasionally breached that unspoken boundary—usually in moments of intense concern. His thoughts became muddled, a fog settling over his mind, and in that instant, he knew. She had used the Force to reach into his mind.

“They sent you to hunt a child,” she said, her voice softening, almost mournful. “And now they’ve sent you to deliver me for my execution. How much longer are you going to follow orders, Commander?”

The words struck him harder than he expected, the weight of her gaze pinning him where he stood. For a moment, he didn’t feel like the soldier standing guard. He felt like the man adrift in the pod, lost in the silence of space, waiting for someone to find him.

He exhaled sharply, the silence broken by the harshness of his words. “What do you expect me to do? Not following orders makes you a traitor,” he spat.

She stared at him for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. “You’ve already disobeyed more than one order, haven’t you?” Her tone shifted, probing deeper. “Tell me, Wolffe—or do you prefer your number now? Should I respect the identity the Empire has forced upon you? After all, you seem so eager to follow their commands, to remain obedient, even if it means abandoning everything else.”

Wolffe’s jaw clenched as her words hit home, each syllable sharp, cutting through the layers of his resolve. He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching at his side, but he refused to let her see the crack in his metaphorical armor.

"I follow orders," he said, his voice tight. "It's what I was made for. It's what we all were made for. You think I like this? You think I want to be this?" He gestured vaguely toward his armor, the cold, sterile shell that defined him as much as his number did. "The Empire... they gave us purpose. A place in this galaxy. A role. And what do you want me to do, General Halle? Turn my back on that? After everything?"

She took a slow step forward, her eyes unwavering, assessing him like she always had. He could feel the pull of the Force, a subtle pressure against his mind. She wasn’t pushing, but her presence lingered, and it was almost like she could see through him.

“I’m not asking you to abandon your past, Wolffe,” she said, her voice softer now, though the challenge remained. “I’m asking you to remember it. To remember who you were before the Empire twisted everything. You have never been just a number.”

Her words settled into the space between them, heavy with meaning, and Wolffe felt something shift deep inside him—a faint stirring he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had spent so long burying that part of himself, the part that still remembered loyalty to something more than orders. But now, in her presence, in the weight of her gaze, it felt like the walls he had built up around himself were starting to crack.

"You think I can just walk away?" he muttered, almost to himself. "That it’s that simple? The wars, the lies..." He paused, the words thick in his throat. "I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Perdita’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes. She took another step toward him, this time with less certainty. She didn’t reach out, but the gesture was enough.

“You can always start again, find a new purpose, and maybe along the way find who you once were. I know you Wolffe. You are a good man. You always have been,” she commented quietly.

Wolffe didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the transport ship’s engines. The weight of his own thoughts pressed on him like an anchor, dragging him deeper into the abyss of uncertainty. He didn’t know what the right choice was. But standing here, facing the Jedi, he felt something stir in him that hadn’t been there for a long time.

The man he had been—the man before the Empire—was still there. Somewhere.

But could he still find his way back? Or was he already too far gone?

The question lingered, unanswered, and it gnawed at him from the inside out. The conflict within him was too great, an overwhelming surge of doubt and guilt. He was lost between what he felt and what he knew. He knew the Jedi were kind, compassionate—humane in a way the Empire could never be. But there was another part of him, the part shaped by years of conditioning, of following orders without question. The part that told him Jedi were the enemy, that they had betrayed him, betrayed all of them.

Even if she was correct, he didn’t feel he deserved a second chance.

"Stop," he snapped, his voice low and harsh, barely containing the fury building within him. "You're twisting my mind. That's why all you Jedi were executed." He spat the words, stepping back as if to escape the heavy weight of his own thoughts.

But Perdita’s gaze didn’t falter. Her eyes flashed with frustration—and something else. It was the same intensity that had pulled him from the wreckage of the Abregado system all those years ago. The depth her eyes had shown when he’d looked into them deeply under the glow of the setting sun on Aleen. The same ferocity that made her a Jedi in a way he could never fully understand.

“Did you pull the trigger yourself, Wolffe?” she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the haze in his mind.

His eyes widened. “What—?”

“Master Plo.” She took a step closer, her bound hands held out in front of her, as if she were trying to approach him without triggering some kind of defense mechanism. “Did you take the shot yourself?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His mind flashed back to that day, to the moment when it all went wrong. The blast rang out, and Plo Koon had fallen, silent and still.

“I didn’t—” Wolffe started, his voice shaking. “I didn’t want to…”

But she was relentless, her voice a hiss, her anger barely contained. “Did you pull the trigger yourself, or did you let one of your men do it for you? Did you stand by while they carried out the order?”

Wolffe’s heart pounded in his chest. She was right. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, not directly. He hadn’t been the one to execute the order. But he had been there. He had stood by calling the order while his brothers did the work. His hands had been tied by duty, by obedience and the relentless weight of his training. 

Her words cut deeper than he expected, and for the first time in years, he felt a crack in the armor he had spent so long building. The Jedi saw through him in a way no one else had in a long time.

“No,” Wolffe said, his voice heavy with bitterness. “Boost did it. Shot down the starfighter,” he explained with a dramatic sigh, as though the memory still weighed on him like a stone in his chest.

Perdita’s gaze never left him, unyielding. “Why?” she pressed, her voice soft but insistent, searching for the truth behind his words.

Wolffe hesitated, his eyes darkening with the weight of the past. “Because I couldn’t. Because I was weak…” His voice trailed off, thick with shame. He had always prided himself on being strong, unwavering. But in that moment, when the world seemed to fall apart around him, he had faltered.

“To lay down arms is not weakness,” she replied, her tone calm but firm, as though she had spoken those words to herself a thousand times.

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Says the woman marked for execution,” he muttered, a sharp edge in his voice. His gaze flickered toward her, searching for the woman who had once saved him, who had risked everything to pull him from the wreckage when all seemed lost. The memory stung.

“You saved my life once,” he reminded her, his voice quieter now, tinged with a mix of gratitude and regret.

“I did,” Perdita agreed, her eyes softening, but her expression remained steady. “And now, may I ask one favor of you? A simple one, so that we can finally be even?”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. There was something in the way she said it, something that made him pause. 

“Kill me,” she whispered solemnly, her words cutting through the silence like a blade.

Wolffe froze, his breath hitching in his chest. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t even process what she had just said. Kill me? The weight of those words landed on him with a staggering force, and for the first time since they’d started this uneasy exchange, his mind went utterly blank.

“W-What?” he stammered, confusion and disbelief mixing with a knot of panic that twisted deep inside him.

Perdita’s gaze never wavered, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes, a quiet resignation that tugged at something buried within him. She didn’t look like someone who feared death. In fact, she looked like someone who had made peace with it long ago.

“Kill me, Wolffe,” she repeated, her voice soft, but heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken things. “Where you are taking me is a fate worse than death,”

The words hit Wolffe like a punch to the gut. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he absorbed the depth of what she was saying. She was asking him to end her life, to release her from the nightmare that had followed her since the purge, since the fall of the Jedi. He could hear the quiet despair in her voice, the resignation that she had already accepted that no other option was left.

"Stop," he snapped, stepping forward with a sharpness he hadn't meant. His hand clenched into a fist at his side. "Don't say that."

Perdita’s eyes flickered to his, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability breaking through her hard exterior. "It's the truth," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve lived through so much betrayal, Wolffe. I’ve seen what the Empire does to those it deems 'enemy’, it’s not a pretty sight I assure you"

Wolffe’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words. He had heard whispers of the horrors of the Empire, the ruthless efficiency of its cruelty, but hearing it from her—someone who had once been who had fought beside the clones and now found herself hunted—made the reality of it all feel sharper.

“It’s not fair for you to ask that of me,” he demanded, his voice tightening with frustration. The very thought of it made him nauseous. To kill an unarmed woman—especially a prisoner—was not only unjust, it would be a betrayal of everything he had ever stood for. It could lead him to a court-martial, or worse.

“Why not,” she demanded.

Her words struck him harder than he expected. The Empire had already claimed so much from him—his autonomy, his sense of purpose, his very soul at times. But now, the reality of what she was saying pressed against him like a vise. Was he just another pawn? Would he become expendable too, the moment they had no more use for him?

“I’m not one of them,” he said, his voice a mixture of defiance and doubt. He wasn’t, was he?

But Perdita only stared at him, her expression unreadable. “You’re more like them than you think,” she whispered. “You’ve followed their orders. You’ve done their bidding. And now… now you want to pretend you don’t have a choice in what happens to me. Pretend I got free, tried to kill your men. I’m a threat am I not? Is that not what they told you? Please Wolffe. I do not wish to suffer needlessly. However if your resignation truly is with the Empire then I suppose you truly do not have a choice.”

Wolffe took a step back, his breath quickening. She was right in one sense—he had followed orders, too many times without question. But was that enough to define him? Was that all he was now? A soldier for an Empire that cared nothing for his humanity? Or worse, the humanity of others.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I still have a choice.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wavering just slightly. “Then make it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Should he kill her? Should he let her go? Should he risk everything? How much more guilt would he carry in delivering her to whatever fate she had foreseen? She was asking him to do something impossible, something that could destroy him just as easily as it would destroy her.

But the longer he looked at her, the clearer it became. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It wasn’t just about doing what was expected or what was easy. This was about redemption—for her, for him, for them both.

“I won’t kill you,” he said, the words steady but heavy. His eyes darted around. The cybernetic one struggling to see in the dimly lit cell as he searched for the control panel on the wall. 

Perdita didn’t respond, assuming he was ready to leave and her last attempt at peace, foiled by a clone who truly owed her little loyalty. As she prepared for his departure she felt the chains around her hands unlock, before falling away. Flexing her fingers she looked up to see him much closer now as he tugged her forearm.

“But I won’t let them take you, either.” His voice was low, almost aggressive in nature, as if he was revolting against the very action he was taking.

Perdita didn’t smile. She didn’t thank him. She just nodded, the flicker of something like hope passing through her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give him the courage to take the next step—whatever that might be.

“Why?” she asked, her voice calm, though it carried the weight of disbelief. She paused for a moment, taking a breath to collect herself in the wake of his unexpected actions.

Wolffe met her gaze briefly, then dropped his eyes to the floor, his attention lingering on the mud caked on the tops of his boots. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to hers again, his eyes scanning hers as if unsure whether to reveal the truth. Yet, in this moment—after throwing caution to the wind—it seemed honesty was the only option.

The problem? He wasn’t entirely certain himself. Of course, he had theories. Wolffe had been searching for a way out of the Empire ever since that night he crossed paths with Rex. Having a Jedi by his side would significantly increase his chances of desertion. So, part of his reasoning, at least, was rooted in a tactical advantage.

But then, as his gaze fell on her face, resting on the scar that marked her eye, something else surfaced. He remembered how much he owed her—how she had been the one to help locate their damaged pod. Without her, he would have been lost to the cold expanse of space. A debt like that, a life saved, demanded more than mere gratitude—it demanded something deeper.

“You saved my life once, General,” he said, though internally he wanted to slam his head into the durasteel wall. He knew that she had done so more than once—countless times, in fact, for him and his brothers. “Consider us even,” he added, his words laced with a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

After a brief pause, he heard the soft sound of her approach. Her arm brushed against his unintentionally as she spoke, her voice steady but curious. “What’s your plan?”

Wolffe felt the faintest stir at the brush of her arm, but he quickly focused on her words. He turned slightly, his gaze meeting hers, but there was a momentary hesitation in his expression. The question hung in the air, heavy with more than just the immediate answer.

He knew she wasn’t just asking about the details or the strategy—she was asking what came next, what he planned to do with everything that had led them to this moment. He could feel the weight of her question, the uncertainty that hung heavily in the air between them.

For a moment, he stayed silent, his mind racing through countless possibilities, each one more uncertain than the last. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the decision. "It’s a long shot, but I think it might work. You’ll have to trust me on this." He met her gaze, a quiet resolve in his eyes. "As for everything else, we’ll improvise—if we make it out of here."

"Alright. After you, Commander—"

"Wolffe," he interjected, his voice flat, almost terse. The weight of the moment pressed down on him—the knowledge that he was about to turn his back on everything he had ever known, to abandon the man he had been for so long. It felt like an impossible choice, and yet it was the only one left. In the face of such a drastic break, being addressed by his rank felt distant, cold, and impersonal. It was as though the uniform, the title, had become a mask for something that no longer fit him.

She paused for a moment, as if sensing the shift in the air between them. Her gaze met his, a flicker of understanding in her eyes before she nodded slightly, her voice equally dry, yet carrying a certain weight of its own. "Lead the way, Wolffe."

Her words, though simple, held a quiet acknowledgment—an acceptance of the change that had already begun. Neither of them needed to say more. The decision had been made, and whatever path lay ahead, it would be walked side by side.

To be continued...

(Also if you made it this far thank you so much! Below is the unedited image of Perdita courtesy of my lovely friend… you can find her bio HERE, on her page! Additionally, I may start a tag list soon so if anyone's interested just drop a comment or shoot me a DM <3!)

Ohmigosh. THE SEQUEL❣️ SUGARPOP! My heart exploded when I saw this. 💥 💖 It is kriffing perfect and everything I hoped it would be! Thank you…. Thank you! @vodika-vibes is a legend!!

# sometimes a sneaky suggestion works #PopBly is my new fave #they deserve the happiness #Bly is a true hero #Cody is a putz and never deserved her # the Sugarpop Saga

She Could Have Been Mine

A companion piece to Sugarpop

Summary: Cody realizes what he lost.

Pairing: Background Commander Bly x F!Reader, Commander Cody

Word Count: 1086

Warnings: None? Minor angst

A/N: So, I finally wrote the sequel/companion piece to Sugarpop that so so many of you asked for. I hope you all like it.

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Loving her is easy.

She’s easy to love. Kind and gentle, warm and welcoming in a way you don’t see often outside the Jedi.

For Cody, loving her is as natural as breathing. 

And yet, he’s known from the start that she was too good for him. Someone like her deserves only the best. And Cody is far from the best.

So he does what he knows has to be done. He keeps his distance, treating her like a dear friend, almost a sister, but nothing more. He meets other women and dates them, and she always greets them with a warm smile and a baked treat.

And he ignores the way that she looks at him. The way she smiles at him. 

He ignores how her smile falters when he introduces another woman to the friend group. And he pretends he can’t see her heart breaking in her eyes every time he chooses someone else.

It’s for the best.

She deserves better than him.

When she gets kidnapped, her front door kicked in and her apartment trashed, Cody’s heart drops. He’s sure that they’re going to find her body in a ditch somewhere on Coruscant.

He gives up on her.

He can’t conceive of the possibility that she survives something like that. It’s not like she’s a soldier or anything like that. She’s just a baker. And, as much as he loves her, he can’t cling to the faint hope that she might still live. He has a war to win.

Bly…doesn’t agree.

“You have no proof that she’s dead!” Bly snaps, as he’s held back by Wolffe and Fox. Cody’s grateful for it, for all that Bly seems like an easygoing guy, he’s not sure he’d win in a fistfight against him. “You’re giving up on her even though nothing is indicating she’s dead?! What kind of friend are you?”

“I’m a realist, Bly. She’s just a baker—”

Bly rips himself free from his brothers and manages to restrain his anger with great difficulty, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disgusted with one of my own brothers before. I refuse to give up. I’m going to find her.”

Six months later, Cody is sure that Bly must have given up. Everyone else has.

And yet, Bly sends a simple message in the group chat, “I found her. She’s alive. Will return to Coruscant when deployment ends.”

For Cody, the message is like a breath of fresh air. He never, once, dared to hope that she might still be alive.

And, for the first time, Cody starts to think that maybe he’s been going about this all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for him to be honest with himself. 

The first time Cody sees her after her long imprisonment, he almost doesn’t recognize her. Her hair is cropped shorter than he had ever seen before, and she looks like she’s lost weight…but when she sees him she offers the same warm smile that she always gave him.

The same smile that makes his heart skip a beat. The same smile that he fell in love with all those months ago.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Cody offers as she walks over to him.

“Thank you. General Secura put me in touch with a mind healer at the temple, to help me process everything that happened to me. But…” She trails off, and looks away from him, her smile softening slightly, “I think I’m going to be alright.”

“That’s good. I’m glad the Jedi are willing to help you.”

“Well, General Secura said something about the kidnapping being half their fault? I’m not sure what she means, but she feels really guilty about it.”

Well, that’s news to him. But also, he doesn’t want to talk about the Jedi right now. Cody opens his mouth to say something, a rough plan on how he’d ask her on a date starting to form in the back of his mind.

Only he never gets the chance to speak.

“Sugarpop!” Her head turns to the side and a blinding smile crosses her face as she sees Bly standing there, “I was wondering where you slipped off to.”

Cody watches, stunned, as she turns away from him and skips over to Bly, not slowing as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his neck. And he watches as Bly spins her around to work off some of that momentum, and then leans in to press his forehead against hers.

Oh.

Her hands come up and press against his cheeks, and a giggle he’s never heard before slips from her lips as Bly whispers something to her.

Oh.

A wry, slightly wistful, smile crosses his lips. 

He missed his chance. 

His gaze meets Bly’s for a moment, and then Cody looks away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t deserve to see this.

He hears Bly murmur something to her, and he glances at them in time to see her nod and slide back to the ground. “Are we still going to go to the—?” She trails off, her voice tinged in hope.

Bly grins at her and kisses her forehead, “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” He takes her hands for a moment, “Wait outside for me? I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“Alright.” She turns and smiles at Cody, “I’ll see you later, Cody!”

“Yeah. Later.” Cody watches her leave the building and then turns his attention to his brother.

“You alright, Codes?” Bly asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’m not an idiot and I know you love her?”

“I’m fine, Bly. I’m not entitled to her.”

Bly sighs, “Did you think she was going to wait forever?”

“No. Of course not.” He pauses and then rubs the back of his neck, “Is she happy?”

“I like to think so.”

“Then that’s good enough for me. Just…keep making her happy, and I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Stop worrying about me, dumbass. Go to your girl.”

“Fine, fine.” Bly turns to leave the building as well, “Oh, but I’m telling Wolffe and Fox that you’re feeling sad.”

Cody huffs out a laugh, “Thanks.” Then Bly and gone and Cody takes a moment to push his hand through his hair.

She could have been his if he hadn’t been such a moron. But then, he’s not sure he’d be able to make her as happy as Bly does.

He tilts his head back, and a bitter laugh slips from him, “Force, I’m such a kriffing idiot.”

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@vodika-vibes This is fluffily beautiful!!! Thank you for writing my request! ❤️❤️ The actual inspiration was my brother back when we were teens. Used to piss my dad off that he couldn’t communicate right away. Their solution was The Head Pat. 💖

Hi Vod’ika! I enjoy your stories so much! May I make a request? Prompt category Physical Gestures. Perky morning person (F) a little insecure. Chronically sleep-deprived clone BF can’t talk to her until he’s had morning caf and some time. Compromise is a pat on the head (or similar) as he walks by to acknowledge her presence without engaging until he’s awake. Perhaps Hunter, Rex, Fox or Wolffe. Thank you for considering. 😊

Morning Person

Summary: Fox loves his girlfriend. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He even loves how bright and bubbly she is first thing in the morning. It’s not her fault he cannot function without a cup of caf first thing in the morning.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 1031

Warnings: Reader is described as having long hair that "tumbles down her back" and she can wear it in a bun on the top of her head.

A/N: Hihi! You sent this in and I immediately knew what I wanted to write! But then it turned into something soft and fluffy at the end, lol. Thanks for your request~

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Fox hates mornings.

In his, professional, opinion. Any time before 10 should be illegal, and he shouldn’t be forced to work before noon.

Tragically, the galaxy very rarely cares about what he wants, so here he is. Awake and sort of aware at 7 am.

The bed next to him is still a little warm, but that tracks. His perfect cyare wakes up at 6:30 every morning, even on days when she doesn’t have to work. Distantly, he can hear her moving around the kitchen, and soon enough the familiar scent of breakfast sausage cooking wafts into the bedroom.

Fuck, he loves her.

Groggily, he rolls off the bed, and stumbles into the fresher to shower for the day. It doesn’t help wake him up, but it needs to happen, and if he doesn’t do it now, it won’t get done.

One quick shower later, Fox meanders his way through the apartment he shares with his cyare and into the kitchen. There, standing at the stove with a spatula in her hand, is his cyare. 

Her hair is pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and she’s clad in one of his shirts and her frog covered sleep pants. She’s adorable. And she notices him as soon as he steps into the room.

“Morning Fox~” She chirps, “Did you sleep well?”

Fox grunts an affirmative noise and walks over to her. Normally, he would pat her head and kiss her forehead as a way to acknowledge her in the morning, but her hairstyle forbids it this morning.

So, instead, he kisses her temple and rubs his thumb down the back of her neck, before he steps around her to grab the, already prepared, cup of caf.

His poor cyare is a little insecure about her place in his life, even now, and so does everything in her power to be useful to him. This means, in this case, that she makes him breakfast every morning and preps his caf the way that he likes before he wakes up.

He, personally, thinks it’s ridiculous. Why would he want to look at another woman when he has her, after all? But she’s allowed her insecurities. It’s his job to make sure that they don’t overwhelm her.

When they first moved in together, she took his silence in the morning as an indication that he wasn’t happy with her. Though she never mentioned her thoughts to him, she just allowed the belief to work her into an anxious frenzy, until she broke down sobbing one morning asking him if he didn’t love her anymore.

That had been a mess and a half to clean up and untangle.

Together, they worked out that so long as he acknowledges her in the morning, even if it’s something as simple as a touch and a kiss, it keeps her from overthinking everything.

He settles on one of the kitchen chairs, silently nursing his caf, as he watches her make breakfast for them. She’s humming along with the radio, and a small smile lifts his lips. 

Her hair is a mess, she’s not wearing any make-up. Her clothes are wrinkled and worn, or very childish in the case of her pants. She would be the first one to say that this is when she looks her worst.

She’s wrong.

Right here, first thing in the morning, when it’s just him and her and no one else, she’s never more beautiful. He really is a lucky asshole.

He watches her plate breakfast, sausage, toast, fresh fruit, and some juice, then she sets a plate in front of him, before sitting in the chair next to him. 

That’s about the time she realizes that he’s staring at her.

“What?”

Fox absently pushes his mug to the side, and reaches out for her, his hand settling on her cheek as he coaxes her closer to him so he’s able to press kisses across her face. His free hand reaches up to tug the rubber band out of her hand, allowing her long hair to fall around her shoulders and down her back.

A giggle falls from her as he pushes her hair out of her face, so he can continue kissing her, “Fox! Our breakfast will get cold!”

“It’ll keep,” He mumbles against her jaw, “Love you.”

One of her hands tangles in his curls, while the other curls around his bicep. “Silly man, what’s gotten into you?”

Fox just hums and continues pressing feather-light kisses across her face, until he finally catches her lips with his own in a series of light kisses. Then he decides that she’s not nearly close enough, and he swiftly tugs her from her chair until she’s sitting on his lap.

Still not close enough, but it’ll do for now.

A sigh falls from her, soft and love-sick, and Fox grins against her lips before pulling away and pressing his forehead against hers. 

She has a dreamy look on her face and a goofy smile on her lips, “Goodness,” She murmurs, her fingers falling from his curls to rest against his stubble-covered cheek, “Have I just been depriving you, Fox?”

“Went all night without kissing you,” Fox replies, suddenly very, very awake, “Had to make up for lost time.”

“Ah, so you’re not deprived. You’re spoiled.” Her voice is teasing and her eyes are soft. Her fingers trail against his jaw, and she huffs out a sigh, “You forgot to shave.”

“Didn’t forget. Didn’t feel like it. Too much effort.”

She shakes her head, “After breakfast, I’ll get the stuff and do it for you. I know how much you hate the feel of your stubble in your helmet.”

Fox feels his heart lurch in his chest. She really is perfect. And so, he pulls her into another kiss, though this time he doesn’t keep it chaste. If she’s not giggling like a schoolgirl when he finishes, then he’s not kissing her thoroughly enough.

The rest of the galaxy can take a hike. This, right now, is more important. And, just before he gets too lost in her lips, he can’t help but think that, just maybe, mornings aren’t that bad.

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“The time is always right to do what is right.” MLK

Padawan Avery was a bright light in that morgue of mud. Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Aay’han.

Thank you Pina for this deeply felt story and for your brave OC. I hope to read more with her. ❤️

The First Cracks

Summary: Avery Leto, Jedi padawan and healer in training, is sent on a mission to act as field medic during The Clone Wars. What she sees will begin to shape her perspective of the war and the troopers fighting in it.

Warnings: This one’s going to hurt guys. There’s blood, there’s death, there’s Pong Krell being Pong Krell.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Yet another fic that I thought I’d reposted after my blog deletion but I found it tucked away lol. Enjoy hating Pong Krell all over again I guess 😆

She stood there in the aftermath of the battle. The brewing storm whipped her padawan braid across her face while small frigid rain drops beat against her skin. They’d won, or so she’d been told.

“Another victory in the bag!” Master Krell boasted, pushing out his chest in an impossibly arrogant fashion. Pong Krell had come in Master Yoda’s place much to everyone’s dismay.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. So many dead men. Was his victory worth this? The Republic would think so. His impeccable record was held in high regard by the Senate.

“General Krell. Commander Leto. We’ve almost finished securing the injured. We will be ready for departure soon.” Clone Commander Gree sounded exhausted. She stepped forward toward the carnage before her. She had a feeling she had to help at least one more trooper. She wasn’t sure if it was the Force or anxiety but whatever it was compelled her back to the field.

“What are you doing, Padawan Leto? We are shipping out. Get on the transport.”

She paused, squaring her shoulders and looking Krell in the eye, “Master Krell, I am making one more round to ensure all men are accounted for. As the medic assigned to you for this mission I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t.”

Krell huffed, “It’s an awful lot of fuss for some clones.”

She saw Gree flinch as Krell marched back to the transport. She placed her hand on the Commander’s arm, “If any of your brothers are still alive out there, I’ll find them.” He tilted his head toward her, a sad smile hidden by the helmet he wore.

The rain had picked up intensity forcing her to pull her cloak tightly against herself. She felt nauseous as her boots sloshed through a mud composed of dirt, rainwater, and blood. So much blood. Droids don’t bleed, this was from her men. She swept the field with the Force, hoping, praying she could save one more. A fresh faced young padawan, only 20 years of age when the war began; now one year in and she felt older than Master Yoda some days.

Her ruminations were interrupted by the beeping of a lifesigns alert. Her heart lurched. A survivor. She ran, her GAR standard issue medic bag swaying, the weight of it threatening to steal her balance in every hurried step. She ignored the gut wrenching splash of the bloody water being kicked up her legs and the sound of Krell’s voice demanding she come back. Then the screaming began. He was scared, in pain, alone, and screaming for his brothers.

She slid to a stop and fell to her knees next to the clone, “Trooper! Trooper I’m here!” She gently removed his helmet. Her heart broke at the terror in his eyes.

“It hurts! It hurts! Please help me! Help me! Oh by the Force it kriffing hurts!” He was just a shiny.

She shushed him with the gentleness of a mother he never had, “Eyes on me, eyes on me. I’m here now.” She touched him with the Force and wanted to throw up. He wasn’t going to make it. She couldn’t save him. She positioned herself perpendicular to him, gently placing his head on her lap, “I can help with the pain. Would you like that?”

“Please! Yes, please!” His sobs were agonizing. She brushed his head softly, wiping the raindrops away. She breathed and called on the Force, her hands pressed to his temples. She felt him relax and all his fear and pain dissipated.

“Are…are you an Ethereal?” He panted as the wave of relief swept over him.

She laughed, “No, just a lowly padawan and medic.”

He paused as he studied her face, “I’m not going home, am I medic?”

Her smile dropped as she looked away. She couldn’t answer him. He knew and she was too cowardly to confirm the inevitable.

“It’s okay.” He grabbed her wrist, “I’m not scared anymore. I don’t know what you did to me but I’m not scared.”

She stroked his brow, “Good. You’re not alone, trooper. I’m here. I won’t be leaving your side.”

He smiled and managed a weak laugh, “If they’d told me in training I’d be dying in the arms of a beautiful girl I would have told them they were crazy.”

“Commander Leto, General Krell has sent me to retrieve you and bring you back to the transport ship,” Commander Gree’s voice startled her as he knelt next to his brother. She hadn’t heard him approach, she’d have to work on dividing her attention on the battlefield better.

“You can tell General Krell I said he can eat bantha poodoo, Commander. I’m not leaving his side.” She even shocked herself at the harshness of her tone. It wasn’t his fault Krell was a pathetic excuse for a Jedi and an even worse general. “My apologies commander. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

Gree held up his hand, “It’s alright. I understand. But I do have orders to bring you back.” She pondered all of her options. She wasn’t leaving this man to die alone. It was out of the question.

And then she had an idea, “Commander, yell at me.”

“Sir?”

“Yell at me. Demand I go back with you. Krell will hear you. I’ll give you a….gentle…force push. I promise I won’t be rough, but it will be enough for Krell to think you’ve done your job and you won’t be on the receiving end of his temper. The consequences of my actions will fall on me and me alone. I’m not leaving your brother’s side.”

The Commander removed his bucket, and Avery realized it was the first time she’d seen his face. “Thank you. And I am sorry for what I am going to say next. I don’t mean a word of it.”

She nodded, smiling softly silently acknowledging his apology. She glanced and saw Krell watching, arms crossed. Even at that distance she could see the scowl on his face. “Go ahead,” she whispered. And so he did.

Her plan worked, and before she knew it Pong Krell was standing over her screaming, “You’re wasting time you petulant child! Over some clone! There are thousands more to replace him! He won’t be remembered or missed and you’re here wasting precious time on him! Get up and walk to that transport ship or I will have my commander stun you and carry you back!”

Gree snapped his head toward Krell, shocked and horrified at the prospect that he might be forced to stun the padawan who was caring for his brother. Appalled because she was showing him the only act of kindness he’d know outside of the bond with his squad.

Krell’s words stoked a fire of rage within Avery. She knew it was wrong. Jedi should not feel rage. But she was consumed by it instantaneously. She released the trooper’s hand and gingerly lay his head on the ground before she rose to her feet. Her eyes burned and her jaw clenched as she drew her lightsaber, the teal blade reflecting through the pouring rain.

“You will have to carry my cold dead corpse to that transport ship, Master Krell. Don’t be a coward and send your Commander to do your dirty work. I’m just a padawan. I should be an easy victory for you.” She stepped to the side, swinging her saber in idle circles, a challenge to the Master she was staring down. She hoped she looked more brave than she felt.

“The Council and your Master will hear about this!” Krell’s threat rumbled just above the thunder of the storm.

“Good.” Her voice didn’t shake and for that she was grateful.

“Watch her! Don’t let her go anywhere,” Krell growled at Gree as he stormed off. Avery deactivated her saber and immediately dropped back to the ground, returning his head to her lap.

“M-miss m-m-medic, I d-don’t think I h-have ever seen anything q-q-quiet so b-brave or stupid in m-my life,” the trooper huffed a strangled laugh as he began to shake.

“You’re cold, here.” Avery removed her cloak and covered him. “What is your name, by the way?”

“T-thank you. I’m CT 43-0253.” He was shaking less with the warmth of her cloak but his voice was getting weaker.

“No, not your designation. Your name. What do your brothers call you?”

He smiled sadly, “I hadn’t picked one yet. I wanted to…wait. Until after the battle. Guess I don’t get to now. That was stupid of me.” There was a beat of silence before Avery asked, “What about ‘Aay’han’?” She didn’t hesitate, the Mando’a rolled off her tongue as if she’d been a native speaker. The trooper stared at her puzzled.

Gree spoke up, “I think that’s perfect. Have you learned any Mando’a, trooper?”

“No sir. Didn’t get the opportunity.”

“The name our medic has given you is akin to remembering and celebrating, the balance of mourning and joy.”

“Oh. But the General said…”

“Kriff him. We’ll remember you. Always.” Avery firmly interrupted him, brushing the soaked strands of hair from his brow. “Brace yourself boys, our favorite General is coming back.”

Krell looked all the more intimidating as lightning backlit his imposing frame. Avery did her best not to shirk back but he looked like he’d grown exponentially with his rage.

“See this Masters? This insubordinate brat is defying my orders!” Krell tried to sound composed but his rage seeped through his words.

She realized he was holding his portable holoprojector, the hazy blue figures of Master Windu and Master Yoda watching her. She didn’t have time to worry about that though as Aay’han began gasping painfully.

“Masters with all due respect, I am in the middle of something important. When I am done I will happily answer any questions you may have.”

“Very well padawan, but Master Yoda and I prefer to observe you.” Master Windu’s even tone crackled through the projector. Avery nodded sharply and resumed the comfort care she was providing her trooper.

“Miss,” Aay’han choked some before powering through, “what do you think it’s like? Death, I mean.”

She attempted to shield his face from the pounding rain. She felt the three Masters watching her, two curiously and one furiously. “Well, we, Jedi I mean, we believe there is no death. The body is just a vessel. When you die, you return to the Living Force. Never gone. Just…returned to where you came from.”

He chuckled, “Oh. That’s sounds…nice. I hope you’re right, returning to the Force I mean. I’m not keen on staying on Kamino forever.” He huffed another pained laugh before a groan escaped his lips. Speaking was becoming difficult for him. “Thank you. For the name. And for staying.”

“You’re welcome, Aay’han. It’s been an honor knowing you trooper and an honor guiding you back to the Force.” His eyes had already closed, his breathing was becoming labored and irregular. In a silence only broken by the pounding rain and rumbling thunder, Aay’han returned to the Force. She covered his face with her cloak before standing to turn to face the Jedi Masters in the hologram, “My job is done, Masters. I will answer any questions you have for me.”

“Enough, we have seen. To the temple, please return,” Master Yoda ordered.

“With pleasure, Master,” Krell growled and he shut off the projector. “Commander, put her in binders. When we are back on the cruiser I want her detained. I don’t want her getting any other ideas.”

“Sir! She…”

“It’s alright Commander,” Avery extended her wrists to him. “Do as your General says. I’ll be fine.”

“Sir…yes, sir.”

“That’s the first wise choice you’ve made this evening. I’ll see that you’re kicked out of the Order for this.” Krell sounded even more proud of the idea of having Avery removed than of his victory in battle.

Avery didn’t answer him. She stared straight ahead, jaw set with a facade of ambivalence barely held together by her few remaining strands of self control.

**********

The voyage back to the Jedi Temple was arduous, harrowing, and anguishingly long. Krell ensured she’d be transported like a common criminal. In her solitude she replayed the events that landed her in this situation over and over. What could she have done differently? If she’d been more skilled with Force healing could she have saved Aay’han? If she’d trained harder could she have done more? Did she even make the right choice? Should she have just left him and gone back to the transport? Is his death on her hands? The self doubt seeped through her like her favorite tea seeped through the tea bag.

Upon Master Krell’s orders, Avery was marched into the Temple in binders. He’d not even let her change her clothes. She was still heavily caked in mud and blood. Her face was dirty with streaks where her tears traversed her cheeks. She suspected he aimed to humiliate her. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Krell charged in before the Council, all bravado and indignation while Commander Gree gently guided her in behind him. The softness of his hand on her back stood in sharp contrast to the aggressive aura of Krell.

“Master Krell, don’t you think the binders are a little excessive?” Master Windu queried, a hint of agitation nipping at his question.

“I didn’t want her to try to escape. She needed to come before you and answer for what she did!” The accusation was absurd at best and she was grateful the Masters seated before her seemed to know that.

“Commander Gree, remove the binders please. I do not believe she will go anywhere,” Master Plo gently requested as he gave Avery a soft paternal nod.

“Sir, yes sir!” Gree could barely contain his joy and gave her a comforting squeeze of the hand before removing the binders.

“So Avery, what do you have to say?” Master Plo continued. His fingers were interlocked in a posture far too relaxed for the situation, in Avery’s opinion.

She studied the room. She felt a tinge of shame when she saw her own master, Tana Vytuia, sitting amongst the council members who were determining her fate.

Avery lifted her chin and did her best to appear confident in her decision. “Masters, I do not regret my actions. Nor will I ask your forgiveness. You sent me on that mission as a medic. I am training to be a healer. I could not save that trooper, but he deserved to die with dignity. Without pain and fear. In the company of someone who would guide him back to the Living Force. I would do it for any trooper under my care, without hesitation.”

The High Council sat silent for a moment. For how long Avery didn’t know. It felt like ages before anyone spoke.

“Kind and honorable, you are padawan. Strong in the Force, you are. An exceptional healer, you shall be.” Master Yoda smiled at her.

“Master?” The confusion in her voice was heavy but there was a glimmer of hope there too.

“Master Yoda is right. The Council has reviewed the hologram of your actions extensively. You displayed some of the finest qualities of a Jedi. We are proud of you, padawan. Instead of using your Force Healing to fight death, you embraced the peace to come and helped a trooper do the same. It gives us great pleasure to inform you that you have passed the final trial. You are now a Jedi Knight.” Master Windu rose to his feet and tilted his head in a slight bow. Avery stared, eyes like saucers and jaw agape in complete shock. She was convinced she was going to be thrown out, not promoted. She looked around the room at the Masters before her and all but Krell were smiling warmly at her.

It wasn’t until Gree placed a congratulatory hand on her shoulder that she spoke again, “Masters, I can honestly say this was not how I envisioned this going.”

“Neither did I,” she heard Krell grumble as he slowly slunk backward.

“However,” she continued, “I am truly grateful and honored that the Council has deemed me worthy of knighthood. I promise I will uphold the Jedi Code, and humbly request I continue my training to become a Consular and Healer.”

“We look forward to seeing the great things you will achieve. If you wait here, we will discuss your future as a general in the GAR,” Master Windu answered proudly.

A general? In the GAR? Master Windu’s words made her nauseous. She listened as Krell was offered platitudes for his successful mission and small talk was exchanged as they shuffled off to their next assignment. Soon the High Council Chamber had cleared out, leaving Avery standing with Masters Yoda, Windu, and Tana.

“Troubled, your mind is young Jedi,” Master Yoda observed her with compassion.

“Masters. I,” she paused and gathered her courage. “I must ask that you not assign troops to me.”

Master Windu studied her with an air of curiosity, “Alright, why do you not want to lead our troops?”

This was more terrifying than standing up to Krell. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful for what the Council had done, but she couldn’t be a General.

“Masters, I am a healer. I tend wounds, I provide comfort care when those wounds are fatal. I…I fix the damage done to our troops on the battlefield. I provide peace and refuge if only briefly. I can’t be the one responsible for leading them to that fate. It stands in direct contradiction to what I stand for. I humbly request you have me serve in a medical capacity. I’ll be a field medic. I’ll work in the field hospitals. I’ll rotate the hospital frigates. But I can’t be the reason the clones need healing when I am the one who is supposed to do the healing.”

Master Yoda pondered her words, his brow turned in a thoughtful expression, “A compelling argument you make, young one. Agree with you, I do.”

Master Windu smiled, “Very well. You will serve the Republic within the MedCorps.” He turned to her former master, “Now, Tana, will you take Avery to her new quarters? She should get cleaned up and rest before we give her her assignments tomorrow.” Avery dipped into a deep bow, relieved and bubbling with gratitude.

**********

“Avery, something else is on your mind. What is it?” After being her Master for well over 10 years, Avery should have expected she couldn’t hide much from Tana. The wise Jedi had become as close to a mother as possible without having actually birthed her.

Avery didn’t answer immediately, instead listening to their rhythmic footsteps in the empty hallways, wondering how she should vocalize her trepidation. “I’m…worried, Master. About the clones.”

“Worried?”

“I’ve only worked alongside them for a little bit but I’ve gotten to know many of them in that short time. They’re so loyal to a Republic they’ve never even seen. A Republic that doesn’t even consider them citizens or give them rights. They don’t even get names! They name themselves or their brothers name them!” She stopped for a moment remembering Aay’han. She’d chosen his name. He almost died without a name. The thought twisted her stomach. How many unknown troopers were there?

“I used to think the Republic was unquestionably fighting for justice in the galaxy. Now I find myself more and more concerned about the troopers fighting the war. Are we truly fighting for justice when our own soldiers are denied basic rights?”

Her former Master considered her words before answering, “I don’t have those answers for you, I’m afraid. In war things are rarely black and white. You make compelling arguments and, as always, I’m so proud of the compassion and kindness you show to all beings. Convene with the Force, it will provide you the answers you need as you need them.”

“Yes, master,” she sighed. She knew Master Vytuia was right but she wanted her answers now.

The remainder of their walk passed in silence until they arrived at Avery’s new quarters. Tana turned to Avery and hugged her. “Here we are. I am so proud of you Avery. You will continue to learn so much working with Master Vokara Che in the infirmary.”

“Thank you, Master Vytuia.” The thought of no longer being under her Master’s tutelage brought tears to her eyes.

“I think we’ve reached a point where you can just call me Tana, Avery.”

“That will take some getting used to,” Avery mused with a smile. She dipped into one final bow before she walked inside and heaved a heavy sigh. First order of business would be the shedding of her padawan braid. The second would be to climb in the refresher. Third would be meditation. In the silence of her new private room, she thought she could hear a familiar voice call to her through the Force. And so she answered, “I hear you Aay’han. I promise I will help as many of your brothers as I can.”

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@crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf because you drew that lovely art of Tana!

Sweet story about a boy and his dog, Hound and Grizzer, along with Hound’s GF. 😻

Watch and Learn, City Boy, Part 2: Autumn

A/N: This is a follow-up to Part 1, which I wrote last year. The muse struck on the autumnal equinox, and who am I to reject her overture? Yes, I switched tenses, and no, I’m not sorry. Enjoy! 

Pairing: Hound x Reader (Fem)

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

Wordcount: 2.8K

Warnings and tags: fluff; domesticity; language; little bit of SMUT; one (1) slap on the ass; tickling; pinning; allusions to bondage; Reader is a bit of a brat; Hound is a playful switch (I don’t make the rules); this isn't as kinky as it sounds; I made up pretty much everything about Alderaanian culture, holiday observances, and spirituality for this fic, so don’t take anything here as having a basis in canon.

Summary: Autumn has come to Alderaan, and you’re stuck on kriffin’ Coruscant. But Hound won’t let that stop you from celebrating.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Hempz Apple Cinnamon Shortbread body lotion (autumn leaves; warm spices)

Part 1 | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Grizzer launched herself off of your mattress with a ferocious snarl before you even heard the door chime. Hound startled awake with a muffled grunt, and you sat up, rubbing your eyes groggily and fumbling for your datapad to check the security holo.

“‘S goin’ on?” he mumbled.

“Groceries,” you rasped as you crawled out of bed and slipped into a robe. “I’ll take care of it. Go back to sleep.”

Grizzer was prancing triumphantly at the front door, and she greeted you with a loud, delighted snort to let you know that she had successfully repelled the invading force and secured the perimeter.

“Good girl,” you yawned. “So brave. Gonna tell Fox to give you a medal and a promotion.”

She plopped down resolutely in front of the door and refused to budge until you had administered what she deemed to be an appropriate number of scritches between the spines on her back. At length, she shuffled out of the way so you could open the door and dart out into the hallway just long enough to retrieve your grocery delivery, silently beseeching the Force not to let your well-meaning but nosy neighbors catch you in your bathrobe. Gods knew you and Hound already gave them plenty of fodder for gossip.

Once the groceries were safely inside, Grizzer had to complete an exhaustive sniff-spection of every single bag before she would allow you to put the food away, and then she gave you a meaningful look and lumbered over to the back door. You tapped the panel and shivered at the blast of cold air that rushed in as the door hissed open. 

Grizzer sauntered out to do her business on the comically tiny patch of fake grass you’d installed on your balcony once you realized she and Hound would be staying over as many nights as they could possibly sneak away from the barracks. By the time you’d finished stashing the perishables in the conservator, she was back inside and waiting for her breakfast.

You activated the cleaning droid to deal with her mess, dumped a scoop of massiff chow in her bowl, and finally returned to the bedroom. Hound’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, but he wordlessly pulled the blankets back as you climbed into bed and snuggled your ass into the nook of his body, extending his other arm for you to use as a pillow.

Stars, he’s so warm. This is the best part of my day.

You barely had time to settle in before Grizzer hopped up onto the bed, circled a few times, then flopped against you hard enough to knock the wind out of you.

“Ugh, careful with the spikes, Grizz. Don’t you have breakfast to eat?” you muttered.

Despite your grumbles, you couldn’t resist the pleading look she shot you, and you reached down to pat her lazily as she settled her chin onto your leg with a happy sigh. Kriffin’ massiff always wants to be the littlest spoon.  

You shifted, looking for a comfortable position while being smooshed between your two favorite beings, then tucked your feet closer to Hound, trying to get warm. He flinched as he felt your icy feet against his shins, but instead of pulling away, he rested his hand on your hip and drew you more firmly against his body, then slid up your torso to cup your breast. He nuzzled his face into your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Mornin’,” he rumbled. ”Happy equinox. I assume you've planned somethin’ festive for today?”

“Mm-hmm,” you mumbled, privately reflecting that he was using far too many words for this early on a Benduday morning. “‘S why I ordered groceries.”

He hummed his approval and began to kiss a path down your spine. “Does it involve tying me to a kitchen chair and licking a jar of honey off my skin?”

You laughed quietly and kissed the scar on his forearm that rested beneath your head. “Is that a specific fantasy you have, or are you just looking for an excuse to get me to tie you up and have my wicked way with you?”

“Two things can be true, angel.” He squeezed your breast gently, then trailed his fingertips down the centerline of your body, unerringly finding his way between your thighs. “Your feet are like kriffin’ icicles. You go on an expedition to Ilum for those groceries or somethin’?”

“Grizz was extra needy this morning,” you explained. “Mm, that feels nice. Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. His fingers slipped over your clit and into your pussy, and he shifted slightly to grind his cock against your ass. “Feel how hard you made me? Prancin’ around in that little thing you call a bathrobe. Probably gave the neighbors a coronary.”

“Nobody saw me,” you laughed, then gasped as he slid deeper. “At least I—fuck—I didn’t see anyone.”

“Grizz, off,” he ordered, to the massiff’s vocal disgust. Nevertheless, she complied, jumping off the bed with a huff of protest and wandering out of the bedroom in search of the breakfast she’d previously snubbed. “Guess we’ll find out if anyone saw you when they send a thank-you holocard. Damn, little one, you’re kriffin’ soaked. What were you dreamin’ about, dirty girl?”

It wasn’t a dream, it’s just you, you thought, but rather than inflate his already impressive ego, you wiggled your butt against his hips and replied in your most provocative tone. 

“Thorn.”

He laughed, then withdrew from between your thighs and gave you a firm little slap on the ass. You let out a shrill squeak and squirmed out of his arms just far enough to launch yourself off the mattress and tackle him, pinning him briefly and digging your fingers into his ribs to tickle him ruthlessly. 

Alas, your vengeance was short lived. After the briefest moment of being incapacitated by laughter, he managed to roll over on top of you, capturing your wrists and holding them against the pillow on either side of your head.

“Oh, you asked for it, darlin’,” he said with a wicked grin. 

The morning light caught in his eyes and illuminated them to honey gold. They danced with mischief, and you felt an odd flutter in your chest that you didn’t have enough time to examine before he pounced, and the only thing on your mind was holding on while your ARF trooper took you for the ride of your life.

When the pair of you finally stumbled out of bed, you mentally scratched off a few of the activities you’d planned, since you were running two hours behind schedule—a sacrifice you were more than willing to make, all things considered. There was still plenty of time to visit the Alderaanian shrine of the ancestors in the Federal District and make it home in time to cook dinner—a meal that you’d been planning with meticulous care for weeks, going to great lengths to source Alderaanian ingredients that were often difficult to find in the Core Worlds.

“You sure they’ll let me in?” Hound asked as he surveyed the entrance to the temple with obvious doubt in his eyes.

“They will,” you replied firmly. “They don’t turn anyone away. If you ever find yourself in trouble and need a place to lie low, they’ll give you sanctuary.”

“Even though I did absolutely depraved things to you an hour ago?” he murmured in your ear, sending tingles of awareness down your neck.

“... Maybe don’t mention that part.”

“You know, this whole sanctuary thing sounds a little illegal,” he joked.

“Who are you, the police?”

He snorted, then allowed you to lead him inside. The temple was crowded, and not a single person recognized Hound as a clone trooper, or if they did, nobody mentioned it. Hound was fascinated by the vibrant—not to say chaotic—energy inside. 

“The only temple I’ve ever been inside is the Jedi temple,” he said. “This one is really different.”

“I imagine so,” you laughed. “I’ve never been inside the Jedi Temple, but I’ve heard it’s really tranquil. This is… not that.”

He grinned in acknowledgment. “Do you come here every equinox?”

You shook your head. “I’m not really that observant most of the time. When I’m at home, we just have a family celebration. But here on Coruscant, it’s kind of nice to come to a place where I can meet other Alderaanians. For me, it’s really more about staying in touch with my culture, but a lot of people are very devout.”

When the pair of you finally made your way through the temple and to the shrine, he followed you inside and observed respectfully but with keen interest as you lit a stick of incense and left a small offering for the shrine guardian spirit. You were in and out in under a minute, and as the pair of you rejoined the thronging crowd headed toward the exit, Hound leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“That was quick.”

“No point in monopolizing it,” you replied under your breath. “Bad form when the temple is this busy.”

The temple wasn’t the only thing that was busy. Traffic was fully gridlocked, and the trip home took ages. By the time you arrived, you were both ravenous, which was deeply unfortunate, given that you’d planned a fairly elaborate dinner. Still, you were determined to make it work and salvage what was left of the equinox. 

Grizzer was beside herself when you walked through the door. She barreled into Hound with a delighted squeal, and he knelt down for their ritual greeting. She sat patiently until he was within reach and then, with a gentleness that was wholly improbable for a creature of her size, she touched her snout against his nose.

“I’m here, too, Grizz,” you teased, and if a massiff were capable of rolling its eyes, she would have. Nevertheless, she eagerly snuggled up to you, demanding her tribute of affection.

“Do I have time to take her for a quick  run before dinner?” Hound asked.

“I think so. It’ll be a refreshing change to cook without my reptile sous chef.”

“Don’t listen to her, Grizz,” Hound said, covering the massiff’s ear holes. “She’d be lost in the kitchen without you.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agreed solemnly. “What ever shall I do without constant supervision and the in-house quality assurance expert?”

Hound gave you a quick kiss and headed out, and you set to work, swallowing down a faint feeling of disappointment that so many of your plans had fallen through. Dinner would make up for it, though. Dinner would be perfect.. Within minutes, the entire flat began to fill with delicious smells. Everything was proceeding swimmingly. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Gods damn it!”

Your frustrated curse was the first thing Hound heard when he opened the door. Grizzer charged inside and skidded to a halt, prancing around the kitchen.

“Not now, sweetie,” you said, your tone softening a bit as you saw the massiff.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Hound asked.

“That karking shopper droid brought me decorative mini pumpkins instead of edible ones,” you groaned. “And to make matters worse, the pumpkin stems mutilated my Force-damned tomato.”

“Damn, looks like it got squashed,” he murmured.

“That is a terrible pun, and this is no laughing matter!”

“You’re right,” he said apologetically. “It’s an obvious case of assault with a deadly veggie.”

“Still not funny. Look at this carnage!”

You held up the mangled tomato, and he inspected it closely before gravely replying. “That’s a pretty gore-dy victim. Better shield Grizzer’s innocent eyes before she’s permanently scarred.”

You snorted, obstinately refusing to laugh. “I knew I should have just gone to the market myself.”

“Why don’t we go now?” he asked, giving up on his quest to distract you with the worst puns in the Core Worlds. “We can pick up some pumpkins that are actually edible, maybe have a little tour of the market district, get some fresh air?”

You glanced at the clock and sighed. “If we do that, we’ll be eating at midnight. I’ll figure something out.”

Grizzer whined at the sharpness in your tone, then curled up in the corner of your living room so she could keep an eye on you, sensing your frustration. You glared at the offending gourds for a moment, and would have bet every last credit of his nonexistent salary that you were contemplating hurling them into the abyss of the Coruscant underworld. Seeing how much the kriff-up had upset you, Hound ventured into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s really bothering you, love?” he asked. “You’re always good at coming up with contingency plans. Is this really such a big problem that it’ll ruin your equinox?”

You sighed and leaned back against him, closing your eyes. “No. Not really. It’s just… My mom always makes this for the autumn equinox. I really wanted it to be perfect, you know?”

“You miss her.”

You nodded. “I do. I miss home, too. It’s weird to celebrate an Alderaanian equinox holiday on a planet that doesn’t even have seasons. And I really wanted this to be perfect so you could have the experience even though you weren’t able to get leave to travel back home with me, and we had to cancel almost all of our plans, and now dinner is ruined, too, and I’m just so fucking tired and hungry.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He kissed the side of your head, then turned you around slowly so he could look into your eyes. His chest squeezed when he saw the beginnings of tears in your eyes, and he brushed his thumb across your cheek to wipe them away. “It is perfect, because I’m spendin’ it with you. No place I’d rather be in the galaxy.”

“Not even a musty old tent surrounded by wolf-cats?” you muttered rebelliously.

“As tempting as that sounds—and if I recall correctly, you were extremely tempting—no. But I’d eat rations and sleep in a musty old tent every night for the rest of my life if it meant I got to wake up next to you.” He didn’t say the words he desperately wanted to. It was too soon, and he didn’t want to scare you off. Instead, he pressed his lips to your forehead and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close. “Kriff the pumpkins. We’ll get takeout and go for a speeder bike ride in the entertainment district.”

You gasped. “Blasphemy! How dare you insinuate that I can’t salvage this disaster? Stand aside and watch the master at work.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. 

“Hmph,” you replied haughtily, unable to quite repress the smile at the corner of your lips.

You started toward the stove, but as you took your first step, Hound caught you by your apron ties and tugged you back into his arms for a devastating kiss. He was extremely thorough, and by the time he released you, you were dizzy and breathless, and he made damn sure you couldn’t remember that mini pumpkins even existed.

“That. Was. Incredible,” Hound said as he cleaned the last few morsels from his plate. 

“Not quite as aesthetically pleasing as Mom’s,” you hedged. 

“It was rustic,” he insisted. “Homestyle. Deconstructed.”

“You really need to stop watching cooking shows on the holonet.”

“How else will I learn all the terms to describe your food to make my brothers insane with jealousy? You think clone troopers have a reason to say ‘craveable’ on a daily basis?”

“Oh, yeah? You tell Thorn all about me?” you teased.

“Easy now, darlin’,” he replied with a lazy grin. “You’re gonna give me a complex.”

“Don’t worry, I could never leave Grizzer.”

He laughed. “Lucky thing for me.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, then stood up and began to clear away the dishes. You groped his ass shamelessly from your seat, then wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face against his abdomen.

“Thanks for celebrating with me,” you murmured, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I know I kind of lost the plot there.”

He set down the plates and wrapped his arms around you. “Not the first time I’ve seen you hangry; won’t be the last.”

You laughed into his belly, then tugged his shirt up so you could kiss his warm, smooth skin. “You know, there’s one equinox tradition that we haven’t observed yet.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It involves a kitchen chair, a pair of your binders, and a jar of honey.”

“Dank farrik, I’m in love with you.” The words slipped out, and by the time Hound realized what he’d said, it was too late to call them back.

You drew back and stared up at him with an expression of shock. “What?”

“Uh…”

Kriff.

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Sweet and 🔥

Echo x Fem!Reader

Summary

When you accidentally overhear Hunter confronting Echo with his feelings for you, you take your chance and make the first step.

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 4116

Warnings: No warnings! Just enjoy sensual juicy Echo fluff! 🍓♥️

AO3

That karking flap broke.

You sit in a maintenance shaft inside the Marauder and press one part of the flap against the rogue one, rolling your eyes theatrically even though no one can see you, waiting for the spaceworthy superglue to finally do its job.

You can live with doing repairs, letting your hands do the magic but you absolutely hate having to be still, waiting five karking minutes for the glue to finally dry. Your restless mind tells your body to flounder but you try to keep it under control - you don't want to ruin the end result. Then you'd have to do it all over again. Another five minutes of absolute boredom.

“...and we should get two or three regulators as spare parts, the current ones seem to be at the end of their lifespan and become increasingly unreliable." Echo and Hunter enter the Marauder and approach the back where you are stuck in the maintenance shaft with a small mesh separating you from the corridor with the two men.

You don't want to eavesdrop and prepare yourself for the classic “ahem" to show them you're here when Hunter starts talking.

“Enough about the spare parts...let's talk about the mechanic."

O-o...did you do something wrong? Or right? Is it still a good idea to pretend to clear your throat?

“What about her?" Echo asks. He looks a bit annoyed. Maybe you did do something wrong.

The idea that Echo would be upset with you hurts - ever since the crew of the Marauder commissioned your boss's shop to do the repairs you had your eyes on him but never got anything in return. He was stiff, distant, uptight and all about work and his constantly gloomy, slightly grumpy mood didn't help establish a communication either. You had almost made your peace with the idea that for some reason he just didn’t like you. Almost…you couldn’t help yourself and still kept on trying to get close to him, start some smalltalk or catch his eye.

Maybe Hunter noticed that you tried to get his attention and wanted to check with Echo if it bothered him or affected your work...and get someone else if it did. And you genuinely thought you chose a subtle approach to show Echo you're interested. Obviously you didn't. It apparently upset Echo and got Hunter's attention. You weren’t subtle - just very unprofessional.

The embarrassment you feel is overwhelming. You got carried away when all you had to do was repair a spaceship while it made landfall. Maybe they'll even tell your boss about it. You feel so sheepish...the very idea that your boss will learn about it and confront you with your misbehavior makes you want to curl up and die.

“I've seen the way you look at her" Hunter answers and raises an eyebrow...as far as you can see through the mesh.

You stare at the scene with eyes wide open. Is this going in a different direction than you thought?

Echo purses his lips.

“And what way would that be?"

Hunter gives him a warm smile and touches his shoulder.

“Echo…just stop pretending. I know you have feelings for her."

Echo clenches his jaw and is visibly upset with Hunter's approach - he surely doesn‘t want him to address this topic so openly. He takes a step back to get away from his touch and is about to say something but Hunter is faster.

“Don't try to deny it. Enhanced senses, remember?”

Echo's cheeks are flushed red now. He furrows his brows and groans.

"Doesn't matter. I have different priorities."

Hunter raises an eyebrow at him again.

“We both know that's not the real reason. Why don't you give it a shot? I think she really likes you."

Echo angrily stares at Hunter for an awfully long time. It is pretty obvious that he feels that his sergeant overstepped.

“It's really none of your business“ he grunts. “Now if you don't have any more questions about the spare parts I ask to be dismissed."

Hunter scoffs. Since they've been on the run he's never been so formal that he would dismiss one of his crew. You'd be surprised if he'd played that game before Order 66 at all. This team didn't seem to follow the strict military rules anyway – probably with the exception of Echo.

Hunter gives Echo a nod and shortly looks in the direction of the mesh that's hiding you and the bits of the maintenance flap you glued together. Adrenaline flushes you and you hold your breath. Did he see you?

But then he quickly turns around and leaves the Marauder.

A few days later you find yourself in the Marauder alone with Echo, doing repairs while the others explore the planet. Of course the conversation between Hunter and Echo never left your mind and you don’t know how to feel about being alone with him.

Echo...he had feelings for you... something you wished so much but didn't dare to hope for. But ever since that moment in the maintenance shaft you felt even more flustered in his presence. Knowing about his feelings could have made you feel confident, but you are just nervous when he's in the room – and even more now, that you're alone. After all he clearly rejected the idea of taking it further, he had no intention of acting on his feelings. 'We both know that's not the real reason' Hunter said to Echo.

Whatever the reason is - maybe he just needed a little push?

You both work in the Marauder, silently, separately on different stations. Echo keeps the conversation on a professional level and keeps his distance. You sometimes peek over to him, try to catch his eye. Sometimes he looks back at you very shortly, but immediately looks away when your eyes meet. The whole morning is the very definition of awkward.

A quiet beeping informs you that it's time for the lunch break. In a way you've been looking forward to it, hoping it will give you the chance to talk to Echo, maybe exchange as smile or so. But now that it's time you're afraid it will be an embarrassing disaster of uncomfortable silence.

You go over to the tactical stations in the back of the Marauder - two identical working spaces on opposite sides of the fuselage. Both of you lean against the consoles and face each other. Echo gives you a forced smile and a formal nod, then he bites into the GAR standard ration, a brown cylindrical and very dry bar that tastes like cardboard. A loveless piece of food for clone troopers that contains all vitamins, proteins and other nutrients a hard-working soldier needs, carefully balanced to match the average calories a genetically standardized man requires when he performs his standard tasks in a standard environment. Not one bit about this bar is about taste, indulgence, enjoyment. It was made for assets that are supposed to spend the shortest time possible eating to be as productive as they can be.

The fact that it was Hunter who insisted on providing you with lunch today - and you’re sure it’s definitely not a bar like that - tells you that no one in this team has to eat those tasteless abominations of food anymore. Still that's what Echo has for lunch. And you get it. It's all he knows, all he's ever known and whatever kinds of food he got to know on his missions he still keeps on coming back to the standard bars. It is part of his routine, something that grounds him, something familiar.

You nod back and open your lunchbox. You are well aware that his formal behavior is just his way to deal with the awkwardness of the situation. Now that you know he has feelings for you it's easier to look behind his distant facade. He is just afraid of this moment as you are, being alone with each other, being expected to come up with some clever topics for small talk or having to face uncomfortable silence instead, with the sounds of your chewing and swallowing filling the room.

You open your lunch box, see the mouthwatering wholemeal sandwich with fresh salad and cheese Hunter got you - and laugh in surprise when you see the treat he put in the compartment for dessert.

Strawberries.

Of all the food you love, this is what you love most.

You never thought he'd get you strawberries!

And of course Hunter picked the perfect strawberries - you expected nothing less. His enhanced senses surely helped and you have no doubt that they will taste as good as they look - deep red, ripe and juicy, their sweet scent filling the air, watering your mouth. Perfect, just perfect!

A smile spreads all over your face. This is such a lovely gesture from the sergeant. A few days ago you mentioned that you grew them in your garden as a child, how much you always looked forward to the time of the year when they got ripe, how much you’d love to eat them again.

But you never thought he'd surprise you with strawberries for your lunchbreak! You didn't even know it was possible to get them on this planet.

Your smile keeps on growing. One could say it’s just food but these are strawberries! They are never ’just fruit’. A little treat during rough times. And knowing that it is a kind gesture from Hunter makes them even better.

You look over to Echo who already takes the second bite of the tasteless bar and tries to look like someone who doesn't feel uncomfortable in your presence but in such a peculiar way that it is hard to miss how he really feels about the situation.

You look down at the strawberries. Their seductive scent must have reached him and his unsavory GAR ration by now. You look up to him and finally break the silence.

"Have you ever tried strawberries?“ you ask and hold one of the thick red fruit up.

Echo looks over, surprised about your attempt to start a conversation.

“Erm... no" he answers.

"Would you like to try one?“ you ask tentatively and hope he will take the bait.

"Sure, why not" Echo answers and tries to make it sound as casually as he can.

He doesn't know what he just started…at least not yet.

But soon he will.

You get up and with a pounding heart you slowly move the hand with the strawberry in his direction. He reaches for it but you ignore that. You have no intention of giving it to him...at least not this way. You lift your hand up to his face and place the strawberry in front of his mouth, tip forward.

Echo's eyes widen and you see panic in them. He swallows hard and you can feel his breath flowing over your fingers, his mouth still closed, his mind racing. This is not what he signed up for.

You keep your eyes on his even though he doesn't dare to look back into yours. Your pounding heart is the only proof that time isn’t standing still right now.

Echo blinks a few times, irritated, his body frozen. The tension is killing you. And him. You can see his mind working. He said he wanted to try one so he can't tell you he made up his mind just like that. It would be rude.

"The tip is the best part of it” you rasp to break the unbearable silence - and he finally opens his mouth. You feel his warm breath on your skin before he slowly bites off the tip.

You leave your eyes on his and slowly retreat the hand with the remaining half of the strawberry to stick it in your own mouth and eat it. He's still not returning your look while he chews slowly and finally swallows. He shows no reaction to its taste - his mind is probably somewhere else, dealing with your move, trying to process, trying to not give his feelings away, trying to get in control of the situation again.

"You want another one?“ you ask him.

Echo finally looks at you. The panic hasn't left his eyes. He doesn't answer. You see his chest heave quickly under his armor. Your little assault was probably a bit too much for him but you don't see a ‘no’ in his eyes either so you take another strawberry and offer it to him.

His lips are still parted, his breath warm against your fingers and this time it takes only a few breaths before he takes a bite. You eat the other half again and don't bother asking, you just take another strawberry and offer it to him.

He still takes his time before his lips enclose the tip of the fruit but he is not as hesitant as before. You give him a rushed and nervous smile and he gives you one back. Just for half a second, just really quickly, but a smile nonetheless, an unmistakable sign of his consent. Finally...

When you give him the next strawberry you allow your eyes to wander down to his delicious lips, slightly wet and juicy from the treats you’ve been feeding him. Irresistible. You watch their every move when he takes the next bite, watch them gently enclose the tip of the strawberry and suck lightly when he finally bites it off. You breath through your mouth, infatuated by the sight, flustered by the sensuality of his lips, captivated by a little drop of juice running down the corner of his mouth.

Before you can think about it your hand is already at his cheek. You run your thumb over his chin, gently wipe away the juice. You lock eyes - this time he doesn't look away - and you slowly retreat your hand to suckle the juice off of your thumb before you eat your half of the strawberry.

Even though your eyes are on his you see him swallow hard.

You take another strawberry and offer it to him. Everything's in slow motion now. Your hand, his lips, his breath flowing over your fingers...

Your eyes are still locked.

You can see that he’s nervous but so are you. Echo accepts your gift another time and you eat the rest.

You reach for the next strawberry when you realize that Echo already has one in his hand - looks like he finally put his unsavory bar down and wants to return the favor. He’s moving it slowly towards your mouth, his eyes firmly on yours. His hand is shaking - you have no idea how in the universe you managed to keep yours steady all the time. You slowly lift your hand and hold his, stabilize it in front of your lips. His ashen skin feels cold, almost as if it had been waiting for your warm touch. You both move the tip of the strawberry closer.

Your mouth is slightly open. This time it is you who lets him feel your breath on his skin. You take your time before you put your lips around the tip, even dare to stick out your tongue a bit to lick over the underside of the strawberry before you slowly take what's yours.

Echo knows what's supposed to come next - the other half is his. Your hand is still on his, gently guides it towards his mouth. But when he gets there you stop him.

He doesn't understand, you can see it in his eyes...you hold your position for a few breaths and then start moving - very slowly, very carefully. You don't want him to get too eager and eat it. Not yet. After all there is a reason why you bit off only a small part of the strawberry. The fruit is juicy and still very defined where you bit it off... it's perfect, it’s just the way you need it to be.

You slowly guide his hand closer to his mouth and run the juicy part of the remaining strawberry over his lips. First the lower lip, left to right, then the upper lip, his breath fast and hot on your fingers all the time. When both his lips are glistening with juice you finally let him eat the rest.

Your eyes are now firmly locked, tied together by an invisible force. Your hand searches for the next strawberry and finally finds it. You feed him the tip again and are just about to put the other half in your mouth when he softly runs his cold fingers over yours, still trembling lightly, but a lot less than before. And he guides your hand to run the remaining strawberry over your lips now.

It took you until this moment to notice that he bit off a lot less than before too - he is a fast learner.

You breath through your mouth, excited, aroused, drawn to this man, let him feel your hot breath on his cold skin, let him hear every breath you draw, let him hear the shuddering, let him see how close you are to losing your composure while he wets your lips with the sweet strawberry juice. The tension is almost unbearable…how you wish he'd let go of the strawberry and brush his lips over yours...

... but he's not there yet. He feeds you the remaining half and waits for your next move when he takes another strawberry and offers it to you.

Your patience has left for a hunger that can no longer be controlled. You suck the tip of the strawberry hard and suggestively, leaving no questions open, before you bite off the tip with so much passion that your desire is on full display. Then you take his hand with the remaining part, move it close to his mouth, a fierce, determined look in your eyes - and run it over his lips before you run it over the corner of his mouth and wet the skin on his cheek. You don't bother feeding him the rest and satisfy your own hunger by finally moving forward, your lips close to him, finally kissing the juice off of his cheeks and the corner of his mouth before you move on to his lips, gently lick the juice off, your hot breath mixing with his until you finally kiss, softly, sensually, hungrily tasting each other, your strawberry lips, your strawberry tongues, your strawberry saliva.

Echo pulls you closer and you lean your body against his, feel his armor, hard plastoid keeping a physical distance but also intriguing, reminding you of his hard physically demanding work. You reach for the blacks under his chest plate and grab them tightly, pull him closer too, let him feel your grip on his skin while you indulge more and more in each other's taste.

Your free hand still holds the rest of the strawberry and you move it up, run it over the sensitive spot at his cheek right under the place where his ear is covered by the head piece and you move it slowly down towards his neck, move it across his throat and further down from there, then break the kiss and follow the juicy trail with your lips. Echo moans softly and you feel the vibrations under your kisses. He tastes so good…it’s not just the strawberry, not even primarily the sweet fruit, it's him, his unique taste, manly and slightly salty, making the strawberry juice a faint refinement of an already perfect taste.

Echo takes the strawberry remains from you and runs them over your skin, starting under your ear, going on over your sensitive neck and moving closer to your neckline. You slowly pull the zipper of your jumpsuit down, brush the fabric over your shoulder to expose your skin and he gasps quietly and continues his trail on your collar bone. Then he gently kisses the juice off, adds little licks while he's on his way, flickers his tongue over your skin in such a skillful way it robs you of your senses when you realize the promise that lies within. You gasp quietly, feel his hot breath on your skin, hear his little moans, let out little gasps of pleasure and forget the world around you when he...

"Hey Echo, look what we got at the..." Omega's cheerful voice cuts through the air and you quickly let go of each other and stare into her curious face. Wrecker comes through the door, relaxed and in a good mood until he sees your surprised faces, your exposed shoulder, the reddish strawberry juice on your skin and both your red cheeks. He quickly covers Omega's eyes from behind but she loudly complains and squirms her way out of his grip. She is just about to say something when Hunter rushes in, quite obviously to stop them but already aware that he's too late. He could probably sense that the two of you were making out when he was still outside...

Your eyes shortly meet Hunter's and suddenly you realize...

... he must have known that you were in the maintenance bay when he asked Echo about his feelings for you. He couldn't have missed that, not with his enhanced senses. And it was not like this was an ongoing conversation when they entered the corridor.

He started that conversation.

He chose this topic.

He brought it up.

On purpose.

Knowing that you'd be there to listen to him.

Knowing that the chances that you'd make a first move would be a lot higher than Echo's.

And then the strawberries...the strawberries he found for you the very day when you and Echo would be alone on the Marauder. Which was probably something he scheduled on purpose too.

He had planned all this.

You are not sure if you should feel played or if you should be grateful because he gave you the chance to get closer to the man whose touch you craved so much. You would never have taken the chance if you hadn't learned that he has feelings for you.

Hunter looks over to Wrecker and Omega while Tech enters the Marauder.

"You know what? Why don't we explore the city a little more and go to the holo cinema tonight? No need to hang around at the ship, we have that everyday" the sergeant asks.

Wrecker is over the moon and pushes Hunter‘s shoulder a little too enthusiastically.

“Awesome!"

He looks over to Omega who peeks in Hunter's direction and smirks.

“What a shame that these two can't join us. I take it they have to continue with the repairs until late at night?" she says and winks.

Hunter blushes. He wasn't prepared for Omega to understand what he‘s up to. You look over to Echo - his cheeks are flushed red. He just begins to realize that Hunter played Cupid.

Tech adjusts his googles.

“In this case I will stay here too and support the remaining repairs. It is imperative that...”

“Nooooo Tech!” Wrecker interrupts him with his loud voice. “I don't think that's necessary!”

Tech gives him an irritated look – refusing his offer to support repairs is probably one of the most offensive things he knows in his world. Omega quickly picks up on his face and steps in.

“Yeah...you know there's only limited space where they have to work and you'd be in each others' way...”

“Besides...” Hunter adds and wraps his arm around Tech “I chose the movie specifically for you. It's called 'A beautiful mind'. You're gonna love it. It's about a mathematician who...” Hunter gently guides Tech outside and gives the two of you one last look with a grin.

Wrecker rubs his neck before he starts to talk loudly.

“Well...erm...you...you just go on with the repairs...and stuff...you know...erm...”

Omega giggles takes his hand and pulls him towards the door.

“Let's see if we can get Mantell mix on this planet. No movie without junk food!”

Wrecker gratefully accepts the pull-out and Omega gives you a last wink before they leave the two of you alone.

Echo and you look at each other and laugh nervously. And now that everyone has left you realize that someone - probably Hunter - left you something at the Marauder‘s door. It’s probably what Omega wanted to show Echo when she ran in on you.

It‘s a basket with a huge variety of fruit.

Very juicy ones.

Echo didn’t miss them either. He rubs his neck and gives you an apologetic look.

“Well that’s embarrassing…“

You give him a nervous smile.

“It is…“

But then you summon up all your courage and firmly look into his eyes.

“I don’t mind at all. Do you?“

Writer’s Notes:

This fic was inspired by two wonderful fics about Echo and strawberries: Lush Meadows by @the-rain-on-kamino and Strawberries by @arcsimper5.

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