Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day one of shore leave.

“Now, boys. You all promised to behave while we're off. We're not on vacation, we're on leave.” Hunter's gruff reminder was ignored by most, watching as the Clone Force 99 enthusiastically entered the neon-lit establishment, which caused the Sergeant to grumble curses under his breath.

“Psh, vacation, leave. They sound the same to me!” Wrecker hollered with a laugh, slinging an arm around a snickering Echo. “What matters is we're drinkin’ our heads off tonight!”

Tech sighed, adjusting his goggles. “Correction. You are drinking your heads off tonight. Someone has to make sure none of you will step out of line again.”

“And would that be you, vod?” Crosshair quipped dryly, shifting a toothpick between his teeth. “Last time, I remember you losing a drinking game to Echo.”

“I do not recall such a thing.”

“Exactly.”

You gazed upon your squad with a fond smile, following closely behind them.

It's been three years since you've been assigned to this eccentric yet interesting batch of roughened soldiers. The Clone Force 99, or better known as the Bad Batch, one of the finest clones you have the privilege of meeting. 

The assignment was, admittedly, far more abrupt than you would've expected. Master Mace Windu had come up to you personally after your return from an extraction mission on an Outer Rim planet, not allowing any pleasantries to stretch long into the conversation before he dropped the announcement of your new position.

“As the war progresses on, we fear we must strengthen our forces. You are assigned to be the General of Clone Force 99. You will meet with them tomorrow at 1300.”

He forgot to mention the part that this battalion consisted of only five members, each carrying their distinct and desirable trait.

It was an awkward start at first, because of the fact this squad has never worked closely with anyone outside of their circle. They were a free and independent batch of clones, their unique distinction separating them from their standard clone brothers (regs as they called them). However, even after weeks of being their commanding officer, you still couldn't ignore the unwelcome feeling that stuck on your skin when you were in the same room.

Well, except for Hunter and Wrecker, who have been more than respectful (the latter being pleasantly sweet upon your first introductions) with you. Hunter, being the sergeant of the squad, shared his insights and battle plans whenever he could, but he kept his cordial distance as to not cross any of your “Jedi boundaries” as he quoted it. 

While Wrecker, Force bless him, immediately latched on to your side like a curious Loth-wolf. He asked so many questions about the Order, what it's like being a Jedi, how does the Force feel, and so many other things that he almost reminded you of your Padawan days. Of course, you entertained his curiosity, finding his gentle nature to be a warm surprise.

Despite his roughened shape and intimidating physique, the clone was more than capable of making your cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing.

The rest were… It would appear that time was needed to adjust to the new setting.

Echo, who you were previously acquainted with before his… incident, was the third easiest member to talk with. Although the interactions were curt, the ARC trooper still remained polite and agreeable for the most part. You could sense an underlying side beneath the surface of his exterior, the pain and trauma from what he went through. He carried it with him silently, moving cautiously and watching the choice of his words carefully.

However, within the confines of the Marauder, this new squad was able to pull him out of those dark thoughts and relax his tense body at ease. You were amazed at how the others made him feel safe and welcome, that he belonged in this squad more than anyone.

Their tight knit bond never failed to impress you, especially when they began to recognize you as one of their own.

Then, there was Tech, the so-called nerd by Wrecker. 

You were completely fascinated with him the moment he jumped at the opportunity to question your home planet and all its exotic wildlife. Question after question, fact after fact, he would release all his knowledge on to you until he's satisfied and spent. Then, comes the burnout. Once he's concluded his scientific rants and discussions, he would resume to his personal space in the cockpit or working on some part of the Marauder.

Always with his datapad, tools and equipment in hand. Never stopping to rest until he had satiated his desire to know or have completed his tasks. Conversations with him, like Echo, were always clipped yet formal. But unlike Echo, his tone often sounded patronizing, as if he's telling you something he would explain to a child who's yet to comprehend the complexities of the universe. 

You quickly understood Wrecker's advice to steer clear from him during his busy moments. He could be so straightforward with his words that it could come across as rude sometimes. Although, you knew he didn't mean to belittle your expertise and knowledge, he was simply being his own encyclopedic self. 

Albeit the first time he corrected you (rather coldly as well) did startle and had you blinking in slight shock. Afterwards, you decided to follow Wrecker's advice and left the begoggled clone alone when he's lost in his own world.

Finally, the worst of them all, Crosshair.

The immediate distrust and suspicions emitted from him the moment you locked gazes from the hangar in Coruscant, it seeped out heavily through his energy. You knew then that he would be trouble, but he was part of the squad you would be commanding, so you ignored the intangible heavy weight of his dismay and pushed through with the introductions.

Out of all of them, he preferred his quiet moments alone, and he never stuck around after battle. 

Always going back to the Marauder to freshen up, his bunk where he spent his brooding days doing Maker knows it, or at the far corner from the group cleaning his rifle.

Even with his cold distance, you still felt the same calculating stare on your back every time you walked into the room. It gradually became familiar, to the point where you become immune to his icy demeanor. Yes, he never went against your commands. However, he always questioned your capabilities as their general by arguing with you. It was as if he was purposefully trying to rebel against you and your superiority in his own way.

His gaze alone told you you were not worthy to be in their squad.

It was Hunter, himself, who had told you that his brother would be the most difficult one to manage. But you were already aware of that since you had done your first mission with them. You didn't expect him to smile and joke around you like how Wrecker did, but he could at least pretend he tolerated you.

But you were not here to please him, you were here to be their General and if it meant staying on his cold shoulder, then so be it.

Over time, your relationship with the Bad Batch grew from professional to almost familial. Time and time again when you saved one of them from close calls, their trust in you expanded exponentially until they finally acknowledged you as part of their team. 

Hunter let himself relax around you, often confiding with each other about the weight of leadership and war. You appreciated his grounding presence, a reminder of perseverance amidst a time of hardships. It wasn't difficult to admire him for his courage and reliability, not to mention how good he looked being in command (you weren't a fool to deny his appearance).

Wrecker treated you as his best friend, besides Lula, and you allowed him to crush you into his chest for a hug or ruffle your hair as he bellowed a loud laugh. You respected his strength and resiliency, but also adored his rare moments of vulnerability and tenderness. Even when he chose to keep a strong front in front of his brothers, they all knew how much of a gentle giant he could be.

Echo opened up more around you, letting out carefree laughs and his former crude humor that he reserved around his fallen brother. 

He began to show his other side to him, a side that left you warm with appreciation and gratitude. 

It reminded you of the time when he carelessly joked around you, teasing and taunting along with his brother. During hyperspace travels, he would join you in the cockpit to ask about your well-being. He would be the first one to bring you a ration, offer a blanket against the cold, or simply sit down and share stories with you.

Tech also became chattier than before, and he would be the one approaching you instead to dump his new information or simply share his compiled thoughts. You grew fond of the way he would sought after your company, bounding up to wherever you were just to talk and talk and talk. 

He also asked you for assistance sometimes, and you were more than glad to help him with his concerns.

Crosshair, who stayed silent during the time you used the Force to heal him after another risky entanglement with an enemy, turned into a more tolerable company. Ever since that time, you could feel his energy gravitating closer to you each moment you were out in the battlefield. His stare would never leave your figure as you traverse an unfamiliar terrain, his presence looming from behind—a silent guardian protecting you from the shadows.

Yet, he still maintained his cold distance. 

Along with that razor sharp glare and sneer on his face. 

Years passed and your bond with them only grew stronger with time. This attachment could be a concern for the Order, but you could care less of their thoughts. If your former master taught you one thing, it was better to balance your inner desires with your duty.

Some of the more traditional Jedi Masters would frown upon your attachment towards your squadron, even strip you from your rank should they ever discover it. However, you no longer cared about attachments. To you, that word was only associated with tools.

These men were not tools.

They were connections.

A bond that ran deeper than any storm sea in Kamino, that soared higher than any pilot known in existence.

You loved each and every one of your squad to a dying fault. You would die for them, and they would do the same for you. They have watched you struggle, bleed, and brush off the dust off of your robes to stand again. And you watched them save each other from harm, never leaving one brother behind, and pick themselves up against all odds.

They weren't just clones anymore. They were your men, and they were brothers. 

Not tools.

Not weapons.

Humans. 

You could never want another team to be assigned to. It would take the gods themselves to pull you away from such loyal men. Their perseverance and dedication could rival a Jedi who has been long within the Order. 

And now, you were here with them, spending another down time to allow yourself to release the burden of war and have fun.

Wrecker quickly secured a dim yet spacious booth, far from the public exposure, waving a large arm around to signal you all to come.

Hunter went ahead, with Echo by his side.

Tech and Crosshair stood close to you, one at each side, as the three of you followed after and took your own seats. The booth was horseshoe shaped, with Echo at the middle, Wrecker at his right, and Hunter at the edge for lookout. To Echo's left, Tech sat with his datapad in hand, then you, with Crosshair at your right across from Hunter, also acting as the secondary lookout for any potential danger.

“Alright! What d’ya want, pretty?” Wrecker's signature grin brought a smile on your lips, and an eye roll from his usual compliment. 

“Whatever you're having, I guess.” You responded casually, settling back against the leather seat with a lazy smile. “Are you ordering the same drink as last time?”

“You bet I am!”

“It was… quite strong for my taste, but sure. I'll have that.”

“Are you sure, General?” Echo voiced out his concern, ever the first one to worry about you. “You could get something else. You don't have to tolerate Wrecker's terrible taste in drinks. He likes it the same as his women.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Strong, bitter, leaving you a night with regrets rather than a good one.”

The mentioned clone grumbled his disagreement, shoving the snickering Echo away with a playful glare.

Chuckling, you shook your head in amusement as you watched the bigger clone lock an arm around his brother's neck.

Hunter crossed his arms against the table and smiled down at you. “Well, what are you really having? I know damn well you'd spit that drink out, mesh’la.”

Fair enough. 

You gave him a wry grin, shrugging. “Fine then. What do you suggest I have?”

Beside you, Tech perked up, adjusting his goggles as he read from his datapad.

“I suggest a Corellian Cider! I believe it would be perfect for your taste. Sweet, smooth, and not to mention, carries a spicy undertone beneath its flavor. It is also consisted of a few local Corellian fruits. I have read a decent amount of favorable reviews regarding the drink, none have failed to write a less than desirable note. It would be perfect for someone like the General, they do say your choice of drink reflects the kind of character you are.” 

You all stared at the goggled clone in shock, processing his last words. After a few seconds, Tech blinked in realization and turned towards you with wide eyes and a noticeable flush on his cheeks despite the club’s flashing neon lights.

“I-I do not mean it in a– Please forgive me, it was not my intention to–”

“Tech!” You giggled, hand covering your grinning lips. “I appreciate you thought of me as sweet and smooth, but spicy? That's a surprise.” 

On your right, Crosshair shifted in his seat. “Oh, trust me, doll. That's not the only thought of you that he has.” 

What? 

You turned your attention to the sniper, who now sported a teasing smirk as he shared a knowing glance at his flustered brother.

“Do not listen to him,” Tech grumbled slowly, but you were able to pick up on the slight strain on his voice. “I am merely suggesting a suitable drink that would cater to the taste of our general, one that she would genuinely enjoy rather than the horrid whisky Wrecker purchases.”

Ignoring Wrecker's offended yell, the two brothers continued. 

Crosshair shifted his toothpick to the other corner of his lips, raising a thin eyebrow at his brother.

“Would you order it as well? Perhaps you'd like to taste something sweet, smooth, and spicy tonight?”

“If you are referring to the drink, I might try it myself to see if the reviews are well-trusted and–”

“Oh, I'm most definitely not.”

What is happening?

You were about to diffuse the tension when Echo beat you to it. “All right, keep it in your pants. I'll get us our drinks. Pick your poison.”

Thank the Force. 

In the back of your mind, Crosshair's words lingered and Tech’s flushed cheeks burned beneath your eyelids. They know something you don't, and based on the indescribable tension simmering around their energies—closed off yet still present—they were hiding something from you.

Whatever it was, you hoped it's not anything bad. Especially when you knew they were talking about you. 

When the drinks arrived and everyone held their own glass, the six of you immersed yourselves into a rare night filled with unrestrained laughter and intoxicated memories.

The night continued on with the six of you nursing one drink after another. You lost count how many glasses you had, pleasantly enjoying Tech's suggestion as a newfound favorite. He was indeed correct with his observations, the aromatic liquor flowed smoothly between your lips, tainting your tongue with its rich sweetness, before it dissipated down your throat—leaving a warm trail of nectar in its wake.

At the first sip, the amber colored liquid burned your throat. But now, you sipped through your fifth glass with a distant stare, you welcomed the heat eagerly to have another to come.

The heavy bass of the club music reverberated across the dancefloor, diverse bodies twisting and turning as the music began another techno song. This was the type of place you usually avoided, but somehow your blood roared with a kind of adrenaline you don't normally get except in the chase of a mission. Or perhaps that was just the cider you were having.

What's a Jedi like you doing in a place like this? 

Where a couple of lovers hidden in darkened corners took their pleasure, patrons mingled around the premise lost in the bottom of their glasses, hushed whispers of illegal arrangements, and wandering hands amidst the crowded dance floor.

Drinking and indulging in vices like this was considered prohibited in the Order, but only if it's done regularly. Otherwise, it couldn't hurt to partake every once in a while. Not to mention it soothed your nerves now that you've had a taste of this new drink, you could kiss Tech as a sign of thanks for his suggestion.

Blinking, your hand stilled from swirling your glass as you process your thoughts.

Kiss him? Where did that come from?

You glanced at your side, peering through the said clone by your periphery. His cheeks, like earlier, tinted a brilliant shade of red. Though, much more prominent now. And his lips… they never looked so full and captivating until this moment.

You tipped your head back, forcing the intrusive thought away. 

Unbeknownst to you, Hunter watched you gulp down the rest of your drink in one go, keen eyes honed in the deliberate movement of your throat.

He ordered the same drink as yours, wanting to test the reviews Tech had mentioned, and was surprised at its gentle yet striking flavor. He agreed with his brother’s words, it did reflect on your character. Unassuming and sweet at first, following an unexpected sting of spice after it stayed on his tongue for a good second. 

Hunter was beginning to be addicted to the smooth burn it left down his throat. 

Like you, the cider left quite an impressionable note on him. 

And the aroma wasn't so bad either. Light, hints of one or two fruits, with a subtle bittersweet undertone that didn't immediately overwhelm his sense of smell. If anything, he found it quite pleasant.

Hunter pressed the cool rim of his glass to his lip, gaze once again being pulled to your direction—a magnet that his eyes always found themselves gravitating to.

More specifically, at your glistening lips that shone like cider and temptation.

The rest were intrigued with the new drink as well, so they had Echo order the same one for your first glass. Round after round, you all drank the Corellian Cider, another rare moment of liking a similar thing between brothers. 

During Hunter's second round, he noticed interesting effects the drink brought. 

His muscles loosened, head swimming in a soft buzz, and his words slowed as he talked to the others. Hell, even Tech let go of his datapad to rest his elbows against the table to converse with Echo. It wasn't as strong as Hunter's usual drink, and it certainly surprised him that he was still able to think properly after his fifth round.

Albeit the faint effects, Hunter kept himself in check of the amount his drinks because of his heightened senses. Meaning, he could still get drunk faster than Echo repeating another command if he wasn't careful enough.

Meanwhile, Hunter also noticed how your eyes transformed from their usually bright spark to a glazed glimmer, as if under a hypnotic trance. 

Half-lidded, pupils blown wide, glossy in a way that suggested you've had too many drinks in. Your lips were pulled into a simpering smirk whilst you joked with Wrecker or teased Tech. He wasn't surprised when you leaned against Crosshair, but by the way the sniper allowed the physical contact without so much of a care.

And speaking of which, Hunter studied all of his brothers, and they were beginning to show signs of interest.

Crosshair, like he noticed before, let you lean against his frame. Earlier he had his upper body shifted towards the bar, acting as another lookout, now it was turned towards you, his chest pressed against your back. And you didn't even notice the arm around your shoulder, too engrossed with your drink and Wrecker's rambles.

Beside you, Tech kept throwing discreet glances at your direction. Hunter was confused how you failed to notice how many of those looks have been casted towards you in the span of half an hour. They lingered a second longer to be considered just a glance, but Hunter couldn't blame his vod, he was in the same predicament as he was right now. 

Then, there was Echo, who had been slipping up on his tongue and showered you with endless casual praises that had you giggling and blushing. Some of them in Basic tongue, others in Mando'a. 

It really was a sight to behold. To watch you lose your composure, and see that tempting flush adorning your cheeks.

Maybe it was why the ARC trooper decided to spoil you, maybe he wanted to see that lovely rosy hue and hear that melodious laughter pouring out of your glistening lips.

Fortunately, you have little to no knowledge of the latter language, which they used to their advantage often. During times when his vode needed to discuss something amongst themselves, or times like this when they can hide their affections behind a foreign language in hopes you may never understand it—or else they would be doomed.

But Maker, Wrecker was being an obvious di’kut in front of you.

He kept reaching forward to pinch your cheek, twirl a strand of hair around his finger, and even attempted to trade seats with Crosshair so he could cuddle up with you. The sniper merely gave a murderous glare towards his brother, which caused him to give up on his endeavor quickly.

Hunter was well-aware that all of his vod possessed a similar attraction towards you. 

They discussed it many moons ago, and agreed not to let anything complicate things. You were their General, a respected Jedi of the Order. Not only that, you were Made Windu's former Padawan. He could imagine the wrath he and his vode would face if the Jedi Master discovered their attraction towards his former student.

Maker above, if he could see their thoughts using those Jedi mind tricks, Hunter was sure there would be a purple lightsaber thrusted into their chests in an instant.

But they couldn't help it.

Not when you're so fearless, charming, and so effortlessly caring. 

In the span of only a few months, you've managed to work your way into the cold durasteel walls of the Marauder and into war-torn hearts. You didn't seem to care if one of his brothers pushed you away, you didn't give up when Crosshair continuously insulted your efficiency and command. 

You saved them countless times, risking your own life to save theirs. They really didn't understand why a Jedi like you threatened your own well-being for the sake of their safety. They're just clones. Expendable and easily replaced, but you didn't see them as that. You saw through them, as humans just like the rest, and it's what made them fall for you. 

They fell for your humble capability, your hardened strength, and your fierce demeanor as you gracefully swept across the battlefield, twirling your purple lightsaber with practiced mastery.

In the battlefield, you were an unforgiving force to be reckoned with.

Your lightsaber was deadly, but the way you smiled was more dangerous. From the soft lines around your eyes when you thank Echo, the visible apples on your cheeks when grinning up at Wrecker, that taunting smirk you reserved for Crosshair, or that fond expression you wore when listening to Tech’s lengthy discussions.

Hunter recalled the first time watching you defeat all of those clankers, alone in the front lines, as he and the rest secured the outer premise for any possible ambush. 

“I think I fell in love,” Wrecker blurted out, completely mesmerized at the sight of you unleashing raw power onto the enemies.

Echo snorted, parting his brother's back. “One word… don't. Jedi are not meant to fall in love.”

But then you just have to be so compassionate when it comes to their health. You would take your time assessing them each after every mission, brows drawn in worry, not hesitating to use your energy (Force heal as you called it) to tend to their wounds and injuries.

Hunter remembered how it changed Crosshair's demeanor the first time you performed that little trick on him, and you didn't even notice how his brother stared at your face as you used your energy to heal him the whole time. He may try to deny it, but after that incident, Crosshair became a loyal loth-cat following you from afar—silent and brooding.

Even when he hissed and glowered when you were in the same room as he was, Hunter knew it was just a front to hide his obvious attraction.

First, they fell for your strength and resiliency. 

Then, they began to see you more than just your Jedi robes. More than the soldier and general. 

Because despite those ranks, you were still a woman underneath—a beautiful one at that—and they had to fight off more than a few lurking bastards who thought it was fine to undress you with their eyes. You didn't know, of course, but the Batch protected you in other ways outside missions. 

Stepping close to you whenever you walk ahead of them, acting like a bunch of guard dogs, glaring at anyone who looked at your direction for a second too long. During certain missions where you had to forego your robes and tunics to settle in another set of attire, under the pretense of a disguise, they had to remember the mission at hand whilst making sure no one dared to approach you.

Hunter knew you weren't doing any of that to make them wrapped around your pretty finger, but here they were… being just that.

“Let's play a game!” Wrecker's gruff voice reached your ears, causing you to tilt your head in slight interest. “We ask questions about each other. If we don't want to answer, we drink a shot!”

“That sounds like a trap,” You voiced out, but still amused at the idea. 

“It is a trap,” Crosshair hissed beside you, absentmindedly tracing his lithe fingers against your arm. “He'll ask you embarrassing questions until he could make you collapse on the floor drunk.”

Wrecker pointed at him, grinning. “Hey, that's only gonna happen if you don't answer.” 

You chuckled, nodding along. “Sure, why not? Night's still young. We need a new round of drinks though.”

“You're participating?” Echo pondered out loud, glancing at Hunter before looking at you again. “Are you sure you're not inebriated? How many drinks have you had?”

Thinking, you stared at your empty glass.

“Five?”

“Five! Who was giving her more glasses?”

"You did.”

“Oh,” The ARC trooper coughed into his glass, nodding in realization. “Sorry about that, Cyar'ika.”

There was that word again.

You lost count how many times he had uttered that word throughout the night, it must be in Mando’a. It wasn't the first time he called you that, and you recalled the first time where he ended up apologizing profusely despite your lack of knowledge in the language. 

Now, that was all he called you ever since his second drink.

“Don’t worry about me,” A little breathless, you simply laughed. “Besides, we don't have any plans for tomorrow. We're on a two week leave. What's a little fun before going back in action, right?”

Wrecker beamed at your words, raising a large fist in the air. “That’s more like it! Hunter, be a good soldier and get us more drinks.”

The sergeant narrowed his gaze at his brother, though it lacked any mirth. He sighed, slipping out of the booth to follow his order.

“Woah, I thought he would complain. Guess he wants to join too.” 

Your sides hurt, cheeks strained from laughter.

How much time has passed since you played this ridiculous game? If you recall correctly, you entered this club at 1700. It's been, what, two hours since?

What time would they close? How many hours are left until they kick you out from the establishment?

You didn't ponder long on those thoughts, too busy laughing at the wild confessions, playful banters, and colorful curses happening left and right. Maker, how long was it since you've laughed like this? Since you allowed yourself not to worry about the imminent war and be yourself? All you knew was you'd miss this moment once it was over. 

Once you were out there fighting again, battered and bruised, you'll come back to this memory.

So, you want to enjoy it while it lasts.

As Crosshair said, Wrecker's questions were nothing short of embarrassing.

Like something they were caught doing when they were still cadets. What rule did they always break during their time in the academy? What did they do in their personal time that they didn't allow others to know in fear of making fun of them?

Well, it started off as embarrassing. Until it turned to something more personal.

He has asked Hunter his most embarrassing thing he had witnessed from his brothers. 

His answer? 

“Not witnessed, but I could hear Tech in the cockpit during those late night watches. God, he thinks he's slick locking himself up with those holo videos of his.”

The mentioned clone sputtered in shock, whilst the others hollered at him. You forcefully whisked off the image of Tech in the cockpit. Alone, breaths uneven and face as red as he was right now. A hand below his belt, eyes fixated on a graphic video of two couples tangled in a passionate embrace.

Maker above, you need to get a grip of yourself.

It only got worse from that.

Echo admitted to sharing a girl with Fives before. Twice. 

Crosshair has the highest number of partners in the group. Nine? And he gets angsty easily when sexually frustrated.

Wrecker once hooked up with someone during a stake out mission. In the back alley of a cantina. 

And Hunter once had to leave a one night stand in the middle of the night. Because the woman was adamant on marrying him immediately after they–

They all shamelessly revealed a part of themselves you haven't seen or heard before, and you weren't sure whether it would be a good or a bad thing in your relationship with them. 

You were their general, were generals supposed to hear this? 

They were clones, but after one confession after another, you realized they were still men. Grown men with carnal needs, looking for casual flings to release stress or simply feel the hands of a temporary lover even just for a night.

When Wrecker asked you if you had taken anyone as well, you simply said yes and did not care to elaborate.

After his constant begging, you finally relented with a sigh.

“Though most Jedi do resort to taking the Vow of Celibacy after being knighted, sex is not entirely forbidden in the Order. It's the attachment that is. If anything, my master taught me that satisfying your body's physical needs is just as important as your other training.”

I had to listen to him for three hours after he caught me with another Padawan.

“So, you're not a virgin?”

With a breathy laugh, you shook your head. “No, Wrecker. I've had my fair share of rendezvous here and there before.”

You pretended not to notice Echo handing him a couple of credits underneath the table. Or the way Hunter's brows rose in surprise and intrigue.

Then, Wrecker asked Crosshair about his exploits. Did he bring any girl back to the Marauder? 

Crosshair narrowed his eyes, silent at first, before answering. “Once.”

That was all he said, ignoring Wrecker's prodding curiosity or Hunter's scolding treatment. 

Meanwhile, you gripped your glass as an unknown emotion swirled in your chest. 

The boys could have anyone they want. Any man or woman they wish to seek out to bed. You were not oblivious to their charms. Like most women, and some men, you would consider yourself taken with their natural appeal and handsome statures. And you were not the only one tonight. 

There were a good amount of people walking by your booth, but not without throwing a suggestive glance over your table. Most likely making eyes with one of your beloved squad members, and an envious stare at you.

Who could blame them?

You're surrounded by five dashing men, blessed with each of their own unique traits.

Before you could get lost in your bordering thoughts further, Wrecker decided to prey on you next.

“Your turn, pretty.” 

Blinking, you cleared your throat and nodded for him to continue.

He wore a wide grin, brown and silver irises shining with a familiar mischief you have grown to see for years.

“What do ya like about each of us? And be as detailed as possible!”

Oh. 

Your jaw dropped, your mind momentarily sobering up at the question. All eyes turned towards you, waiting and watching. The weight of their gazes felt overwhelming, laced with something unfamiliar that you barely could recognize under the intoxicating grasp of the cider.

Amused, Crosshair smirked down at you. “Go on, doll. Enlighten us.”

You tossed him a pointed stare, before sighing in defeat.

“Alright,” You gulped down the bubbling anxiety in your throat, speaking more firmly than before. “Well, where to begin? I admire all of you for your hard work, dedication, and commitment to the Republic–”

Before you could continue, Wrecker cut you off. “None of that general talk! How about this? What about us do you find attractive?” 

Beside him, Hunter shot an incredulous stare. It was a warning, but his brother refused to meet his eye to heed it. Despite the sergeant’s intimidating glare, the others seemed too interested in your answer to pay him mind.

Attractive? 

Oh, you realized his plan. He wants me to drink. He thinks I'd back down from his game.

You raised an eyebrow at him, tilting your head at the challenge. “Hmm, that's a rather bold question. Are you sure you're ready to hear my thoughts on that?” 

Echo cooed a low sound of amusement, elbowing Wrecker. “Careful now, big guy. She's got that look in her eye. The one that she has when she knows she won at something.”

Still, the giant clone persevered. “Oh, I know that look! Come on, pretty. Humor us, or accept defeat!”

Very well then. 

With a laugh, you leaned forward and humored him.

“Let's start with you, Wrecker. I find your strength incredibly admirable, yes. But I also find your size attractive.”

The grin split wide on your face when the large clone dropped his, obviously taken back from your confession.

“You said to be as detailed as possible, right?” You pushed on, daringly trailing your gaze lower. “Sometimes, I wonder what it's like for you to use that strength and size to overpower me. I've seen you do it to our enemies, and I'd be a liar if I said it does not affect me. It also makes me wonder what kind of a lover you would be? Would you dominate and manhandle your partner around? Use your strength and size to do as you please? It's kind of a thrilling thought really.”

You winked at him, savoring the dumbfounded look on his scarred features, before turning to a gaping Echo beside him.

“Next up, Echo.” You purred, not missing the way he gulped at the sound of his name being uttered lowly. “Your caring nature makes me melt sometimes, but not just that. Your eyes. They've seen things I haven't seen before. The harsh war, death, and darkness. But when you look at me, it's like you found salvation instead. I like it when you gaze at me like you want to take care of me. It makes me curious too, how would you look at me when I'm the one taking care of you?”

His eyes were clouded with an unknown emotion at the underlying meaning your care carried. 

Underneath the neon lights, you pretended not to notice how he closed his eyes to collect his composure.

You turned to Tech next, and he visibly flinched at your attention.

“And of course, our beloved Tech.” The goggled clone clutched his glass closer to his chest, averting his gaze. “I admire his intelligence and knowledge. His ability to spout every little detail in that brilliant head of him. You could talk for hours and hours, and it never fails to impress me. But sometimes, I want to shut him up. I could kiss him senseless, make him silent for once. I also like his hands. It makes me wonder if he's skilled in other things than fixing up parts or calibrating a tool.”

Well, you didn't need to kiss him to render him completely speechless. You picked on the slight twitch of his fingers, gripping his glass tighter, as he angled his head to look at you.

“Duly noted,” he rasped.

You smiled, too sweetly for his liking. “You're welcome.”

Then, you shifted around and placed your attention on his brother.

Crosshair never once left his sight on you, and the way his eyes narrowed in threat almost had you cowering. But there was something else glinting there. Behind those shadowed irises flashed a dangerous challenge.

“Crosshair,” You cooed softly, resting your cheek against your hand. “Your personality is sometimes insufferable. You don't defy my orders, but you always have the last word when we argue. But Force, your voice. It always does something to me. The way it sounds so smooth and low makes me want to get down on my knees if you want. I thought of you using that voice to guide me in bed. Listening to you talk when you're the one giving orders. And how pretty you would sound at the brink of pleasure.”

If looks could kill, you would've been buried beneath this club at this second. The expression he had was burning, but misty at the same time. As if he's imagining the scenario right at this moment. 

With a low chuckle, he leaned down and whispered—dark and sinful—in your ear. “Is that so, doll? Good to know.”

Stars, kill me now.

But you had one last man to confess to, and you won't stop until you are done with all of them.

“Last but not the least, our good Sergeant.”

The brunette clone remained stoic, a good show of steel composure, but you saw through him. There was a shadow casted over his face, but his eyes flickered, a void capable of stealing your breath into its magnetic pull. The lines of his face were taut, like a spring ready to uncoil itself and pounce. He waited, testing and studying, and you simply took the bait wearing a sly grin as if you've already won.

So, you leaned forward and purred. 

“Oh, we all know how good of a leader Hunter is. Brave, dependable, trustworthy, and a hell of a soldier. But I wonder… What lies beneath that armor of righteousness? What kind of a man does he hide underneath? He always puts this restraint around him, like he's afraid of losing control. What does it take for you to snap, Hunter? Does the thrill of a chase excite you? What would you do if I let you chase after me? Perhaps you should live up to your name to find out, huh?”

As you have guessed, that darkness in his gaze flashed to another. Predatory hunger.

Judging by the similar stares you've received around the table, the victorious feeling settled its way into your stomach, causing your grin to stretch as you released a delighted laugh.

“But of course,” You pouted in feigned disappointment. “If only I wasn't your general.”

And with that, you grabbed Hunter's glass, locked with his sharp gaze. You made a bold show of emptying his drink, licking your lips at the fiery tingle it left on your tongue. But the warmth of the cider could not compare to the blazing heat in their eyes—now lit with an unmistakable emotion. 

Desire.

Hunter zeroed in on the action, jaw clenching at the scent of his cider staining your lips. 

You broke off his stare, smiling back at Wrecker, who was clenching his jaw as a bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

“Seems I've won that one,” Even when that was your sixth shot for the night, you were more than sobered up to observe the difference in their state.

Echo still fixed you that haunting look, Tech silently tapped his fingers against the table, Crosshair’s went still against your arm, Wrecker’s jaw was clenched too tightly, and Hunter’s shoulders were tense with control.

All were barely keeping themselves together.

Finally, you broke the tension.

“Well, that was fun, boys. Who's next?”

Chapter Text

Maker above.

This hangover was worse than the first one you experienced when you were a Padawan. This really brought back memories, the less than pleasant ones where you spend too long in the refresher spilling all the contents in your stomach. But that was hours ago, and you were now nursing your aching headache by meditating outside.

Hopefully, Hunter wouldn't be able to smell the remnants of your suffering when he uses the refresher. You made sure you thoroughly cleaned every nook and corner, before you started your morning routine. 

The first few hours were peaceful, almost too quiet for the normal standard of the Bad Batch. 

Everyone seemed to avoid you at all costs, or remain as curt as possible with their response. You hoped this sudden avoidant behavior was not tied to your stupid show from last night, afraid that your reckless indulgence might ruin the hard-earned bond and trust you have built with them for years.

However, it seemed to have caused an awkward rift between you and the boys. It was just a game, right? And you hoped they wouldn't take anything to a serious degree. 

Stars, you were wrong.

You could immediately sense the change in the atmosphere once you walk into the room with one or two of them present. With the help of the Force, you were able to pick up the guarded signatures, which you found odd given the fact it usually felt open and approachable. Now, it feels like a barricade has been placed between you and themselves—already adding another problem besides your throbbing headache.

Tech did not approach once to ramble or even greet you, keeping himself busy with calibrating parts of the Marauder that you know didn’t need fixing. Whenever you attempt to ask for any assistance, the begoggled clone would mutter something to himself—a rushed excuse or a frantic apology—before bolting away from the room to repair another part of the ship.

That dampened your mood even more, but you decided to seek out another clone as a refusal to give up.

Next was Echo, who at least tolerated you enough to allow a few exchanges of words with him inquiring about your health and condition. When you assured him that you were fine, he simply nodded and made a rather robotic beeline towards his bunk. 

Only a short, “I'm glad you’re alright, General.”

Five words.

Before he left quickly as soon as you encountered him.

Cursing to yourself, you crossed your arms and decided to make yourself some food to alleviate the growing anxiety within your stomach.

When your hunger was satiated, you resorted to taking a walk outside the ship to gather a bit of fresh air in hopes to clear your foggy mind. The planet of Alderaan did not cease to amaze you with its lush mountains, sloping hills, sun-kissed valleys, and flowing rivers. Tech immediately set a course to this planet after the six of you finished your game last night, breaking free from Coruscant’s polluted air to this lovely townside, klicks away from the Alderaan capital.

It was a much deserved rest from last night’s regretful choices, and you get to take a break from smoke-scented cities and street-filled thugs.

During your walk, you managed to catch the fleeting sight of Crosshair’s lithe figure emerging from the trees. His rifle slung across his arm, signs of smoke wafting from the muzzle, evidence that he has been practicing his aim despite being on leave.

You were hesitant to come towards him, afraid that he might shrug you off with that same indifferent behavior his brothers exhibited earlier. And so, you trudged away from his line of sight, unaware of how his eyes latched after your frame from behind.

When you went back to the ship, the tinkering of Tech’s work rang through the durasteel walls, and you could hear a distinct mutter near the bunks. 

You sensed Hunter’s energy along with Echo’s, so you figured they must be talking with each other in private. 

It must be something personal, then. 

Sighing, you opted to go to your separate bunk, a makeshift space that used to be an old storage so it was relatively smaller than the others. Not that you harbored many possessions with you, Jedi were not meant to keep anything that could lead to attachment. The only things you have were your lightsaber, change of clothes, undergarments, and a medkit.

Perhaps they just need space. I could use this to train and meditate.

With a quick change from your heavy robes to a simple sleeveless tunic, paired with loose fitting training pants. You made your way outside again with your lightsaber in hand and an objective in mind.

Distract yourself.

And so, for hours you dedicated yourself to centering your energy within the Force. 

Around you, the wind hummed in response, a soft tune in its breeze and a serene bristle from the trees. Meditation always soothed your nerves without a fail, especially before a heavy mission which could not guarantee your survival in the end. It grounded your being, connecting you with the life that surrounds you, reminding you that everything and everyone was alive.

And it kept you from losing hope when it seemed like it's lost. Through the Force, you were able to release those overwhelming thoughts, sighing in relief when the familiar cool sensation wrapped itself around your body like a comforting blanket. 

You recalled one time, when you joined Tech in the cockpit that one night during a hyperspace jump, he had asked you what the Force felt like.

“The Force?” You smiled, bringing your knees close to your chest. “Why do you ask?”

Tech adjusted his goggles, a shrug on his armored shoulders. “Well, it is a curious phenomenon I cannot quite understand. It is an intangible material that you are able to feel, use, and manipulate to your will. Given that it is only the Jedi and Sith who are gifted with it, does it require a certain characteristic or trait in order to possess it? How can you do that exactly? What does it feel like for you?”

“Well,” You began with a long breath, trailing your gaze to the lines of stars speeding past your vision. “It feels… different to each of us. Some are much attuned with it, others can only feel its power but never use it. But the idea that only Jedi and Sith have it is completely false. We all have the Force. In some way or another, we are all connected to the universe because of it.”

Tech produced a sound of disbelief, catching the slight shake of his head from your peripheral view.

“You're saying I have the Force?”

“Yes.”

“But how come I'm a clone then?”

“It's– It's not a literal sense, Tech. I'm speaking in a metaphorical manner.”

“Then, please. What do you mean by that?”

You huffed out a small laugh, glancing at him to flash a wry grin. “Believe me, I can barely wrap my head around it as well. All I know is that we are all connected through the Force, our lives are tied with one another. You can think of it as… a thread. When you are more attuned with the Force, like Jedi and Sith, you can feel those threads all around you. Even see them if you're really gifted. Each one of us has different threads.”

To demonstrate your point, you shifted in your seat to face him fully. The clone only narrowed his eyes in question, tracking every moment behind translucent tinted lenses.

You held out a palm, closed your eyes, and began to envision those threads around Tech.

His threads were a vibrant shade of golden brown, weaving softly around his frame, and most especially around his hands. It was a beautiful sensation as well—luminous and comforting. You had to fight off a laugh when his threads resembled a pile of wires, similar to the ones he constantly pulls and separates in the ship.

You lifted a hand, hovering above his cheek, using his threads to lay a soft caress on his skin even without physical contact.

A sharp gasp resonated within the cockpit, a slight pull out of shock, and you immediately retreated back from his signature to avoid crossing his boundaries even further.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an astonished expression. 

Tech’s lips were parted, honey-hued gaze round in awe, as his hand absentmindedly lifted a hand to copy that same stroke he had felt on his skin.

“That was the Force?” His voice trembled, almost reverent, studying you like you were a phenomenon yourself. 

Nodding, you gave him a smile.

“What did it feel like?”

“Gentle, soft like a feather.”

“Did it surprise you?”

“Yes, but… It was a pleasant one. Thank you.”

After that, he had started to put more faith in the Force. Still a little skeptic, given his logical and pragmatic nature, but his curiosity morphed into fascination as time went on.

When you finish with your meditation, a prominent weight has been lifted off of your shoulders and the lingering anxiety has been washed away in place of a peaceful state of mind. You could never truly doubt the Force and its wonders, it really was an unexplainable phenomenon that simply exists like the rest of you do. 

You pulled your lightsaber towards your open palm, its cool silver hilt greeting your warm skin, a familiar weight and bond that has longed accompanied you in battle.

Standing up, you exhaled another breath before igniting your blade.

The vibrating hum reached your arm at the slight tremor, trembling at first, before it calmed and became a stable glow of light.

You fixed your stance, starting from the first form, Shii-Cho, and began a series of dances only you knew the steps of.

By the time the sun had turned a golden hue, the results of your training left your skin slicked with sweat and chest with labored breaths.

Deactivating your lightsaber, you laid it down beside you and released a long sigh.

You forgot how freeing it felt to be alone, releasing all pent up tension that had pulled your muscles taut by training and recalling all seven lightsaber forms in swift succession. 

Your head felt clearer, no longer a hostage of that foggy hangover that annoyed you earlier.

As expected, the frustration was replaced by molten adrenaline. It coursed through your veins like wildfire, the same thrilling power you feel whenever you find yourself outnumbered in the battlefield. You always liked those odds, but you loved the excitement of winning even more.

“If the odds are against you, turn it against them.” 

Another one of Mace Windu's inspirational lines, one that never failed to make your eyes roll.

You were too distracted by doing your last minute cool down stretches to notice Wrecker watching from behind a tree, completely transfixed with the whole training session in awe. 

He knew how powerful you were, the former Padawan of Mace Windu, but he admitted that he never would've a pretty little thing like you could have so much strength reserved beneath those thick robes. Every time you turn that weapon of yours, its lilac glow always catches that wicked gleam in your eyes.

Even Wrecker cannot deny his admiration was more than just platonic and respectful.

Wrecker may be an idiot sometimes, but he was well-aware his feelings for you were not appropriate against professional protocols. But he wasn't the only one, so that gave him a sense of comfort. He had seen the way his brothers looked at you when you weren't paying attention, the longing stares and sweeping gazes that might just burn through your robes if they stared harder. 

This was entirely new.

They never had been interested in the same woman before. 

Hunter preferred his women bold and flirtatious, someone who can keep him coming back for more. Crosshair liked a good sass in them, a little bark but no bite. Tech rarely took a partner but Wrecker knew he had a type for ones with pretty smiles and smart minds. And Echo never approached someone unless they came to him first. It was a pact of some sorts, they all agreed not to meddle with each other's companies unless agreed otherwise.

Until you came along, and left your mark into their hearts. Suddenly all of them were completely smitten with you.

Not just because of how pretty you were (although he could gush on and on about how pretty you really were), but because you cared for each one of his brothers like it was second nature.

And you weren't afraid of him. 

You saw past his armor, past his strength, and uncovered the tenderness that lies beneath his thick skin. You recognized his vulnerability as something that shouldn't be seen as a weakness. If anything, you told him how much you liked his softer side. Despite all his brawn and tough persona, he could still be himself around you—loud, laughing, and free.

That's what Wrecker loved about you.

You never judged him. Never defined him for his scars, his brutish strength, or his intense roughness at times. You even helped stitch Lula back together when he accidentally tore her arm open, giving her newly stitched arm a kiss, before you presented her to him with a satisfied smile.

He knew he had already fallen in love with you years ago, but then you just had to say those things last night and expect him not to get other ideas?

Wrecker groaned, remembering the way your hazy eyes slithered down his body. They roved over the hard planes of his stomach, piercing every protruding muscle you could see, and he swore the way you bit your lip was purely intentional.

When he returned to the ship last night, after securing your dozing figure in your own bunk, he headed straight to the refresher (ignoring Crosshair's protest of going first) and kept himself quiet with his arm between his teeth as he imagined you sprawled underneath him.

Oh, you would make such a pretty sight.

His little Jedi.

Squirming and begging beneath his large frame, he could crush you with his weight, bruise large imprints of his hands on your hips. You would feel so small against him, dank farrik, would he even fit in you?

I'll make it fit, Wrecker decided. I just have to take care of you so you don't hurt your pretty self, right?

Wrecker's eyes darkened at the sound of your exhausted groan, trained on the movement of your hand massaging your shoulder.

When you wiped the sweat off of your jaw, the clone almost salivated at the sight. The urge to rush towards you, and replace your hand with his tongue felt incredibly tempting. Kriff, you really have no idea of how much you affected him? Not just him, but his brothers as well.

Just standing there, letting out those soft sighs and heavenly groans– Kriff, Wrecker could combust in his pants before he even gets the chance to bed you.

“Sometimes, I wonder what it's like for you to use that strength and size to overpower me.” 

He had thought of those too, it was a guilty pleasure of his. Well, most of the time, his daydreams were completely innocent and pure-hearted. The kind that would make you giggle and smile bashfully. He'd love to kiss your cheeks, call you pretty everyday when you wake up in his bunk, cuddle you close to his side, share stolen kisses before missions, and after them when the two of you were out of breath and high on adrenaline.

Completely normal for a yearning man to dream about. However, there are those times whenever his imagination ran off to… other places.

The kind he shouldn't even venture close to, but he does it anyway every time the thought surfaces.

You have no idea how many times he spent in his bunk, quelling all those inappropriate images of you writhing underneath him, gasping in pleasure, as he used his strength to pull you down on him over and over again. 

“I've seen you do it to our enemies, and I'd be a liar if I said it does not affect me.”

Did it really affect you? 

Do you stay up late too to think of him? Awake at night, imagining him using his strength?

But not towards his enemies, or those stupid clankers, but to you?

Sometimes, Wrecker did catch himself staring after you in moments where you weren't looking at him. Especially moments like these, where you busied yourself training and honing your skills. He loved watching you twist, flip, and exert power like it was breathing. You always make the deadliest strikes look natural. 

Most of the time, he'd watch you with hearts in his eyes and a dreamy grin on his face. Until you start sweating, glaring at no one in particular, and huffing in frustration.

Then, he starts to imagine other things. 

It was a guilty pleasure for him to watch you move all around. Whether while in training, casual settings, or defeating an enemy. Such raw power and strength, which could almost rival his (not really but he does admit you put up a fight), that caused his thoughts to run wild. 

Would you put up a fight in other scenarios?

You did say you weren't a virgin, much to everyone's surprise, and it made him wonder immediately. 

Does the fact his strength could overpower you sound thrilling?

Do you want to overpower your lovers the same way? Or have them do it to you?

“It also makes me wonder what kind of a lover you would be? Would you dominate and manhandle your lover around? Use your strength and size to do as you please?”

Well, if that's what you wanted, then he'd gladly do it without a second thought. He could show you all of the things he had done in his fantasies, all the scenarios that could bring you to completion, with your back arched and your pretty lips parting in ecstasy.

He knew you would struggle with keeping those beautiful legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into you with enough force for you to choke and cry for more. In the darkened corners of his mind, he pictured you all teary-eyed, drunk off of pleasure. He'd lick all those tears away, worship every inch of your body under the care of his hands—then he would shower you with praises and soft kisses to reward you for your effort. 

You would look so perfect for him.

Soft skin underneath rough palms, grasping and groping like a man possessed, dragging down your waist and forcing your hips to meet the onslaught of his merciless hips.

Kriffing hell, he'd kill someone for that to happen.

Then, came the cloud of doubts and insecurities.

Would you still like him even if his body was littered with scars? Even if there's maps of explosions scattered across his skin? Or would you be your sweet self and kiss all the ugly marks and tell him they're beautiful? 

Maybe those were just his late night thoughts surfacing.

You shifted your foot, rolling a sore shoulder around, when you caught the broad frame of Wrecker hiding (miserably) behind a tree.

“Wrecker? How long have you been there?”

The giant clone flinched, not expecting you to spot him so quickly.

Trying to act normally, Wrecker laughed and raised his hands up. He had to look as casual as possible without you suspecting him of being a creep. Okay, yes, maybe he was being creepy just standing there and watching you. 

“Ah, ya caught me.” He slowly walked over to the middle of the clearing, crossing his arms once he stood right in front of you. “Saw you training out here alone, thought it would be nice to join ya. If you're not tired yet.”

Dank farrik.

The way you had to crane your head up just to meet his eyes had him suppressing himself, barely holding on to his restraint when those lovely eyes of yours squinted teasingly.

“Oh? You came all the way out here to challenge me to a fight?” 

Wrecker laughed, low and gruff, before he used his height to lean down and level his gaze on yours.

“I like challenges. You think you could give me one, pretty?”

There's that familiar fire sparking back at him, he definitely caught your intrigue. With a defiant nod, you dared to inch your face close until your lips brushed against his.

“Bring it, big guy.”

Letting out another gruff laugh, Wrecker felt the muscles beneath his blacks jittery with excitement.

“Oh, you're on, pretty girl.”

The afternoon sun bathed everything it touched in a golden glow, highlighting the flushed redness on your cheeks and the sheen sweat across your forehead. You might've looked like you've ran a mile, but to Wrecker, you were the most gorgeous being he has ever seen.

“So, what are the rules?” You pondered, circling around him, arms raised and fists clenched. “First one to get taken down loses?”

Wrecker winked, rolling his shoulders as he followed your circling path. “That's right, pretty.”

“And what do I get if I win?”

“Whatever you want, little lady.”

“Hmm, very well. Same goes for you?”

“Yup!”

Finally, you stopped in your tracks. 

The fire in your eyes lit embers that could rival the sun behind you, and Wrecker could only welcome its heat with an appreciative whistle.

“Don't hold back, then.” You uttered, before charging straight into his blind side to deliver a swift hook to his left.

Startled, Wrecker barely had any time to counter the attack. He was about to block your fist, but you swerved around him and kicked the back of his knee. 

A feint. 

He grunted, recovering quickly before you could deliver another blow to his other leg. Oh, you were playing dirty, huh? Fine, he could play along with your tactics.

Wrecker pivoted, shooting out an arm to grab yours whilst the other aimed for your leg.

But he should've known you'd use your size and agility to maneuver away from his attack, flipping back to give distance from his reach. He charged again, the only goal in his mind was to restrain you and get you to the ground before the sun disappeared. Or before you could get him down and claim your prize.

The fight lasted surprisingly longer than he had anticipated, considering you had spent quite a while training earlier. You skillfully used your speed to evade his incoming attacks, and he has to block the hurried jabs you attempted to land on his weak spots. 

Kriff, he's not gonna last long if you keep those up. 

Some of those hits had him sweating stressfully whenever his side was left unguarded, and damn could you pack a lethal punch. Maybe he should stop ogling at the drops of sweat rolling down your neck or the way your pretty lips parted to exhale a breath, maybe then he wouldn't have endured those brutal hits. Who knew such a tiny thing like you wouldn't hold back with those punches.

Wrecker caught that exciting glint again, that spark of thrill which he got to witness every mission against an enemy. He never would've expected he would be the one receiving the end of it, and fuck, did it bring an electric feeling in his bones.

“That’s it, pretty.” Wrecker grinned wider, blocking every punch and jab easier now that he's memorized a pattern. “Keep’em comin’. Don't stop until you have me on the ground.”

That little scoff you let out amused him, so did the small knit of your eyebrows in obvious annoyance. 

Now, that's a sight he also enjoyed.

Seeing you all riled up made his blood pumping with anticipation, eager to wait for your next move.

When Wrecker picked up a slight strain on your end, movements becoming more sluggish by each second, he decided it was his time to attack now.

You did say don't hold back.

So, he'd gladly do as you wished.

Wrecker squared his shoulders, tightened his fists, and proceeded to throw powerful punches towards your way. Not necessarily to hurt you, but enough to throw you off balance so that he could bring you down easily.

His plan proved to be a success, because in a matter of seconds, your footing became more frantic as you tried to keep up with his pace. Nevertheless, that fire never left, only grew brighter when the real challenge finally started. The change of dynamics had you groaning in effort, using your forearms to block a rather forceful punch and duck under a wide sweep of his arm. 

That's another thing he liked about you.

He knew his strength could be extreme sometimes, given that it was his genetic modification, but you always handled it with grace and similar enthusiasm.

Not once did you flinch away from his show of raw power. As the former Padawan of Mace Windu, you were trained for the extreme. Under any conditions, your chances of winning were exponentially high, and your enemies always knew they were in for a treat whenever you stepped foot in the scene.

However, in terms of physical strength, it was obvious Wrecker surpassed you to a great extent. That was his engineering. Albeit the advantage, he was also aware of your swiftness and impressive agility.

Wrecker clicked his tongue when you noticed his plan, preparing himself as he watched you change your tactics to evading him once again. 

The fight lasted longer than he thought, your stamina ran incredibly high and it was late when Wrecker realized you planned to make his run out.

However, the clone wasn’t going to let you perform that. When your body shifted to the side to avoid another downward sweep of his fist, he took his other arm to meet the collision of your body.

Caught off guard, you instinctively jumped out of his hold but failed when he cleverly blocked your path with his large frame.

Then, in a blink of an eye, your back collided against the grass, lungs momentarily losing all its air, before the heavy weight of Wrecker settled its way above you. Within his large hands, your wrists were trapped beside your head as the brief pain across your back distracted you from seeing the victorious smirk of the clone from above.

Wrecker heard his heart drumming loudly in his ears, becoming more erratic at the sight of you catching your breath. Chests heaving, skin drenched with sweat, cheeks tinted a lovely shade of pink, and strands of hair stuck against your forehead. Kriff, you looked like a pretty mess. All because of him. He can't wait to see you in this state for another reason, which he would follow through after admitting your defeat.

His throat felt dry when he chuckled, and it felt even drier when those eyes opened to peer up at him to display those molten embers.

“There you are, pretty.” Wrecker gruffly cooed, wishing nothing but to taste the sweat from your neck and maybe even bite the sensitive flesh there. “Looks like I won. Admit defeat?”

Instead, you narrowed those eyes at him in defiance. Stubborn, pretty little Jedi.

He leaned down further, cheek almost brushing against your own, to blow a teasing air to your ear.

“C’mon, pretty. Just yield, so we can have this bit done and get to the real fun.”

The way your body shivered beneath him at the intonation of fun produced a satisfied hum from the clone, his broad body practically vibrating in anticipation. He just had to have you now, or else he would go absolutely crazy and ruin someone else's night if things didn't go the way he wanted. And he can tell that's what you wanted too, it was obvious from the sharp gasp escaping your lips and the expansion of your pupils.

“My pretty girl,” Wrecker nuzzled his face down the slick line of your gasping throat. “So strong, so fiery. That always gets me going, y'know? Maybe I can tire you out in another way.”

“W-What way is that?” Even when your voice trembled, you managed to blurt those words out as Wrecker began to pepper chaste kisses across your neck. “Wrecker, I–”

“I think you know what I'm talkin’ about.”

“This is–”

“Just yield, pretty girl.”

There was an inner turmoil flickering behind those bright eyes. A flash of uncertainty, even panic, and Wrecker was afraid to have crossed a line he shouldn't have. 

That's right, you were a Jedi. Jedi were never meant to fall in love.

Wrecker could be asking too much from you, the realization that he was asking you to turn away from everything you had believed in hit him like a blaster in the chest.

He was about to wrench himself away from you, when your voice stopped him.

“I yield.”

Disbelief, then shock. Until finally his senses were overwhelmed with a surge of happiness.

Wrecker’s grin looked absolutely elated at your submission, grinning widely.

With another hoarse laugh, the clone collected your other wrist in one hand and let his free one roam down the length of your waist.

“Yeah?” He asked, hopeful. Honest. Wide open.

You nodded, smiling back. 

And then he kissed you.

Warm, overwhelming, full-bodied. His arms wrapped around you like you were the most precious thing in the galaxy and he was scared someone might take you. The kiss started a little clumsy—his nose bumped yours, his lips too eager—but it didn’t matter.

Because it was him. All him.

And you melted into it.

He smiled into your mouth. Actually smiled, like he couldn’t help it. And when he pulled back, he looked dazed. Like the universe had just handed him a miracle and he didn’t know where to put it.

“I’ve been wantin’ to do that forever,” He breathed, stunned.

“Then do it again,” You whispered, brushing your lips against his.

And he did.

This time slower. Softer. 

His forehead pressed to yours, his big hands holding your waist like he was scared he might break you if he wasn’t gentle.

But Wrecker never would. Because when he kissed you, you weren’t just his crush. You weren’t even his first kiss. But your lips felt like home, like a familiar place he has already come back to, and home never tasted this good.

And then, his kisses intensified. 

From the soft tug on your bottom lip and the tender movement of his lips, it quickly sparked into a fiercer hunger. He attacked your lips with the same vigor and force he had shown during your fight earlier. No longer holding himself back, no longer in control of his own restraint.

Sith hells.

You tasted so kriffing good.

He might just get addicted to kissing you. Breathing in your scent, drowning in everything you could give him. You felt so small in his arms, so pliable, and it's taking every fiber in his being not to crush you in fear—even when he knew deep down it's going to take a lot more to break you.

Wrecker grunted in surprise when you teasingly bit his bottom lip in return, copying his earlier action. 

Pretty girl can bite, after all.

Finally, after years of pining, and dreaming of you. 

He has you all to himself, kissing you senselessly, drowning you in the same lust-filled depths that you unknowingly pulled him under all those months ago. Wrecker groaned into your mouth, tasting the sweat there, the desire, pushing through your lips with a hungry tongue to dominate another ferocious battle.

It was adorable how you thought you could win in this fight, but Wrecker wouldn't allow that to happen. So, he continued to ravage your lips, pouring all the lust, yearning, and happiness out until you became breathless for air. 

He parted briefly, allowing a moment of mercy, before he crashed down on you again after becoming tempted with the need to taste you once more.

His head swam with violent delight, mixing with the lingering sense of victory, and thrumming with the erratic breathing of his heart. 

He couldn't care less if the others were out looking for you. He couldn't care less if Echo was growing ever so worried about your disappearance. Right now, all Wrecker wanted to do was to ruin you and see those pretty eyes get teary with the promising pleasure he would give you. Kriff, he really couldn't wait.

“Look at you, pretty girl.” Wrecker rasped a praise through a huff of breath, gaze turning hungrier each second he stared at your heaving chest and reddened cheeks. “I haven't even started yet, and you already look like you're finished. But don’cha worry. I'll take good care of ya.”

After all, my pretty girl deserves it after all that fight.

“Tell me to stop, and I will. Okay?”

“Don't– Don't you dare stop, Wrecker.”

“Is that an order, General?”

“It is.”

The clone’s smirk stretched until it looked positively wolfish. “Yes, ma'am.”

With one hand, he unwrapped your tunic open. Starting with the sash around your waist, followed by loosening your top, before it spreads apart for access to the trembling skin underneath. The rough texture of his palm pressed down on your now exposed body, exploring the dips and planes until it travelled up your breasts.

 You caught the sound of his tongue clicking in disappointment upon finding your chest bind blocking him. 

But the problem didn't last long when he tore it easily off of your body, ripping the GAR standard issue fabric like it was nothing but a piece of paper.

“Wha– Wrecker!”

“Shhhh, you can shout my name later. Just wanna see you, pretty.”

Wrecker did not regret a single thing.

He stared, transfixed, and maybe a little bit longer than needed. Fuck, Tech would have his fun with you once he sees this. 

“I knew it,” The clone let his hand envelop your breast, choking at the way his entire palm covered one. “Knew you would look gorgeous under too.” 

He didn't waste a second longer to lick a teasing stripe along the curve underneath your breast, and the groan he released might as well be downright sinful. One small taste could lead to an obsession, and Wrecker knew he was too far gone to let you go now.

“Kriffin’ hell, I could just eat ya up.” He nipped on your collarbones, marking colorful bruises and bite marks that would let the others know he had you first. 

Then, his tongue soothed the stinging marks as an apology, before he returned to giving special attention to your breasts by kissing and sucking each perked bud.

You began to sing for him, melodies of high pitched whines and sweet gasps of his name. 

Strings of please, please, please followed soon after, but Wrecker only savored his time to taste and mark you.

The clone groaned as he felt your hips grind against his, rutting back up in response. He was certain you could feel the effect you had on him, and you moaned impatiently as you tried to chase your pleasure there. Wrecker huffed, rolling his hips in tandem with yours. This resulted in another whine deep from your throat.

“I just know Tech would lose his mind when he sees these pretty tits. You can shut him up if you surprise him in the cockpit.”

The statement momentarily grabbed your interest, eyes widening in wonder. “He’s that kind of guy?” 

Wrecker nodded, before leaning up to capture your lips again before you could spend another thought on his brother instead of him.

“Mhm, he loves tits. Crosshair has this weird thing with necks, also thighs. Hunter likes a nice ass. Me and him are the same in that one. And Echo is already crazy for these legs.”

The clone worshipped every inch of your exposed skin with the enthusiasm of an eager lover—whispering sweet praises that had your back arching for more, gliding a hot tongue along the length of your stomach, and providing equal attention to both your breasts until you were squirming for something else.

“Wrecker, please. Please, I need you.”

“Hm? What d'ya need, little Jedi?”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

You gave him your most vicious stare, which only amused the smug clone. “I order you to touch me, soldier.”

Wrecker merely stroked your waist, tracing the visible marks beneath his thumb. “Pullin’ the rank card on me, eh? I'll let it slide for now. Gonna be honest with you, pretty, I can hardly wait as well.”

The sound of your surprised shriek brought another bubbling laughter out of him after he yanked your pants down in one swift motion, completely leaving you bare under his hungry gaze.

“Dank farrik, don’cha look so perfect.” His mind could barely function properly now, all it took was just one look at you—bare and trembling—to have him reduced to a panting Loth-wolf. 

Before you could sneak a word, his finger dipped below and was met with the slickness of your arousal dripping for him. Wrecker’s groan sounded absolutely wrecked, broad shoulders tensing with the last thread of self-control he held on to. 

“Need you to be ready first,” His growl reached your ears, triggering another shiver down your spine, before his thick finger ran up and down your slit to spread your wetness even more. 

Then, he released the hold of your wrists, and your arms immediately encircled around his neck. His hand trailed down on your chest again, swirling a thumb around your nipple, locking you into another ravenous kiss. At the same time, the hand below you began to move in circular motions, around the sensitive nub of your clit.

That had you gasping against his mouth, and Wrecker swallowed it all up in a drunk daze. 

He dragged his lips to your jaw, nipping the skin there, purring in delight when your legs quivered around his hips. “Feel so wet for me, pretty. Always thought of ya like this.”

His little Jedi moaned again, leaning your head back to allow him more access to your neck. 

“Y-You do?” 

“Mhmm, every night. In my bunk. In the ‘fresher. During missions.”

“A-All the time?”

“All the time.”

When Wreckers was satisfied, his finger dipped further down until it teased your entrance. Your back arched, pressing up against his front, as one thick finger breached past your entrance and sheathed itself within your walls.

If you were a squirming mess, the clone above you appeared beyond ruin.

Wrecker groaned, a sound so similar to when he was in pain, upon the feeling of your fluttering walls sucking his digit in. He could already imagine his cock buried within there instead of his finger, but he needed to ensure you were ready for him. His size could be a shock for most of his partners, and you deserved the proper treatment before you could have it.

With a stuttering breath, he began to set a deliberate pace of pushing, curling, and pulling away—a repeated cycle to which granted him a beautiful view beneath.

Your eyes were shut closed, lips parting in shallow gasps. Sighs of pleasure streamed past your mouth like silk, ringing so sweetly into his ears. This did not compare to the blurred images of his dreams. It will never compare to the thoughts he had envisioned underneath the refresher shower.

Wrecker cursed to himself once he felt you grind down his hand, and he took that as his cue to add another digit to join the curling motion inside.

“Sith hells, keep doing that.” 

The articulate and modest Jedi general Wrecker knew was gone, now he had this pretty girl moaning sweetly for him. Calling out his name, begging for more of what he can offer. The clone could die right here without a single regret, leaving an imprint of your image filled with pleasure deep within his mind. 

He would go back to this memory once he was done with you, in the privacy of his bunk or underneath cold water.

You writhed more wildly now, hair spread around the grass like a halo.

“Wreck– Wrecker, please!” 

The clone inhaled sharply, crashing his lips down on yours again and hurried the motion of his fingers. He would completely ravage you here in this clearing, mentally promising another setting in the future where a mattress would replace the grass on your back. Where your hair can sprawl messily on a pillow, body writhing above soft sheets. 

Yeah, he could really see the vision behind his eyelids. Somewhere quiet, with just the two of you locked in a heated passion, on a large bed and low light.

Kriff, you deserved that proper care.

But here you were, taking his fingers beneath the stars. Though compared to the ones above, you glowed even brighter.

When Wrecker picked up on the hitch of your breath, the tightening of your walls around his digits, he grinned to himself. 

Oh, his pretty girl was close. 

His fingers curled upwards, massaging that spot inside you that had you preening in his arms. His mouth closed around a nipple, swirling his tongue and hitting gently on the nun. All the while this moment, his free hand slithered down to hook against the back of your knee, hitching your leg to the side until it made contact with the grass.

The clone let go of your nipple, plastering soft kisses across your taut stomach, a cocky smirk on his expression.

“That's it, pretty. C’mon, you're so close. I gotcha, come for me.” 

“Kriff, kriff, kriff. Wrecker!”

“Mhmm, doing so good for me. Go on, pretty girl. Let go for me, yeah?”

“Yes!”

Both of you released a groan of relief, your front was pressed firmly against his as you came into his hand. Your lips, swollen and glistening, were drawn between your teeth to suppress the volume of your moan. Wrecker could only watch the display with fervor attention, memorizing the way your face contorted in the throes of euphoria. 

Even better than my dreams.

He honestly couldn't believe this happened, how he made you come only with his fingers, and he got to watch that pretty face of yours as you reached your peak. No other sight could replace this moment. The wetness around his fingers proved to be the evidence of this starry escapade.

Coming down from your high, your chest rose and fell quickly as you dared to open your eyes to stare up at Wrecker.

You blinked away the haziness, a drunk smile on your lips, before you glanced down and wistfully cooed.

“Wanna taste that?”

He growled, retracting his hand away from your core. 

“Don't mind if I do, pretty.”

Wrecker made a teasing display of cleaning both his index and middle finger, trying to fluster you further by making eye contact as he did so. However, he failed horribly as soon as his tongue lapped around your release. 

“Woah,” Wrecker’s eyes were wide in awe, before a shadow came over and his gaze became dark.

Before you could tease him, the giant clone adjusted his position until his face was in front of your center. He ignored the shy squeal you produced, attempting to snap your legs close, but he was quicker—stronger—as he used his strength to pry your thighs apart and present you to his ravenous stare.

There, all pretty and wet, waiting for him to put his mouth on you to devour. 

You tried to sit up, leaning your upper weight on your elbows. “Wrecker, you– you don't need to do that.”

Choosing not to heed your words, he raised a daring eyebrow at you and grinned. 

“And why's that? D’ya mind if I have some more?”

The exasperation on your face almost made him laugh, but it soon morphed into that pleasant expression again when his mouth kissed your clit and sucked hard. 

You hissed, weakly pushing his head away. 

“Maker, you're insuffer– Ahh, kriff!”

“Hm? Couldn't hear ya here.”

And so, Wrecker happily spent his time getting drunk on your release. If you could only see him right now, you would've witnessed the absolute euphoria etched on his scarred face.

He smirked to himself, mentally taking a trophy that he was the first one who gets to eat you out. Oh, Echo would kill him if he were to find Wrecker in this position. The clone knew the former ARC trooper always wanted to be in this position, between your thighs and watching you fall apart under his tongue.

It was a secret between him and his brothers, one that you didn't need to know, that they all shared their most intimate thought of you during a past down time leave back in 79’s. 

They were all tipsy, in no mood to pick up a random woman to take back to an inn, choosing to lay out all their hidden desires and fantasies of you between shared alcohol.

“What I would do to get between her thighs,” An inebriated Echo slurred against Hunter's arm, the former only snickering an agreement. “Seriously, have you seen her legs? I once saw her suffocate a Separatist with them locked around his windpipe. Kriff, I was so jealous of the guy.”

“I can agree with that one,” Crosshair let himself get loose, swirling his own brandy. “I like her neck too. She always does this thing when she's tired, rolls her head around, and massages her neck. Always had me staring. I hate it.”

“That is oddly specific,” Tech quipped, but the obvious blush on his cheeks betrayed him of his thoughts. 

“Like you don't secretly watch her lips when she's talking.”

“That was one time!”

“You like her mouth.”

“I don't–”

“And her ches–”

Wrecker pulled himself out of the memory, now noticing his lack of oxygen. Your legs became free from his grip, and were now suffocating him in a strong embrace. He must've been too distracted to maintain a proper hold on them, so he pried them apart once more and sucked hard on your clit in retaliation.

You squealed, pushing away from him, but he only chased after you and did it again.

“Wrecker, please! I-I can't–”

“Want me to stop, pretty?”

“Y-Yes, I can't– Need you now, please.”

“Well, since you asked nicely.”

I'll leave Echo to do that.

He was about to come up again, hand placed on the waistband of his blacks, when your hand suddenly clutched his wrist.

“I don't get to be the only one naked,” You huffed, glaring rather adorably at him, before you made a move to lift his top off. 

Out of panic, he jolted away from your touch. 

“Ah, I'm doin’ just fine! You don't need–”

“Wrecker.”

“I-I mean it's– Let's focus on you, yeah?”

“Wrecker.”

The clone winced at the usage of your general tone on him, flinching once more when he was met with a stern set of eyes. Your gaze was trained on his, an unwavering force he could never find to look away from. Despite that, the soft draw of your eyebrows were pulled in concern.

“I promise I won't see you any differently,” Your whisper comforted him like a cool breeze in a hot summer night. “If you're bothered by it, then I won't. But I need you to know, scars won't make me run. It won't certainly make me think of you as anything less.”

Wow.

You must've used your Jedi tricks to read his mind, and he swore you could hear how his heart broke in half once you saw through his cracks. Now he was reminded how deep he really fell for you. You and your kind words, those thoughtful eyes, and that unending compassion which drove him crazy to no end. How could he deserve any of this?

Wrecker lowered his head, suddenly bashful at the intensity of your stare, but still he nodded.

“It ain't a pretty sight,” His voice strained in his throat, rough and broken. 

“That's okay, I have scars too.” You did, and you carried those scars like a proud warrior. 

Reluctantly, he allowed you to lift his blacks off of his frame until he was the one who threw them aside, joining your lightsaber. 

Immediately, he fought the urge to cower beneath your piercing gaze, which was so unusual for someone like him. Normally, he'd be so proud of his physique, it's the result of his hard work and training (besides it being his genetic mutation). 

But with all those nasty scars, old and new, he was afraid you would find them unappealing.

However, you proved him wrong when your lips glided over his tan skin. Your hands roamed across his chest, caressing all the scars your delicate fingers could reach, whilst you kissed your way around his collarbone and neck. Then, you trailed upwards until your lips ghosted over the scars on his face. You took your time worshipping him now, whispering soft praises and planting even softer kisses against his chest.

“You're beautiful, Wrecker. So, so, beautiful and strong.” Your nails raked down his spine, causing a violent shudder in return. “Always admired you. Always loved you.”

Blinking, Wrecker snapped his gaze down and gaped. “Wha– You love me?”

The smile you gave him tugged on the poor heartstrings within his chest, so genuine and full of adoration. Kriff, he really didn't deserve that smile. He didn't deserve those eyes. He didn't deserve someone so sweet like you. 

“Yes, and I won't deny it anymore. I love you, and your brothers. Equally and irrevocably.”

He could die right here, and he'd thank the stars.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Wrecker pounced at you with an unexpected tackle. A hand was secured behind your head so that you wouldn't get hurt, back meeting the soft grass once more, as his lips claimed another starving kiss.

You welcomed his attacks, moving your own mouth in a way that had him dizzy with need.

His other hand freed himself out of his pants—hard, hot, and heavy. 

Only you could get him like this. 

An absolute wreck. 

He stroked himself slowly, inching his knees close until your legs rested against his sturdy thighs. His lips descended to your jaw, mouthing more marks as a claim of his endeavor, before he lined himself up at your entrance.

Your breath hitched, shoulders going tense with anticipation. Wrecker grumbled softly, turning his biting into chaste kisses along your collarbones. 

“Legs around me, pretty. Take a deep breath, and hold on.” He ordered, stroking a broad palm against your hip. 

You obediently followed his order, nuzzling your face to his exposed neck. “I can take it, Wrecker. Please.”

With the last of his restraint snapping, Wrecker cursed to himself. He slid the tip of his cock from your clit down to your entrance, collecting enough wetness to make his entry much more tolerable.

“Relax for me, pretty.” He whispered near your ear, before you felt him gently push through your walls. “Kriff, that's it. You can take me.”

You only mewled in response, biting the muscle between the space of his neck and shoulder. Maker above, he felt so big and heavy inside. And you were aware he wasn't even in all the way yet. Every protruding vein, the impressive girth of him, and the way his tip easily kissed your cervix once he was fully sheathed in you.

Wrecker wasn't immune to the sensation as well, stopping himself from pulling out and slamming back in. 

“Dank farrik– You feel so warm around me.” 

But his thoughts were much louder and messier.

Kriff, kriff, kriff. Not gonna last long, and I haven't even moved yet.

She feels so kriffing good.

How is this real?

Is this another dream?

Holy kark, she feels so tight.

Jumbled thoughts flashed across his mind and left just as quickly, unable to process a single coherent sentence. A pained groan escaped from him when he felt your hips grind down on his length as a signal for him to move.

“Wrecker, please. Please move.”

How can he deny his pretty girl any longer?

With a huff of concentration, the clone rested a forearm beside your head and the other one along your thigh.

“Hold on to me.” 

He pulled his hips back, and thrusted back in with no restraint.

Wrecker didn't have any more patience left in him to continue being soft. 

No, he started fucking himself into you. 

With reckless abandon, growling breaths, and a bruising grip on your hip. You did say you can take it, right? His pretty girl can take anything she wants from him, and he would be on his knees in an instant.

Your volume echoed around the forest floor, it surely must've startled the nearby wildlife in the trees. However, it only fueled him to maintain his brutal pace. He fucked you like how he wanted to, like he always did in his dreams. Fucked you good and hard until your legs could barely stay around his waist, until your voice broke into shallow gasps of his name. 

He did what you wanted, and used his strength to push you down to meet his cock.

Over, and over, and over again.

Tears escaped from your closed eyes, trailing down your temples, but he knew they weren't of pain. Wrecker could feel your breasts brush against his, as you continue to jolt violently with each push and pull of his hips.

Your walls, warm and tight, fluttered around his length like a natural response.

“You have any idea how much I thought of this, pretty girl?” Wrecker forced himself to speak, huffing out a broken growl when he felt your nails scratch angry lines down his back. “You have any clue how much I spent nights, hand on myself, p-pretending it was you who– Kriff, I've always wanted you like this.”

You shook your head, unable to form words. 

Wrecker wore a cocky grin, proud of himself to be able to put you in this state. Your sounds alone could rival those women in Tech’s porn collection. The difference was you were experiencing genuine pleasure, not a scripted act to get the audience riled up.

He hissed out a curse, a few lines in Mando’a, before he straightened himself up so that both of his hands were firmly on your hips.

“D’ya have any idea how gorgeous–”

Thrust.

“Irresistible–”

Thrust.

“Smart–”

Thrust.

“And tempting you are?”

A deep and powerful thrust that had you moving upwards along the grass, tearing another squeal he never knew you could make.

Wrecker felt himself twitch inside you, a sadistic glint in his golden eye upon noticing the obvious bulge on your womb. He could see the movement of his length going in and out of your walls, visibly elated at the fact that his cock was the first one to be inside you.

“Just like that, pretty.” He hovered one broad palm above your womb, before applying pressure that produced a stuttering gasp out of your throat. “Let them all hear ya. They might just come and find us here. You want them to see you like this?”

The way you clenched even more around him answered his question. It had him laughing gruffly in response, amused at your body’s physical reactions.

Kriff, of course you do.

Wrecker leaned down, biting the juncture of your neck. “But they won't, I have you all to myself now.”

He didn't falter once. 

You didn't even notice how he used both hands to bend your body at his will, knees against your chest, taking everything he gave you.

Steadily, the familiar coil began to unravel itself again. And that's when Wrecker knew you were nearing your peak.

He growled out another curse, shuddering when he felt his skin break underneath your nails. 

That's it, pretty. Leave your marks on me.

I'd wear those scars with pride.

Can't wait to show them to my vode after we're done.

Wrecker could feel his peak nearing too, getting off of the thought of presenting your marks to his vode. Maybe he could paint similar marks on his armor, just to carry them all the time even when the ones on his skin disappeared or healed.

When your sobs reached his ears, the clone hushed you by kissing your tear-stained cheeks. 

He angled his hips upwards, making sure to brush against that one spot inside to have come closer. 

“Go on, pretty girl. Let go for me, y-yeah?”

“S-So close. Wrecker, don't stop–"

“I won't, I'm right here.”

“Kriff, Wrecker!”

“Shhh, I'm with ya.”

Letting go of one knee, his thumb returned to your clit to help you reach your climax faster.

Wrecker watched, not wanting to miss the sight of you coming on his cock. After months of imaging it in his mind, protected by the confines of his helmet and the hours of the night, he will finally get the chance to commit the actual scene to memory.

His fantasy turned into reality, as different sensations flooded every nerve in his body like molten fire. Maybe after you were done with his brothers, he could have you again and try another setting. Somewhere he could comfortably manhandle you around like how you've confessed to him. Somewhere he could lay next to you, and wake up the next morning with you wrapped in his arms.

Kriff, he's so far and deep.

But he's not complaining.

Not when you forced his face to meet yours in another frantic kiss. Not when you came undone around him, gasping and writhing in the wake of ecstasy. Not when you let him chase his own pleasure after you have finished, your sweet kisses running down his neck and collarbone. 

Not when you took his ear between your teeth, and commanded. “Come for me, Wrecker.”

Several short thrusts later, he harshly pulled you down on his cock. He kept you there, flushed together, not wasting a single drop as he moaned lowly in your ear. Tender fingers trailed up and down his sides, almost tickling him, words of praises and hushed whispers of encouragement being spoken along the line of his jaw.

“You did so good for me, big guy.” You cooed, proud and spent. “You took care of me so well.”

“Hmmm,” Wrecker, still lost in a daze in cloud nine, nuzzled his face against your cheek, pulling out of you with a slight hiss. “You’re welcome, pretty. You took me well too. Not many can.”

“Do you really have to say that after fucking me senseless?” 

“Jealous?”

“Livid actually.”

“Can I make it up to you?”

“I don't know. Do you think you can?”

Wrecker barked out another booming laugh, that massive grin breaking out of his features.

“As much as I want to,” He stole an innocent peck on your pouting lips. “M’fraid you'd break in a second round.”

You matched his grin, cheeky and flushed. “Are you satisfied, then? With my fight?”

“Hell yeah, I want a rematch next time!”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me too, pretty.”

Wrecker decided he should not leave you bare any second longer. So, with the remaining strength left in his muscles and bones, he helped clean you off with your waist sash after tucking himself in his blacks. Then, he made you wear his top to cover your shivering body from the nipping cold air of the night.

After he had collected the rest of your clothes, plus your lightsaber in hand, he picked you up off of your feet and carried you like how a newly wedded couple would.

He tucked your head against his bare chest, placing another chaste kiss on your temple.

“You can rest now, pretty. I gotcha.”

“Thanks, Wrecker.” You yawned ever so softly, visibly exhausted from today’s engaging activities, before succumbing to the heat of his body.

The clone simply smiled with fondness, melting at where he stood, his heart drumming a steady rhythm only you could hear. 

“Rest well, pretty girl.”

He made his way back to the Havoc Marauder with you sleeping soundly in his arms, wearing a massive eat-shitting grin on his face. As soon as the outline of the ship came to view past the treeline, all of his brothers were standing in front of the ramp in wait for their arrival. 

Echo, who seemed disturbingly worried, nudged Tech, who looked up from his datapad with a startled jolt. Crosshair merely raised an eyebrow, eyeing your unconscious figure, lingering on your bare legs. And Hunter…

Kriff, he had that deathly calm expression which always made Wrecker nervous.

“Hey, vod.” Wrecker greeted casually, avoiding the others staring in a mix of shock, disbelief, and amusement. “Er… She's not harmed, I promise–”

“I know she ain't,” Hunter flicked his gaze down at you, nose flaring. “I can smell you on her. At least clean her up properly before tucking her in. Understood?”

Sighing in relief, Wrecker nodded in response. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Did you break her?”

“Nah, she took me like a champ.”

“Hmmm, that means she'll handle us just fine.”

When Wrecker entered the ship, the four of them were left staring after him. A brief silence washed over them, before Echo spoke up to break it.

“That means I'm next, right?”

Chapter Text

Echo stared at his reflection, lost in thought. 

The Havoc Marauder flew towards their next location, Alderaan, where they would spend their two weeks leave to rest from their last gruelling mission. 

It's been a few hours since Wrecker has tucked you in your bunk, and they went their separate ways to process tonight's events. The dizzying effects of the Corellian Cider still has a hold of his consciousness, and Echo dreaded the morning outcome of this night.

“Your caring nature makes me melt sometimes, but not just that. Your eyes. They've seen things I haven't seen before. The harsh war, death, and darkness.” 

Your words remained etched deep within his mind, replaying along his memory, clear and distinct as the brightness of your eyes. How could you say something like that? Did you know how hard it was to simply forget the weight of those words? 

How much it reminded him of what has been through?

The terror of losing his closest brothers, the fear in front the face of death, and the torture his body was forcefully subjected to.

Yes, he had seen and been through enough.

He had lived through death, even cheated it multiple times, to know that his eyes did carry the weight of his past. 

The death of his fallen brothers, the faces of those Separatist who tore him apart for their own sick gain, the smoke filled room of where he was kept for days, and the horrors of war that continued to surface behind his eyelids every time he tried to fall asleep.

“But when you look at me, it's like you found salvation instead.”

His left hand lifted, fingers tracing the hollow line underneath his sunken eyes. 

What did you see when you looked at him?

Do you see the same haunted soldier whose eyes displayed all his guilt and sin? Like how he saw himself through the mirror. Do you see the way he would momentarily lose himself in the past, even when he's safe in the present, recalling all those years ago? Maybe you did, maybe that's why you were able to learn how to pull him out of his misery with your kind heart and angelic laugh.

Indeed, he had found his salvation in you. 

You had given him a new hope, the same sense of belongingness that his brothers had. 

All of them were deemed as defects, many of the regs called them the ones with the desirable mutations, but how much of a lie they were when their eyes could barely shield their disgust? Their own brothers. Laughing, mocking, and teasing the bunch of them as if they weren't created the same.

He used to be like them, a reg who had been promoted to an ARC trooper alongside his brother, Fives. He used to possess the same humor, the same habits, the same style, and the same beliefs.

Until he became… this thing.

A vessel of his past. A modified experiment from the Separatists—An echo of his former call.

He knew of your identity previously, when he was still a soldier of the 501st battalion. The time when you were still a Padawan from the Order, a shiny Jedi as Fives dubbed you, beaming with pride as your master introduced you to them.

“Gentlemen, this is my Padawan.” Mace Windu informed them of your name, and Echo fought the urge to elbow Fives when he caught the sight of his brother staring a bit too long in your direction. “She will be accompanying you at times. I put my trust in you to have her in your care.”

“She'll definitely be in my care for sure,” whispered Fives, and Echo could only roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. 

The first time you met gazes, the clone prayed to the Force you didn't notice the shock in his eyes. 

Yours were bright. He didn't notice it from their color, but from the way they gleamed.

You stared back at him with a fiery spark that lit an unknown emotion within his chest. He may not be a Jedi, didn't have any of their mystic powers to see through people, but somehow he knew you were going to be someone special.

And when you smiled at him, polite yet filled with so much warmth, Echo could only clench his fist to stop himself from planting a seed that may lead to his doom once it has sprouted.

Yeah, he still remembered those days. 

Back when you used to fight alongside his squad, your lightsaber in hand as you charged straight on towards fleets of clankers. Back when you disobeyed orders from General Kenobi or your own master to risk your safety for the lives of his brothers. Back when you patched them up when they were injured, assisting Kix in his medical tent, the look of concentration on your dirt covered face always triggered a wild flutter in his heart. 

That still hasn't changed until now. 

You still carried those same habits from all those cycles ago.

Then, the Separatists took him away. They made him different. They turned him into something he could barely recognize. He still shared the same face as his brothers, but gone were the same likeness and emotion they carry.

He became this abomination.

Half-reg, half-clanker. Two things he now disliked with a passion.

When he was asked by Rex whether he wanted to stay with them or join the Clone Force 99, there was an inkling of fear rooted in his heart that his old battalion would shun him away because of his defect.

No battalion could ever want someone who's already damaged.

So, he chose them—the Bad Batch—solely because his soul called out for them. As if yearning for a new purpose and he knew he had already fulfilled his old one with the 501st. Now, it was time to move forward.

To his great surprise, the Batch welcomed him with large smiles and arms slung over his shoulder. Pure, genuine, and happy. As if they've been waiting for him their entire lives. It was the first time he felt alive again, that sense of belongingness rekindled.

Through battles, they have stuck together like glue. Never apart, always at each other's aid, and never leaving one behind. Echo took the role of the caretaker, tending to his brothers’ wounds or simply reminding them to take care of themselves when he's not able to.

The sense of purpose gradually returned piece by piece, a familiar call of his former self. 

Then, the day came when Master Mace Windu stood in front of them again, and beside him a familiar figure who looked like a ghost from his past had come to haunt him.

There you stood, without a thin braid draped on one shoulder, older and much more mature than how you were when he first met you. The robes you adorned were the same, but they fit your frame better now than how it loosely did back then. The angles of your face were sharpened with age—with experience—and your eyes were no longer rounded by naive fascination and hopeful wonder.

You weren't a shiny Jedi anymore.

You were a Knight, and now you were also their general.

“Gentlemen, I have requested your presence here to announce that the Republic has assigned you a general. Meet my former Padawan, she’ll be in charge of you in missions and other assignments. I trust you all in her responsibility and care.”

Now, Echo was in your care. 

He didn't have to worry about you around like the shiny you once were. He didn't have to place an arm around you to stop yourself from bolting towards the enemies. And he didn't need to stop that seed from sprouting from a blossoming flower.

You studied each one of his brothers, starting from Hunter. The two of you shook hands, the weight of leadership settling between that moment.

Then, you greeted the rest of his vode. From Wrecker, to Tech, Crosshair, and finally…

He wasn't sure you'd recognize him, given the major difference of his appearance, so he simply performed a salute with his right prosthetic arm as a form of respect.

However, he saw it in your gaze. 

The flash of recognition, a brief glimpse of that shiny Jedi peeking through those lashes, and he found himself staring at the stretching smile on your face.

“Echo, it's good to see you again.”

The ARC trooper stood still with shock, he could feel his brothers watching him from their peripheral vision. Questions swimming in their gazes, switching back and forth from him to their new general.

“Shin– General, I didn't expect you to recognize me, sir.” Kriff, he almost called you by the old nickname he and Fives had given you. “But how did you know it was me?”

Echo didn't possess any unique branding from his former self that could have you know it was him. The old Echo was gone. He died the moment Fives did. He was simply another soldier to the Republic. 

A member of the Clone Force 99. 

He expected you to relay to him the news of his capture, the tragic event that had caused him of this new condition, but instead you simply gazed at him with that fondness and warmth so similar from his memories.

But then, you had uttered those words as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

“I recognized your eyes, Echo.”

Echo frowned, shaking his head at the distant memory. 

There were millions of clones there who had the same eyes. All of his reg brothers possessed the same body and facial structure. His eyes were not so different nor distinct to the others, which still bothered him to this day as to why you said they were.

How did you know it was him? What did you see in his eyes? 

Or a better question—

Who did you see?

It's a repetitive question he had pondered and dismissed time and time again. A mere echo at the back of his brain, often causing him sleepless nights staring up at his bunk. Ever since that confession of yours, bathed in strobing neon lights and tainted in amber liquor, it hasn't left his consciousness in every waking hour of the day.

Was he being transparent when he looked at you?

Did you know about his feelings?

Kriff, he hoped you didn't. 

Though, he always knew how much of an observant, and not to mention pesky, Padawan you were before. You were able to pick up on the slightest shift in the energy of others, it was sort of creepy to him at first. Even when he was certain he could keep his inner turmoil in check, you just possess that natural ability to pinpoint his mood. Although that was just the kind of person you were—observant, caring, and troublesome.

Then, fate seemed to tie you two back together again. 

Somehow, you were placed in his life once more. Older, yet still full of life. You changed in so many ways that Echo had noticed from before, but at the same time, he still saw the same vibrant spark within those vast irises of yours.

He just couldn't piece you together.

And that unnerved him in a manner that had him observing you more closely.

When you first joined Clone Force 99, you immediately breached past his barriers wearing a familiar shine in your eyes. Like how an old friend would look when reuniting with their lost companion. 

“I like it when you gaze at me like you want to take care of me.”

As time went on, you had managed to rekindle his former identity. 

Even when he was now painted different shades of color, when you were with him, it felt like he was still in that white and blue striped armor. 

In the cockpit late at night, where he made up for lost time sharing stories with you, there was this small ember igniting within his chest into life every time you smiled at him. Just sitting there, listening and hanging on to every word he spoke. 

A private moment between two war-torn souls, travelling through the stars, finding each other once more amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, in those quiet moments, he was back to wearing his white and blue striped armor, and you were back to your jovial Padawan self. 

When you laughed at his jokes, Echo could hear the distinct ringing of your voice so many moons ago. 

An image of you wearing a braid, would flash briefly in front of him. And he would feel like that newly appointed ARC trooper who had saved you countless times from close calls, and had seen you get reprimanded by Mace Windu for your reckless actions.

Now, things were different.

But still, Echo found himself caring for you like how he did back then.

He devoted himself to seeing you were always in good health, always with your stomach full before and after a mission, always well-rested after a sleepless night with him in the cockpit. Even when he knew you seemed fine on the outside, he had to guarantee if you truly were. Sometimes, like himself, you fought a battle in your head that not many can help you with.

So, Echo did his best to be your tether back to the present. A grounding presence that can pull you away from those clashing wars and gruesome battles evoking in your mind.

He never did like seeing you so small and broken, hating the way it dimmed the spark in you.

There were nights where he would hear your muffled sobs from your bunk, intentionally kept quiet not to be heard by anyone, yet it still reached his senses like a blast of explosion which alerted him into panic. There was nothing he desired than to go inside and scoop you right into his arms, where you would be safe from the harsh burden of your responsibilities.

Echo made a vow to himself.

Whilst you were their general, constantly stationed at the front lines, he needed to ensure your life would never be at risk. 

When you were too weak to tend your own wounds, Echo would be there immediately to replace your hands. When rations ran scarce and you insisted his brothers eat the remaining portions, Echo would save his to hand it to you later. And when you laughed with Wrecker or got roped in another game between his brothers, he could only watch from afar as his heart yearned to be within your presence.

The more time he spent catering to your needs, being there at your beck and call, the more he realized he didn't care anymore if his intentions were beginning to slip through the cracks of his facade.

Yes, he had fallen deep. He wasn't supposed to.

Fives would be laughing his ass off if he discovered him being a complete sap.

But how could he not be? 

You took care of him and his brothers in times of danger, you were there by their sides when the odds were against them, and you never abandoned your code at the same time. 

Echo had found beauty within your strength, even before you became their general. a sense of grace only you can masterfully carry wherever you go. 

It was against your code to be attached, to be in this position of closeness with him and his brothers, but he always knew you were one to rebel against certain standards. You treasured your relationship with all of them, it was evident through your words and actions. 

He wanted to be the one who can take care of you, while you bruised with the same task on his brothers.

“It makes me curious too, how would you look at me when I'm the one taking care of you?”

And that brings him here, staring back at his haunting reflection.

Why would you want to take care of him too?

He was more than capable of assessing his well-being. After all, he was just a clone, and you were a Jedi. You were not as expendable as he was. Why would you crave the need to polish something that has been long damaged?

Did you sense something within him in need of help? Something only you can do? 

Deep within him, the only reason why Echo hasn't let you do as you wished was because of your code. Because he was trusted by your former master to never let anything that could potentially endanger your life close to you. 

And if that included him, and the selfish desires festering within, then so be it.

He must place you at an arm's length, to protect you from himself. So that he may never have you question your Code, and so that you may never fall the same way the other Jedi have when consumed by passion.

But Kriff did Echo want you to dance on that precipice. 

For once, he had this selfish desire for you to lean further into the edge.

And after tonight's events, his morals were becoming pulled in all directions. His vow, once made of steel, began to rust and wither the more he envisioned you in the ways he wasn't supposed to.

Anything that could make him yours, even for just a second. However, Echo could only get lost in his dreams. He could only watch from afar, because he knew if any of those desires were to manifest—his vow would be completely forgotten.

“If only I wasn't your general.”

Yeah, if only you weren't my general.

Echo braced himself against the sink, knuckles pale with slight force. 

Oh, the things he would do if you weren't his general. The things he would kill to do. 

If you weren't his general, you'd be under him lost in pleasure, taking everything he has to offer. His loyalty, his undying devotion, all that was left of him would be yours. He'd find another place of salvation between your thighs, worshipping you as you greatly deserved. He'd drink from your altar, not wasting a single drop of your essence until every fiber of his being was saved from damnation.

If you weren't his general, he would make you forget about everything. Even for just a moment. He would make it his new mission to erase all thoughts of war, replacing them with only him. Even when he knew there wasn't any worth left within him, Echo would give what remained—even if it’s just a fracture of that trooper in a white and blue striped armor.

If you weren't his general, he would be yours.

If you weren't a Jedi, you would've been his.

But the universe has a funny way of playing with fate.

One he could curse for all eternity. 

Wrecker had you first.

Wrecker.

Echo could feel the chambers of his heart shatter into fractures. 

The ARC trooper could only watch in silent pain as Wrecker carried your sleeping form, bare and marked underneath his brother's blacks, up to the open ramp of the Marauder. 

His thoughts all screamed for him to move, to confront his brother about being unfair, and to wake you in your slumber to answer his infinite questions. Why did it feel like betrayal? You weren't his in the first place. You expressed your attraction to all of them that night in the club, and Echo knew that—

Wait.

The gears in his mind turned, until it clicked into place.

“Let's start with you, Wrecker.”

“Next up, Echo…”

Kriff, were you serious about that? Does that mean he's…

Judging by the expectant stares from his brothers, Echo's thoughts were unanimously shared.

“That means I'm next, right?”

Crosshair simply flicked his toothpick aside, raising a thin eyebrow in his direction. “Well, if you want me to go next, I'd gladly do so.”

Echo narrowed his gaze, challenging the sniper. “Wait your turn.”

The threat only amused the silver-haired clone, who wore that infuriating smirk of his.

Hunter sighed, shaking his head at the display.

Meanwhile, Tech seemed to cross off something from his datapad. “Yes, according to my list, Echo is determined to be the next candidate—”

Echo choked, blinking incredulously. “Candidate?”

“—upon our general's desired order. Though, I must suggest, given that it is Wrecker who had engaged with her first, we should allow her to rest for at least two days until she recovers. That would be an appropriate length for her body to return to its former condition. Well, besides the prominent marks Wrecker left, those would take several days to disappear, the rest of her bodily functions should be at—”

“Alright, Tech. We get it.” Crosshair clicked his tongue in annoyance, already making his way up the ramp. “Give her two days until she's fine. Then, what? Leave Echo to have his way on her, and the system repeats?”

“Yes, precisely!”

Echo felt the muscles in his stomach constrict, rigidly still from where he stood. Have his way with you? He has to wait for two days before he could finally do what he has longed to release. 

Two whole days. 

Years of keeping his emotions under control, months of dedicating himself to a self-made vow, but the sound of two days grated painfully in his ears.

That's fine. 

It's fine. 

He could wait.

However, the suggestion already evoked those obscene thoughts he long kept buried, and he had to clench his fist to stop it from clouding his judgement. He could act normal for two days. He could still treat you the way he has done for years. There wouldn't be any difference, and you wouldn't need to worry about anything changing.

Hunter, being the ever so perceptive man he was, picked up on his strangely silent behavior.

“Echo? You good there?” 

The ARC trooper snapped back to reality, averting his gaze away from Hunter's line of sight to avoid being caught. The redness on his gaunt cheeks would be too obvious even against the dim surroundings of the forest.

“Ah– Yeah, uh… All good!”

“Uh, huh. I know what you're thinking.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I don't need to be a Jedi to know that you're thinking about her.”

Well, kriff off.

Echo sagged, caught and defeated. “Fine, I was thinking of her. But I'm not the only one. I know Tech here can’t wait for his turn too, he's right after me after all.”

At the directed call of his name, Tech turned towards Echo with an indignant exclamation.

“I am certainly not,” The begoggled clone denied, but his blush betrayed his words. “I am calculating the appropriate time for your turn. And within my results, I have deduced that it should only take an hour and a half. It would be more than sufficient for the next engagement regarding you and the general. Though, if you prefer to extend the duration to your personal wishes, then two hours would do as well!”

Echo squinted his eyes, crossing both arms, processing Tech’s words into consideration. 

Seriously? 

Wrecker has had you from late afternoon, up until nightfall, and he gets two hours with you? 

No, it wouldn't be enough.

“Make that three.”

“Three hours? Do you need more preparation before the actual engagement? Or is it because of your performance in regards to a delayed release—”

“Did you just say I take too long to finish?”

“I was going to state it.”

Hunter stepped in between the two, putting himself as a barrier before Echo could lunge at Tech and throw his datapad into the distance.

“Hey, hey, hey. First off, Tech. That's Echo's business. And second, Echo. Just make sure you don't do anything yet within those two days, a’right? You can have her all to yourself after that. We'll be in town while you and her. . . Just comm us after you're done. Do both of you understand?”

“Understood, sergeant.”

“Yes, sergeant.”

“Good,” The brunette clone released another exasperated breath, running a hand through his disheveled locks. “Now, let's go tell Wrecker later. We need to plan this all out before we do anything stupid. The last thing we need is to scare her off.”

Echo nodded his agreement, following behind Hunter's footsteps as the three of them boarded the ship.

Don't do anything for two days. 

Just two days.

I can wait.

Huh, these haven't faded yet.

You studied your reflection in the small mirror of the refresher, trailing down your figure with a small smile on your face. 

It's been two days since your tryst with Wrecker, and the marks he had left on your body haven't disappeared. Not that you want them to. In a selfish un-Jedi way of possessiveness, you wanted them to stay as long as possible. They were a reminder of your shared passion—a night filled with breathy moans, and rugged growls.

The memory flashed in your mind like a scene from a holofilm.

Scarred skin slicked with sweat, angry red lines across a broad muscled back, teeth marking a bruised neck, a possessive hold on your hips, and names of each other being spoken like a war cry.

And kriff, Wrecker's kisses.

He kissed you like a celebration. Like a victory he longed to achieve.

The aching reminder between your legs was enough proof that it wasn't just a scene from a holofilm or a poorly manifested flashback from your dreams.

You need to focus. You scolded yourself. It doesn't have to change anything. You're both responsible adults. Don't tiptoe around him.

However, you knew deep down, Wrecker was not the root of your growing worries.

It was his brothers.

During those two days after your escapade, not only did Wrecker initiate more intimate contact with you, but the others decided everything seemed okay.

Echo returned to being his usual self, asking if you have eaten yet, handing you a canteen of water out of nowhere, and sharing lighthearted jokes that never failed to pull a smile from you.

Tech also reverted to his chatty self, trailing behind everywhere you went, datapad or tool in hand, enthusiastically sharing another brilliant fact of his. 

Crosshair, being himself, just stood aside and stayed silent. His presence always lingered whenever you entered the room, his gaze tracking every movement of yours. Always with that toothpick between his teeth, lips curled into his signature sneer.

Hunter became civil with you once more, tipping his head as a greeting every time you crossed paths. He never asked about the night two days ago, either completely ignorant of what had transpired or was just choosing to be respectable to protect your dignity. 

Still, he maintained his courteous interactions with you.

And Wrecker… Well, the big guy did not shy away from his. 

At every opportunity he got, the giant clone would come and steal a small kiss on your cheek. Even in front of his brothers. Not just a kiss, he would unabashedly throw a wink over your direction, distracting you in the middle of a conversation with one of his brothers. He did it more than once, to the point where Crosshair had to threaten to shoot his other eye if he didn't stop.

He did stop in front of them, but he never let you escape his grasp whenever he would pull you inside an empty part of the ship, stealing your breath with unexpected kisses. His kisses reflected his character greatly—overpowering, dizzying, and full of intensity. You were a liar if you said you weren't becoming addicted, and it's only been two days!

His hands would roam all across your body, not caring about your robes, but you did catch him grumbling a few times about it being in the way. You had to stop him before you were caught by one of his brothers, even when he stubbornly told you they wouldn't mind a show if they did.

You had to physically pry yourself off of him, leaning up on your toes to place an innocent peck on his cheek. Then, you would make your brisk exit out of his reach, ignoring his childish protests.

Although the air in the ship shifted into its old atmosphere, something bothered you silently.

Everything was too normal.

Thankfully, today seemed fine. As fine as it could get in the Marauder.

The boys decided to go out today, expressing the need to restock the supplies for the ship in the town not far from where you were stationed.

Unsurprisingly, it was Wrecker's idea to have this little outing. His excitement triggered the reluctant but compliant agreement of his brothers. 

Specifically, Hunter, Tech, and one grumbling Crosshair.

Echo, on the other hand, wanted to stay for a brief rest. He did seem less talkative than usual today, and that caused your concern for the clone. 

When the ARC trooper retreated to his bunk, you turned towards the four carrying a worried expression.

“Is he okay? He looks a bit… unwell.” You glanced back to the direction of Echo's disappearance, before shifting back to meet Wrecker’s expectant gaze. “Sorry, Wrecker. I have to pass on this one. Echo might need some help, I’m worried he might've caught something.”

The giant clone visibly deflated by your answer, about to say something when Hunter's nudge stopped his sentence before it was even out.

Confused, Wrecker blinked at the sergeant, before he laughed and shook his head. As if he understood Hunter’s silent message. 

“Oh! That's fine, pretty. Yeah! Echo might need some help later. You can take care of him, right?”

“Of course, I can.” You narrowed your eyes at him, raising a brow at the sudden change of behavior. “How long will you be gone exactly? Do you think you can pick up some stock for our med shelf?”

Tech nodded stiffly, and informed you they would be gone for approximately three hours. 

Three hours? What would they be doing for that long?

Nonetheless, you accepted his answer and nodded them farewell.

When the ship's ramp closed, you missed the snicker coming from Wrecker and the curse from Crosshair.

Tech tapped away on his datapad, directing a question to Hunter.

“Are you certain the time we have given him is sufficient? According to my statistics, the probable length of the engagement should only take an hour and a half. Two if you count the necessity of an aftercare, and—”

Hunter huffed out a chuckle, starting his walk ahead of the group. “Three hours should be enough for his turn.”

Echo could feel his heart trying to escape from his chest, his skin too hot beneath all his layers and armor. 

It was just an act, but it still felt wrong.

That was the agreed plan to get you alone with him, but why did it really feel like he was about to be sick?

Just you and her. 

It's just her.

She's outside my bunk.

What am I going to do?

The panic arose in crashing waves, tumbling down on his shoulders until his breaths came out in shallow gasps. He tried to envision something else, tried to go back to a memory where your smile could comfort his nauseating anxiety. It didn't work. The tremors in his left hand shook his nerves, fingers twitching uncontrollably. 

My vow. What about my vow? I need to protect her–

She doesn't deserve this. I cannot let her see me in this state. 

She's my general, she's not supposed to–

We're not supposed to–

“Echo?” 

The ARC trooper jumped, whipping around to see your concerned eyes from the entrance of his bunk. He didn't even hear you open the door, and that caused him greater panic.

You stepped closer, cautiously, as if afraid to come in contact with a wild animal. The spark in your eyes melted him on the spot, anxiety temporarily forgotten, and he could only watch as you closed the door behind you.

Kriff, you looked like an angel who has fallen from the stars, gracing him with the salvation he doesn't deserve. 

“Echo, are you alright?” Your breathy whisper blanketed him in an assuring comfort, and he found himself taking deeper breaths to fix his composure. “You're shaking. How are you feeling? Is there something I can do?”

Yes, Cyar'ika. There is, but I'm not sure if I can let you.

If I'm able to.

Echo averted his gaze, dropping to the floor to conceal his exposed vulnerability. If he continued any longer, you would see through him like how you always do. You did say he had expressive eyes, and he was afraid of what you would see if he were to keep looking at you.

Your footsteps were light and airy, gliding across the floor with your robes trailing around your boots, and he was convinced you really were an angel. Echo did witness how many times you flew overhead him and his brothers to greet the enemies, a purple halo around your figure as you dropped into the battlefield from the skies.

“Echo,” You sounded closer, you were closer, and he fought the flinch against the contact of your delicate fingers on his cheek. “Look at me, please.”

The clone only closed his eyes, refusing to do so.

There was a soft release of breath, almost too silent that he almost missed it, before a firm yet tender palm forced his face to turn.

“Look at me, Echo.”

The command in your tone had him obeying instantly, voice as unwavering as your stern gaze. 

They softened upon meeting his.

“Tell me what's wrong, please.”

“No– I shouldn't. It's not right.”

“What's not right?”

Everything.

Wanting you. Needing you. Loving you.

The last words tightened his throat, even when he didn't say it aloud, the admission of it still felt too heavy to gulp it down and force it away. Nevertheless, that's what he did—swallowing his secret, so that it may never reach you. 

If we don't stop, if we let this continue, vow be damned.

I can't want you.

You gasped, retracting your hand away.

“Echo,” Oh, it pained him to hear you so broken and hurt. “Do you not… want me?” 

“Not want you?” Echo repeated, blinking in confusion. The pain morphed into something unrecognizable, until the hurt ignited into crimson fury. 

He stepped forward, eyes low and voice lower. 

“Not want you? Sweetheart, I have been wanting you since the day we first met! You haven't left my mind ever since you smiled at me at that hangar, even Fives couldn't stop teasing me because I liked a Jedi.”

Your lips were pulled into a frown, tilting your head. “Fives? Wait, you liked me for that long?’

“Yes!” Echo didn't stop himself from releasing his frustration, his left hand coming up to grip your shoulder. “And I tried not to. I tried to treat you as normally as I could. Two years ago, you were my commander, Windu’s Padawan, so I can't do anything about it. Three years later, you're here as my general. And the fact that you're always so near, yet so unreachable, hurts me. Kriff, I wanted you for so many years!”

Echo wrenched himself away from your proximity, afraid he might give into the temptation of kissing you. 

You just looked at him in astonishment, lips parted and waiting for his next words to come.

“When you said those things that night, I almost lost it! I was beginning to think none of us had a chance with you, that I didn't have any chance. Then, you came back with Wrecker and—”

You moved closer, now looking as furious as he was. “Echo.”

But he did not stop, meeting you in the middle of the room to glare down at you.

“Do you have any idea how that ruined me? The sight of you in his clothes, that damned grin on his face told me everything I should know.”

“Echo.”

“I made a vow to myself to pull you away from anything that could hurt you. I was afraid of becoming the reason you break your Code, but now I want nothing more than to curse it all and—”

Lips were on his before he could even finish his sentence.

Echo stumbled back in shock, as you finally closed the distance to kiss him amidst his rant.

Your left hand clutched the spaulder on his shoulder, chest pressed deeply against his cuirass, and the other hand held his cheek with a touch only a lover would have. 

It took him a brief second to come back to reality. 

You were kissing him, and he was standing there like a fool who didn't know what to do.

When he still hasn't made a move yet, you pull away as if he had burned you. Before he could reciprocate, you detached yourself from him as if he burned you. 

The immediate regret shone in your face, cheeks tinted a rose hue. The sight was the last straw of defending his honor.

Silence. Ragged breathing. 

Your lips parted to respond. “Kriff, I'm so sorry. That was–”

But he’s already there, taking your breath with a kiss rougher than war.

Not out of impulse. Not out of desperation. But like he had made a decision—right then, right there—that he couldn’t wait another minute.

His lips met yours, ravenous and unrelenting, but there was a weight behind it. A purpose.

When you gasped in shock, stepping back to regain balance, Echo only followed.

Then, his mouth moved with raw, unadulterated slowness, like he was trying to make the moment stretch—trying to remember what it felt like to want something, and not have to survive it.

To savour the taste of your lips. To devour the whimpers in the sound of his name.

Then you sighed into him, melting under his kiss. 

He breathed you in like it hurt. Like you were made of something rare and fragile and entirely undeserved. His metal hand hovered by your waist, unsure, hesitant. You guided it to your hip, and his breath caught like it meant more than anything that had happened in battle.

He pulled away just slightly, only enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I never thought I’d get this,” He whispered, still in disbelief but not afraid. “Not after everything.”

Your hands slid up his neck. “And now that you have it?”

“I don't want it to end.”

He surged forward, capturing your lips once more to pour everything he had into your gasping mouth. His scorching need, his years yearning from afar, and his haunting memories.

A kiss that said, I swear to protect you. I swear to come back. I swear, if I ever lose you, I’ll follow.

Echo kissed you like a man who had finally tasted oxygen after spending so long suffocating—like he needed your lips to stay alive. He ravaged your mouth with every fiber of his being, coated with unrestrained need and lust. His lips moved against yours in a messy dance of passion, left hand clutching the back of your neck, and right arm wrapped around your waist.

His lungs screamed for air, but all he was concerned was to let this moment go by pulling away. He wanted to drown himself in you. Like how he always wanted for years.

You kissed him back with the same ferocity, holding on to his shoulders like a lifeline.

This must be another dream. 

Echo groaned into your mouth, pushing you backwards until he had you trapped against the durasteel wall of his bunk. However, he did not stop kissing you. He did not even pause just for a second to separate, trailing his lips down your jaw. He doesn't even remember that your skin was still littered with his brother's marks, too desperate to have the taste of your skin under his tongue. 

The whines he had managed to provoke from you triggered another primal urge from him, bucking his hips up into yours. Instinctively, your legs widened to give him way, and Echo didn't waste a second to hoist you up around his waist. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own, on their own mission to tear your robes away from your body.

“Kriff, Echo.” You moaned into the collar of his blacks, grinding down against his codpiece. “W-Wait, I–”

“No,” The ARC trooper growled, growing ever more impatient as he cursed at the layers you have. “I'm tired of waiting, Cyar'ika. Need to have you, or else I'll go insane.”

He stepped away from the wall, bringing you with him, a silent chuckle emerging from his throat when you collided on the bed of his bunk.

Stepping away from you, Echo began to pick off his armor piece by piece. 

When you attempt to move and help him, the clone clicked his tongue and halted your movements with a piercing glare.

“Wait.” 

It wasn't a request, but a command, and it brought a look of bewilderment on your features. 

“Did you just–” You blinked up at him, tracking every motion of his hand as he skillfully removed every piece without even looking. “Command me, soldier?”

Call him a hypocrite, but he needed to make you taste your own medicine.

The corner of his lip tugged into a smirk, tilting his head in feigned obliviousness. Each piece of his armor fell to the floor, a dull echoing thud in its wake. It was like he deliberately slowed his actions, drawing out the seconds to test your patience. When everything piled around his feet, only left in the coarse fabric of his blacks, he started at a leisure pace to make his way towards you.

“I most certainly did.”

“And what was that about?”

“What are you talking about, Cyar'ika?”

“Oh, you know what–”

Echo knelt on the edge of the bunk, leaning forward to catch your lips again. His teeth grazed your bottom lip and tugged, half-lidded gaze still locked on yours. 

“With all due respect, General. Someone needs to put you in place sometimes. You do have the habit of disobeying orders.”

And he was there, pushing you back until you were laid flat on his bed. Only left with his blacks, he made quick work on removing your remaining tunics. Starting with loosening your pants, until he simply tugged it off of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder.

“You and Wrecker have an awful habit of throwing my pants away,” You simpered, eyes growing rounder when he began peppering kisses on your calves. “And he did mention you have a thing for my legs.”

That produced a scoff from the ARC trooper, nipping the side of your exposed knee. 

Kriff, your skin felt so soft.

“Did he now?”

“Mhm, he also said–”

“With all due respect again, general. I don't care.”

If I have to hear about my brother again, so help me Maker, I will lose it.

But the thought didn't stay for long. 

Echo exhaled in content, licking and kissing the skin of your inner thighs. Maker, you were so soft. You smelled so good too. After so long of keeping a respectable distance from you, only taking deep breaths to control himself whenever he would catch your scent as you passed by. Years of maintaining a dutiful composure to cloak the shroud of greed under his front.

Now, everything fell apart by the weight of reality. No longer just a fantasy.

Your legs against his shoulders, calves on his back, and your glorious thighs wrapped around his head. Your breaths were already labored, and he hasn't even put his mouth on you yet.

The moment he reached the clothed area of your center, the clone flickered his eyes over to yours. He was sure the reason for the whimper falling past your lips was because of the starving look in his gaze.

“Whatever he told you,” His breath fanned against the fabric separating your core, teasingly licking a broad stripe directly on the material. “Is not even the half of it.”

Then, he pushed the fabric aside and produced a sound caught between a stricken groan and a helpless moan.

“Kriff, Cyar'ika. You're perfect.”

Was all he said before the tip of his tongue ran from your entrance and up to your swollen nub. The release of his sharp exhale jolted you in surprise, thighs immediately crushing the base of his skull, skin digging into the cool metal implants. 

He tested the same gesture again, studying your reactions.

“Echo,” You mewled into the air, arms coming up to grip the pillow under your head. “Echo, Kriff– Right there.”

“Here?” And the ARC trooper sucked on your clit, wearing a teasing smirk. “Or here?”

His tongue dipped lower to your entrance in a tantalizing manner, and the sound you released had his cock twitching in his blacks.

Echo continued his assault even when your thighs clamped shut around his head, back arching off of the mattress. He recounted the dreams he had during those silent nights, all those forbidden daydreams whilst staring as you trained, and used those as a reference to bring you to the clouds.

At the same time, his left hand maneuvered in between your legs. One finger slipped inside of your walls, curling experimentally, before another joined in and started a gradual pace. His tongue returned to your clit, drawing a set of letters with a purposeful intent.

Echo.

The motion was repeated continuously, fluidly, until it became a cycle. All was going well, with you still completely clueless and lost in pleasure. Until the gasp you emitted gave him the cue you've finally caught on, eyes snapping open to stare at him dumbfoundedly.

“A-Are you– Stars. Is that your name?” 

Echo was surprised you even recognized the pattern under your state, a shadowed darkness clouding his gaze from between your legs.

“Smart girl,” His voice was muffled, barely comprehensible through the lewd sounds of his mouth.

His old trooper number was drawn with the tip of his tongue, thoroughly tracing each digit in a languid manner. 

CT-21-0408.

When he was satisfied, he switched to another routine that provoked desirable results. He pressed his tongue flat against your core, lapping at your entrance, slowly curling his fingers at the same time.

In no time, the volume of your moans ricochet all around the small room—echoing back to his ears and straight to his soul. Nothing could make him forget this moment, not even the most cruel torture from those Separatists could erase the image of you weak and trembling. He would remember this day, hear your voice in the future days echo within his self-indulgent fantasies.

I want to taste you for days, smell like you for even longer.

You tightened around his fingers, now with a third one recently added, signalling the nearing of your climax. 

He wouldn't even be mad if he died right in this spot, crushed between your thighs. What a death that would be. A soldier at the altar of his savior, drunk on devotion and salvation. 

Echo stayed there, worshiping you from between your legs. Your taste, your smell, your sound. Echo couldn't get enough of it. The selfish part of him wanted to draw this out longer, pull away from your core to deny you your release, then go back once more only to retreat again when you're close. It could serve as a punishment in the future, for now he wanted you to come on his tongue.

Paint him in your essence, drench his lips with your sweet nectar until it would be a permanent taste on his tongue for the next few days to come. 

“Echo, Echo, I'm so close!” You whined, yelping in pain when his teeth bit the inside of your thigh.

“Eyes on me, Cyar'ika. Wanna see you watch me while I take care of you.” 

“I-I can't, please–”

“You can,” The clone used his right arm to push your thigh off of his head. “Don't worry, sweetheart. Just look at me. I have you.”

When you met his gaze from above, lashes fluttering in effort not to fall shut, Echo presumed his endeavor. His fingers were in and out of your walls, curling relentlessly, a thumb deftly tracing his numbers on your clit.

CT-1409.

“So beautiful for me, Cyar'ika. Always thought of you like this. Always dreamed of being here, between your legs, tasting you. Want to stay here forever. Kriff– Can I stay here?” 

Echo watched you nod furiously, grinding down on his face with more pressure and urgency.

Replacing his thumb, his lips enclosed around your clit again, coaxing you further.

“Come for me, Cyar'ika.”

“Echo!”

Your body tensed with the release, chest lifting to the roof of his bunk, breaking off his stare. 

Meanwhile, the clone groaned against your core, greedily drinking on every drop he could capture on his tongue. He used his strength to pin you down in place, not allowing you to scoot back, even when you violently shook against his persistent hunger.

Tech was right. Sweet, smooth…

“Echo, if you don't stop that in the next second– Maker, I will not hesitate to crush you with my legs.”

The clone merely chuckled in response, eyes darkening at the arousing suggestion.

And spicy.

“Shhhh, you did so good for me.” Echo decided to grant you some mercy, retracting away from your sensitive core to plant wet kisses along your lower stomach. “How are you feeling, Cyar'ika?”

It took some time for you to recollect yourself, gasping in breaths of air as if you were the one lacking it. “Kriff, Echo. Where did you learn– That was something. Holy kark.”

Oh, it's nothing yet.

Nevertheless, the clone hummed in satisfaction at your words. “Good to know, because I'd like to do it again.”

“What do you–”

“Get on top.”

“Huh?”

With an impressive display of strength, Echo had you straddling his hips from above. The change of view, accompanied by the speed of it, left you dizzy and squealing in shock. 

Maker above, you forgot how strong clones were despite their appearance. Trained soldiers bred for the battlefield, built with the most advanced engineering to maximize the height of a human’s peak—strength, endurance, and stamina.

The bewildered expression on your flushed features tugged a boyish smirk on the ARC trooper's features, eliciting a hoarse chuckle from the clone underneath you.

“Now, what I want you to do…” Echo dragged his left hand across the smooth expanse of your thigh, stroking mindless patterns. “Is to take your pleasure for me. In other words, use me as you please.”

Sith hells, where did Echo hide this side of him? 

That was the only question in your mind, before you were urged by a strong tug closer to his face.

Echo, despite not being a Jedi, seemed to have your emotions read. “What's wrong, Cyar'ika? Promise, you won't hurt me. I just wanna taste you again.”

Albeit the clear hesitance displayed in your features, you forced yourself to shuffle forward until your knees were beside his implants and your exposed core above his awaiting mouth. The intense hunger in his eyes brought another warm blush on your cheeks, the sheer ravenous intent blazing brighter as he assessed the view of you.

“Now sit.”

“Are you crazy?” You blinked, shaking your head. “You'll suffocate. I can just hover like this, and–”

“Did I stutter?” Echo narrowed his glare, almost piercing through your skin with its sharpness. “Sit. I won't have to repeat myself.”

When you still defied his orders, the clone had to physically bring you down using both arms against your thighs. You yelped at the sudden motion, hands bracing at the durasteel wall in front of you. 

From between your legs, Echo still managed to draw out another command. “Now, take your pleasure, Cyar'ika. And keep those pretty eyes on me.”

Fixating him with your own glare, you shifted your stance better until you were comfortable enough to grind down on his open mouth. 

Immediately, the annoyance you wore shifted into pleasure. The difference from the previous position greatly provided you the upper hand, and you used the advantage to set the pace you liked. And Maker, it made your thighs shake already. The drag of his warm tongue, the heat of his mouth, the occasional bump of his nose against your clit, and the obscene moan vibrating from his mouth up into your center.

And when you hurried your pace, Echo only moaned in approval.

Maker above.

“Kriff, I could get used to this.” The ragged purr of your voice matched the pleased smile on your lips, gazing down at Echo as you continued to move. “Seems like I found another use for you, soldier.”

Echo groaned directly into your core, lapping and sucking with the intent of being used. 

Yes, use me like this. However you like. Whenever you like. I'm all yours, Cyar'ika.

Never once did he break his gaze from yours, and you stubbornly refused to do the same. It was like a battle of asserting dominance to see who would break first. As your movements grew to a gentle grind of your hips to harshly bucking down against him, Echo found himself losing the battle, eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

This was what he wanted. 

He could take care of you in this way. He could make you forget about everything just by offering himself to you.

Nevermind the painful strain in his blacks, hard and neglected from any touch of relief, he wanted nothing more than to be of service to you. Even when his lungs screamed for air, even when the strain of his jaw gradually worsened with fatigue, the sight of you chasing your peak was worth the struggle.

Upon winning the staring contest, you threw your head back and released another high-pitched moan from your throat. “Your tongue– Kriff, you're too good at this. I'm already, kark, so close.”

With his left hand, he reached upwards to play with your breasts. 

He could feel your thighs beside his head shaking in effort, the tone of your voice suggested another nearing climax. 

“Kriff, Echo! I’m gonna–”

After one swirl of his tongue around your clit, your body lurched forward into the wall and spasmed uncontrollably. Echo supported your weight easily, drunk and content, not letting an ounce of your release escape from his mouth.

Chest heaving, skin damp with sweat, legs trembling, and eyes lost in the stars. 

Echo felt a powerful surge of pride swelling in his chest at the sight of your utterly ruined state, all from just his mouth and tongue. Although he craved to stay longer trapped between your legs, he knew the moment had to end, aware that your body needed a break before he could coax you into another orgasm.

At least that's what he intended to uphold, but you had other ideas in mind it seemed.

You shuffled backwards, as steadily as you could with the weakening sensation overwhelming your legs, until you were straddling his hips once more. 

It quickly caught his attention, leaning on his elbows to see what you had planned, before a curse streamed past his glistening lips at the sensual roll of your center directly on his hard length.

Kriff, that should be illegal.

Echo used one hand to grip your hips, guiding your movements with an encouraging buck of his own. 

The friction pulled a guttural groan out his throat, eyes falling shut and head falling back at the spike of pleasure travelling down his spine. Even through his blacks and boxers, he could feel your wetness deep beneath the fabrics. Hands were placed on his chest, gently pushing backwards until he was left staring above you with blazing need. He settled against his pillow, sweeping a starving gaze down the length of your bare body.

He clicked his tongue on the remaining bruises adorning your skin, but decided to let it be and focus on the delightful roll of your hips against his.

The scene looked incredibly arousing yet surreal, that he almost believed it was just another dream conjured by the dark corners of his depraved mind.

Your coy grin woke a thunderous rhythm in his heart, and the way you licked your lips sent his cock twitching under you.

“You've had your fun, and I intend to have mine as well.” You raised yourself slightly, using one dainty finger to draw a teasing line across his waistband, almost slipping inside. “You said I can use you however I want, right? Well, I want to take care of you too.”

Then, Echo released a sigh of relief when the warmth of your hand slipped inside his blacks to wrap around him. Hot, hard, and throbbing. 

“Please, Cyar'ika. Please, I can't wait anymore.” 

His voice sounded needy and desperate, despite being satiated of his thirst just moments ago.

You merely chuckled, amused yet sympathetic. “Luckily for you, I'm in the same predicament.”

Without waiting for his reply, you pulled him out of his confines and offered a few strokes down his throbbing length. You greedily took in the bob of his throat whilst he had his head thrown back. In your mind, the urge to taste him burned your skin, to render him in the similar state he had conditioned you under—breathless and on the cusp of ecstasy.

However, you quenched the desire and made a mental note for another time.

Right now, the two of you share the same understanding and need.

And when you tauntingly glided your arousal over his leaking tip, Echo had to fight the urge to pull you down and push into you himself.

You smiled knowingly, as if reading his thoughts, slowly inching down on his cock with a shuddering sigh of satisfaction. He wasn't as big as Wrecker, but Maker, you really don't notice the difference with how hard he felt inside.

Echo gasped, eyes snapping open to watch your body welcome him.

Until he lost control and let his eyes flutter close once more, lost in the sensation of your walls swallowing him as torturously as possible.

Every feeling sent him to a near coma—the heat of your insides, the wet slick around your inner thighs, the flex of your muscles around his cock, and the tentative twitch of your hips. Kriff, his dreams were not in par to the real thing. Nothing could have him prepared for this. He was convinced he must've died right then and there, unable to move a single muscle.

The clone only remembered to breathe when your fingernails raked down his chest, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. 

“Cyar'ika, you… Stars, you feel so perfect. So, so perfect.”

By the grace of the Maker, you began to lift yourself from him, dragging up ever so languidly.

“Look at me, Echo.” You recalled your words from earlier, that impish smile becoming ingrained into his memories for as long as he lives. “Look at me while I take care of you.”

Then, you dropped back down and repeated the motion until all the coherent thoughts in his mind were replaced with nothing but the feeling of you. He could only drink in the sight of you taking him, still not believing how you managed to be in this position.

Echo distantly heard himself cursing, some in Basic and others in Mando'a, as he felt those dangerous lips glide over the skin beneath his jaw. 

He felt your teeth graze the flushed surface, biting a mark of your own. You could paint a constellation of your bruises across his pale skin, use him as a canvas of your desires. He would let you do anything you want at this point, you could use those powerful hands of yours to wrap around his neck and make him your leverage in chase of your pleasure.

He raised his eyes to meet yours, reciprocating the fiery lust they held. “Kriff, that's it, Cyar’ika. Take what you need, it's all yours.”

“All mine,” You purred in delight, quickening your pace and tightening your walls. It had him twitching in return. “I like the sound of that.”

Yes, yours. Always yours. Just be with me like this. Be with me always.

Echo wasn't sure if he had said any of those things out loud, but judging by the distinct ring of your laughter, maybe he had. But he was too lost to care, too drunk with your sweet smell, your smooth lips, and your tongue laced with spice and sin.

Just like that damned Corellian Cider, he indulged himself into intoxication until he could no longer think.

But he still had enough control left for him to weave his fingers into the back of your head, grasping fistfuls of hair, before pulling you towards him to meet in a lust-hungry kiss.

You sighed into his mouth, tasting yourself on him, returning the vigor with equal fervor and desperation.

“Ner mesh'la Jetii,” He whispered reverently, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. “So beautiful it drives me crazy. Want to take care of you always. Just like this.”

Echo planted his heels against his mattress, now regaining a slip of control to fuck himself up into you from below.

Your sharp gasps decreased into small hiccups, hiding your face into the crook of his neck.

“C-Close– Kriff, Echo. So close!”

“Not yet, Cyar'ika. Wait for me.”

“But I can't– Need too, Kriff, need to come.”

When your walls tightened even more, almost preventing him from moving out, the clone used the last of his strength to flip you over so that you were beneath him.

“I said… not yet.”

Hand around your neck, lips capturing yours messily, hips stuttering as he moved above. His hips grinded deep and hard, contrasting Wrecker's powerful thrusts and dominating strength. No, Echo made love to you in his own consuming way. He made sure you felt all of his needs, his desperate ache, transferring them into your body until you were left begging for more. 

Your throat was beginning to get hoarse from all the constant high-pitched moans, the pleading whines, and sounds of his name all spoken in alterations.

When he felt your walls flex, he slowed his pace to steal your peak from your reach. And when you begged for him so prettily, he resumed his ministrations until the process repeats.

Always pushing you into the edge, but taking it away from your grasp as soon as you were about to fall.

A punishment. 

For making him wait. For making him want.

And when tears escaped the corner of your eyes, the clone kissed them away and murmured praises against your cheek. “So perfect for me, sweet girl. So, so perfect. Always perfect.”

“Echo,” You were sobbing now, clutching his shoulders in a trembling hold. “Echo, please.”

“Yes, Cyar’ika?”

“Please, let me come.”

“Do you deserve it?”

“I-I don't know– Kriff, just please.”

Echo cursed against your neck, fingers curling around your hips in a bruising hold. Then, his pace quickened once more. His hips didn't snap. No, they buried deep into you. 

Finally, Echo relented. 

“Come for me, Cyar'ika.”

You came with him in time, lips connecting once more, as the two of you entered the clouds above the stars. The orgasm, unlike from your last tryst, did not come in explosive bursts. No, it rolled down your body in deep waves—drowning every sense of logic into the depths of its power. 

Inside you, his release coated your walls with its warmth. His cocked twitched, burying to the hilt to make sure his spend reached the inner crevices of your womb. Echo knew you lacked the risks of becoming impregnated, given the mandatory implant you received before the start of the war. 

Though the dark voices in his head echoed hauntingly, images of you swollen and round with his child almost wishing you didn't possess such a device.

However, the thought melted away quickly when he felt your lips move against his lazily, using the same technique to tug on his bottom lip.

“That was…” You finally spoke after a moment, cringing at how ruined your voice sounded. “That was amazing, Echo. You were amazing.”

The clone shook his head, leaning down to steal another languid kiss. “That was you, Cyar'ika. You were so beautiful.”

Echo groggily blinked away the aftershocks of his own release, meeting your eyes and immediately melting at how soft they looked. That familiar spark shone brightly. You looked at him as if he was the only thing in the world, filled with so much adoration and love. 

He could nearly cry at the display of affection, averting his gaze away, but the evidence was already caught when you laughed at the redness tinting his cheeks.

He drifted his attention to where you were still connected, gulping when he leisurely pulled out of your walls, triggering a breathy exhale of his name from your lips. Kriff, did the sight of his spend pouring out of your entrance almost had him twitching with life again. 

Normally, he would be disgusted at any mess found on his bed. But if it came from you? Echo didn't mind a single damn. If anything, he wanted nothing more than for you to make a mess of his sheets.

I could change the sheets tomorrow. 

After a quick kiss against your temple, the clone tucked himself into his blacks and retreated away to retrieve a damp cloth. When he came back to his bunk, he found you almost drifting off, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. Echo simply smiled, carefully cleaning off the traces of his spend from your skin, using another clean towel to wipe the sweat from your face. 

The act naturally awakened his sense to do what he has done best, take care of those who were in need of it. 

Echo took his time cleaning you, making sure you wouldn't wake up with the remnants the next day, before dressing you in a spare black top of his and one of his old (but clean) boxers.

All the while his endeavor, he whispered tender praises and pressed chaste kisses on your damn temples.

After ensuring you were modest, Echo made a quick trip to take a shower himself.

And when he returned, the ARC trooper casually swept you into his arms and placed you on top of him, holding you close to his body. The two of you spent the fall of your climax in each other's arms, with your ear pressed against his chest, listening to his wild heartbeat.

“Echo?” The clutches of sleep and exhaustion already have its hold on your being, murmuring a gentle whispering of his name into the skin of his neck.

Breathless, he replied. “Yes, Cyar'ika?”

“Thank you,” You kissed his jaw softly. 

He chuckled, smoothening your tangled strands with a gentle caress. “No, thank you."

It wasn't long until the tendrils of slumber took over your consciousness, leaving Echo staring in profound admiration of your sleeping figure.

Maker, he was really lucky to have you.

All of them were.

With a glance of his digital timer, showing only half an hour left before his brothers’ return, Echo decided to join you in your sleep and muttered one last declaration of his love.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Cyar'ika.”

Chapter Text

Five days have passed since that night in Coruscant, the same night that acted as the catalyst for the series of events that currently kept the whole Marauder on its toes. 

Tech was certain that the logical explanation behind this catalyst was none other than his suggestion for the Corellian Cider. The probable chances of this outcome without the said liquor was infinitely low on his scale, almost never bound to occur. Although another variable, Wrecker's stupendous game, added to the equation.

If the two variables never intersected between that night, then all of these events would still be a guaranteed innate desire of theirs—concealed beneath their helmets.

Sighing to himself, the begoggled clone shortly reached the maintenance bay, eyeing the scattered boxes of supplies gathered prior today. All of which consisted of dry ration meals, a scarce amount of powdered caf, some much needed replacement parts for their gears, and of course the requested stock for their medshelf.

I should opt to fix these before they get trampled on by Wrecker.

And so, Tech moved to work in silence.

Well, as silent as it could get.

You ended up staying in Echo's bunk, extending the agreed time of three hours into the next day, and it seemed that you were awoken by another round of Echo's turn.

Behind him, the faint echoes of your pleasured sounds resonated through the hallway. It was more than enough to distract him, momentarily pausing to close his eyes to erase the image of your appearance. Instead of his brother, Tech envisioned him in his place, responsible for pulling one orgasm after another from your overstimulated body—with you on top, your lips on his neck, and hips dragging down on his–

Catching himself, the clone shook himself out of his filthy reverie, skin simmering with heat underneath his armor.

He remembered your words from that night, as clear as the spark in your eyes.

The way you spoke with intent, purring every syllable as hypnotic as possible, that he almost crushed the glass in his hands as his mind broke and failed to function.

It has been the first time someone of the opposite sex praised his intelligence instead of becoming quickly detached.

He will admit. . . that his expertise within the area of sex lacked greatly.

Tech recalled the times, back when you still hadn't joined their team yet, at how often they found themselves spending every leave in bars and cantinas. Admittedly, Tech did acknowledge that his standoffish behavior and pragmatic sense of nature could brush off any approaches from other individuals. However, there were still rare moments when one or two would display signs of intrigue. 

Now, Tech considered himself a decent conversationalist, highly capable of adapting to any topics and subject matters within seconds. 

That was his specialty of course. 

Though, it seemed that not everyone shared the same sentiment upon his demeanor. When those rare moments graced him from someone of the opposite sex, the instance he engaged in an interaction with them—detailing a thorough praise on their countenance or the type of species they were—the former interest they exhibited dissipates into boredom.

He has been told he talked too much, and it took him quite some time to mask the pain on his features upon hearing the subtle jab behind their words.

In the end, Tech would often be left alone whilst his brothers received a better reaction filled with bashful smiles, lingering stares, and suggestive words that always lead to a second place of interest where he could guess his brothers would be spending time with their acquainted partners.

During those times, he would resort to leaving the establishment early to journey back to the Havoc Marauder, where he would rather spend his hours in his ship.

He did not blame others for his lack of social talents, not as gifted in the art of flattery like Hunter or the ways of seduction like Crosshair. He did not share the same impressive physique Wrecker possessed that always ensured a positive feedback from others. And he most certainly did not have the similar amount of experience all of his brothers collected through their nightly escapades.

Even when Echo provided him with the necessary assistance in regards to wooing someone, he could hardly grasp the smoothness of a sweet talker as Echo described it. His words were always sharp, concise, lacking the distinct flair similar to Hunter's charm and Crosshair’s appeal. 

He only viewed sex as a mere biological urge of the physical body to procreate an offspring, or simply the result of a spike of one's hormonal surge depending on the individual’s range of libido.

The enjoyment that comes with it was just an additional factor others seemed to chase so desperately.

As time went on, Tech functioned perfectly fine without seeking the activity. He much preferred his own company, and he already accepted that most women would much rather actively seek his brothers than him. He didn't blame them, however, and he didn't carry any sort of malicious disappointment upon facing another rejection.

He would choose to shrug it off and return to his beloved ship, glad to return to his solitude.

Albeit his inexperience with sex, it did not stop from being curious.

So he did what he does best. Research.

The holonet never ran short with all the information he required, everything seemed accessible nowadays. And with this enhanced technological understanding, it's not too difficult to bypass any private security networks. 

The first time he watched one holovid, he had to turn his datapad off and wait until the heat on his cheeks had faded. Then, he would continue, indulging in anything he could find that might help him understand the concept of pleasure.

He would always watch the reaction of the women, analyzing the pitch of their voices and the expressions they make. Then, the gnawing curiosity to indulge in other ways surfaced beneath his skin.

And so, Tech tried to take pleasure for himself, listening close to the woman's voice resonating in his helmet's audio connection.

To his great surprise, it proved to be an enlightening experience.

This act, albeit accompanied by a post-clarity regret, could substitute to sex in terms of letting out some steam as Echo called it.

Tech did not indulge as often, but when the stress became too much and he was unable to focus on his work, he would resort to his guilty pleasure in the cockpit or in the refresher. At the same time, he had created a detailed catalogue of how to make a woman reach her point of orgasm in his private notes. A future reference in case it was needed.

In this way, no boundaries would be crossed. He wouldn't be overwhelmed by different sensations from a partner, or overthink his actions and words.

Unless it's you, I would not mind it.

Sighing, the begoggled clone returned to his work and reminded himself you were with Echo at this moment.

In all his years spent as a diligent, resourceful, and arguably, the most efficient clone in the Bad Batch, Tech found himself at a loss in regards to trespassing this new territory.

No one told how difficult it was to possess such bothersome emotions.

He was a man of logic, and getting entangled with complicated feelings was not his prominent suit. And facing this new challenge was, he hated to admit it, frightening. He had never experienced such overwhelming sensations all at once. There were moments where he longed for the sky to fall upon him to end his misery, to end those disturbing thoughts away so that he could finally have a moment of peace.

However, lately this crisis of his has been itching his skin. It sunk deep within his bones, until it was replaced with dread the moment he realized how much you had affected him.

You were their general, a respectable Jedi Knight, but you were also the bane of all his late night wonders and all his hypothetical questions.

Tech used to be so certain that nothing will ever have affected him in such a way—that no one could make him question his capabilities, knowledge, and expertise. 

Most of the time, no one can have him doubting his judgement. 

Until he met you.

It was curious how the clone did not think of you as anything more than their commanding officer. Not that they needed one, but if the Order thought it would be helpful, then he doesn't mind much. 

You were respectable, kind, and not to mention easy on the eyes. Something about your countenance made you stand out more than the rest, and he recalled how he promptly questioned which planet you originated from.

When you answered him, he immediately fired question after question out of curiosity. Until he remembered his position, his words trailing off as his timid nature took over. He expected you to give a brief explanation, or answer only one of his questions. Instead, the smile on your face stretched and you happily provided an answer to every single one.

You did not shun his curiosity, and you did not seem to take his pragmatic nature as a nuisance. 

You constantly challenged him in various ways, always correcting his mistakes (it took some time to admit those), always keeping him on his toes during debates, and always having him second-guess his decisions. 

During those nights when sleep failed to reach him yet again, he would spend his time replaying all your words in his head. 

Sometimes, he would hyperfixate on certain things you've said earlier that day, and suddenly all of his data entries were about you or at least had your name in it.

ENTRY VT-01: Unknown variables

Status: Confidential / Private Log

Time: Late cycle, 0100

Location: The Marauder, cockpit

Notes:

This is not what it appears to be.

My reactions to her presence are byproducts of exposure to heightened emotional environments. I am aware that she is a Jedi, and I have done my research on their code and ethics. She is prohibited to form attachments, that must include close connections to friends. However, she does not shy away from any of Wrecker's approaches. 

If anything, she welcomes his laughter and humorous words. Oftentimes, she counters them with her own. How curious.

When we converse, her eyes do not possess a disturbed look that others carry when I talk. She looks genuinely happy and shares an equal interest with the things I tell her. It's oddly. . . fascinating. The way she leans and tilts her head provokes a foreign emotion within. 

I have never experienced it before, but I will take note of the following symptoms below:

• Unable to maintain eye contact longer than 2.5 seconds
• Loss of data retention when she speaks within 2 meters of proximity
• Slight tremor in dominant hand upon physical contact 
• Inconsistent respiratory control (shallow breath around smoky scent—likely her natural aroma)

I admire her for her skill, her grace under pressure, her tactical understanding.

Not because of how she looks at the stars as if they whisper back. Not because she hums soft lullabies while tending to our wounds and injuries. Not because of how she trusts us and puts her life at risk for the lives of others.

But because I deeply respect her and her command. I would feel the same toward any equally skilled Jedi.

…Wouldn’t I?

[End Entry]

ENTRY VT-02: Anomaly

Status: Confidential / Private Log

Time: Late cycle, 0200

Location: The Marauder, cockpit

Notes:

I have come to the conclusion that our general is a disruptive element within our squad’s dynamics.

Not due to insubordination. On the contrary—she has led with extraordinary precision and emotional intelligence. She has displayed unparalleled tactical skill in the field, often predicting enemy movements before they happen, utilizing the Force in ways even the archives do not fully explain.

I have recently observed an increase in my own uncharacteristic behaviors:

• Loss of concentration in her presence
• Increased heart rate (resting bpm elevated when she enters the room)
• Heightened auditory sensitivity to her voice
• Heat behind the ears and sternum during brief physical contact
• Inability to maintain sustained eye contact during her post-mission debriefs

I have attempted to diagnose these symptoms with physiological readings. I have run a hormone analysis. I have eliminated stress, dehydration, and combat trauma.

The only common variable… is her.

But I will not call it what Wrecker calls it. A… crush. I will not assign a name to something that has no tactical benefit.

It is an anomaly. Fascinating. Irritating. Unshakable.

And it will pass.

It must pass.

[End Entry]

ENTRY VT-03: Frustrations

Status: Confidential / Private Log

Time: Late cycle, 1200

Location: Kamino, Private Quarters

Notes:

This is… infuriating.

I am an expert in reading patterns. In discerning truth from noise. In separating complexities from chaos.

But her… she disrupts my logic. No formula accounts for the way she stands too close when she’s curious. No equation predicts the tremor in my fingers when she says my name in that soft, lilting voice.

And worst of all—my brothers know. Echo smirks when she brushes past me. Wrecker winks whenever I hesitate around her. Crosshair rolls his eyes. Even Hunter… he just knows.

My symptoms have worsened considerably, I am beginning to think there is no cure for this. I shall list of them below:

• Snappish responses to brothers when she is brought up
• Repeated weapon calibrations to avoid proximity during post-mission cooldowns
• Audible exhalations through the nose when another person speaks with her
• Frustrated loop-editing of her voice captured in mission logs
• Unusual increase in caffeine intake (stimulant masking fatigue and distraction)

This is unacceptable. She is not a variable. She is not a study. She is—

Damn her.

Damn the stars in her eyes. Damn the curve of her smile when she thinks no one is watching.

I am at a loss of what to do. This is not my normal function, I can barely do so. It's infuriating really. It is out of my own character to be this troubled, this… distracted.

It is a hindrance to my work. 

It bothers me greatly, the fact that she is unaware of my ruined state while I am here trying to decode all of my complicated symptoms and thoughts. 

Is this one of her Jedi tricks? Is she doing this on purpose? If so, I wish to know the reason. 

So that I may stop it myself.

[End Entry]

ENTRY VT-04: Possible solutions 

Status: Confidential / Private Log

Time: Late cycle, 0119 hours 

Location: Outer Rim, General Kenobi's Outpost

Notes:

Perhaps, if I keep my distance, this will fade.

If I limit our interaction to tactical discussions. Avoid shared meals. Decline missions where we’re paired alone. If I remind myself of her Jedi Code. That she is unable to reciprocate these complex emotions. Perhaps then I could detach myself from the thoughts of her.

If I do these things… I can still keep her. Not as mine, but near. As our General. Our teammate.

She does not have to know. She does not have to know that I notice the way she holds her breath before striking. Or that I have memorized every variation of her fighting patterns. Or that I have a personal catalogue of every habit, preferences, and mannerisms recorded here.

I can live with this ache, so long as she stays close.

That’s enough. It must be.

Further update on my symptoms:

• Avoidance behavior: taking night shifts to reduce casual interactions
• Lowered volume when speaking to her directly (less than 40% normal decibel output)
• Archiving all footage of her duels “for technique review” 
• Quiet muttering of Mando’a terms of affection while working on repairs
• Initiated “accidental” contact (passing datapad, brushing hands) followed by immediate retreat

Perhaps I consult Echo upon these symptoms, he might have an understanding of my condition. If not, then I am not certain what to do next.

[End Entry]

EN TRY VT-05: Acceptance

Status: Hidden Log

Time: 0345

Location: Outer Rim, orbiting a moon

It did not pass.

Nothing has passed. In fact, it has deepened.

I find myself lingering near where she sleeps. Not to watch her—but to listen. To be near the silence that surrounds her like a force field of calm.

She carries the weight of death like she was born in its shadow… and still, she smiles when a child offers her a flower. Still, she hums when she cooks. Still, she looks at the stars like they were her family.

I have seen the way she softens when she speaks to other clones, especially my brothers. How she carries our pain in her hands. She doesn’t flinch from it. She absorbs it. That is what sets her apart from the other Jedis we have met. Where the others walk away from compassion, she breathes it like oxygen. Where the rest forbid connections that could threaten their Code, she dances along the line with grace.

There is no calculation for why my chest tightens when she says my name. There is no formula to explain why her scent lingers long after she’s gone. And there is no data that could prepare me for how easily she fits in the space beside me—like she belonged there from the start.

This emotion… All of these symptoms are simply the one variable I have not considered from the start.

Love.

I love her. I have loved her longer than I’ve admitted. Longer than I should’ve.

But I do.

And no encryption or algorithm will ever undo that truth.

[End Entry]

The catalogue piled on every few months as the years passed. Every entry contained observations, details, and learned facts all surrounding no other person than you. Until he was forced to erase his past records to expand the storage of his datapad when discovering that he was almost out of space. 

He has never shared the catalogue with anyone, not even to Echo, should they see how his entries went from pure curiosity of your character to a deep fixation that bordered into obsession—a slow spiral to his most intimate thoughts.

Once, you almost caught him in the middle of another entry, when you were awake and unable to sleep. 

As always, Tech resided in his seat in the cockpit of the Marauder, lost in his thoughts when the doors whished open. He almost threw his datapad away out of shock and fear, but quickly composed himself to a neutral composure when you arrived to seat yourself next to him. His eyes caught sight of your bare legs underneath the loose long sleeve shirt you wore to sleep, and his brain short-circuited.

It bewildered him of the fact that the Havoc Marauder used to be a desolate space, only filled with Wrecker's loud snoring as the only source of noise and the occasional mission debriefs. For the most part, there was only the bickers between his brothers, discussion of battle formations, light-hearted arguments during hyperspace travels, and then complete silence when Tech was the only one awake in the cockpit.

Never had he imagined the ship being lit with this new dynamic. 

Slowly, Tech allowed himself to speak more freely around you. There was still a lurking doubt that maybe he was bothering you. Seeing that you were a Jedi and their general, there's bound to be a matter of greater importance than his ramblings.

However, you always stopped and listened. 

Always wearing that radiant smile, always providing a brilliant insight, always patient and equally thrilled to converse with him. You did not talk with him as if it was a forced chore. No, you did it on your own accord. The interactions gradually turned from a polite exchange of trivial information to a friendly banter. 

Any chance he could get when you were free from his brothers, he would take it to share what he had in mind. Even when it was the most random thought that has been bothering him or a newly acquired information, you were there to lend an ear.

Tech couldn't ignore the swell of appreciation in his chest upon seeing your genuine interest. Other than his brothers, you never judged his talkative mannerism. If anything, you once admitted to finding it endearing.

It took him off guard, never once did someone compliment his rambling as endearing.

They'd always look at him like he's grown a third head, always with a forced smile, shifting eyes, and quick nods.

With you, he would stumble on his sentences every time he noticed you staring at him, head tilted as you listened attentively.

When you would ask him what's wrong, he would simply cough and resume back to his words.

He slowly came to realize that your intentions were pure, you did enjoy sharing those lengthy talks with him. Sometimes, he would even bait you into an intellectual debate. To his great surprise (and delight), you reciprocated with equal enthusiasm and a surprisingly competitive spirit. 

As time went on, he had come to cherish those debates and discussions, even when they were a rare occurrence given the team were always occupied with missions or one of his brothers had been stealing your attention.

When his brothers did manage to gather it, especially in the middle of his conversation with you, an unknown emotion bristled within him the second you turned away to respond. He ignored the unfamiliar feeling, brushing it off as annoyance or disappointment, but it kept on resurfacing each time you were taken away from him again. 

The more times he watched you get whisked off by Hunter, teased by Crosshair, called by Echo, or grabbed by Wrecker, the more the emotion grew. 

Frustrated by his ignorance of it, Tech researched what might be the cause of his irritability.

In the cockpit’s low light, Tech sat alone, hunched slightly over his datapad. His goggles reflected the soft blue glow of the screen, his fingers moving with restless precision.

He has been scrolling. Typing. Deleting. Typing again.

“Jealousy. Emotional response rooted in perceived threat to a valued bond or connection. Typically results in possessiveness, insecurity, and irrational behavior.” He frowned.

His screen listed definition after definition. Articles. Research logs. Jedi psychological evaluations. Even Kaminoan texts on emotional conditioning in Clone Troopers.

And still, it doesn’t help.

He exhaled sharply, removing his goggles and setting them down. A silent battle played out across his face—one of reason… and something else.

“But it is not irrational,” Tech closed his datapad with a frustrated swipe. “I am not threatened. This is illogical. She is free to engage with whomever she chooses. Her connection with them does not lessen her connection with—” 

He stopped.

Because the truth—quiet and sharp—was there in the pause. 

He wanted your undivided attention. Not for strategy. Not for shared intellect or problem-solving. 

He just wanted you. 

He wanted you only looking at him, wanted your radiant smile and brilliant mind only to be directed at him. 

A beat.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing again. Then quietly tapped a new line into the datapad:

— Symptoms: Tightness in chest. Tendency to observe interactions obsessively. Irritation when the subject is touched by others. Inability to focus on tasks when the subject is laughing with others. Increased heartbeat when subject is near —

He stared at the screen. Then slowly deleted the line: “Inability to focus on tasks.”

Because that one, he can’t bear to admit.

Footsteps sound in the distance—someone waking, moving about the ship. He quickly reopened a maintenance log and slipped his goggles back on, returning to his usual neutral posture.

But deep beneath the surface, the fire remains.

He doesn’t know what to do about the jealousy. Or what it meant. Only that when you smiled at someone else, it pulled something tight within him. 

Something he doesn’t know how to loosen.

Now that he has accepted the depth of his admiration, Tech was not sure how to proceed in regards to displaying it towards you.

He was not as forward as Wrecker, as sweet as Echo, or as understanding as Hunter.

So how can he show you how much you mean to him?

The sound of a door hissing from the hallway refocused Tech at his task at hand, hastening his pace to arrange every item in their precise order. He would have Crosshair sort them in their respective places later, for now, he had to make sure everything was in their respective crates. 

“Oh, there you are.” Echo's voice mildly startled him, as the clone emerged from behind. “Do you have the powdered caf somewhere there? I'm gonna make some for us. Do you want a cup?”

Wordlessly, Tech nodded to both questions. He handed the requested item to his brother, avoiding his gaze, lips drawn into a straight line. There was a bubbling tension within his chest, threatening to burst into a blaze of something he couldn't quite place. 

Unable to contain it anymore, the goggled clone shifted his body and faced his brother. “Has she fallen asleep again? I am certain the hours you've spent with her took a much rather exhausting toll on her body. Given that you decided to extend your allotted time than our agreed decision.”

He didn't realize how prickly his tone sounded, catching Echo off guard as he nearly dropped the pack in his hands, though there was a faint tug at the corner of his lip.

“Uh, no. She's in the refresher right now. Don't worry, she'll get her rest starting today and tomorrow.”

Then, the ARC trooper playfully bumped his shoulder on the way out, wearing a knowing grin.

“You'll have her all to yourself soon, don't be so jealous.”

Jealous? 

Tech blinked, frowning. “That is a false accusation, Echo. I am not jealous.”

“Sure you aren't.”

“I am not.”

“Uh huh, whatever you say.”

The argument proved to be futile when Echo already walked away with a victorious smile on his face, whistling a soft tune as he left Tech in his own devices.

Alone again, Tech pinched the bridge of his nose. 

There were an array of emotions swirling in both his head and heart. That did not happen often. He prided himself in being the rational brother out of the six of them, leading with logic rather than emotion, because that was his engineered function. 

All his life, he had been using his gifted intelligence to solve complex problems, provide adequate solutions, and calculate the probabilities of their survival rate before deployments.

However, ever since you joined them, another organ in his body troubled his well-being. Well, make those two organs.

The first one was already given, and he cursed himself at the cue of his heart beating at the exact moment.

The second one was… Nevermind that. 

Even a fool could take an educated guess on which other organ in a perfectly healthy male's body could cause troubles when there was a person of interest present within close vicinity.

From the distance, Hunter's call rang loud and clear. 

“Everyone! Breakfast is ready, we're having eggs and polystarch portion bread! Get your asses down here, before Wrecker gobbles it all.”

“Hey!”

Tech huffed in amusement, shaking his head, proceeding to head to the direction of the Marauder’s cramped kitchen.

The next day, Tech found himself enjoying another breakfast in the sanctuary of his cockpit. 

Normally, he wouldn't resort to eating here to not make a mess of his beloved space. However, his mind was too preoccupied to care. 

“I admire his intelligence and knowledge. His attention to detail is something that impresses me the most. Not many can hold that much thought and care into their work.” 

Why weren't your words going away?

Yesterday, he was proud of himself to be able to hold a proper conversation with you the whole time. Fortunately, his brothers did not pester you as much as he liked. Considering you were taking the time to rest from your hours with Echo, they decided to give you a respectable distance and limited their interactions to only a few sentences concerning your well-being.

Other than the occasional flirtatious comments Wrecker threw at you, or the sweet pecks Echo graced your cheeks, everything seemed normal and within a peaceful atmosphere.

His silent solitude did not last long, when you had joined him in the cockpit carrying your own breakfast.

He has grown to accept your company during those times, not minding your calming presence beside him whilst the two of you ate in comfortable silence.

Albeit the normality of the scene, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering into uncharted and inappropriate areas involving the two of you—alone, here, with his hands on your thighs and your hips above his lap. 

That imagination became a reoccurring scenario for him since the first time he acknowledged his attraction towards you. Always at the same time, at night where everyone else slept. Always in the same place, here in the cockpit of his ship. Always in the same position, with you straddling him down to his seat as he pushed his hips up into yours. And always in the same state—breathless, trying to keep the other quiet, as you both chased your pleasure whilst the stars drifted across the glass behind you.

He just can't help it.

Especially when your words heightened his growing need—fueling his overworked mind to get lost into those obscene visions.

“You could talk for hours and hours, and it never fails to impress me. But sometimes, I want to shut him up. I could kiss him senseless, make him silent for once.” 

He knew your words did not carry an offensive undertone. Not in the way you said it, but the way your eyes did. When you looked at that night, the intent behind your words shone through your features. As bright as the neon strobes flashing all around them, as dangerous as the drink he had suggested, and as teasing as the coy smile you directed him with.

Glancing at you from his peripheral view, Tech tracked the movement of your lips, cleaning off the excess crumbs off of your fingers with a soft suck. 

The gesture was not entirely provocative, simply another mindless habit of yours he observed when enjoying your meal. However, it produced an elicit response in his body. Tech did not need to see into a mirror to know how much his pupils dilated at the small action, how the air in his lungs never escaped, and the sudden dryness in his throat.

It was another guilty pleasure of his—the deep fixation on your lips. He always found himself staring at the shape of them, the little quirks and mannerisms when you talked, the way they parted with a soft exhale every time you attempted to release traces of tension from your body. 

He could make those go away if you'd let him—his lips on yours until your breaths became entangled, hands running down your sides as he allows you to move above him.

How would you shut him up exactly?

Would you kiss him with so much vigor and passion whilst he was in the middle of his discussion? 

Wrap your hand around his throat to avoid letting others hear his desperation?

Or would you take him by surprise by pushing him back against the wall during those intense debates you two shared at times?

Either way, he would definitely be rendered speechless. Amongst other things.

“I also like his hands. It makes me wonder if he's skilled in other things than fixing up parts or calibrating a tool.”

His fingers twitched, subtly fumbling with the cup of his caf, inhaling sharply.

Have you imagined his hands before? What exactly did you picture him doing with them? Did you fixate on the precision of his skills or something else… productive? Other than fixing up parts or calibrating tools as you've mentioned nights ago. 

If what you were referring to was the other skills he possessed, you would be disappointed by the lack of them. 

Nonetheless, he wouldn't mind learning from you. In fact, Tech would not hesitate to use the deftness and precision of his fingers to grant both your spoken and unspoken desires. 

If you'd let him, he would gladly use his hands to worship every inch of your body. He could brush a finger across your lip, before trapping you in a needy kiss. 

He could wrap them around your neck. It wasn't an ideal action for him primarily, but after discovering the act as a suggestive idea from his holovids, he could indulge. He could take his time to memorize each region on your skin, what areas were most sensitive upon contact—gliding and teasing, before cupping your breasts in his hands and–

“Tech, your caf!” Your panicked cry snapped him out of his stupor, now acutely aware of the contents of his drink pouring from his cup and down to his pants.

Tech let out a rare curse out of shock, glad that his caf had long gone cold during his… preoccupied state.

When you made a move to wipe the liquid off of his drenched thigh plates, he jumped out of his seat and held out a hand between you. 

“It is quite alright! I-I can manage. I just need to clean myself up, do not worry!”

He didn't need you touching his thighs after thinking of you in ways he shouldn't, much less see the obvious strain in his pants as the result of his careless mishap.

Averting his gaze, and ignoring the concerned confusion in yours, the clone made a brisk exit out of the cockpit to head towards the refresher.

Great, you have made a fool of yourself in front of her.

Tech locked himself inside the cramped room of the ship’s refresher, still muttering unintelligible curses under his breath. It seemed as if you had the ability to bring another side to him. It was entirely foreign, it had him doing the things he has rarely done—fumbling the objects in his hands and getting easily distracted was out of his character.

Not to mention all these complicated emotions you effortlessly stirred within him from just a close proximity.

He didn't recognize himself, and you were the cause of it all.

Yet somehow, he did not hate you for it—he yearned for you even more.

And it was embarrassing at this point. How you reduced him, a genius gifted with extraordinary capability of understanding the complexities of life and the universe, to this mess of a clone who didn't know how to act in front of you. Maker, he was just as bad as all those regs who had subtly vied for your attention whenever the team reported back to the base.

After removing all the pieces of his armor, including his blacks and goggles, Tech stepped inside the shower and turned the temperature to its lowest setting.

Cold showers did help alleviate his… symptoms.

However, as he counted each second with the water raining down on him, his skin still burned for you. The arousal between his legs was almost too painful to ignore, causing him to hiss loudly when the freezing water hit his skin.

Truth be told, even when you were the subject of all his forbidden desires and thoughts, he never touched himself to the thought of you. 

Tech believed it would be a great disrespect to your friendship, and you were their general for Maker's sake. Even when his mind always morphed the image of your silhouette behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, he would never allow himself to get off to the thought of you.

You were his friend. His general. His trusted companion.

But not his.

Your eyes flashed across his consciousness, back to that night when you professed your desires under the influence of that cider, lit with a molten spark that warmed the air in his lungs until he couldn't breathe. He caught the way your gaze trailed along his fingers, clasped around his glass close to his chest, that spark igniting into a fiery lust. 

Would you still look at him the same you did that night when you find out he's here, achingly hard for you, holding back against the temptation to touch himself? 

Would you still talk with him even when he fantasized you even when you were beside him? 

Would you still call him a friend after everything?

Tech groaned up to the ceiling, his head tilted back against the cool wall, letting the water stream down his tense muscles. Maybe he could let go just this once, give in to the carnal desires of his soul rather than be controlled by the rational thoughts of his mind.

Just this once.

“Ner Cyare,” His voice whispered, reverent and pained, hand shaking as he slowly wrapped it around his twitching length.

My dear.

“Ner mirdala Jetii,” He sighed wistfully, working on himself with long and slow strokes.

My clever Jedi.

“Mesh’la ruug’la,” Before he knew it, hips rolled forward, meeting his own fist as he imagined it was your hand around him.

Beautiful enigma.

"Ni kebi'tra cuyir gar's,” He braced an arm in front of him, lost in the familiar visions of your silhouette appearing before his fantasies. 

That wicked glint in your radiant eyes had his knees weak in surrender, shoulders shaking in effort to conceal any noises he might release.

I desire to be yours.

In his mind, he imagined you on his lap, lips moving against each other's. Names uttered into the air exchanged between kisses, hands roaming in desperation to feel the skin beneath the fabrics. 

He imagined you in the cockpit, on your knees between his, wrapping those lovely lips of yours around his cock before taking him into your mouth. His hands on your hair, tangling his fingers along the strands, guiding your movements at a leisure pace.

That silver tongue of yours always had him at the end of his wits during your debates, impressing him even more when you masterfully persuade the enemies with just a few words. What more when it was used in other ways? When you glide the wet muscle against his hard length, swirling around the flushed tip, tasting him on your tongue.

So breathtakingly brilliant.

Tech’s chest released heavy pants, unable to control himself from the sinking claws of pleasure. 

My smart girl.

The groan he produced sounded so unlike him—deep, desperate, and deranged.

Only you could torture him in this way.

Only you could make a genius like him lose all sense of sanity and control, erasing every bit of knowledge and igniting them with a burning need. Similar to how you fought in the battlefield, you left your consuming fury behind. It scorched his nerves, searing a permanent touch from your wrath. 

And all Tech knew was he would never be the same again.

As his climax reached its peak, his harsh groans decreased into soft whimpers of your name, spilling his release into the opposite wall. Breath uneven, shoulders trembling, and eyes closed shut. 

The moment the post-clarity regret washed over him, in the form of the refresher water cascading down his back, it reminded him of his place.

Detaching his hand from him like he burned himself, Tech leaned back and ran the other across his face.

What have I done?

Today was his turn.

He hasn't slept a wink replaying that thought over and over again, and surprisingly it was spent in his bunk. He stared at the gray durasteel ceiling, just listening to the silent hum and exhales of the ship, mind never resting.

Yesterday he avoided you at all costs, afraid to look into your eyes and face you knowing he had done the very thing he had promised not to do in your name. However, the damage has been done, and he must live with the conscious guilt that only grew into shame whenever you were near. But now, he has no escape. Either he follows through with his plan, or live the rest of his life filled with more questions than answers.

But he was a soldier, and soldiers followed through plans. Even when it scared them.

That fact had granted him a sense of relief and comfort—he should not feel this shame when the inevitable would eventually come.

He just didn't expect it would come sooner than he anticipated.

There is no need to worry. Tech took a deep breath to recollect himself, resuming his work of replacing the overheated wirings of the ship. I should not let it get to my head. It shall fall naturally like how it did with my brothers. 

Do not overthink it.

“Overthink what?” The sound of your voice had him flinching back from the open hatch. “Kark! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It is fine,” The clone hissed at the searing sensation on his fingers, too taken with the burnt hole of his glove to understand your words. “Just a clumsy mishap. Do not fret, my dear.”

But you were already by his side, choosing to ignore his slip of endearment. “Let me see please.”

Tech blinked, waving a hand away. “There is no need, it is just a glove. I can replace it.”

“Not the glove. Your hand.”

“Like I have said, there is no need to fret.”

“Tech.”

“My dear, it is–”

Grabbing his hand, you pulled it towards your lap with a pointed stare.

He didn't know which surprised him the most, the abrupt action or the way you looked at him so piercingly. 

The tightening in his chest returned. 

He could only hope you won't notice the slight tremors of his fingers, watching you closely with a neutral look. Your hand felt smaller in his, lighter and softer, and he was captivated by the way they gently smoothed over his palm. 

You have another habit of checking him and his brothers for injuries—No, it was a routine by now. Even the simplest of grazes across their arms, burn marks on their armors, an unnoticeable limp of their leg. Nothing escaped from your attention. 

Admittedly, it was one of the few factors that contributed to the depth of your admirable character—one of the few he greatly appreciated.

“So, what's this about overthinking something?” You questioned, applying a small swab of your bactacream on his forefinger. 

It took a second for your words to be processed in Tech's brain, but once it did, he pulled his hand away with a gasp. 

“How did you– I did not mention anything aloud.”

The slip up had your eyes widening and staring at him with the same shocked expression.

“Did you…” Tech chose his words correctly, pursing his lips. “Hear my thoughts?”

Your silence was the only answer he received. It was the only answer he needed.

How much more have you heard? Do you hear all of his thoughts? When have you started listening? Did he reveal everything to you and he wasn't aware of it?

Your hand was in his again, and the other pressed on his hyperventilating chest. “Hey, hey, hey. Tech, I'm sorry. Yes, I heard your thoughts, but not on purpose. Sometimes they're just… too loud to ignore. But I don't listen or push myself to hear everything, don't worry.”

He realized his breaths were coming out in shallow bursts of air, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed as he stared back at you. 

Somehow, there was no malice. 

You were telling the truth, and he did not deny that his thoughts ran too much at times. No, it always did. Perhaps it was his own fault that he had unknowingly shared his thoughts.

“I see,” The clone shifted away, avoiding your concerned look. “Was that the… first time you heard me?”

Again, silence. 

Until you released a soft sigh of resignation, bringing a warm palm against his face to turn him towards you. He blinked, lips parting, heart thumping erratically. 

“No, it's not the first time.” A sheepish apologetic glint flashed across your features, coloring your cheeks. “What I said before… that night in Coruscant. I didn't just mean you talking verbally. I meant your thoughts as well.”

“What… What do you mean by that, my dear?”

“You think too much. Sometimes too much that it projects from your mind and into my own. I tried to tune it out, to get your thoughts out of my head, but the power of your brain is much stronger. You never rest. Your mind, as brilliant as it truly is, never stops. And sometimes… I want to kiss you to shut you up. To shut your brain up. It's not my intention to listen, but I hear you so much that all I want to do is make you silent for once.”

Tech felt his heart cease its function, failing to deliver the oxygen needed to his respiratory system to breathe. Now that you explained the confession that has him restless for many days and nights now, Tech found his heart easing into motion again. 

So, that's what you meant by shutting him up.

His hands twitched at his sides—like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know how. So you reached for him. 

You were about to say something else to fill in the stretch of silence, when he abandoned all rational thoughts, closed the gap, and seized your lips.

And at first, he didn’t move.

Just felt. 

Let the data of your mouth crash into his system. Then, he reacted.

Oh Maker, did he react.

One hand gripped your waist tightly. The other rose to your cheek, trembling with need. His kiss started tentative—methodical, like he was cataloguing every angle, every pressure point, every sound you made.

And then—

His logic shattered.

He kissed you deeper, hungrier, his breath catching between shared gasps. You felt his restraint slipping, bit by bit, until he pressed you back slightly, lips parting yours with all the awe and reverence of a man discovering an entire new galaxy.

Only one word echoed in his mind as he stared at your glistening lips.

More.

And so, he snaked a hand around the back of your head and pulled you in.

He swallowed the gasp you let out, molding his mouth more firmly into yours. With effort, he pushed his thoughts to reach you one final time.

You want to shut me up, my dear? Then, do so.

You moaned upon hearing his voice in your head, finally removing yourself from the state of shock to pull him towards your body. 

However, he moved away until his back connected with the durasteel wall behind him. You instantly followed, never breaking the distance and contact, an impatient flair in your movements as you shuffled into his lap. Tech lets you straddle him on the cold floor of the Marauder, hands coming up to grab a hold of your thighs, tugging you forward to press your body against his.

All his data entries, all his private logs, and all the intrusive thoughts that had occupied his mind in every waking moment vanished the moment you pressed down on him. 

It all ceased into oblivion the moment you sighed into his mouth, hands around the back of his neck, trapping his lips into a passionate dance of domination. And Tech could only surrender at your assault, craning his neck up to chase the electric feeling surging from your connected lips and down his spine.

You proved your word from all those nights ago, you proved it in the way you didn't allow a single thought to form in his mind. You proved it in the way your weight anchored him down, preventing him from escaping the onslaught of your desire. 

He responded with his own eagerness, hands trailing up to your waist, gripping you there as he propped his legs behind you.

You inched back, with him chasing after you, and you pressed a finger against his lips as you smirked at his ruined appearance.

You quirked a brow, licking your swollen bottom lip. “Cockpit?” 

His half-lidded gaze tracked the movement, too far and distracted, nodding absentmindedly.

“R-Right, hallway, need to– Yes, cockpit.”

“Mhm, now come on. Before they see us here–”

You were about to remove yourself from him, when he didn't allow you a chance to. He quickly stood up at his full height, taking you in his arms with surprising ease. You only yelped at the sudden motion, clutching onto his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist, whilst he swiftly turned towards the direction of the cockpit.

At the same time of his walk, Tech returned to kissing you.

He didn't need his vision to know where he was going, perfectly capable of maneuvering around his ship like the back of his hand. He just needed to feel your mouth on his again, needed to fill all the corners of his mind with nothing but you. Well, it was already occupied with you since the beginning of his attraction. 

However, the difference was that you were here.

Not in his datapad, not in his guilt-ridden daydreams, nor his private data logs. 

You were here in his arms, kissing him senselessly like you had said.

What more can he want?

Arriving at the cockpit, he locked the door behind—preventing any unwanted entrances from others—before he made his way on his seat. Tech sat down with a small huff, gulping down his remaining nerves. 

You were still on his lap, breathless and dazed, and the glimmer in your radiant eyes sparked vividly against the dusk skies behind you.

“Do you know what else I heard, Tech?” The silk in your voice had his throat constricting, unable to respond while your breath ghosted along his jaw and up beneath his ear. “I heard you wanting me in the fresher. For someone so logically composed, you break easily.”

Tech, by now, shouldn't be surprised you've heard him. Just a day ago, he had you in his fantasies whilst he showered. Nevertheless, the knowledge of you carrying his privacy made you all the more dangerous.

You think you can win these games, my dear? Mind games are just my specialty.

“You did?” The clone tilted his head back, peering up at you beneath his fogged lenses. “And what did you think of those thoughts? Did it give you any ideas, my dear? I can happily share them with you.”

The mischief in your eyes lit brightly, curving a teasing smile on your face. “Enlighten me, then.”

Gladly.

“I've thought you so much,” Tech started breathlessly, making a slow work of removing his gloves. 

“I wrote countless catalogues in your name. Every thought of you, every mission with you, everything about you. Your presence is a constant distraction to my work, yet I cannot escape. Your silhouette, your eyes, they are always the suspect of my sleepless nights. You are a code I can never decrypt—an equation I cannot solve—yet, despite it all, I am still trying to. What makes you so captivating even when you are trying not to be? That I will never know.”

His hands, now free from the fabric of his gloves, settled once more on your thighs. His fingers traced patterns, his palms burning through your robes, the touch undeniable—he wanted to feel your skin underneath.

The clone neared his face to yours, brushing his lips against the skin of your cheek.

“All I could conclude in my findings, you are an enigma. Someone who cannot be solved, only tamed and pleased. If you allow me to, I would like to study you further, so that I may finally put my mind at ease. I want to know how you feel, how you sound, and how you look when I bring you to the edge of pleasure. I want to know you thoroughly, inside and out.”

Tech kissed your jawline as he spoke, travelling down your throat, before pulling away to let you see the pleading desperation in his golden eyes.

“I want you to ruin me, Cyare. Until I cannot think of anything else but you.”

It is all I could think about.

So please… Do as you wish.

Instead of rushing for another mind-numbing kiss, you only encircled a hand around his throat—flexing around his neck like a test.  

“That's a dangerous request, Tech.”

He froze beneath your grip—not from reluctance, but surrender. His breath caught, a soft whimper of your name slipping past his mouth. Your fingers curled around the collar of his blacks, tugging him toward you. You expected him to follow with fervor.

Instead, Tech’s hands tightened around your thighs, grounding himself.

“Although, I must admit,” He murmured, voice no longer coated in bravado but something quieter. Something raw. “I have studied desire, yes. But I’ve never felt it this way. Never with anyone. Not like this. You are the first.”

Your thumb brushed the corner of his jaw. He leaned into it like a tired warrior might lean against a hallowed wall.

“Never with anyone?” You blinked, slightly dazed with disbelief. 

“I was afraid of it,” He admitted, barely audible. “But now? Not of you. Never with you. My mind—my methods—they are no match for you. You override every protocol I know.”

You paused. The teasing in your smile softened into something warmer. More dangerous.

“I don’t want your protocols, Tech,” You whispered, leaning close until your lips hovered above his. “I want you. The complexity, the logic, the contradiction of you. Everything.”

He exhaled shakily, his fingers flexing as if testing whether this moment was real.

“Then you shall have me,” He breathed, pupils blown and eyes half-lidded.

You didn't wait for any more signal from him, pulling the collar of his blacks to shut him up for the second time.

All hypotheses burned to ash. The man who clung to routine now clung to you like a starved thing. 

His hands, no longer hesitant, roamed freely—cataloguing you not with datapads, but with his touch, breath, and sound. This was the catalyst. This was what he had been searching for. Months, years, and finally this moment has come. No longer figments of his imagination, no longer an entry in his datapad.

All of you felt real. 

Here on his lap, lost in the desire to taste each other. A hand around his throat, hungry lips scorching sin into his, and all he could do was exhale the smoke that you have burned into his lungs.

His soft breaths raised into pleading whimpers, helplessly bucking up against your clothed core to relieve the growing strain beneath his jeans. 

“Please, Cyare.” Tech groaned into your lips, panting with need. “Please, spare me from this torment.”

And you did. 

Standing up before him, Tech has never seen you strip off of your layers, watching it all crumble down beneath your feet with an intense wide-eyed stare. 

Maker, you looked… 

Radiant.

Only left in your undergarments, your hands then reached for his armor and commanded. 

“Everything off.”

And Tech has never shed from his armor and blacks this quick—this desperate—before you pushed him back to his seat once he's finished to straddle him again. There were no spoken sentences wasted, only flurries of your contented sighs into the air, his needy whimpers against your throat, and trembling hands finding purchase on your hips.

Tech groaned brokenly, feeling your core grind down on the prominent bulge against his jeans. 

“Cyare,” His fingers crept up your spine, gliding his fingers across your skin, and slipping them inside your chest band. “Can I— May I see you please?”

The teasing lift of your brow colored his cheeks, but you answered him by tugging your wrap off of your body, baring yourself into his awaiting gaze. 

You leaned forward, back arching and chest pressing against his. “I was told you have a fascination with my chest, care to explain yourself?”

However, Tech was too fixated with them to formulate a proper response. 

His jaw dropped, eyes round in wonder, as his fingers circled from your back to the undersides of your breasts. With an experimental touch, he swept both his thumbs across your nipples and analyzed your reactions through the way you arched closer—humming in satisfaction.

“Fascinating,” He whispered, as if discovering the rarest crystal in an ancient stronghold. “It seems you are sensitive here. What more can I produce from you other than those heavenly sighs?”

To prove his hypothesis, Tech held your stare—studying every twitch of your expression—before he placed a kiss on one breast. 

While he was busy peppering kisses, his hand squeezed and tested the weight of the other. 

Perfect.

You are absolutely perfect, my dear.

Overcome with the strange desire to taste you, he licked his lips and flicked a tongue on the perked bud. When the sound he received came through the form of a gasp, Tech beamed in satisfaction and proceeded to suck.

“Oh, kriff.” You cradled his head in both hands, grinding down on the dented seam of his jeans. “Like that, Tech. Feels so good.”

Tech released his own whimper, feeding off of your praise, using it as motivation to continue his endeavor. When he was content, he quickly switched to the other, giving it the same precise attention.

The taste of your soft skin, the smell of your natural scent, and the way you sound so delightfully aroused brought all sorts of answers his ravenous mind needed. He had learned you were most responsive when he licked your nipples with a sucking motion, and most vocal when he did it in unison of playing with your other breast.

Your shower of praises flowed so smoothly, reaching his ears in strips of silk. He has failed to notice your hands, so stealthy and skilled in their own grace, drift down his sides and hook into the waistband of his jeans. He has also failed to hear the zipping noise below, too taken with the sensation and weight of your breasts.

Until the cool air hit his freed length, only then he pulled away to hiss a breath. 

You tossed him a coy smirk, planting another lingering kiss on his lips, before you slowly extracted yourself from his lap and down on the durasteel floor between his legs.

Tech realized what you were about to do, eyes impossibly wide in awe and disbelief at the sight of you kneeling before him. He had imagined this scene before, his datapad was all too familiar with this moment from the countless times he had dreamed of it. 

The refresher as well, just a day ago. 

Now it was no longer written on his screen. 

Now he has you pulling that fantasy out of his private logs into reality.

His breaths stuttered as he felt your hands caress his thighs, subconsciously parting further, hips shifting forward.

“My dear, are you–” His question never reached its end when your dominant hand wrapped around his aching length, twitching immediately. 

“Am I what?” You hummed, studying him now. “Am I going to take you in my mouth? Isn't it obvious?”

“A-Are you sure?”

“Never been so sure, Tech. Do you want this?”

“No– Yes! I-I mean… You are not obligated to do so, my dear. We can just… You are not–”

Tech jolted in his seat when the heat of your tongue burned the tip of his cock, tasting the precum there. 

His words, now lost and unreachable, became pitiful whimpers and hitching gasps the more you used that silver tongue of yours. You took your time to savour him, hand deliberately stroking his length. 

“You talk too much, Tech.” The fire in your eyes melted him on the spot. “Hush.”

Then, you wrapped those sinful lips around him and took him in slowly.

The clone could only lay a hand on your head, peering down at your figure with a half-lidded stare, gritting his teeth in restraint.

He has never had someone perform this… treatment onto him, but he was glad you took his first experience. No one could make him crumble the way you do. No one could make him ache and beg for more the way you have him doing. You took him so deliberately, listening to every hitch of his voice and groan from his chest, so much that it felt like torture.

Tech bit his lip, gripping your hair now, chasing the movements of your mouth as he bucked his hips.

The action caused your gag reflex to trigger, eliciting a harsh curse from him, when the tip of his cock touched the back of your throat.

Oh, stars. That was…

Tech shivered, his self-control tearing at the seams.

The heat of your mouth, the smooth glide of your tongue, and the suction of you constantly provided him all felt amazing. However, the thing that pooled another layer of guilt within was the gag you had reflexively done around him.

When he met your eyes, Tech saw the intent clearly flashing through them.

In the back of his mind, he heard your voice call to him.

Do it again.

“My dear,” Tech breathed out, truly lost in disbelief. “Are you certain? I could hurt you. If it is not in your comfort zone, if you are only doing it for the sake my pleasure, I–”

You simply rolled your eyes, before taking matters into your own hands and took him even deeper until his tip grazed the back of your throat once more.

Hush.

Stuttering, the clone flushed as he adjusted his goggles. 

“R-Right, apologies. Then, allow me to…”

Fingers threaded in your hair, careful and hesitant. 

Then, he brought you down on him again. It was out of his element, completely inexperienced as to how he should control you or the pace. However, he was a genius. And with a brilliant mind like his, the only best thing he could do was learn.

Tech, whilst half-dazed in pleasure, studied every miniscule reaction from your body. He took note of the moans you emitted when he rolled his hips instead of pushing you forcefully, shuddering at the vibrations it brought around his cock. He observed the glassy tear-filled gaze you gave him through your lashes upon praising you. And he has come to enjoy the sight of your breasts from below him.

All the while his study, Tech found himself growing more and more unfocused with each teasing flick of your tongue. You seemed to be studying him as well, and as a formidable warrior of the battlefield, you took it as your own mission to make him surrender.

And surrender he did.

“My dear, this is–” Tech cut off with a hissing curse, followed by a small whimper. “I-I fear I will not last long. Please, my dear. No more.”

“Oh?” You slipped off of him with a rather lewd pop, grinning mischievously. “You don't want to finish it my mouth? Is that it?”

He only glared, not fond of the sly tone you carried. Perhaps he should not be as lenient with you as he was being.

“Get up here.”

“I still have a task at hand–”

“Get up here, before I make you.”

Blinking at the surprising change of attitude, you obeyed wordlessly.

He clicked his tongue at the lethargic pace of your limbs, hurriedly grabbing the back of your thighs to tug you back into his lap. The giggle bubbling in you got cut short as soon as he devoured your lips in a bruising kiss—one hand at the back of your head, and the other around slipping down to part your wet folds between two fingers.

Tech steeled himself to remain composed, quickly locating the bundle of nerves after a brief moment of search. When he did, he took advantage of his dexterous digits to swirl hypnotic circles around your clit. 

You gasped, writhing above him, unable to stop yourself from flinching at the fluid motion of his fingers. Just as you had suspected. He was terrifyingly good with his hands.

The clone’s goggles flashed, expression taut and brows drawn tighter. “Always testing my nerves. Always ruining my patience. Always outsmarting me.”

His mouth reconnected with your breasts, travelling a journey up the valley between them. 

“Ner mirdala Jetii,” His praise of endearment was murmured into your skin, directly above your heart. 

My clever Jedi. 

"Ni ven'serim gar jate bal ca'nara,” His touch slipped down, entering you with two dextrous fingers.

I think of you day and night. 

“Gar olaror ner miit'gaana bal kar'ta,” His declaration sealed itself onto your lips, stealing the air from your lungs. 

You have my mind and heart.

Tech urged you closer and closer to your completion, curling his fingers inside your wet walls, an objective in mind. 

He aimed for the specific spot he had researched years ago, the region in a woman's reproductive anatomy that could produce speedy results in achieving their climax. Once he had grazed the tender spot within, based on the change of texture and the hitch of your voice, he immediately changed his routine—curling in and out while a thumb rubbed your swollen clit in unison. 

“Kriff, Tech!” The mewl you placed on his tongue tasted and sounded so sweet. “Stars, I'm close. Kark– How are you so good at this?”

A swell of pride bloomed beneath his chest, fuelling his extensive ego upon hearing your approval. 

With a delicate kiss on your neck, he traced his lips to where your pulse thrummed underneath.

“I am not. However, that does not mean I cannot be.”

Every area on and in your body was quickly found, he treated you like a specimen that he could pick apart and evaluate. He took note of every twitch, tremble, and sigh he had evoked from his touches. And when he kissed you, it was like trying to uncover a theorem on his tongue. 

His fingers worked diligently, rendering you completely at his mercy, the same way he has done to his gears and tools. Though, with you, he handled your body with more meticulous care and effort. 

His brothers might have explored your body, but Tech studied it.

The way you bit stinging marks on his neck whenever he massaged that spot within you, the way your back arched at a particular slow swirl of his thumb on your clit, and the way you melted against him with the amount of praises he gifted you. Everything was planned, and he executed every single one with a frightening expertise despite his previous lack of it.

When the muscles of your walls tightened around his fingers, Tech began whispering filthy praises near your ear.

“You are doing so well, my dear. You sound so beautifully ruined, and just from my fingers? What more when I am inside you? Oh, my clever girl. So, so brilliant. Can you come on my fingers like this?”

“Kriff, mmm– So close, Tech.”

“I am aware. You can let go, my dear.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard, moans tearing out from your chest as the initial wave of release washed over you. Tech held your body in a secure hold, a firm hand on your waist, the other still sliding in and out of your walls—a greedy desire to feel you come undone on his fingers. 

“Oh, Maker. Tech!”

He hummed in satisfaction, slipping the soaked digits out of you to observe the clear liquid.

You were too busy gathering your breath again to notice the clone slip those same digits into his mouth.

“Oh my,” He moaned shamelessly, eyes fluttering close. “Divine. You taste absolutely divine, my dear.”

The only sound you were able to produce was a weak attempt to deny it, burying your face into the crook of his warm neck. “And you're– Kriff, you're a menace.”

“I have been addressed worse,” Tech scoffed in amusement, before a cloud of uncertainty took over his features. “Was I… Did I perform well?”

Once your mind has cleared from the fog of euphoria, you peeled yourself away from his neck to lightly glare at him. 

Was he seriously asking that after succumbing you to the depths of ecstasy with just his fingers alone? 

After finding all your weak points from just observing you?

Clicking your tongue, a lazy grin tugged the corner of your lips, leaning forward to capture his lips and sighing against his parted mouth. 

“You were wonderful, Tech. As always. You made me finish quicker than your brothers. And from just your hands alone? It's a war crime, really.”

The clone squirmed sheepishly, the comparison affecting him in such ways he did not mind. He considered that as a good thing—an achievement—to have you come undone quicker than his brothers. Now that he had all of the sensitive spots in your body memorized, he made a mental note to surpass this current time in the future. 

Was it ten minutes? He'll make it seven next time. And the next five. Then, three— 

Was it even possible? No matter, he just had to find out if it was.

“That is–” Tech gasped at the feeling of your hand wrapping around his cock, shakily exhaling, watching with a rapt attention as you slowly stroked the length. “That is good to know, my dear. A-Any thoughts for improvement? Do you prefer a more particular motion rather than the– Oh, Maker.”

His sentence didn’t finish long when you glided his tip along your soaked core, tracing from your clit and down your entrance. 

A shift of your hips, and the tip of his cock breached inside. Not fully yet, but just enough for the entire head to be welcomed by your tight walls. 

His hands surged up, grasping your hips at the electric pulse of pleasure brimming beneath his warm skin. The thoughts in his mind evaporated into smoke, the words on his tongue melting away. 

Meanwhile, you wore an impish smile that promised secrets and allure. 

“What was that, Tech?” The innocence in your voice did not match the hunger in your eyes, and he was forced to blink away the haziness. “Could you repeat that?”

Tech whimpered, hissing out a Mando'an curse under his breath when you inched downwards.

Not fully, just enough to have his jaw clenching.

“I-I was inquiring your preference, and if you have any suggestions to my future performance in regards to–”

You inched lower. Still not fully, but enough for half of his cock to be engulfed by your heat.

“Go on, Tech. I'm listening.”

“If you could let me finish, my dear. Maybe then you would hear the rest of my–”

Oh Force.

Tech released a punched groan from his stomach, panting against your neck when you finally sunk down and burrowed him deep. 

His fingers flexed around your hips, fighting the urge to lift you up and draw you down fast. Every sensible rationality in his programming, every functional nerve that carried his self-control, fought for their life as he struggled not to move.

Kark, this is– 

She feels so warm. 

I cannot think, I want her to move, but I am afraid I will not survive her terror. I want it. Her terror. Her voice. Her heat. 

This is torture.  This is the only torture I would bring myself to be punished again–

A low chuckle resounded from above, and suddenly the warmth of your walls vanished painfully from his cock when you raised yourself away.

With a rough grab of his chin, you forced him to stare up at you—those honey-hued eyes slanted with pleading need behind orange lenses—and smiled at him. 

“Hush.” 

Was all Tech heard before you sunk down again and started at an unforgivable pace.

Slow.

So torturously slow.

He threw his head back, ragged whimpers tearing from his throat—deep and raw. 

He was being loud. He was babbling nonsense. 

None of which made sense against the ringing in his ears and rolling your hips. A genius with a brilliant mind containing countless knowledge, an expert of technological advancements. All reduced to nothing when you grinded on him over and over and over again.

The pleasure overwhelmed him immensely, but somehow it wasn't enough.

All he could do now was receive every swallow of your walls, every flutter of your muscles around him, and welcome their merciless pursuit.

“Cyare,” Tech heard himself utter a weak plea, nuzzling his face against your neck, helplessly rolling his hips upwards. “Please, my dear. Please, please, please.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” You purred near his ear, still continuing that brutal speed. “Need something? Want me to go faster?”

“Yes,” Tech choked out, feeling your hand return around his throat. “Faster. Harder. Anything. Please, ner cyare.”

However, what you did was the opposite—you stopped.

And Tech could only grit his teeth in frustration.

You are having fun, while I am suffering. 

Does this amuse you greatly, my dear? 

If I could, I would have not stopped. You would be the one begging. And I would not stop until I have you aching for more. 

Your grip tightened, teeth tugging on his ear. “Then, what's stopping you?”

Somewhere in his mind, he recognized the cue. 

An invitation. 

You were giving him control now. Handing it to him on a silver platter, a polished bait, knowing he was hungry for it. And like a damned fool, he took it. He swallowed the forbidden fruit, with gluttony on his tongue and greed on his teeth.  

With a trembling breath, Tech clutched your hips tighter, a low whisper falling from his lips.

“Nothing.”

Then, he lifted you up from his cock, before slamming you back down with a heated glare behind his fogged lenses.

Tech regained control, and kriff did it feel empowering. To watch you fall apart under his mercy. To have you whimpering and moaning his name when he fucked himself up into you. To hear you lose yourself as he relentlessly guided your hips to meet his. 

And you don't have the power to stop him. 

An unwise choice, really. However, he did not mind the change of dynamic. 

“You had your fun, my dear.” His voice was unrecognizable, uncontrolled and barely himself. “It is time to have mine.”

Here, within the sacred space of his cockpit, a fantasy unfolded before his very eyes. You took everything he could give you. Every thrust, every biting kiss on your neck, every praise whispered into your skin. Whilst he shamelessly released the last thread of his self-control, snapping like tight wires that had been stretched for too long.

The bridling pleasure bursted again when he felt you tighten around him, momentarily losing focus. 

“No wonder my brothers were keen on keeping you for themselves for hours,” Tech rasped roughly, drinking in the sight of him entering in and out of you. “You feel magnificent, my dear. I could study you like this.”

And he proved his point.

He searched for what made your voice hitch in volume, what had you shaking on his lap, and what speed he needed to have you mewling loudly. 

It was a thumb around your clit, drawing intricate circles around the swollen bundle, whilst he kept you still against the wheel of his ship, bringing himself forward to fuck you himself.

The muse of his fantasies. The error behind his logic. The variable who remained unsolvable in his research. All of it in the shape of your name, the curve of your body, and the sound of your melodious voice breaching his mind.

Your legs shook around his thighs, the muscles in your stomach taut with pressure, as he repeatedly hit that spot within you after a moment of intense observation. 

I seem to have found your weakest point, my dear.

Tech pushed his thought towards you, too fixated with the movement of your breasts to talk aloud. 

And I plan to exploit it until you collapse.

Shifting himself at the edge of his seat, he captured a nipple into his mouth and proceeded to multitask as he brought you towards the end of his goal. A thumb on your clit, another hand on your waist, mouth on your breast, and his cock sliding in and out of your heat. He would override all of your senses by using everything he had taken note of in his mind. 

So, he worked as he always had.

Precisely. Thoroughly. Tirelessly.

He sucked his own marks into the skin of your breasts, switching to the other to color the skin with the same bruises.

“I must confess,” While his lips trailed up to your neck, his hands brought you down flush on his lap. “I have pictured us here multiple times. Often during moments I need to focus on my work. You are a distraction. A sin.”

He began moving again, swallowing the high-pitched moans from your lips and replacing it with his own ragged breaths.

“If this is sin, then I may find myself repenting nightly just to experience it again.”

“Y-You’re oddly poetic– Kriff, Tech. Do I make you like that?”

“A strange phenomenon only you can cause, my dear.”

“A-And– Oh, kriff. What else do I cause?”

“Oh, I would need to keep you here all night if I said every single thought you have provoked within my mind.”

All you need to know, my dear, is that every single one could make you forget your Jedi Code and bring shame to your Order.

You gasped into his lips, cheeks warming at the insinuation. Who knew Tech, the clone who has shown indifference to sex and all acts of intimacy, could have a side in him so ruthlessly sensual? 

It should be illegal.

Always with the innocent ones.

Tech scoffed, meeting your eyes with a flash amber heat swirling within the gold irises.

“You are sorely mistaken, my dear. I am anything but.” 

And so, he proved his word showing you every single reason why he was not. 

Here, under his mercy, within the confines of his territory. 

Sharing the night of pleasure on the seat of his cockpit, legs wrapped around his waist, breaths stolen in ruined kisses, and hands roaming all across sweat-slicked skin. Never stopping until he was satiated, until he felt you squeeze around him as you reached your peak—arms around his neck, face buried beneath his ear as you screamed his name.

He didn't stop until he had released his own spend within you, retrieving stolen air with heaving gasps and trembling shoulders. You still fluttered around him, full and content, not allowing him to easily slip out with how tight you kept him inside.

It was until he kissed you, fully and passionately, did he feel you loosen so he could pull out and watch the mixture of your spend drip out from your entrance and down on the floor of his cockpit.

Tech was not bothered by it, filled with an indescribable sense of satisfaction from the thought of you making a mess on his cockpit. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” He brought his attention back to you, eyes soft and searching for any signs of discomfort. Or worse, regret. “Did I hurt you in any way?”

However, you only blinked up at him in the daze of your climax.

There was no response for a full minute, just taking in each other's ruined features. Your eyes trailed all across his face, committing the sight of his swollen lips and skewed foggy goggles, gaze so distant yet so present. He could feel another warmth spreading across his cheeks at the scrutinizing affect your stare carried.

Finally, you whispered.

“Who are you and what have you done to my Tech?”

Head shaking, he planted another kiss on your bitten lips, a small smile on his once he parted.

“The better question is… What have you done to me?”

You only grinned lazily in response, pushing him back to his seat to climb over his lap again—like a queen reclaiming her throne.

“Oh, I haven't done anything yet.”

And Tech could only gulp like a peasant awaiting his divine punishment.

Chapter Text

One.

Crosshair narrowed his gaze, lining up his second shot as he peered into the scope of his rifle.

The sun had already risen from his east, a soft glow beyond the horizon. Thankfully, the canopy has blocked the heat and light from ever reaching his spot. The soft breeze surrounded him in a gentle embrace, and he suspected that the Alderaan air might have something to make him this relaxed. 

Earlier, he shot ten red paint bullets on random branches as his targets. And now, here he was, repeatedly firing one mark after another. 

Two.

The blast from his shot zoomed past branches, hitting the red mark painted on one of the trees six klicks away from him.

He has been here since the wake of dawn, trying to erase the haunting tune of your voice from his head. And no matter how many targets he has hit, no matter how many times his shots scorched the marks until the red paint had turned black, your words never stopped playing—a constant loop in his mind.

Last night, back at the bar in Coruscant, you spoke about your… interests in each of them. It hasn't left his nerves since. He remembered the heat of your body close to him, back pressed against his front. He could still smell that damned amber liquid, it clung to his blacks the moment they walked back to the ship. He could still see that flash of danger across your gleaming eyes when you stared up at him.

It ruined him. His sleep, his focus, his sanity.

In the best and worst way possible.

Three.

Crosshair fired another shot towards the side, breath steady and eyes sharp. 

You found his voice pleasant. Attractive even.

Since when have you thought of him in that way? 

As far as the sniper knew, out of all of his brothers, he was the one who avoided all opportunities to talk. He left that to them when dealing with the regs, when addressing the Jedi Generals, and he was perfectly content with just standing guard and letting his eyes do the talking.

When he first met you, three years ago in that hangar as you stood beside Master Windu, he already disagreed with the assignment. 

Why would they need a Jedi general when they have been functioning perfectly well without one?

Why would they need you to supervise—no, babysit them as if they haven't been completing every mission without fail or any issues?

Why were you so damned adamant to fit into their dynamics? You were just another natborn. 

A Jedi with a pretty face and deadly grace.

Crosshair's suspicion of you only increased the more time you spent within their ship. The change was palpable in the air, and he despised every waking hour of being under your command. He almost was half-tempted to disobey your orders, to prove to you that he doesn't need a Jedi to tell him what to do and how his job was supposed to be done.

However, good soldiers follow orders. 

So, even when it was his greatest displeasure to listen to you bark out one command after another, he chose to follow because that was his job.

Four. 

Rolling back his shoulder to shake it off from the tenseness, Crosshair exhaled a breath and went into stance again. 

As months went by, he denied the obvious fact that you were terribly good at being a general. Not only were you Master Windu’s former Padawan, but you wreaked havoc on every battlefield you dropped into—as if you were born in it. He saw it in the way your eyes lit up at the sight of danger, in how you executed every plan with precision that could rival his aim. Gradually, his suspicion shifted to tolerance.

You were skilled—dangerously so. 

And he was not stupid to deny that. 

Even when you had the habit of charging straight into the face of death like you had nothing to lose, which deeply unnerved him, Crosshair respected your strategic competence and prowess.  

Still, he did not allow himself to get close. 

He saw the way his brothers, especially Wrecker, went soft and hesitant when it came towards you. How Hunter's voice dropped a pitch too low when he answered back to your question. How Echo let his hand linger on your arm when he asked about your well-being. How Tech followed you everywhere you went.

It was disgusting really. 

They treated you like something made out of glass, always at an arm's length, whilst failing to hide the obvious admiration shining through their gazes and seeping through their words.

It was pathetic.

How did each of his brothers fall one by one to your Jedi charm? What was it really that made them so putty in your hands? How did they become wrapped around your finger by just being there?

Whatever they were, he found himself uncaring for these reasons. 

He did not need distractions. Even when it came with a pretty face and prettier eyes.

Five.

The sniper released another breath, shifting his aim towards another target much farther from the last one.

It took him quite some time to acknowledge you as anything but his commanding officer, because that was all you will ever be. Nothing more, nothing less. He would not place himself beneath his dignity—his duty—just because you walked amongst them and broke down the cold walls of their ship. 

In time, he began to see you as someone different. 

Beneath your Jedi robes, you possessed a heart that violated every code in your Order. The kind that forbids you to have a normal natborn’s freedom.

You were not allowed to love. 

Being attached was strictly prohibited.

Yet here you were, treating each one of them as if they deserved such a thing. 

It was annoying. 

How much compassion and kindness you carried, even though others did not deserve it. Even when he did not deserve it. Nonetheless, there was never a time where you did not act in selfish ways. Always placing him and his brothers’ health before you, always checking them for wounds, always there to be a pillar to lean on.

If you weren't a kriffing Jedi, he would've disobeyed every command. If you weren't so annoyingly tempting, he would've not seen you any differently. 

But Maker.

Crosshair already crossed the line the moment you healed his injuries all those years ago. The moment where both dread and fear settled in his stomach when you looked so focused to save him, hands hovering above the large gash on his side, and he could only watch the concentration scrunch your dust-covered face with mild awe and realization.

He crossed another line when he began hovering around your space, standing not too far but just close enough to pull you aside from any threats. 

He crossed another when he found himself tracking every moment beneath his visor, following every shift and turn like a man cursed with a strange addiction. The only times he did not watch you was when you stood in front of them to talk to a reg or another natborn. 

He watched them instead. 

To see if they would try anything funny to you, and if they do, they wouldn't even finish their sentence when he shoots them down.

And every time Crosshair drew another line, promising himself to never cross it, he found himself stepping over like it was never drawn there in the first place.

Until he realized that every time he did so, he only gravitated towards the very thing he promised not to get close to—it led to nowhere but you.

The following targets were hit. 

Always right in the center. 

That was not what frustrated him. It was when he shot his last mark, cursing you in his head, and it missed.

That was when he knew he was doomed.

Crosshair began to trudge back to the Marauder when all the red marks had burned to black from his constant rifle shots.

The sun had already reached its peak above the skies once he finished his target practice, rifle slung across one shoulder as he leisurely walked and weaved around protruding tree roots. The air still wafted around him in cool whispers, just the right temperature to not let him sweat beneath his armor and blacks.

When he stepped outside the treeline and into the clearing where the ship was stationed, his sharp gaze caught a movement from his periphery. Your fleeting figure, back towards him, retreated into the ship with a brisk pace. And he could only watch with slight interest as to what you were up to. Maybe you would help Tech again with his work, or perhaps hang around Echo, or convince Wrecker to join you in town for a much needed supply run.

Crosshair retrieved another toothpick from his pouch, slipping it between his lips.

Like I care.

Instead of following you, the sniper made a detour towards the direction of the lake he had found during his earlier walk. 

When he had arrived, the sight of the lake danced in slow waves under the sun. Waters gleaming like clear gems, air free of any pollution, and trees so green it almost looked like a dream. Alderaan was truly the kind of planet where one could raise their family or simply travel to get away from the unforgiving war in the stars.

But for Crosshair? 

He wanted nothing but to get back on the battlefield, instead of wasting his time here. He was a soldier, not a damned tourist. He was supposed to be out there, fighting for the Republic, using his enhanced skills to win one war at a time. After all, that was his engineered function—his purpose.

However, you had to go and request a two week leave after the last mission just because he and his brothers deserved it. 

How touching.

Selfless and undeniably infuriating.

Setting his rifle down against a tree, just within his line of sight, Crosshair allowed himself to close his eyes and breathe.

Albeit his former disapproval of your request, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to have a little break before returning to the endless assignments and missions.

He sat beside his rifle, nibbling on the end of his toothpick.

Three years since you were assigned as their general. 

For three years, he has known you. He learned your habits and insufferable tendencies to care for others. He watched you from the sidelines, helmet set forward but his eyes never left you. He protected you from too many close calls from cliffs above, scope always zeroed in on your frame. He saved you from waves of droids coming up from your blind spots, shooting them down before they could even step two feet from you.

Three years since he promised himself not to get entangled in complicated feelings. 

All gone to waste the moment you healed him for the first time. All vanishing to thin air when you said those words last night. 

“Your personality is sometimes insufferable. You don't defy my orders, but you always have the last word when we argue.”

Crosshair scoffed, rolling his eyes at the memory.

Yes, he never once disobeyed an order from you. That was his protocol. However, he could always beat you in other ways. Besting you in arguments quickly became his favorite pastime. Oh, to see you all worked up sent a surge of satisfaction every time you took the bait to his bite. That fiery spark in your eyes never failed to excite him in ways that shouldn't have him coming back for more.

The way you threw daggers with your gaze when staring up at him? Daring him to say another word? Oh, absolutely precious. And when you crossed the distance to intimidate him? Maker, he wouldn't dare to take a step back just to see the lovely color clearer. They looked even prettier when you were angry at him. Just something about the way they glint with warning—oh, how he loved it.

Every chance he got, Crosshair would not waste one to simply see it again. To hear your voice lower, to provoke him even more using that rank of yours, to drive him absolutely crazy every time you pulled that card—to remind him of the power imbalance between the two of you.

He recalled the first time you did so, arms crossed and eyes alight with ferocity. 

He remembered only raising an eyebrow at you, an ever present smirk on his lips.

“You seem to forget your place, Crosshair.” You strutted closer to him slowly, voice as dangerous as sin and wrath. “Of your position. Of your job. Might I remind you again?”

He merely swept his gaze down at your figure, before it trailed up to meet yours again. 

“Oh, that won't be necessary. I am perfectly capable of reminding myself.”

“Are you now?” The lack of warmth was evident in your tone. “You'd do well to remember, then. I am your general. I command you. You may have followed my orders out there, but it doesn't give you the right to act so arrogantly. Your pride may be your downfall one day, but I'm not allowing it to let it be under my watch.”

Crosshair only noticed how his breathing stopped when you inched closer, tilting your head up and scowling at him. Maker, he could smell the ash and dust on your hair, but somehow it triggered a wild thought in his mind. If he neared his face just enough, would he smell the scent on your neck?

Meanwhile, you failed to acknowledge how his pupils expanded as you leaned closer. 

“Do you understand, soldier?” 

“Yes.” 

“What was that?”

Crosshair inhaled sharply, piercing you with a stare that should've melted you on the spot. 

“Yes, general.”

The smile that graced your lips should've irked him, it should've had him hating you more. No, it threatened every protocol and code he had been programmed to follow. Tested his nerves and patience.

“Good,” You stepped back and gave him a satisfied nod. “So you can be agreeable when I remind you. I'll take note of that.”

And, oh, the things it did to him.

It should not have him craving for more. It should not have tempted him to test going against your orders just to see how you would act. Would you remind him again in the same way or another? How would you put him in his place? Or was that all just a front you wore like an armor to avoid being seen as weak?

Maybe in other scenarios, he could find out if you trembled. Just like how you did last night when he called you doll—low and rough.

“But Force, your voice. It always does something to me.”

Sighing, Crosshair leaned his head back against the tree and bit his toothpick.

What did it do to you?

Have you imagined him before? The same way he did when he stared down at you from across the room, pretending to be indifferent and casual, even when all the scenes in his mind were far from his demeanor. Oh, how would you react when you find out about how he thought of you?

Would you still crave his voice?

Would you want him near your space, crowding you against the wall of the ship, whispering filthy promises in your ear with his hand around your throat?

He imagined it multiple times, he was guilty about that. After all, he was not just a clone. He was a man. And Maker help him, he would be a liar if he said he hasn't envisioned you in ways that could make Echo go red in shame. 

You could snap at him. Curse him. Shout at him all you want. 

Just as long he could see that fire in your eyes.

Just as long as he could feel the heat burning him alive and leaving him wanting more.

“The way it sounds so smooth and low makes me want to get down on my knees if you want.”

Oh, doll.

Crosshair ran a hand down his face.

You were dangerous. So, infuriatingly dangerous.

You shouldn't be saying those things. Not when you had a code to live by. Not when you wore those righteous robes. Not when you have five clones waiting to get a taste of what's underneath. It was torture—no, it was agony. 

Do you know what you have just said? How can you expect them to act normally when you revealed something that could ultimately change all of their lives?

How can you expect him not to imagine you on your knees? 

As tempting as that sounded, he'd much rather have you on his bunk. No, on his lap. Your back against his front, thighs spread open as his fingers slipped underneath those thick robes and into your pants. His lips beside your ear, teeth scraping the shell, whilst coaxing you to squirm with just his voice alone. Now, that would be a tempting sight.

The great and unshakeable Jedi, who never trembled against fleets of enemies, gone to ruins by just the voice of a clone? Perhaps he could be merciful and be silent at first. Drive you crazy by finding all your weakest points—have you begging for more when he pushes you down on your hands and knees. Then, when the time was right, then he could start talking. 

“I thought of you using that voice to guide me in bed. Listening to you talk when you're the one giving orders.”

For all the partners he had, in darkened alleyways behind cantinas or shady inns with a random woman he picked off from bars, Crosshair never talked while he took them. Sure, he enjoyed a bit of flirting here and there. A little bark while they tiptoe around each other, testing the waters with half-hearted teasing and sweetened whispers.

But when he gets them alone, not once did he utter a word. He never asked for their name, never has been vocal of his pleasure. All of it was quick—easy to forget, and easier to move on from. 

He never stayed long, never asked how they were, only fixed himself up before leaving them there.

No attachments. No strings.

Purely an outlet of release.

He could give the Jedi a run for their credits with his escapades. 

You did say sex wasn't forbidden in your Order, the attachment was the problem. Maybe he could treat you like another forgettable partner, so that both of you never cross a line that would threaten your lives. However, deep down, Crosshair knew he was not capable of doing that. You weren't just a forgettable partner, not when you lived and fought with them. 

Not when he thought of you nightly. 

Not when he craved your fire every day.

“And how pretty you would sound at the brink of pleasure.”

The best he could do was grunt or curse, and he preferred his partners quiet as well. He never liked the noisy ones. They were far too dramatic and exaggerated with their sounds. So, Crosshair would always have a hand on their mouths or around their throats, faces shoved into the pillows, and a brutal pace that prevented them from talking.

But with you? 

Oh, he wouldn't mind hearing you.

If anything, he would purposefully rile you up in another argument just to hear your voice. Just to hear that bark, and maybe tease you just enough to bite back. And while wearing that smirk on your face as he takes you rough and fast—teasing him to go harder, testing his control further.

And he wouldn't mind talking more.

You want me to give the orders, doll? 

Fine, he could do that.

Just don't regret your words when he admits every filthy sin he had thought about you. Every shameful indulgence. Every intrusive temptation. He would feed your curiosity by saying all the things you did that drove him wild. 

Starting from how much he hated you.

How much he despised the effect you had on him.

How much you ruined his focus, his temper, and his restraint.

He hated the way you didn't realize how much power you had over him. How far he would go to save you over and over again, whilst denying his irritating feelings for you. He hated how you make his heart beat faster whenever you were near, feeling it stop when you smile at another person. He hated how your very image occupied his thoughts late at night, unable to think of anything else but the silhouette of your figure.

He loathed the way you seemed so oblivious to his stares, to the way he searched for you in every room he entered. He loathed the fact that you don't notice how he glared at others when they get too close, when they're the cause of your laughter and smile. 

He loathed everything about you.

Your smile, your courage, your pretty eyes, and quick wit. Your soft voice, fierce temper, and compassionate heart. Your commands, your orders, and your instructions.

But Maker, he hated how much he wanted you. He hated how much he wanted you to want him too.

It was all bantha shit.

How could you do this to him? How dare you do this to him?

Soldiers were never meant to fall in love. They were meant to fall in wars. However, at this point, they did not differ from each other.

All is fair in love and war.

Or what Tech quoted before.

However, he knew he couldn't do anything about it. All these desires, all these bothersome thoughts, they needed to be forgotten. He cannot risk anything between the two of you. He cannot act so selfishly just because he wants you. You still have a code to abide by, and he still has a job to finish. 

You were his general, and he was just a clone.

It was never meant to be.

Throwing away his toothpick, the sniper crossed his legs and arms, glaring at the peaceful lake as if it personally offended him.

“There you are,” Hunter's voice spoke from behind, silently emerging from the trees. “Echo was wondering where you ran off to.”

“Hm,” Was all Crosshair offered, not sparing his brother a glance. “That all?”

“He's also wondering where Wrecker went, I figured he would be bothering you. Guess not.”

“That big-headed bantha is not here. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Well, it's nothing important anyways. What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

Hunter scoffed, sounding too unconvinced by his words. “Yeah, right. I could hear your thoughts from a klick away. You're not fooling me.”

Crosshair merely rolled his eyes, throwing a passive glance beside him. “You're a Jedi now? What exactly am I thinking, Hunter?”

The sergeant invited himself to sit on his other side, crossing his legs, before raising an eyebrow. 

“You're thinking about her, ain't ya?”

“No.”

“Uh huh.”

“I'm not.”

“Sure.”

“What do you want?” Crosshair snapped, glaring at the smug smile Hunter wore. “Came here to torment me? To say the obvious? Fine, I was thinking of her. Happy?”

Shaking his head, the brunette clone huffed an amused chuckle. 

He always knew which button to press when it came to annoying Crosshair. Maybe his enhanced mutation granted him the uncanny ability to piss others off by just existing, because it was working tremendously. 

Kriff off.

Crosshair was about to get up and leave, when Hunter's voice stopped him.

“How long have you wanted her too?”

Stopping from his tracks, the sniper slowly trailed his gaze away from his rifle and down his brother. 

They all wanted you. 

They discussed it before, which led to drinking their hearts away to console the ache in their chests. It didn't surprise Crosshair that you had five men wanting you at the same time, you were naturally an admirable person, but the fact that it was him and his brothers? Your entire squadron?

He could laugh at the absurdity.

Instead of a cocky grin or a teasing quip, Hunter fixed him with an understanding stare that told him he knew.

Another pesky little habit he had. 

The sergeant was terrifyingly perceptive at the most convenient times. Not just from his elite sense, but from his intuition as well. He could read the room without even stepping foot in it. He could know someone's intentions without talking to them.

All because of one look.

One look, and Crosshair felt like he was too exposed.

Too vulnerable.

He hated it.

“Why do you care?” The silver-haired clone drawled, glaring daggers at the brunette. “Here to warn me? Tell me to back off? I'm well aware we can't want her.”

“I know,” Hunter's tone grew solemn, heavy, carrying the weight of their reality. “She's a Jedi. She's not meant to be ours. But after last night, she told us–”

“She was drunk, Hunter.”

“I know that.”

“It was a stupid game.”

“I know.”

“And she's our general, or have you forgotten?”

The sergeant just released a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair as he stared off into the vast lake.

“Do you remember what she said?” Hunter paused briefly, before he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “If only I wasn't your general.”

Crosshair blinked, lost and entirely confused.

Why was he quoting your words from last night? Why did it matter? What did it mean to begin with?

Meanwhile, Hunter steadily rose from his position, shaking off the imaginary dust on his lap. As he walked towards Crosshair, the gaze he wore brewed a dark storm. Swirling with amber clouds and shadowed desire. 

“Don’t tell me you haven't realized it yet, Cross.” His words were tainted with a secret, one only shared between brothers. Between men. “She's not our general anymore. At least, for now.”

“What do you mean?” Crosshair only scoffed in question, following Hunter's movements as he walked past him. “She's still our general. She never stopped being our commanding officer.”

“No, she hasn't. But for two weeks? We can pretend she has.”

Crosshair's lips parted, eyes widening in realization. 

Oh.

Two weeks. 

That's right.

They were here for a two week leave, as per your request. Two weeks away from the wrath of war. Two weeks off duty and without any missions to call them back. Two weeks with you. You were not a Jedi out here. They were not soldiers as well. For two weeks, you were just civilians. Tourists even. You weren't their general, and they weren't your squadron.

He heard Hunter's distinct chuckle fading into the distance behind him.

“For all we know, Wrecker already realized it and went to her first.”

As soon as Hunter left, Crosshair kicked a rock into the lake and glowered as it sank.

Kriff it all.

Of course, Wrecker would be the first one.

Wrecker was in fact the first one.

He had watched his brother carry you into the ship, dressed with nothing but Wrecker's blacks. That night, after he had tucked you in your bunker, the five of them had another discussion regarding the events that had occurred between the two of you. 

As much as Tech pushed for more details, Wrecker kept his lips shut and only giggled the whole time. 

Meanwhile, Hunter physically looked exhausted by the whole ordeal, and possibly done with the larger clone. And Echo? He was still silent, staring off into the direction of your bunk longingly.

Crosshair stood aside, another toothpick in between his teeth, arms crossed.

At the end of the discussion, they had agreed to a unanimous decision. Two days in between each of their turns. And the order followed as the one you had said the night before in the bar. That meant Echo, being the next one, had to wait for two days before he could have you. And that also meant, Crosshair had to wait eight days for his.

While the idea tasted like the sweetest fruit presented to him on a silver platter, the sniper could not help but feel the bitter distaste at the intonation of using you. Yes, he hated you, but it did not mean each one of them could just do something like this just to hand you off to another.

Earlier, he joked about going on next if Echo didn't want to. But now? Now he had time to process everything. And now, this all sounded like one big bad idea.

“Is this right? Treating her like an object? Passing her around like a toy?” His words cut through their discussion, glaring at each of his brothers viciously. 

Tech fumbled with his datapad, adjusting his goggles. Echo snapped his head towards him, eyes wide in shock. Wrecker coughed into his hand, averting his gaze to the side. And Hunter only ran a hand down his face, grumbling curses under his breath.

“What's up with ya, Cross?” Wrecker asked, an uneasy chuckle coming out of him. “I thought you wanted her too? You were whispering things in her ear last night.”

The silver-haired clone rolled his eyes. “That was a mistake. I was drunk too.”

“How about the confession months ago?” It was Tech who inquired now. “About harbouring a fascination with her neck.”

Oh, he's bringing that up?

“Again, drunk. It doesn't mean I want to take action.”

Albeit their various reactions, he continued. 

“So you're just letting them do this?” He directed his question to Echo, who pursed his lips and glared back. “You're letting her be used like this? She was intoxicated that night. She played Wrecker’s stupid game, and you all want to take the chance to break her Jedi Code. And how about you, Wrecker? Did you enjoy taking her there in the woods?”

“Hey, it was two-sided! I didn't force her or anything–”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Cross,” Hunter stepped forward, voice dripping with warning. “Enough.”

“No,” The sniper hissed, pushing him back. “This is a bad idea. She's playing with your heads. She's a Jedi, remember? Jedi are not meant to fall in love.”

“Cross–”

“She will never love us! Not like how we are–”

“Crosshair!”

Hunter grabbed him by the collar of his blacks, stormy brown eyes blazing with fury. “That's enough. Stand down.”

Scoffing, Crosshair shrugged off his hold. “You can all do what you want, just don't regret it in the end.”

And then, he took off towards his bunk.

I will not fall for these games.

I will not fall for her.

I will not fall.

But then, two days passed, and it was finally Echo's day with you.

The four of them made a journey to a small town near the capital for the supply run that was covered as a disguise to get Echo his privacy. Three hours. Hunter suggested it should be enough for his turn, and it boiled Crosshair's blood with molten rage.

Back at the ship, his brother had you all to himself. Probably lost in the throes of pleasure and ecstasy by now. Even when he disagreed with the plan, Crosshair could not help but feel the unbridled jealousy within his bones. They got to feel the warmth of your skin, taste the moans from your lips, while he tried to bury the images down and forced himself that it had no effect on him. 

After Echo, Tech would be next. 

And after that, it would be his turn.

Would he still take that selfish road? Or would he pass it to Hunter and never talk to you again?

The latter option brewed an unknown emotion within, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“I'm going for a drink, don't wait for me.” 

Crosshair diverted his path, slipping away from the group to search for a place where he could drink his thoughts away and forget about everything.

Forget about your words.

Forget about Wrecker's marks on your neck.

Forget about the fact you were with Echo now.

Forget about you.

Even just for a night.

He woke up the next day, head still buzzing with the effects of the alcohol, when he heard the sound of your voice echoing through the hallway. 

They're still not done.

Grumbling, Crosshair pressed his pillow closer to his ears. 

Maker take me.

He had avoided you for two days after that, never speaking unless necessary, but even those were clipped and curt before he was trudging past you. If he stayed longer, he would have seen the marks on your neck. He would have fought a losing battle in his head. He would have lost himself to his heart. 

You were still his general, off duty or not, and Crosshair would not compromise both of your reputations even further.

He pretended not to notice the slight limp in your steps when you walked. He ignored the calls of his name when you were in the same room. He tried his best to not glance at your direction even for a second, afraid that if he did, he would have not stopped staring.

Hunter noticed his strange attitude, greatly displeased by the cold shoulder the sniper kept giving you. Wrecker steered clear from his path after he asked what's wrong, and got a murderous glare in return. Echo was smart enough not to linger close or even breathe too loudly around him, but not without fixing him a look that said I don't know what's wrong with you, but don't make it everyone's problem.

Until the day he returned to the ship one afternoon, rifle slung on his shoulder as he made his way towards his bunk, when he caught something from the corner of his eye.

First it was the hatch at the walk of the hallway, mysteriously left open by someone who did not bother screwing the panel into place again. Next it was the scattered tools and equipments laying beneath the hatch, unmistakably belonging to Tech. And finally, the recognizable sounds ricocheting behind the sealed cockpit door. 

Oh.

Oh.

His eye twitched, shoulders tensing at the realization. Of course, how could he forget? Today was Tech’s turn, and he seemed to be too preoccupied with another matter to fix the damned panel to its original place. 

Gritting his teeth, the sniper cautiously neared the hatch in slow strides, before stopping.

Why do I care? He could fix this once he's done.

And so, Crosshair shifted on his heel and made his way towards his bunk again, the urge to close the hatch forgotten—but the sounds of your voice calling his brother's name never left his mind.

I hate her.

Crosshair shot another bolt from his rifle, teeth gritting and jaw clenched with tension. 

Stars, I hate her.

He was here again at his makeshift target practice site, where all the scorched marks from branches were born again in smoke and hatred. 

I hate the way she moves—so sure of herself. Like she belongs in every room, on every battlefield. 

Like she was born to lead, born to be obeyed. 

Behind him, the afternoon sun began its descent over the horizon. Its golden hues painted the forest floor with light, fading as the shadows began to unravel from the trees. There was no wind this time, a deathly calm moment where the leaves held still as they watched the sniper fire one shot after another.

I hate the way she speaks. That soft, Jedi calm. 

That voice was made to soothe, and I’m not made to be soothed. I’m made to kill.

Crosshair drew a short breath, shifting his eyes to another target. His fingers trembled when he took his aim, shoulders taut and chest tight.

I hate that when she looks at me, she doesn’t flinch.

She should.

I’m a weapon. A tool. I was made in a lab, trained in shadows, carved into something sharp enough to hurt and quiet enough to forget. 

He almost missed his shot, barely an inch away from the burnt mark. Just an inch—a damn inch—but to him, it felt like a thousand klicks away. 

But Maker help me… I want her.

Cursing, the silver-haired clone dropped his stance. 

His gaze trailed from the branch, and towards the horizon where the sun met the mountains. The morning heat left, but the afternoon warmth lingered on his skin. Soon, the skies would bleed into night. The stars would shine down on him, gleaming in pity at the war raging in his mind and heart. 

He should stop thinking of you. He should stop hoping for a future that was never bound to be written. You were so near, but so far from his reach. Watching you felt like looking through his scope, finger through the trigger, but the urge to fire never came—the desire to forget of his emotions an impossible task.

Crosshair slung his rifle on his shoulder, making a trip towards the direction of the lake.

But she’s a Jedi, a nd I’m just a number in a long line of numbers. 

A clone with a name no one gave a damn. 

And she was born chosen.

From his periphery, the view of the Havoc Marauder peeked through the treeline. However, his tracks continued towards his destination. Farther from you. Farther from facing the truth. Farther from the desire to run back to you, and finally allow himself to give into everything he wanted. 

Everything he had tortured himself not to.

We're not the same.

We were never meant to be.

She believes in hope. I believe in reality. She heals. I kill. She follows the Force. I follow orders.

His heart shattered piece by piece the more his distance grew, the more his steps increased. Meanwhile, his mind was engulfed in a storm. A beautiful and haunting mess that thundered your name, and he allowed himself to be swallowed in the eye of the storm. 

I was never supposed to want her.

As he arrived at the lake, golden sunbeams dancing on the surface waters, he dropped his rifle nearby against a tree. He had never appreciated sunsets, until it was right in front of him. He had never admired its melancholic beauty the way he did at this moment. And he cursed in his head when he thought of you again—the sunset in his life. 

Something he could admire from a distance, someone he yearned for during cold nights. 

Someone so bright, burning, and beautiful. 

Someone he could never have.

And yet, here I am.

Wanting her like she’s oxygen. Like she’s mine. 

Like maybe… just maybe I could be hers.

Crosshair clicked his tongue, shaking his head at the ridiculous thought. No, it would be impossible. He could be yours, but you would never be his. 

You had a Code to follow, and an Order to live for.

And him? He was just a clone. 

A clone who had made the grave mistake of falling for his general. It scared him. Maker, it terrified him. The others might have achieved their long-suppressed desires during this shore leave, but what happens after? When they go back to where they all belonged, the battlefield, what would happen then? 

What would happen to you?

He couldn't just stand and pretend nothing had happened. He would never forget the moment where he finally reached for you and gave in. To feel your lips on his, to hold your face in his hands, your body pressed against his. 

But I won’t do it.

I won’t.

Because love is for people with futures. She's not allowed to. I was never given one. 

With a trembling exhale, Crosshair let himself sink into the ground. Head in his hands, knees propped to his chest, and heart as heavy as the storm in his mind.

Not with her.

Not in this life.

Maybe not in the next.

“Crosshair?” 

His head shot up the same time his heart thundered, hearing your voice ring softly beside him. Like chimes of summer bells, or an old tune he had forgotten from the past. 

And there you were… Standing before him looking so—

Infuriating.

But that was not his heart said.

You looked utterly breathtaking bathed in the sun's glow, as if you were being blessed by its rays. By the Maker itself. In a sense, he guessed you were. The gods above, if there were any, probably favored you the most with the way you have been gifted with such beauty and skill. It was unfair. It hurt his heart even more. 

Knowing the fact that he will never deserve such things. 

He will never deserve you.

The softness in your eyes will never match the sharpness in his.

He looked to his side, avoiding your concerned gaze trained on him. Kriff, you shouldn't be looking at him like that. Like you cared for him. Like he meant something to you. Like you loved him like how he loved y—

Clicking his tongue, the sniper quickly stood up and grabbed his rifle.

“Hello to you too,” Was all he muttered, before he made a brisk exit past you to escape the turbulent waters drowning his lungs. 

However, stubborn little Jedi like you prevented him from walking away, abruptly grabbing onto his arm before he could take another step away from you.

“Crosshair,” You uttered firmly, yet not unkindly. “I sense something troubling you. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” He bit back, not returning your gaze. It would break his heart even more if he did. “Shouldn't you be with one of my brothers?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Now let go.”

“Not until you tell me what's wrong.”

“Let go.”

“Tell me first.”

Cursing, the sniper whipped his head to face you and scowled. “Why can't you just leave me alone? Don't act as if you care, Jedi.”

The stinging harshness in his tone pierced through you visibly, and he forced himself not to shatter in pieces when the hurt flashed across your face. The tenderness swimming in your eyes was replaced with pain, but Crosshair knew it was better to hurt you than to love you—but Maker did it hurt him too.

Even when you removed your grip on his arm, albeit reluctantly, you never stepped back.

And Crosshair hasn't left.

Why am I not leaving? 

I should.

Before I do something I regret.

But then, he noticed the small furrow of your brows, and the tilt of your head when you were confused.

“Regret what?” You whispered, and his heart stopped its beating. Can you hear what he was thinking? “What will you regret, Crosshair? Just tell me what it is, maybe I can help you.”

His mind might have commanded him to go, to turn away and flee, but his heart begged him to stay. To wrap you in his arms, kiss the pain away, and apologize for everything he has done. As well as for everything he has failed to do.

You're a coward. He thought to himself, but it wasn't directed at you. You're nothing but a coward.

“I can't,” He said it like a curse, like a secret born to be kept but was forced to be revealed. 

“Why not?” You were losing patience, he knew it from the way your brows dipped down into a scrunch. “Crosshair, you've been avoiding me for several days now. Why can't you tell me what's wrong? I'm your–”

“General,” Crosshair hissed, glaring at you.

“Friend,” You finished, glaring back.

The word caused him to scoff, but they way you glared at him almost made him want to kiss you.

I'm not your friend, Jedi. I'm just a clone forced to work under you. 

The gasp you let out caught his attention, and he watched as a look of offense invaded your features. “Forced to? I didn't force you to work for me, Crosshair. I was assigned to you. To your team. After all these years, you still treat me as if I'm nothing but a problem.” 

The sniper narrowed his eyes, staring down at you with equal coldness. 

“That's exactly what you are, Jedi. A problem. We never asked for a general, but here you are. We never asked to be under your command, yet here we are. And we never wanted to be this confused because we all feel something we shouldn't.”

A beat passed between the two of you, the silence almost deafening. The sun had already disappeared, bringing its light along with it, leaving a darkening canvas in its wake. Around them, the forest remained lifeless. No humming from the birds, no soft bristles from the leaves. 

Almost as if everything feared to disturb the moment.

After a couple of seconds, you spoke again.

“But here we are,” You met his stare with defiance, standing your ground. “Like it or not, we're stuck with each other. It's been three years, Crosshair. We've been friends for that long, but you still act this way.”

“You’re my general,” He corrected curtly. “I’m just another clone bred to die on the battlefield. You follow the Code. I follow the mission. We’re not—” He swallows the rest, voice tightening into steel. “We’re not anything.”

We're not supposed to be something.

As if you heard his thoughts, or maybe you have, a look of understanding came over. 

You took a tentative move towards him, hand raised, but he flinched back to retain the gap between the two of you. He will not allow you to close the distance. He will not allow you to break through his walls, because he knows if you did, he will never recover from your touch.

And so, Crosshair stood two feet away from you.

Even when his heart ached to be nearer.

“With all due respect, general.” He spat angrily, clutching his rifle in one hand and clenching the other into a fist. “I appreciate your concern. I appreciate the help you've given us, the amount of times you saved my brothers and I from danger. Whatever happened between you and my brothers will never happen again once we're off of this planet.”

You were about to say something when he continued, baring his teeth in order to protect his heart. 

“After all of this, we're going back out there, fighting for our lives. Not knowing when we'll die. So, I suggest, you stick to your Jedi Code before you get attached to us. It's better to treat us as nothing but distractions, than friends. I'm nothing but a tool to the Republic, but I refuse to be an attachment to you.”

I refuse to fall.

And I refuse to let you have the same fate.

Not bearing the see the glistening tears building in your eyes, he swiftly pivoted around and marched off.

But before he could reach ten feet, your voice called out from behind.

“You're right about one thing,” The venom in your voice tainted his ears. “You are a coward, Crosshair. But you're also wrong about another. You're not just a tool. You were never one. Not to me.”

Crosshair closed his eyes, inhaling a sharp breath.

Walk away. 

Don't turn around.

Keep moving, or else–

“I don't expect you to fall,” You sounded closer now, maybe if he turned around this instant, he would see if you were. “I respect you if you never wanted me in that way. What I want is for you to accept me as part of the team. Not just as your general, but as your friend.”

Crosshair, against his better judgement, turned his head and glared at you over his shoulder.

“Friends are not supposed to sleep with each other. Especially when they're Jedi generals and clones.”

A wry smile stretched the corner of your lips apart, your achingly beautiful features displaying an exhausted but knowing expression. 

“Yet here we are,” You exhaled, gaze dim and distant. “If you want to walk away, then fine. If you want to pretend you don't want this, then go. I don't know which will kill you faster, however. The regret because you have given in, or the one because you never did when you had the chance to.”

And with that, you brushed past him.

“And it's too late, Crosshair. I'm already attached. So, make up your damn mind. Be a coward, and run away. Or be selfish, and take what you want.”

Crosshair dropped his gaze to his boots, gaze as hard as the steel of your lightsaber.

Kriff it all.

Night has fallen, but he still hasn't.

Crosshair laid awake in his bunk, unable to sleep due to Wrecker's loud snoring. However, that was the farthest reason for his sleepless night. No, it was because of you and your words from earlier.

“And it's too late, Crosshair. I'm already attached.”

Oh, that was a mistake. 

Jedi were not supposed to be attached, you were not supposed to be theirs. And yet, here you were. You have already given a part of yourself to three of his brothers, planted a seed so deep within their hearts that it only took one night of shared passion to let it bloom into something forbiddenly sweet—a fruit he was so curious to know, but will never allow himself to taste.

“So, make up your damn mind.”

No, he will not fall for that bait.

This was a game—a temptingly cruel one.

As long as he can commit to his duties, remember his orders, and follow the protocols he has been trained for, he will not succumb to the temptation. He will not let himself fall, and he will not let you fall further. 

“Be a coward, and run away.”

Yes, he might be a coward, but he was a smart one. 

He knew your Code, and he knew of the consequences should you choose not to adhere to it. His knowledge of the Jedi and Sith may not be as extensive as Tech’s, but it was common sense enough that when a Jedi falls, it's always because of an attachment. As much as he hated you for making him feel emotions he shouldn't, Crosshair never wanted you to cross that line.

A path where you may never return. 

He feared if you took that path, you would never return to them. To him. 

And it's what stopped him from wanting you.

It's what kept him from throwing his blanket off to march towards your bunk.

And it's what kept him wide awake, eyes burning holes through the ceiling of his bunk. 

Do not fall for it.

Crosshair rested an arm over his eyes, furiously trying to erase the image of your stare from his mind. 

He just wanted for his shore leave to be over. He never longed to be on the battlefield again than he did now. He missed it all. His purpose, the missions, the gruelling tasks, the tiring hours of infiltrations and inevitable success. The adrenaline, the smoke, his finger around a trigger. Your commands, the endless orders over their comms, and the fierce war cries you unleash when saving him and his brothers.

If he could just close his eyes, and forget what you had said earlier, maybe he would wake up the next morning safe. If he could pretend nothing had happened at the lake, maybe he could finally sleep. 

Crosshair removed his arm, lips pursed in thought.

Nothing had happened at the lake, so why did he feel something did?

“I don't know which will kill you faster, however. The regret because you have given in, or the one because you never did when you had the chance to.”

Why were you haunting him? 

You were most definitely sleeping in your bunk, peaceful and unaware of his inner turmoil. Curled in your small cot, soft breaths escaping through parted lips, hair undone and unruly. Were you still wearing your robes when you slept? Or something different? Something loose and comfortable, something he could easily slip off from your body and–

Crosshair released a breath, gaze flitting towards the direction of the bunk entrance. 

That's right, you were just a few feet away. A distance he could easily cover with quick strides. 

“Or be selfish, and take what you want.”

He will not go to you, but he was already rising from the covers.

He will not take the bait, but he was already out the door.

He will not fall for the temptation, but his feet were already carrying him through the dark hallway. 

He will not let himself get close, but here he was right outside of your bunk.

Just behind the durasteel door, you laid in your cot. Maybe you were waiting for him. Maybe you were awake as well, mind too occupied by unwanted thoughts and bothersome emotions. Maybe he should stop feeding himself these delusions, and walk away. 

Go back to your bunk. He told himself, but he still hasn't moved.

Don’t go inside. His hand was already hovering on the panel.

Be a coward, and walk away. He should, Maker, that's what he should be doing.

He will live with the regret that nothing had happened. That he had been strong enough to resist his desires—to resist you—and have successfully survived two weeks of this disastrous shore leave. 

His hand stopped at the keypad, eyes narrowed in conflicted restraint. He still has time to turn back. He still has this moment to return to his bunk, go back under his covers, and sleep it away. But will he live through the next morning with the regret of not taking the chance?

When it was now right in front of him?

“Kriff it,” He cursed under his breath, typing in your code. 

When the door whished open, he had expected you to be lying on your cot asleep. He had expected you to be blanketed by the standard gray sheets, shielding your body from the cold air of the ship. 

He did not expect you standing on the other side, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock.

“Crosshair?” You whispered his name like a secret. “What are you doing here?”

The silver-haired sniper could hardly register your question, distracted by the sight of your sleepwear and messy bedhead. Your legs were bare, only sporting loose training shorts, but even that was concealed beneath the large long sleeve shirt you wore. The sleepiness still lingered in your features, but his presence must've alerted you with alarm. 

Infuriating.

Silently, Crosshair stepped forward.

You blinked, moving back.

He followed, gaze narrowed and piercing.

You only stared in confusion, until the two of you were inside of your small quarters. 

Crosshair clenched his jaw when reality settled in just as the door closed behind him, the lock automatically switching on. Maker, he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be standing in front of you. You shouldn't look at him in that way. But Maker, he's going to regret it even more if he walked away now that he was here.

Again, you called for him. “Crosshair?”

This time, he answered. “Yes, doll?”

That took the both of you by surprise, he never called you that ever since that night in Coruscant. 

Ever since the game Wrecker had everyone played. Ever since the cider incident, which caused all of these to happen. 

You raised an eyebrow, tipping your head back to maintain eye contact. “Finally made up your mind?” 

Leaning down, the sniper neared his lips besides your ear. “I've thought about it. I should be a coward, I should return to my bunk, and we should pretend this never happened. I should run away.”

A little breathless, you brushed your cheek against his cheek. “Why haven't you?”

“Because I might regret it.” Now face to face with you, gaze half-lidded as he stared at your parted mouth.

Neither of you moved to close the distance, even when only an inch of space separated between you. His breath ghosted over yours, you were beginning to breathe a little quicker now. Pupils blown wide, head tilted, and anticipation clear on your features—waiting for his next move.

“Do you regret coming here, then?” You asked, taking a step closer. “You can still walk away, Crosshair. You can still play soldier, and pretend I'm no one but your general.”

He could, Maker, he should.

He bit his tongue in effort to hold himself back from reaching out to touch you. Until you licked your lips slowly, calling out his name once more. 

The final bait. 

Kriff it all.

And that’s when he looked at you. And Force help you, that look—

It was hunger. It was pain. It was want. Pulled tight like a trigger that’s just about to snap.

You weren’t sure who moved first.

But suddenly, his mouth was on yours. 

Desperate. Fierce. Starving. 

Like he hated himself for wanting you, and hated you for letting him. His hands hovered at your waist, fingers twitching like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or push you away.

You leaned in anyway.

That was all it took. The dam burst open, until the flood came crashing down on his senses.

He kissed you like you were the last good thing left in the galaxy, and he was already halfway to ruining it. There was no hesitation—just heat and ache, and something that felt dangerously close to need. 

When he finally pulled back, breath ragged, he didn’t meet your eyes.

“This didn’t happen,” He muttered, already retreating behind armor and attitude. Like a coward retreating behind the front lines.

You caught his hand, placing it over your chest. 

With it resting there, Crosshair felt the wild rhythm of your heart. A grounding sensation that set his own to race beneath his chest. A reminder that this was real, and it finally happened. Deny it all he wanted, he knew there was no going back. He may act differently in the morning, but his mind will never fully rest for the following nights with the memory of your lips on his. 

Your first kiss with him.

“It did,” you whispered. “And we’ll both remember it.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away.

What he did was grab hold of your hips, pulling you flush against him, and kissing you again before he could regret the wasted moment.

Tonight, he could be yours and you could be his.

Because in the morning, when daylight arrives, this moment will fade into a mere memory. And when it does, at least he will cherish it in mind and heart that finally, after all these years, he had been selfish enough to take what he wanted.

Not the Republic. Not the Kaminoans. Not the Order.

Just you and him. 

You kissed him back just as fiercely, breathing him in like air you desperately craved after being deprived of it for so long. He kissed you like a broken oath, like a mistake he no longer cared of committing. His hands trailed down to your thighs, hooking them up around his waist, before he took you down onto your tiny cot without ever letting his lips detach from yours.

The second kiss was everything he had dreamed of. 

Everything he had promised not to think of. 

It was wild. It was ruin. 

It shattered his remaining control intro fragments he could never piece back together. Like a storm, with thunderous clouds beneath his chest and lightning behind closed eyelids. Teeth clashing, hands exploring everywhere they shouldn't be touching, and sighs of both pain and relief spilled into desperate kisses. 

Then he hesitated, mouth hovering just shy of yours.

“Tell me to stop.” Tell me if you'd regret this, and I'll go.

Your breath hitched, fingers curled in the front of his blacks, pulling him closer. 

“I won’t.”

Then he crashed into you again.

And the third time was fire.

It was heat, guilt, and Maker-damned agony. It engulfed his entire being, consuming his soul until it burnt to ashes. It was restraint shattering like glass—years of “I shouldn’t” combusting into “I need to.”

His lips were unrelenting, open-mouthed and hungry. You could feel the tremble in his fingers, the way he clutched at your waist like he was scared you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you here. You tasted the desperation in him. The bitter edge of want. Salt, sweat, and the desire for something forbidden.

When he pulled back—barely—it was only to breathe, just long enough to drag in a ragged inhale through gritted teeth.

“You’re not mine,” He rasped, but the strain in his voice told you differently.

“Not yet,” You whispered, and kissed him again.

The fourth time was slower… deeper.

This time with hunger buried under something else. Drowned into the depths of an ocean, or a lake underneath a golden sunset.

His mouth opened under yours. Not in surrender, but in acceptance. A low, involuntary sound slipped from him, torn between a growl and a sigh. His hand slid up, burying in your hair, pulling you closer, pressing your foreheads together like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

He kissed you like a man who hadn’t touched kindness in years.

Like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to.

Like you were warmer than the sun, and he was going to burn for it. He'll gladly do so.

When it ended—when you both finally parted, lips swollen and breaths unsteady—he didn’t say a word.

He just pressed his forehead to yours, and breathed. “This changes nothing.”

But you both knew it did. He still hasn't left, and you still haven't pushed him away. 

The fifth kiss was his undoing.

You moaned into the kiss, hips lifting to chase his, grinding onto his hardening length. He shuddered, cursing into your mouth, grinding back with hands on your thighs. 

Kriff, just like how he thought they would feel like. Strong, powerful, yet so kriffing soft. 

He took one hand away, reaching up to wrap his fingers around your throat. Underneath his thumb, your pulse thrummed with life—like there was a wildfire in your veins—and he welcomed the smoke pouring out of your mouth, swallowing them down in ravenous hunger. 

“You ruin me,” Crosshair hissed in between the kisses. 

“Good,” You breathed, smiling against him. “Does that mean we get to do this again?”

“Don't push it, doll.”

“Oh, I'd never.”

“You talk too much.”

“Funny, I said the same thing to Tech two days ago.”

Oh. 

Crosshair withdrew from you, gaze as sharp as a butcher's knife. “You think it's funny to say my brother's name, another man's name, while I'm the one here in your bunk?”

The hand around your throat tightened warningly, daring you to do it again. 

He felt your pulse race beneath his thumb, whether from excitement or fear, he seemed not to care for which. Right now, Crosshair wanted to burn the name—no, the thought—off of your tongue until it was replaced with his. And not to worry, he has until dawn to do so.

That infamous teasing smirk you've only reserved for him graced your face. “Always knew you were the jealous type.”

“Jealous?” His voice was serpentine, laced with temptation and threat. “Oh, doll. You haven't seen me jealous yet.”

You trailed a finger along his arm, up to the hand that was around your neck. Drawing patterns on each finger, before you placed it on top of his. 

With a breathy whisper, you simpered.

“You should've seen Wrecker,” The spark in his eyes darkened, and you only smiled in return. “He called me his pretty girl. Oh, and Echo? His Cyar’ika. And Tech? He called me my dear. Ner Cyare, to be exact.”

Crosshair felt the blood in his veins burn, every fiber in his being pulled taut with tension. Ready to snap, ready to fire. This was another game. Another Makerforsaken bait. You were infuriatingly dangerous, and you wanted him to lose this battle—but he didn't come here to lose. 

No, he came here to claim.

Tonight, you were his.

Not his brothers'. Not the daylight's. Not the Order’s. 

The sniper neared his face beside yours, nipping the shell of your ear between his teeth. 

“You enjoyed being theirs, doll?”

“I enjoyed being worshipped.”

“And you think I'll do the same?”

“Won’t you?”

Clicking his tongue, Crosshair glided his lips along the line of your jaw. He kissed the spot beneath your ear, quickly discovering it to be your most sensitive area by your sharp intake of breath. His other hand slipped past the hem of your loose shirt, stroking the warm skin underneath. The one on your neck pressed down, not necessarily cutting off your air, but to warn you yet again not to test him.

“They worshipped you, huh?” He gripped your waist tightly, pulling you down to meet his hips. “Too bad, I'm not here to do the same.”

Then, his hand shifted its course from your waist and descended past the waistband of your shorts. His middle finger lurked dangerously close to the wetness of your folds. When you attempted to lift your hips closer, he clicked his tongue and squeezed your neck. 

“It’s not worship you deserve.”

He glared down at you, revelling the way you gulped and stared at him in confusion.

“It’s war.”

And he kissed you again with all the anger and frustration a tortured man could unleash. 

He greedily swallowed the moan tearing from your throat when his finger finally reached down and started a tantalizing swirl around your clit. His own body trembled above you, cock straining painfully in his blacks, but he refused to give in upon hearing your pleading whimpers. 

Crosshair moved his mouth south, to that sensitive spot underneath your ear, nipping and biting his own mark. His finger never faltered, long and lithe digits working tirelessly around the swollen bundle of your clit. There was only one thing in his mind, a mission to have you high in ecstasy, before ripping it out of your reach once you were close.

“Tell me something, doll.” The silver-haired clone murmured against the skin of your collarbone. “Did you enjoy being used by my brothers? Like you were nothing but a pretty toy for them to fuck and worship?”

Three deft fingers glided down from your clit and towards your dripping entrance. The index and ring spread the folds apart, the middle slipping down to enter your walls. Meanwhile, his thumb worked its punishing way on your clit once more. 

A lethal combination that has you arching off of your cot, whining quite loudly into the air. 

Crosshair merely raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unaffected by the flowing moans escaping your swollen lips. As if he hasn't spent months fantasizing it—like they didn't haunt the dark corners of his mind in the dead of the night.

His eyes drank each and every response your body made under his merciless pursuit with rapt attention. From the shallow gasps of breath, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the pinch of your eyes as they shut close, and the way you bit your lip so hard to keep yourself quiet.

He wanted nothing but to imprint the image in his mind permanently. He wanted all of this all of himself. He wanted you, gasping and begging, for him and only him. 

And for a few hours, he intended to follow through his desires.

“C-Crosshair,” You mewled pathetically, grinding down on his hand. “Please– Please go faster.”

“I don't think you're in the position to demand,” The sniper drawled out, looking rather bored. “After all, you've been spoiled enough. It's time for you to learn a lesson.”

“Please, Cross–”

“You'd have to do better than that.”

"Please, I'll be good.”

“Since you beg so pretty, doll. I'll give you one condition…"

Your eyes snapped open, unshed tears glistening in your eyes. 

He almost groaned at the sight, his resolve nearly slipping until he caught himself. Kriff, if you kept looking at him like that, the night would end with him pleading for you instead. 

Crosshair slipped another finger inside of you, not quite moving yet, just feeling your walls clench around him. 

If he took you right now, and felt that same suction on his length, all Sith hells would break loose—he wouldn't last a night. No, an hour.

The clone removed his hand from your neck, smirking when he noticed the reddening hue on your skin. “If you come within five minutes, I will leave immediately. You'd be alone, finished, but aching for more.” 

His thumb swept across your bitten bottom lip, tugging it downwards, dark eyes following the movement. 

“However, if you manage to hold back for long enough until the time is up… I'll reward you.”

Gulping, you peered up at him with a doe-eyed expression. “That's it?”

He simply nodded, urging your mouth open using his thumb, before it slipped inside and rested against your tongue.

As if by natural instinct, you pursed your lips around his thumb and sucked. 

His gaze grew hungrier, voice raspier. “That's it, doll. Think you can do it?”

Instead of a verbal response, you had the bravery to bite the tip of his thumb whilst wearing that insufferable grin on your face.

Forget five minutes.

He's going to wipe that smugness off in under three.

With new vigor, the hand inside of your shorts finally moved. Curling in and out of your walls, dragging painfully against the spot inside that caused you to arch into him and exhale a shaky moan. With his other hand, he cradled the back of your head, gathering fistfuls of your hair into a fist, and biting down on the junction on your shoulder. 

“The Jedi you are,” He said it like it was a curse, mocking and cruel. “Holding yourselves in high regards while being the biggest hypocrites in the galaxy. What use does your Code have when you're here giving yourself away to a bunch of clones? Who knew such a dutiful and respectable Jedi Knight could be such a whore for her squadron.”

Instead of a harsh glare or a curse from you, he didn't expect a pitiful whimper as a response. At the same time, you clenched around his fingers with an audible wet sound. He almost choked in surprise, eyebrows shooting up.

Oh, you liked that.

How interesting.

Whether from his voice or the way he talked kark about your Order, Crosshair's intrigue piqued.

Pulling your head back by tugging your hair, he licked the prominent line of your throat. 

“So, she likes being called a whore. First time hearing it? Or did someone else already give you that nickname?”

“Kriff, you're–” The words abruptly cut off from your mouth when he bit down on the other side of your neck. “Stars, I hate you.”

A hoarse chuckle emitted from him, eyes narrowed in sharp amusement. “So you say. But the way you squirm and squeeze when I do this—” 

His finger quickened inside you, thumb rolling on your clit with clear intent. Fingertips reaching deeper, massaging that area up against your walls with deliberate curling motions.

As if on cue, you did the exact thing he said. 

Huffing out another scoff, the sniper sneered. “Makes me believe you don't actually mean that, doll.”

Giving him your most venomous glare, you matched the sneer on his face. 

“And what about you, Crosshair? I thought you hated me.”

“I never stopped, doll.”

“For someone who's supposed to hate me, you're awfully hard right now. Makes me think you don't actually mean that, Cross.” You snapped back, letting him taste his own medicine bitterly.

The air shifted into something more vicious. The tension didn't simmer now. It boiled. Your hips stopped squirming, his fingers tightened in your hair, and the ones inside your shorts ceased their movements. The two of you were locked in a heated look—the deadly gaze of a soldier and a commanding stare of a general.

Two warriors.

One war.

“Are Jedis supposed to talk like that?” Crosshair snided, pulling his fingers out of you, not missing the hitch of your breath from his action. 

Nevertheless, you didn't give him the satisfaction to beg. For now.

“Are soldiers supposed to act like that?” You scoffed, sarcasm dripping out of your words. 

So, so infuriating.

He ignored the slickness coating his fingers, pushing down to gnawing temptation to taste it—you—as he clutched your hips instead. He should've known. You took the battle everywhere you went, the war lived in your veins. Smoke, ash, and dust have become your close company. They clung to your skin after every mission, every post debrief it wafted over your frame like poisonous flames—and he will always find himself gravitating to its warmth.

Even here, in your cot, you fought back.

With flushed cheeks, eyes as piercing as blades, and one hell of a mouth that almost tempted him to bruise so hard it hurt whenever you tried to talk.

Almost.

If he wasn't so taken with you, he would've had you on your knees by now.

However, Crosshair craved the fire. Yours. He wouldn't mind getting scorched, he was already on the path to hell. And if the path leads to you, he'd gladly run to the flames and never look back. 

Just as long as you burn with him.

An amused scoff escaped his lips, eyes lit with challenge and desire. “You really shouldn't talk like that. It's unbecoming of you, Jedi.”

Crosshair was already pulling off your shorts from your legs, groaning at the sight of your bare center. 

No underwear? Must be my lucky day. 

And your worst night.

He parted your thighs with ease, visibly pleased at the minimal resistance from you. And kriff, you were absolutely drenched. Inner thighs slick with wetness, and he fought the urge to dive between them and ravage your right then and there. Oh, you were really asking for it. 

Instead, the silver-haired clone hummed in approval, leaning down to nip and mark the inner skin of your thighs. 

“Look at you, doll. You're just begging to be touched.”

His fingers trailed over your lower stomach, gliding tauntingly over the dip of your hip bones, but his gaze stayed on yours. Dark embers of steel and shadow.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his stare. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Crosshair, against his better judgement, started to move. 

First, grabbing your face with one hand, roughly turning your head to meet his and attacking your lip with fervor. All teeth, all tongue, and all need. His mouth explored daringly, never leaving one area untouched—unmarked—before he went lower. Down to your collarbones, the top of your chest where the wide collar of your shirt stopped him. 

He clicked his tongue, clutching your shirt in both hands.

You gasped in shock when he impatiently tugged it off of your body, baring your naked skin underneath. The cold air of your bunk rose goosebumps into life, shivering against the chilling temperature. But oh did you melt under the fiery embers from Crosshair's eyes. Earlier, their shade resembled dark coals that have yet to be lit. Now, he looked at you like you were his next target—his next obsession.

And you will never leave his sights.

But then the glint in his eyes shifted. 

It turned from sharp possession to unexpected awe when he began roving over every part of your skin. All the faded scars, the imperfections, every bit of flaw that has been the consequence from war. The way he greedily drank each sight like a newly claimed prize. As if he strayed his eyes away, you would disappear like the smoke that enveloped your being.

Overwhelmed with the need to cover yourself under his scrutinizing stare, you covered your chest with both arms and glowered.

“Are you just gonna stare or do something now?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Taken back, you blinked up at him in confusion. “What?”

His hands went to your waist, thumbs stroking the scars that littered on your skin. Before they went up, to grip your wrists and pry them off from your chest. 

Exposed again, Crosshair simply dragged his attention down and saw the blemishes Tech left on each of your breasts. Of course, that genius would stake his claim on you in this way. 

On this part of you. 

Crosshair was not sure what to feel, however. A sense of pride for his brother, or bitter jealousy for tainting your skin before he could. Not that it mattered now. He was the one who undressed you, and he would be the one who would be your reckoning.

“Don't make me repeat myself, doll.” The poison in his voice tasted bittersweet. “I'm not here to spoil you.”

A new idea in mind, the sniper used his hold on your wrists to bring you up.

Then, using an unexpected display of strength, he had you propped on his thighs as he sat back against the wall of your cot. The new position, you straddling his thighs, and him holding you in place wearing a wicked smirk, gave him the advantage to admire your body in a new perspective. 

“Hope you don't mind, doll.” His voice slithered over your neck, almost purring, hands braced on either side of your hips to press you down firmly on his right thigh. “You know what to do, right?”

You only blinked, glancing down on his propped thigh, the visible bulge in his blacks, and back up to his eyes.

“You want me to?” The words trailed off in an unsure air, shuffling your knees beside his. “On your thigh?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“You talk too much,” Crosshair stole your words snarkily, before he began pushing and pulling you over his thigh, smirking at the gasp of surprise you let out. “See how it feels, doll. Go on. Use me.”

The last sentence gathered your attention quickly, lips parting in disbelief.

Hesitantly, you rested both hands on his shoulder to steady yourself. The breath you exhaled fanned his cheeks, peering down at him, before your hips dragged over his thigh in a measured motion. Immediately, your slick arousal coated his blacks. The thick texture and the hard muscle against your core had you moaning into the side of his neck, yet still hesitant to proceed.

When one of his hands entangled itself into your hair again, tugging gently, you knew that was your cue to go faster.

Eventually, the uncertainty faded. 

Crosshair hummed low in his chest, deeply pleased, focused with the sultry motion of your hips. The wetness drenched the fabric of his pants, making an absolute mess of his blacks, but he could care less of it. Not when you began grinding down on his thigh with desperation, calling out his name in pleading whispers. 

“Mmm, Crosshair.” You mewled near his ear, arms circling his neck. “Want to ride you like this too.”

But the silver-haired clone was already too far gone to process it, too transfixed with the heat of your center. The way your hips bucked helplessly, chasing your pleasure on his thigh. The hand in your hair lets go to stroke your spine, the other anchoring your hips in tandem with your movements. Back and forth, over his thigh, he groaned loudly—half in pain, half in restraint—when your hips stuttered for a moment.

On the exterior, his face might be scarce of any expression save for the knot of his forehead and clench of his jaw. Internally, he was fighting the image of you doing the same movements whilst he's inside you. Feel the warmth of your walls slide in and out of his cock as you both chase pleasure.

To erase the visual from his mind, Crosshair guided you along with a flex on the muscle of his thigh. The sudden hardness caused you to grind harder, moan louder. 

“Crosshair,” Oh, his name shouldn't sound like that from your pretty lips. 

So sinful. So tempting.

Then, you repeated it. Soft, ruined, and utterly pretty. 

“Crosshair, please.”

No, he won't take that bait.

“Kriff, please. Crosshair, need you now.”

He clenched his jaw, burying his face in your neck to drown out the sweet demon above him. The one who's moaning his name like a chant, the same one who he let use his body as you pleased. 

He could hear the sounds you made when you continued to ride his thigh, the unmistakable slick texture of the dampening fabric. The scent will undoubtedly cling to his clothes for the next few days to come, following him wherever he goes even when he lays awake in his bunk. 

You shifted closer, so dangerously close to where he needed pressure. 

“Just let go for me,” Your teeth grazed his earlobe, licking and tugging. “I know you want to.”

Who are you and what have you done to our general?

Crosshair clutched your body in a possessive grip, half-tempted to push you off and pull you down to where he wanted you.

Until you finally moved forward, knees shifting on each side of his hips.

Grinding down directly on the bulge in his pants, you cradled his face in one hand as the other wrapped around his throat. 

You did not relent, riding him like how you would if there's no barrier of fabric separating the two of you. Moaning his name like he was already inside you. Meanwhile, the silver-haired clone fought the urge to give you the satisfaction of winning. He simply gripped your body in a teetering display of self-control, but it rapidly diminished the more you mewled his name against his neck.

Your movements became frantic, panting so prettily in his ear. “I'm close, Cross. So close.”

Crosshair could only stay in place, too stubborn and prideful to do anything, ignoring every bit of fiber of his being that screamed for him to move with you. To roll his hips upwards and help you come faster.

Instead, he stayed still and let you do the work.

He won't spoil you, he told himself.

But when you bit his neck to suppress a scream, body trembling as you came on his blacks, Crosshair finally snapped.

He surged forward to take back control, growling under his breath as he flipped you to your back. 

The yelp you let out? He devoured it. The keening whimper that tumbled after? He swallowed it down with ravenous need. But the shaky whisper of his name? That was his final undoing.

No more games.

He needed to have you now.

“So infuriating,” Crosshair kept kissing you like a man condemned to hell, stealing the air from your lungs to replace it with fury and obsession. “Maker, I hate you.”

You rolled your hips up into his, hands fumbling with the hem of his blacks. “Show me how much.”

Oh, with pleasure.

With no patience left in his bones, the sniper parted briefly from your lips to take off his long sleeve, throwing it aside carelessly. When it landed on the floor with a dull flop, he didn't allow you to ogle on his body when he chased your lips again until you were gasping under him.

Your hands shook in effort as you helped push his pants down, never breaking apart from the mind-numbing kiss, teeth clashing and tongues locked in a dangerous dance of desire. When he was finally bare from all of his fabrics, achingly hard and leaking for you, you wasted no time to grasp and stroke the length of him.

“Kriffing hell.” 

Crosshair hissed at the warmth of your hand, forcing himself steady braced on his elbows. 

The softness of your skin contrasted the roughness of his, but Maker did it feel so perfect. 

“Want you now, Crosshair.” You begged, eyes flitting down to his lips. “Please.”

Oh, someone should stop you from saying that word.

He would give you the world, himself, and all the stars if you kept saying that.

With a trembling exhale, the silver-haired clone stole another open-mouthed kiss from you as he lined himself at your entrance. 

“You ruin me,” He said for the second time of the night, entering you slowly. Deeply. Finally.

The moment you felt him slip inside—felt the throbbing veins and twitching length inside your walls—you arched off of your cot and moaned in relief. Unabashed, unapologetic. Every inch felt like heaven and hell, like it was both a reward and punishment. He was blessed with more inches than his brothers, and Kriff— he easily reached the spot inside of you that had you seeing stars and pleading for the gods above.

Crosshair finally bottomed all of him inside, fingers twitching in restraint. His right hand made its way back to your throat, and the other gripped your upper thigh in warning.

“Stay still.” 

Was all he said before he set a brutal pace that showed how much he hated you.

And you sang for him. 

Loudly. Breathlessly. Desperately.

And he only groaned in return, eyes rolling back at the addicting sensation of your walls swallowing him in every time he thrusted deep. 

Kriff, of course you would feel heavenly. 

It's always the most forbidden ones that tasted the sweetest. 

His hips snapped mercilessly, targeting that same spot his fingers previously reached deep within with the terrifying accuracy and precision of a deadly sniper—and you knew damn well he never misses. 

Heaving, Crosshair leaned back on his knees and glared down at you.

“Where's that bark now, doll?” His thrusts never faltered, his question was almost drowned under the sound of skin slapping echoed around the durasteel walls. “Don't make me miss it now.”

The only response he received were high-pitched whines when he hit that particular spot again and again. 

Your slick walls fluttered, hips grinding back to meet his ferocious thrusts.

But he held you in place, squeezing your throat and pressing you firmly as another warning.

“I said stay still,” Crosshair hissed out, low and threatening. “Can’t even follow simple orders.”

With you immobile, the clone used your body as he wished. He poured every single frustration out in every cruel thrust, in every sharp snap of his hips, in every groan of your name and rank into the freezing air. 

He towered over you, leaving bruises in the shape of his hands around your neck and against your thigh so you'd wake with the imprints the next day. The reminder of his anger, the loss of his restraint, the haunting shadow of a lover who came late at night to stake claim on what's his.

Crosshair fucked you like how he hated you.

Like you were the bane of his existence—or how you used to be.  

He didn't stop to show you any mercy, even when your legs shook around his waist. Even when your voice broke in uneven hiccups and gasps. Even when you clawed the hand around your throat, or when your head tossed back into your pillow to swear colorfully.

Relentlessly, the sniper smiled mockingly. “You'll take everything I give you.”

His mouth found the skin underneath your jaw, your collarbone, his hands branding your skin with bruises shaped like memory and fantasy. His gaze shifted lower, watching himself move out and back into your body.  

Oh, the way you writhed for him. The way your lips parted to release those pitiful cries, broken syllables of his name. The way your body welcomed his intrusion with no struggle, as if you really were made to withstand the harshness of war and battle. 

His mind kept chanting the same phrase.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

Again and again.

Until the hate became need.

“Crosshair!” You screamed into the air, and he savoured the sound of you sobbing. “I-I can't. Slow– Slower.”

“Slower?” He taunted, raising an eyebrow in question. “I thought you wanted me to show you how much I hated you? This is it, doll.”

Gasping, you latched on to his arm.

“C-Cross– Kriff, I hate you.”

“There she is. There's my doll.”

“I kriffing hate you.”

“Glad to know. I hate you too.”

But did he really mean it when he sped up his pace just to hear you cry out his name again? Did he really mean those words when he leaned down to kiss your tears away? Or when he repeatedly brushed the tip of his cock so deep inside of you?

Always right where it had your voice bouncing off of the walls of the Marauder in a ringing tune. 

Maker, he was sure the others might have heard you by now. Maybe they lied awake in their respective bunks, listening to the sounds of your shared secret and sin—unable to do anything to help.

Crosshair took notice of the glance you threw towards your door, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

“Oh, don't even think about it.” His snarl was manic—possessed—and so were his eyes. “Don't call for them. They won't come for you. Tonight, you are mine.”

He punctuated the last word with a sharp yet powerful thrust upwards, the angle left you screaming deep within your throat.

“Crosshair!”

“That's right, doll. Let them hear you.”

Let them hear my name.

It wasn't until he saw more tears escaping the corner of your eyes streaming down your temples did his pace change. It turned into something else entirely. His pace slowed, but never shallow. Still too deep, still too precise. His hips didn't snap now, he rolled them into you. 

Thoroughly. Fluidly. Teasingly.

At the change, your moans decreased in volume. 

However, they grew into something lighter. His name morphed into airy sighs, pouring out of your swollen lips like smoke and silk combined. The nails that dug on his arm relaxed, and he shivered when your fingertips traced the red lines out of apology.

The sniper began planting soft kisses along the side of your neck, but his words? Oh, they were as lethal as his aim.

“Look at you, doll. No longer a respectable Jedi, but a whore for your men.” Crosshair rasped out, plunging back and forth as if he wasn't affected himself by the surge of pleasure running down his spine. 

And when you clenched around him like a vice? 

Oh, his resolve shattered into mere fragments.

“You really are a doll, aren't you?”

“Kriff, it's like your body was made for us.”

“So pretty. So easy to break.”

“You always belonged to us. To me.”

“Maybe I can keep you like this. My precious doll to use as I please. Whenever I wish.”

Crosshair kept whispering sins in your ear with that serpentine voice that he knew unraveled you completely. Most of them were humiliating, it would've made you furious upon hearing them under different circumstances. However, the way he said it, the way it poured out of his lips—like sin, smoke, and every promising deed that would've made the Maker itself blush in shame.

All the while maintaining that deep and sharp thrusts of his hips. 

Opening your eyes, you let him see the unshed tears shining through your bleary gaze.

“Like that,” And he fought another shiver when he heard your voice. Raw and hoarse. “Feels so good, Cross.”

“Yeah?” Crosshair replied absentmindedly, staring for a moment, before finally removing his hand around your throat to lay a tender kiss on your bitten lips. Maker above, he can't last long when you keep saying his name like it was the only thing you want to remember.

“You really like my voice, doll?”

“Mhmm.”

“Hmm, I changed my mind. I like you better like this.”

“Yes, please. Keep going.”

“Just like this, doll? You want it slow, huh?”

“Yes,” You nodded, rolling your hips up into his. “Yes, yes, yes.”

This time, he allowed it. 

A shudder raked down his spine when your nails scratched down his skin, from his shoulder blades down to his lower back. Marking him. Claiming him.  

He groaned your name into your neck—your name, not your rank—shoulders tense in effort not to speed up again when you tightened around him once more. 

You clung to his shoulders like he was the only salvation that could save you from falling. Like he was the only one who could keep you grounded from soaring too high above the clouds of pleasure. 

And he craved it. 

You kissed him again, so full of devotion and ruin in the same breath, whispering plea after plea.

Praise after praise.

“Feel so good, Cross.”

“Kriff, just like that please.”

“Keep going.”

“Love your voice– Kark, you sound so pretty.”

He really liked you better like this. Maybe he could spoil you, after all.

And so, Crosshair listened to the way your body responded. He took note of which angle had your breath hitching, which particular pace had you babbling nonsense, and which area on your body was most sensitive upon being kissed. 

All the while, your walls squeezed his length in return every time he did something good. 

“You feel good too, doll.” He's so far gone now to take back his words, to realize the admission was draped with not his usual venom, but with honey. “Never felt like this before. Never want anyone else but you.”

And I'll ruin you for anyone else too.

As if you've heard him, you moaned his name again. As if you were expressing your approval in a drunk daze.

He continued spoiling you, gripping both of your thighs now just to feel them shake in his grasp.

He lost count of the minutes that passed, or maybe it had been hours since he left his bunk. Maybe the sun was already waking in the east horizon. Maybe the others were already up making breakfast for everyone. Maybe it was time to finally part with you—to return you to the daylight where you rightfully belonged.

Don't leave.

Don't want this to end.

Stay here.

Stay with me.

Your hands came up beside his cheeks, cradling his face as you kissed his thoughts silent.

“Just you and me,” The words felt like a soft blanket over his frame, and he nearly collapsed into you when you nudged your nose against his. “I'm here, Cross. I won't leave.”

Promise?

Crosshair's thoughts betrayed him, he was sure you heard him again. 

Because when you kissed him, full and promising, it was the only answer he needed.

And when you came undone around him, his name on your tongue like a prayer spoken to the heavens, he finally gave in and let go completely.

Crosshair groaned into your mouth, your name tainting his tongue, finishing inside you with trembling shoulders and a mind so fogged all he could think about was the smoke in the shape of your silhouette.

You moaned in unison, lips entangled with one another's, bodies pressed close you could feel each other's wild heartbeat. 

And finally, the war was over.

His breath mingled with yours when he parted, staring down at your lips like he was tempted to seal his fate forever. You stared back, nose brushing against his. Neither of you moved still, lost in the afterglow of the moment. The fog has cleared, the air smelled of passion and comfort only remained—like the battlefield turned into an unsuspecting oasis.

“Crosshair?” Your lips almost touched his when you spoke, and he almost closed the distance at the sound. 

He gulped, slowly glancing up to meet your eyes. “Yes, doll?” 

The blaze in your eyes had simmered, in them remained a mellow warmth that melted him just the same. The softness thawed the tension in his bones, and he swore he would obey the next command you order him to do without hesitation. 

In a heartbeat. 

Then, your thumbs brushed along the line of his tattoo, gaze trailing after the movement. 

“Stay?” 

The air in his lungs froze, but it swiftly flared off when you captured his lips once more. 

“Is that a command, doll?” He spoke in between kisses, cursing when he felt your hips shift. He was still inside you, surprisingly still stiff and hard. If you continued moving like that, none of you would make it out of bed in time for breakfast.

You nodded, hands on his shoulders as you pushed him on to his back. He followed easily, bones too pliable to struggle. 

Smiling against his lips, you sank down on him with a sigh of relief.

He immediately latched his hold on your thighs, grip possessive and reverent at the same time.

“Is that an objection, soldier?” You were already rolling your hips forward, firm on your desire to make him stay a little longer. 

Crosshair only let his head fall back on your pillow, gaze sharpening into molten steel once more as he thrusted back.

“No, sir.”

“Good. We're not done yet.”

And he found himself lost in another war.

This time, he surrendered easily.

Chapter Text

Hunter was a patient man, or at least, he really tried to be. As the Sergeant of the Clone Force 99, he was expected to be. 

But as a brother? Oh, he had to be.

Although their bond was close and built on trust, there were times where they disagreed on multiple things. That was just part of brotherhood, and if you were in a cramped ship all the time, it does get on your nerves. Especially on Hunter's. 

The amount of times he tried to be the bigger man, getting in between his vode to stop them from strangling the other. The constant exhaustion he felt whenever there was an unspoken tension between them, always the one to resolve it through forcing them to make amends—and he will see to it they always do, one way or another.

When the weight of responsibility rested on his shoulders, it was expected of him to carry it with practiced ease—with experience—and for a while, he had managed to carry out that expectation like a good soldier.

Hunter was also a proud man, but not that kind that boasted of his achievements or bragged about his position to anyone he met. No, his pride came in the form of a silent wave. A pride for his brothers, pride for their efforts, for their survival and long-standing endeavors. Sure, he can admit he was proud of himself to some extent, 

Every time the team encountered a problem, it would be solved by the end of the day. Most of the time, not in the most logical or safest way possible, but then again… as long as it got the job done. 

He followed orders, disapproved of some rules from the Republic's Order, but still obeyed because he was bred to do so. And he instilled that same mindset on his brothers. When duty called, they answered. When the war roared over the horizon, they met it head on waving their own flags. Always ready, and always efficient.

No questions asked. No casualties left.

Well, the latter part remained dubious. Their approaches were unconventional to a regular clone's standards. Unlike the regs, their methods required more skill, precision, and power.

That was the reason why their team was considered to be one of the GAR’s elite squadrons. 

A defective clone unit, but an effective one.

Sure, their reputation might not mix well with others. Especially with the regs, who saw them as nothing but troublemaking menaces. In return, Hunter and his brothers saw them as boring and inefficient. 

But they get the job done. 

Hunter was also an admirable man, that much he had heard. He knew his brothers looked up to him. Followed his orders without hesitation, trusted his judgement easily, and depended on him every time they were out on the battlefield. 

It's not only his brothers, but Mace Windu saw the potential in him. Sure, there were Rex and Cody who always approached him with respect in their gazes and a knowing glimmer of their eyes. The recognition of one soldier to another, but having a Jedi Master to consider you as such? 

Oh, it fueled another sense of pride within his chest.

The first time Mace Windu asked for their expertise, it was during the height of the war, when the Jedi Master needed someone—some people—who can complete the job quickly and efficiently. A group of clones who have faced countless dangers and survived through it all, a batch that doesn't fear death, but laughs at the face of it.

And who's the most perfect candidate than the Clone Force 99 themselves?

It was after Echo, the new addition to their team, joined their forces after they had assisted in rescuing him from the Separatists. 

Mace Windu stood before them, ever the stoic and impenetrable master, assessed each one of them with a calculative sweep of his gaze.

“I've heard a lot about your team,” He started slowly, dark eyes unreadable but not unkind. “And I must say, it takes a lot for me to be impressed. But I've seen the way you fought, and survived. And let me say this, I am indeed impressed.”

Hunter let himself smile, nodding his head out of respect and recognition. “Thank you, General.”

Mace took one good look at him, appraising him silently.

Then, he spoke. “What's your name, soldier? And your squadron?”

Standing straight, Hunter offered a salute. The movement was automatic, practiced, and so was his introduction.

“Hunter, Sergeant of the Clone Force 99. But we call ourselves The Bad Batch, or you might have heard of us as the defective unit.”

Behind him, his brothers followed suit—saluting and offering their names one by one.

Though the word defective rang in the air, Mace paid no mind to it. 

The Jedi Master merely nodded, as if approving of their status and positions, before he turned swiftly on his heel. “I have a feeling we'll work closely together, Clone Force 99. Better be ready when that time comes.”

And Hunter could only smile as he watched Mace disappear into the hangar.

Since then, they have started working closely together.

Most of the time, their orders came directly under the said Jedi. Each much more challenging than the last, but they executed every single one perfectly. Expectations were placed upon them, on Hunter, and he will always make sure that the Bad Batch never has a reason to have Mace regret his words.

Or worse, regret his admiration.

As time went on, the Bad Batch has successfully assisted in the war many times to count now. 

They worked independently, not entirely, but their forces differed from a standard battalion's operation. Sure, there might have been a few obligatory explosions here and there (thanks to Wrecker's doing), but at least they didn't appear as boring as the regs.

Gotta keep the reputation, after all.

Gradually, their work was getting recognized by others. Not only Mace, but several other generals as well. General Kenobi and General Skywalker for one, or what they call the Order’s Golden Generals. 

The two congratulated Hunter after each time they worked together, praising his leadership skills and battle expertise.

And each time, Hunter nursed the praise with a humble smile.

A patient, proud, and admirable man.

However, the first time he questioned whether he was anything as such was when Mace Windu called upon their presence one day. A random holocron transmission consisting of a vague message to meet them at the base hangar at 1300 sharp, no further details mentioned, but that was just how the Jedi Master functioned.

Curt, straightforward, and direct.

When they arrived at the hangar, exactly as the time Mace had instructed, they all stood in wait—side by side, shifting curious glances at each other.

He remembered Tech voicing out his concern, always the first one to ask. 

“You said General Windu called us here, right?”

“Uh huh, didn't say much.”

“That was it? Be here at 1300, and nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

“That is oddly vague.”

Snickering, Hunter could only nod in agreement. “Yeah, well, that's the Jedi for you. Speak in riddles, dance with the Force, and we follow them without question.”

They didn't have to wait long, because the Jedi Master already made his appearance shortly after. 

On cue, they all saluted in unison, eyes trained forward, gaze leveled and measured. They were too focused on Mace that they failed to notice the figure walking beside him, silent yet just as commanding.

“I apologize for our delayed arrival.” Mace Windu didn't look apologetic, but his tone was enough to pass by. “And I must apologize for the sudden call. However, the time has come for change. The war has been more impending than before, and the council has made its decision to assign generals to every available battalion. That includes you, Clone Force 99.”

Then, he raised an arm sideward, gesturing to you.

“Gentlemen, I have requested your presence here to announce that the Republic has assigned you a general. Meet my former Padawan, she’ll be in charge of you in missions and other assignments. I trust you all in her responsibility and care.”

Hunter blinked, furrowing his eyebrows at the news. 

It was that exact moment, as soon as the question rang in his mind, his gaze fell on the figure standing quietly beside Mace.

Kark.

You haven't looked at him yet, too focused by the older Jedi's words beside you.

Dank farrik.

Hunter felt his stomach churn with an unknown emotion, muscles suddenly taut and coiled. He recognized this instinct, the unmistakable fight or flight response his body was naturally equipped with. 

Hunter might have observed you a little too closely when you weren't paying attention to him. 

It was a subconscious habit he did upon meeting new individuals, whether to an ally or not, to read their characters as well as their intentions without even saying a word. Sort of like a sixth sense.

However, Hunter's endeavor proved to be pointless when you guarded everything from his senses. 

Your heartbeat was steady, there was no sudden spike or drop, as if this new assignment was to be expected. Or perhaps your former master already relayed the news beforehand, the reason for your lack of surprise. 

Your gaze was firm yet kind, a smile on your lips as you exchanged a nod.

Although what took him back was your scent.

You smelled… nice.

For the lack of a better word.

It might be unnoticeable to others, but Hunter had to refrain from stepping forward to get closer to it. 

It was unlike anything he smelled before.

It was a feminine aroma, yes, but there was something else that stuck with him. Something that made his skin crawl, his senses sharpen, and he found himself staring at you the whole time trying to figure out what exactly caused his sudden restlessness.

If you noticed his strange obsessive staring problem the whole time, you did an impressive display of not letting it affect you physically.

But how come he felt the strange urge to flee from you, a seemingly harmless stranger, who's wearing those thick robes only a Jedi would with that lightsaber clipped to your—

Wait, lightsaber?

The thought registered fully, his keen eyes locked in on the silver hilt hanging from your belt.

“She’s newly knighted, but her skills are not to be underestimated. Jedi Knight…” And he said your name, fluent and fitting to your visage. 

Something about the air around you commanded respect, as if the wind itself shifted in your favor each time you drew a breath, and Hunter was the only one who sensed it. That undeniable pull in the Force, the faint scent of smoke and sweetened caf clinging to your robes, the tremor beneath his feet once you took a step forward and reached an open palm for him to take.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant.” You spoke, calm and lilting, and Hunter found himself at ease at the tune of your voice. “I've heard many things from you and your brothers. All good things, don't worry.” 

Then, a glint sparked in your sharp eyes. 

Bright, flaring, like a molten flame or the last ray of the sun before fading into the horizon. 

One word echoed in his mind at the sight of it.

One word, but it hit his chest with the force of plasma blast.

Dangerous.

And when you smiled at him, raising a curious brow at his speechless state, he gulped.

Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.

You were their new general? That's impossible, you looked like you didn't belong in war. On the battlefield. You smelled too sweet, you smiled too softly, and you looked too—

“Pretty.” 

He heard Wrecker whisper somewhere from his side, and Hunter could only agree in silent awe and shame.

Pretty and dangerous.

He distinctly remembered shaking your hand, much smaller and softer in his calloused one, and he fought the urge not to tighten his grip just to keep the warm feeling a bit longer.

“I look forward to being under your command, general.” Fortunately, his voice remained steady. Though his eyes were another story, he didn't even realize he was studying your form with a scrutinizing sweep. “And to fight alongside you.” 

You simply smiled, shaking his hand in return. “Likewise, Sergeant.”

Then, you released him.

You took your time studying each one of them, knowing their names and smiling warmly the entire time. 

You also exchanged a surprisingly fond conversation with Echo, who you recognized immediately from your past affiliations.

After that meeting, your scent lingered on his skin for hours. Fortunately, Master Windu had stolen you first for a debrief somewhere else, which the team took as an opportunity to discuss the news. A variety of reactions ranging from optimistic excitement to venomous protests. 

He can still smell the distinct yet subtle fragrance of your perfume, hints of a sweetened caf, and something else he still can't place—and it made him itch even more. 

He was a patient, proud, and admirable man.

All these traits defined who he was as a soldier, as the dependable sergeant everyone knew him to be. 

A brother, a weapon, and a soldier.

But after meeting you, Hunter was reminded of one undeniable fact—that despite everything, he wasn't just a soldier.

He was still a man.

Trees surrounded sped past in a blur of green.

The entire forest trembled beneath his feet as Hunter sprinted towards an aimless direction, a goal in mind and a fire in his chest. He didn't know what his goal was, or what he's chasing after, but one word rang in his mind while he ran.

Mesh’la.

A flash of something—or rather someone—moved from his peripheral vision, and suddenly he tailed behind them without a falter in his steps.

The figure in front of him morphed into something. No, someone familiar. He knew them from somewhere, just by the way his eyes narrowed and his nose flared at their scent in recognition. At first, the figure resembled a smoke—swift, silent, and just out of his reach.

Until the smoke shifted again, forming a silhouette of a person. One who wore robes and carried fire whenever she went. One who tested his patience, tempted the dark conscience of his mind, and danced around the edges of both heaven and hell with lethal grace.

He knew only one person who could be just as dangerous as that. Only one person could make him this unhinged— this feral. 

You.

As soon as your image became clearer, running ahead of him without looking back over your shoulder, Hunter quickened his pace and stalked closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Until he was a foot away behind you. Close enough to tackle you to the ground, arms reaching forward to wrap around your middle. The two of you rolled against each other, but he secured one hand around your head to make sure you won't get hurt. 

Hunter panted, eyes wild and grin splitting into a predatory grin. Almost wolfish. Definitely hungry.

He watched you squirm against his hold, attempting to overthrow him off of you by resisting under his arms. However, it was futile. 

You were trapped—caught.

With nowhere to run. No one to scream for help. 

The Marauder was most likely klicks away. Too far and too unreachable. Now you were helplessly caught in a hunter's trap. Soon he will be the predator who will not hesitate to sink his teeth on your neck to stake his claim. 

“Hunter,” You whined helplessly, fear shining through your teary eyes as you stared back at his dark ones. “Please.”

He leaned down, lips curled beside your ear, as his growl shook the ground beneath.

“Caught you, mesh'la.”

Day two of shore leave.

Hunter awoke with a gasp, sitting up in his bunk, the dream still fresh like a memory. 

What was that?

The sergeant blinked rapidly, shaking his head to erase the image of your terrified face and the sounds of your scream echoing around the forest just before the dream ended. It was too vivid, and he realized his hands were gripping his sheets tightly in place of your robes. 

Get it together.

Hunter ran a hand across his face, massaging his eyelids to burn the memory– dream away. 

He could still hear your scream ringing in his ears, the shallow breaths pouring from your lips, the soft please and the way you said his name with evident fear in your voice. Almost as if you were scared of him—of what he can do to you—and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. 

His chest tightened, a foreign emotion bristling within. 

Something wild. Something primal.

Just like how he had felt in his dreams.

But why?

In the dream, there was an indescribable sense of power coursing through his veins. The urge to dominate, to lead, to conquer. The adrenaline from the hunt fueled the fire in his lungs that has been long dormant. It slept within him for years, a hungry little thing prowling and waiting to be released—a beast on the hunt for prey, but kept caged in an armor of righteousness and rank.

The respectable leader of the Bad Batch. 

The renowned Sergeant of the Clone Force 99. 

The right hand of the General. Your right hand.

You would be appalled when you find out about his dream. It wasn't the first time, but this scenario has never manifested before. Even from his deepest, darkest desires.

At that moment, Hunter fought two battles weighing down his bones. To go back to sleep, but with the possibility of coming back to another obscenely forbidden dream. Or face the daylight whilst hiding a dark storm behind his armor, and try to keep himself in check under the facade of an honorable man. 

I shouldn't be thinking of her in that way.

I shouldn't even be dreaming of her.

The door to his bunk opened, followed by a steady set of footsteps entering the room. 

“Hunter, Tech said we're in need of a–” Echo got cut off shortly, immediately pausing upon seeing his sergeant’s troubled form. “Uh… You good there, Sarge?”

The brunette clone grumbled a reply, shaking his head. “Just a… headache. What did Tech say?”

Albeit his dismissive tone and casual composure, Echo seemed entirely unconvinced. The ARC trooper, other than Hunter himself, possessed the ability to pick up on the needs of others. Whether it be an extra ration, a canteen of water, a private moment alone, or an advice—unasked, but not unwanted. In this case, he must've felt something's bothering him.

“Just a need for a supply run soon, nothing important.” Echo shrugged his shoulders, moving forward to sit across from Hunter at his own bunk. 

Hunter nodded, eyes stuck on the floor below.

“Right.”

Then, silence.

Though, it wasn't the comfortable one that the two of them usually shared. There was a tension in the air, an unanswered question trapped within the small room. Hunter tried to avoid Echo's probing gaze, knowing if he met his stare, the ARC trooper would not fail to notice the conflict in his.  

“So…” Echo drawled out, crossing his arms. “She's awake.”

“Is she?” Hunter’s response was indifferent, at least that's what he hoped it sounded like. But to someone like Echo? Oh, something was definitely wrong.

“Yeah, just passed by her seconds ago.” He continued assessing Hunter's body language, squinting his eyes, trying to piece him together.

And Hunter knew he was being as transparent as a clanker.

From his tense shoulders, the way he stared at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the ship, and the slight shift in his jaw at the mention of their general. Oh, the sight was nothing new. If anything, it would just be his normal brooding episode. The one where either he was in the middle of an important decision, or because of a certain someone.

The sergeant only hummed, gruff and casual, still refusing to look Echo in the eye. “And how is she?”

An exhale greeted Hunter's ears, followed by a click of a tongue. 

“How are you, Sarge?”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re not.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“You're gonna burn a hole through the floor if you keep looking at it like that.”

Chuckling, the sergeant tore his gaze away from the durasteel floor. He fixed Echo a look with one eyebrow raised and the corner of his lip curled into a wry smirk.

Echo, on the other hand, only tilted his head. “Are you gonna tell me what's wrong or?” 

“Nothing's wrong,” Hunter shut it down quickly. Too quickly. “Just a nightmare. I can survive.”

“Thought it was a headache,” Echo countered, rolling his eyes at the brunette's pinched expression. “Man up, Sarge. Or do I have to wrestle you to talk?”

I wrestled our general in my dream, if that's what you want to hear.

He almost said it aloud. 

Almost confessed right then and there on the spot just to get rid of the weight on his shoulders. But how could he after what happened last night? Back in the neon-lit bar of that bar, where sin tempted fate in the lower levels of Coruscant. The night where you, their general, confessed your innermost desires to all of them. Something none of them expected to happen and for you to say—something that should've only occurred in their wishful thinking.

During the three years of you being their commanding officer, Hunter kept both himself and the others in their respective places. He was well aware of how his brothers acted within your presence, or without it, he can sense all of their concealed reactions. Not even their armors can shield them from Hunter's elite senses.

He had to pretend he didn't hear Tech in the cockpit so late at night during their hyperspace travels, burying his head underneath his pillow to drown out his voice. He had to ignore Wrecker's hushed tones of praises and compliments under his breath when he watched you defeat an enemy. He had seen all the times Crosshair's eyes pierced through you when you walked past him, trailing along your figure as you vanished. 

He also had to endure watching Echo touch you for a second too long, with a hand around your arm or resting against your waist, asking how you were doing after a mission. 

But collectively? 

Hunter knew all the telltale signs from his vode. The panic in their heartbeats, the quiet hitch in their breaths, the clench of their fists, the flex of their jaws, and the way they always mutter something low whenever you were in the same room.

Every unrequited secret, he heard it. Every hesitant action, he saw it. And every obvious desire? Oh, Hunter could smell the raging hormones and testosterone from klicks away.

But you? Maker, Hunter could never decipher you.

Everything about you was cloaked in secrecy, that typical Jedi barrier that prevented no one from guessing what you felt or thought.  

Before, his engineered senses have been a gift in the battlefield. Possessing the uncanny ability to hear enemies from klicks away, pick up their heartbeats if they have any, and use it to his advantage against them. 

Until the moment his senses shifted like the tides of Kamino when you became their commanding officer.

He never heard your heartbeat pause or raise around them, except in battle of course. He never even heard you fumble your words before, always sure and confident in the thoughts you wished to verbalize. A command, an order, an advice, or something else. There's no tremor in your hands when one of them stood too close, crowding your space just to watch you react to the proximity.

And believe him, they all tried to test you.

To see if you would falter.

To see if there's a crack through your robes.

To see if you were still a woman beneath the warrior.

However, Hunter never caught you slipping. 

You only took their advances with a tender care and soft smile that he began to think they misinterpreted your actions. Of course, you were only concerned for them. Always there in an instant to cover them in the middle of the battle, always appearing like smoke to pull them aside from an incoming attack, always tending their wounds like a worried, meddling medic. 

He remembered Wrecker joking about it years ago, about you being perfect as a (very pretty) medic if you weren't a Jedi, and he would personally beg the Medical Head of the GAR to assign you permanently to them. 

Crosshair called out on his weird fantasy of being taken care of in an unprofessional manner, to which Wrecker defensively denied. 

They all knew otherwise.

And so, for a while, all of them stopped trying to make you crack. Because the guilt, shame, and regret were too much to bear. You were just being their general. No, you were just being yourself. Kind, thoughtful, and compassionate, who took their well-being seriously as if yours didn't have a higher value. And they were taking advantage of that kindness by pushing the boundaries to feed their curiosity and selfish needs.

And for a while, Hunter maintained the proper front of a sergeant, and so did his brothers.

But when you were gone, called back to your Temple by your former master or some other Jedi business, the five of them nurse the hollow aches in their chests like the glasses of Corellian whiskey in their hands. 

Even Tech, the ever pragmatic and logical one, who they all swore would never be a victim of heartache, indulged in their sorrows with his own glass. 

Even the greatest mind can be reduced to a weakened man by a woman he can never have.

They shouldn't feel such things for someone who's clearly unattainable. Someone who was very well prohibited to form any relationships that could threaten their code. Someone like their undeniably beautiful and strong general—a sweet, forbidden fruit they all longed to taste but will never have the courage to indulge.

But after last night? After saying those words?

After ruining five men who wanted nothing but to tempt fate and say kriff it to its face?

How would they live for the rest of their lives pretending none of it happened?

They wouldn't just forget the way you smiled at each of them, a glint in your molten gaze, as if you knew something they don't. The way you spoke your desires so openly, which could have the members of the High Council both blush and riot in shame. The way you admitted to wanting all of them at the same time, before dropping the last sentence like a detonator about to explode.

“If only I wasn't your general.”

Hunter blinked, the realization dawning upon him like a sun waking in a clear sky.

“Hunter?” Echo spoke again, pulling Hunter back from his silent reverie. “You floated away again. Still with me?”

Hunter now let his gaze meet his, uncertain and somewhat scared.

“Do you…” He's not sure how to start this, or how to even address it, but he trusted Echo. “Do you remember what she said last night? Back in Coruscant, playing that game?”

He watched as an array of emotions flicker through Echo’s face. Confusion, comprehension, and then remembrance. 

The ARC trooper shifted in his bunk, huffing out a small laugh. “Oh, that? It's just a game, right? She played it well. Too well. Almost had me thinking–”

Until his words stopped, and Hunter picked up on the brief drop of his heartbeat. 

“Thinking what, Echo?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Oh, kark. 

He knew that tone, he just had it moments ago when Echo was the one interrogating him. And judging from the way his vod averted his gaze now, the brunette clone confirmed one thing.

I'm not the only one haunted by it.

The sergeant leaned his elbows against his knees, lacing his fingers together with a small sigh.

“Look, we can't just pretend it didn't happen. I know you thought about it too. What she said last night. We can't pretend we don't have feelings for her, because we all do. Ever since she became our–”

“General,” Echo finished for him, a sharper edge in his tone that Hunter didn't expect. “Our general, and she's a Jedi. We can't violate her code–”

“I know that, but…” Gritting his teeth, Hunter forced himself to continue. “We're here for two weeks, Echo. Do you know what that means?”

The ARC trooper lifted his eyes, staring back at Hunter with apprehension. 

“We're on a shore leave?” 

“Other than that.”

“Uh… Vacation?”

“No, think about her.”

“What does this have to do with–”

“She's not our general right now,” The words were out before Hunter could even soften his tone. “We're on a two week leave. She's not a general here, Echo. We’re not her soldiers as well.”

Echo blinked repeatedly, perking up in a defensive stance. Before his shoulders relaxed, slumping, but still there was a taut line there that showed his doubt and hesitation. 

“So, you found a loophole?” Was the first thing his brother asked, still guarded and uncertain. 

Hunter pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “I'm still not sure what to do. If I'm going to do anything.”

Then, he looked up, and saw Echo fixing him with a pointed stare.

“Are you going to do something, Hunter?”

“I… don't know.”

“Do you want to do something?”

“Do you, Echo?”

“We're not supposed to be doing anything, Hun–”

“But don't you want to?” Hunter snapped, again shocking Echo into silence. “For two weeks, we can pretend we're… normal. We can act like civvies. We can be selfish.”

Selfish.

This was a selfish need. 

A need that could potentially ruin everything. Your reputation, your Code, their lives, and yours. Everything that has been built on trust, devotion, respect, and loyalty. Not just the team's unit, but your friendship as well. Because after two weeks, what then? After this shore leave, should they act on their long-suppressed desires, how would everything turn out?

Echo stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, and perhaps Hunter might have. 

Because this was absolutely delirious. Delusional even. Perhaps this was another dream, another figment of his Makerforsaken imagination. 

“Hunter, are you hearing yourself?” The ARC trooper muttered lowly, seemingly to be genuinely concerned for his well-being. “We can't just– Maker, this is– ”

“Impossible,” Hunter shifted forward, his eyes filled with intent. “But you heard what she said last night, and we can't just live our lives pretending she's just our general after that. Not after she admitted everything. Not after we found out she’s been wanting us just the same. I know you want her too, you all do.”

We all do.

Echo looked visibly torn, bound by his duty as a soldier and restricted by his desire as a man.

Like how they have all been for the past years. 

Now they have a chance, the question was…

Would we take it?

The war has taken so many things from them. Their brothers, their strength, their hopes for a future to see a sun shine down on them without war flags waving at the horizon. Everyday they wake up to return to warzones, not the warmth of homes. Return to their duties, not loving families who missed their absence. While the rest of the galaxy slept in peace, they all fought to make sure it stayed that way. 

They were born to die, so that others may live longer. Trained to withstand the harshest conditions and bear painful scars, just all the people out there can never experience the same. 

But for once, they want to feel another purpose. 

Another identity, besides the soldiers bred for battle and orders. To shed their armors, be vulnerable, and to remind themselves they were still human. That despite everything, they were still capable of being weak and selfish—even if it meant crossing a line.

It was drawn there in the first place, to ensure none of them will succumb to mistakes and regrets.

With a resigned sigh, Echo trailed his gaze away. “I don't want to lie anymore, Hunter. I do want her. For longer than I can admit.”

At this, Hunter perked up. “Then, what's stopping you now?”

“Everything,” His brother's voice cracked at the admission, fists clenched and tone ragged. “I don't want her to get hurt because of me. Because of us. She's so much more than us defects, she deserves better. She has an Order to come back to, a code to follow while she's wearing those robes and carrying her lightsaber. And we? We're just soldiers. Numbers. She's a Jedi.”

The sergeant furrowed his brows, equally conflicted by everything. How could he forget? 

They were defects. You really deserved better. 

A better battalion. A better unit. A better future.

Still, Hunter persevered. “But we're not just numbers to her, Echo. You know that.”

“I do, but it's– It still feels so wrong.”

“To want her?”

“To love her.”

Love.

Oh, that was more dangerous.

They shouldn't want someone like you, let alone love you. It was the very thing your Order shunned your fellow Jedi members away when they sensed them trespassing forbidden emotions and relations. 

But how could they not love you?

After everything you've done for them? 

Defended their honor when others insulted their worth. Risked your life to save theirs, when you knew yours was more valuable, but you didn't care. Shared their pain, carried their losses, and treated them as friends you would not hesitate to die for. Stood beside them through everything—the rare moments of joy, the fleeting seconds of fear before a mission, and the reckoning hours of war. 

How could they not love you despite everything?

Hunter dropped his eyes on the floor again, before he flicked a glance towards the door.

“Do you think she'll let us?” His tone was uncharacteristically quiet, unsure. “Do you think we'll be. . . fine after this?”

Echo merely snickered, though it lacked amusement. “Define fine to me, Sarge. None of us will be fine. Especially after last night.”

“Then, what do you think we should do?”

“You're the sergeant, Hunter. We do as you say, we follow where you go.”

“Pulling that card on me, huh?”

“Just reminding you of your position. Can't believe you're even considering this, are you really the Hunter we know?”

“Trust me, I've been asking myself the same thing.”

Silence followed. 

Unlike the first wave, this rolled with comfort and light. The previous tension was gone, but still the lingering question remained.  

What now?

Will they regret crossing the line?

Or will they regret not even daring to take a step closer?

Do they risk everything, or simply move on and keep lying to themselves?

Kriff it.

Standing up, Hunter stared down at his brother with a look of a man who has made his choice.

And Echo could only smile in defeat, or victory. Somewhere in between. “You gonna tell the others?”

Hunter nodded, turning his heel to make way towards the door. “I'll die trying.”

“Oh, you have a death wish? Start with Crosshair.”

“If I'm not back by sunset, you know who did it.”

“Good luck!”

Hunter released a breath, heading towards the refresher first before he could find his brother. 

I'm definitely going to need it.

Later that night, as he and the rest of his brothers stood outside the ship, Hunter had his arms crossed and eyes squinted over the distance.

They've been waiting for you to return for the past hour now, as well as Wrecker who they all knew went out after you earlier.

But they didn't expect for their brother to return with your unconscious body tucked in his arms.

The moment Wrecker stepped out of the shadows from the treeline, Hunter immediately perked up in alert at the different sensations flooding his senses. 

He can smell his vod on you.

First, there was the sight of you curled up in Wrecker's arms, the familiar thick fabric of his blacks enveloping your figure to conceal the nudity your body underneath. Even from afar, Hunter’s dark eyes zeroed in on the bruises forming on your bare thighs, the shapes were unmistakably large hand prints.

Second, Hunter can almost taste the scent of sex, sweat, and the smugness from his vod. It wafted over his broad frame like a thick smoke, causing the sergeant's nose to flare the closer he approached them.

And third…

Hunter almost bristled in his spot, a passive feeling of possession bridling within his chest. Not only can he smell his brother, but he can also smell you. 

Not just the standard hair product from the GAR, nor the personal perfume you kept hidden from the eyes of the Order. 

No, this belonged to you. 

It triggered an unknown emotion within him, momentarily blinding his focus—rendering him incapable of thinking rationally. 

That scent—yours—smelled absolutely ruined.

The closer Wrecker crossed the distance, the more the smell crashed over Hunter's senses in the form of a powerful tidal wave. Overwhelming. Suffocating. Tempting.

It took him quite some time to recognize it.

Your release.

And it was everywhere.

Between your bare thighs, on Wrecker's blacks, on his vod, all over him.

Nonetheless, he has a front to uphold, and he needed to get a hold of himself before he lost his mind by just the scent and the situation alone.

Words were exchanged, he told Wrecker to clean you up before he can tuck you in your bunk.

As they watched their brother disappear up into the ramp, Hunter released a long breath whilst running a hand down his face. 

We definitely need to talk about this.

“That means I'm next, right?” Echo broke the silence, the look of realization shone through his pale complexion. An obvious mixture of disbelief and shock.

Across him, Crosshair quipped something dry and clever, which led to the two sharing a pointed glare at each other that caused Hunter to sigh again.

Tech rambled on about a partial solution to their current situation, something about having a system of each of them needing to wait two days every turn before the other can make a move. To be frank, Hunter did not listen as much to his brothers as he was busy wrapping everything in his head.

This is a bad idea.

But since when have we followed orders?

Now that Wrecker had a taste of you, Hunter knew all of his brothers would have to fight for a chance to have one as well. After all, they shared everything. Gears, equipment, blades, blasters, rations. Not women, no, that has never happened before. They have expressed past interests of sharing one woman between them, a long-forgotten fantasy between him and his brothers, but never fully committing to it once.

Until now.

Hunter took his time observing each of them, narrowing his gaze to pinpoint every twitch or flex on their bodies.

Their facial expressions all varied from confusion, wonder, and disapproval. Their body language, on the other hand, was stiff. As if making too much movement could wake you from the inside of the ship, but it was all telling Hunter what he needed to know—this situation was gradually sinking deep within their bones.

Especially Echo, who had been silent the whole time. When Hunter asked about his condition, teasing him at the same time for being so obvious, the ARC trooper simply flushed a brilliant shade of red that bloomed against the darkness of the night. 

And to Hunter's elite vision? 

His vod looked like a crimson beacon of guilt, shame, and every bit of disappointment. 

When Tech announced Echo's recommended time for his turn, the two clashed at a disagreement for the limited amount of hours the latter would get to spend with you.

“Hey, hey, hey.” 

Hunter had to place himself between them when he noticed the look on Echo's face, the urge to possibly jump at Tech and wrestle his datapad out of his grip or tackle him down on the ground.

He turned towards Tech now, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. 

“First off, Tech. That's Echo's business. And second, Echo. Just make sure you don't do anything yet within those two days, a’right? You can have her all to yourself after that. We'll be in town while you and her…”

I'm not even gonna say it.

“Just comm us after you're done. Do both of you understand?” Hunter finished, shifting his eyes to each of his brothers.

Echo nodded, resigned but accepting. “Understood, sergeant.”

Tech only fixed his goggles, voice low and hesitant. “Yes, sergeant.”

“Good,” Hunter released another exasperated breath, desiring nothing but to go to his bunk and sleep. “Now, let's go tell Wrecker later. We need to plan this all out before we do anything stupid. The last thing we need is to scare her off.”

And then, he was climbing up the ramp with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

What have we gotten ourselves into?

An hour has passed and after a tense discussion of this new arrangement, the team had gone their separate ways to process tonight's events. 

Earlier, they were all in the cockpit where they usually spent debriefing missions and reports. And they decided to converse here about what would happen now that. . . Well, now that Wrecker has complicated things for all of you.

Crosshair had marched off into his bunk in the middle of the discussion, physically enraged and bothered by the whole idea of using you for their pleasure. Even when Wrecker assured him it was consensual, the sniper briskly made his disapproval known by shooting them down with venomous threats and sharp glares.

After he had run off, they were left in the cockpit with the air filled with so much tension it almost overwhelmed Hunter's senses for the second time of the night.

For a while, the cockpit was silent.

Wrecker appeared to be genuinely guilty of his actions, slumping down from where he stood, which Echo noticed and quickly comforted him.

“There now, big guy. You didn't do anything wrong.” 

“I mean… I kinda did? Cross is right, she's our general and she's a Jedi. Pretty sure we broke so many rules.”

“Yeah, but it's– You said you didn't force her, right?”

The guilt on Wrecker's face transformed into an offense, guffawing in return. “Like hell I would! I'd never do that to her! Or anyone else.”

Echo cleared his throat, nodding. “Of course not, I'm sorry about that. We believe you. And she trusts you, Wrecker. We all do.”

At that, the larger clone deflated with a small smile. 

Meanwhile, Tech approached Hunter's side quietly, datapad in hand bearing a neutral countenance.

“Hunter, how should we proceed with this?”

Tech, the one who they looked for answers and explanations during times of confusion, was asking him what to do. The brilliant brother, the ingenious nerd who they admired for his revered intelligence and knowledge. Now at a crossroads on what to do, to think about all of this. And now, he's turning to Hunter—the Sergeant—for guidance and insight.

How do we proceed with this?

The most logical idea would be Tech's suggestion. A system where trust, respect, and mutual agreement were all on the table before they could make any actions. Not only between them, but with you as well. Hunter liked to think nothing would change if all of you were in the same boat (or ship) with this choice, but it was a terrible lie he found comfort in.

As much as this system—this idea—appeared to be the most reasonable one, it was not the most rational. No, that would be to let you go and reassign yourself to another battalion to sever the ties and attachments before it was too late, and guessing from his brothers’ reactions, that would be the farthest solution they want.

Except for Crosshair.

Hunter knew his sharp-eyed and silver-tongued brother harboured the same attraction they all carry. The temptation to bite into the forbidden fruit after years of gazing at it from afar. So close, but so out of reach. Even Hunter can confess he has been dying for a taste, to tiptoe at the edge of sin. However, Crosshair was too stubborn to admit his own want.

It's not like we can force him.

The choice is his to make.

Ripping his gaze from the cockpit door where his brother has just disappeared into, the sergeant faced Tech, meeting an identical set of eyes similar to his.

“We don't force her,” Hunter spoke gruffly, firmly. “We follow your system, but if she expresses hesitance or doubt, we stop immediately. Unless she takes initiative and shows interest with our approaches, we don't force ourselves on her. We're not going to tell her about this plan, let it all fold out naturally. If nothing happens, nothing happens.”

Then, he turned towards Echo, who was already staring back at him with pursed lips and a contemplative shadow over his face.

Hunter only nodded, crossing his arms.

“I have an idea for Echo's turn.”

Day three of shore leave.

Hunter was the first to wake. 

The sergeant, fortunately, was free of any mildly concerning dreams conjured from his deeply hidden desires. And as soon as his feet hit the cool durasteel floor, he felt the slight tremors of someone moving about the ship from somewhere.

Light, airy, and uneasy to detect.

You were awake now, maybe just seconds after him, but you haven't left your bunk yet.

The sergeant let his eyes flutter close, listening in the faint thrum of your heartbeat. The rhythm did suggest you've just risen for the day, and he smiled to himself as he imagined you with that Maker awful bedhead that they were often lucky to see.

But it was strange how early you woke up considering your night with Wrecker. Anyone else would have slept in, most likely too tired and sore to even leave the bed, considering his vod's vivacious appetite and strength when it came to sex. 

Hours later, Hunter thought he could function normally. 

Well, he really tried his best. 

Tried to keep his eyes trained on your face, not slipping down to catch the faint marks on your neck. Maintained a professional distance not to cross your boundary and let you breathe, or so he told himself, when really it was to stop himself from being close enough to smell the distinct scent on your skin. His words were courteous, respectful yet short, and he never asked what happened the night before—to save both of your sanity.

He carried out his usual routine, whilst ignoring the obvious lovestruck daze Wrecker always threw your way or the boldened kisses he placed on your cheeks. Or the way he heard the two of your quiet giggles and breathy sighs—especially Wrecker's louder ones—along a darkened corner of the ship, walking away briskly to not interrupt anything that might occur in those spaces. 

Thankfully, they were only stolen kisses. 

It was in their agreement that none of them would cross beyond that line during your two day window. And Wrecker, as much as the big oaf loved to shower his affections, knew not to overstep his boundaries.

Everything seemed normal. Almost as how it once was.

Before the cider, before the game, before the night in Coruscant.

But the whole time, he kept on repeating a chant. A mantra at this point. In the privacy of his mind, he reminded himself repeatedly.

You're her sergeant. 

So act like one.

Day four of shore leave.

Hunter still kept a respectable front on the outside. 

Kept his conversations like before, lighthearted yet polite. His distance stayed two feet away, far enough to remain aware of his boundaries. Forced his voice steady and eyes steadier from wandering over your body, trying to pick apart your robes to see any marks left by his vod. There was still a mark beneath the collar of your robe, just peeking through the edge, a soft purple bruise with faded teeth marks around it.

To anyone else, it was almost healed and on the verge of disappearing. But to him, it still made him twitch whenever his eyes accidentally landed on your collar. 

It was a routine by now. As long as he stuck with this, there wouldn't be any problem. 

He doesn't have to treat you any differently from before, you were still his friend and general. 

It wasn't just him who tried to act composed.

Hunter knew his brothers well, and he could tell they were getting restless.

They flinch whenever you stand too close, eyes immediately darting around to avoid your questioning stare. Though that would be the general sign for all of them, the individual characteristics were another subject. With the exception of Wrecker, of course.

Echo was the worst out of all of them, knowing tomorrow would be his turn. Albeit the ARC trooper’s slight hesitance around you, he did well not to act any differently. He still handed you your food and water when you forgot to, and he was there immediately by your side to ask how you were feeling. 

Tech didn't change one bit, much to Hunter's relief. 

He was still the same Tech, rambling on and on about some facts about Alderaan to which you always welcomed with a serene smile on your face. Everything to distract you or himself. The architecture of Aldera, the wildlife surrounding you, the planet's cuisine, and much more.

Then, there was Crosshair.

Well… Not much has changed with that one.

Still that scowling, sneering, and glaring vod Hunter knew.

At least the sniper kept his mouth shut, his eyes were sharp enough to make his emotions known—the distaste and distrust clear enough to have you avoid him all day.

Other than that, Hunter actually thought that everything was turning out well.

Let's just hope tomorrow will be the same.

The same forest. The same dream.

He's here, and he's on the hunt again. Now, he knew what he was chasing. Or rather, who, but this time he wasn't running. 

No, he was stalking.

Smelling the air for your scent, looking for tracks on the forest floor, feeling the wind caress his skin in any case a trace of your presence stroke his senses. He moved with the feline grace of a predator, silent yet inevitably close. His armor failed to make any noise as he prowled around the trees, shifting his keen eyes around for any sign of movement. 

Nothing. 

No sound. No heartbeat. No trail.

Maybe he was hunting for a ghost, maybe he already lost his mind but was now conjuring another dark fantasy from the deepest depths of his mind to satiate his night.

However, Hunter somehow knew you were here. 

Hiding from him, watching from somewhere, and something told him you were close. 

Maybe you were waiting for him to find you, anticipating his next move. To hunt. To pounce. 

He shifted, a slight change in the air. Subtle, only a small shift in the wind, but to him, it was all that he needed. Your scent. It was unmistakable. Now, in his dreams, he could smell you lingering nearby. That undeniable scent of smoke, ash, and sweetness. 

Hunter stayed rooted in place, tense and muscles coiled. Ready to spring at any given notice.

And then—

Snap.

He whipped around just to see you dash off into the opposite direction of where you hid, and he didn't waste a second to sprint after you. 

You knew it was futile. 

He was faster, stronger, and hell-bent on capturing you into his grasp.

However, being the stubborn Jedi you were even in his dreams, you ran with all the strength your legs could carry. 

Away from being hunted—from being prey.

But Hunter persevered, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to move faster. To gain on close from behind with just a foot away from reaching out to grab your neck. 

And just before his fingers clasped around your nape—

You disappeared. Vanished like smoke.

And smoke was the last thing he saw before the ground beneath him crumbled, and down to the deep waters he fell.

Day five of shore leave.

Blinking himself to wake, Hunter groaned as he placed the heel of his hand against his forehead. 

Not again.

The brunette clone threaded his fingers across his wild locks, unaware of the tremor raking through his nerves. That was a lie, he was more than aware. The shudder along his spine, the expansion of his pupils, shallow breaths, and the cold sweat on his temple were undeniable. He just didn't want to acknowledge the dream’s capability of subconsciously affecting his body in the real world.

Forget about it.

Hunter rolled over to his side, half-tempted to lie on the floor so it could swallow him whole. But he knew he could never run from it, it's deeply ingrained in his mind. In his veins. In his heart.

It's been two days since the team had landed on Alderaan—since Wrecker first claimed you in the forest—and it's been eating him alive from the inside. 

A claim.

From someone else who had bitten you first, tasted the sweat off of your neck, and left a reminder of the sinful promise on your skin. 

And it made him more restless.

Despite the unease, Hunter reassured himself that it was better from his own kin than an unfamiliar soul. Maker, if it was anyone else—a stranger with an unknown name and intentions—he would've lost his mind the moment he smelled another scent from you. Fortunately, the knowledge that it was only Wrecker brought a sense of comfort within. 

He trusted Wrecker, even with his large stature and domineering strength, his brother carried a heart that shone like gold. Softer than any other people he knew. 

The days bled into the horizon quicker than Hunter anticipated, and when he blinked, it was already Echo's day. 

His plan, the one he had suggested in the cockpit days ago, was to give you and his brother some privacy while they were out to fetch supplies. It was a reasonable excuse, and their supplies have in fact dwindled in numbers. Most especially the rations and medical stock. And so, before the sun rose, Hunter gathered his brothers in the cockpit. 

“Alright listen,” There were still traces of sleep in his voice, causing him to clear his throat. Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair and I head out to town to get what we need. Three hours. Then, we're back. Just a supply run, but if you're done with securing them, then you can walk around. But we need to be back before sunset.”

Glancing towards his brother, Hunter tipped his head. “Echo, you still okay with this?”

The ARC trooper nodded, though it lacked enthusiasm. In his golden irises swam a glimmer of uncertainty, possibly fear, and it did not escape Hunter's sight. 

The sergeant silently approached his side, resting a hand on Echo's pauldron. “Hey, if you're not feeling well, just tell us. If you don't want to do it, come with us instead.”

But then, the glimmer in Echo's eyes hardened. 

It glinted with resolve.

“I'm fine,” His voice carried conviction, a vow, something only Echo knew. “But I won't force myself too quickly. And if she doesn't want it— doesn't want me, then I'll follow you.”

Nodding, Hunter was satisfied with that.

Something told him it was going to be a long day ahead, and his instincts were never wrong. 

Hours later, as the four of them left the clearing to venture out to town with Echo left behind in the ship with you, Hunter led the pack silently.

Tech started rambling about the wonders and his personal insights about the planet of Alderaan, including the small town they were headed to. It was wisely chosen, the town was not centrally located in the capital, Aldera, but close enough to be considered as part of it. Still, the townspeople thrived on the edges of Aldera. Where the trees were much closer than the daunting skyscrapers. 

The houses, just like the ones in the capital, bled ivory and shone with a luminescent glow against the warm sunlight. 

As expected, the four of them stuck out like loth-wolves in a herd bantha. 

Their armors contrasted with the cool shades of gray, white, and steel blue of the town. Not only that, they looked like they stepped out of war (which Hunter didn't deny) unlike the residents who modestly dressed in lighter monotone hues.

Hunter only nodded respectfully to any passerby that glanced his way, careful not to trigger any negative reaction. The planet was peaceful, neutral even, but it doesn't mean all of their people were accepting of clones. Most people in the galaxy still consider them as weapons, not humans. A harsh slap in the face for him and thousands of his brothers, who wanted nothing but to be treated as a normal human being—as people.

Tech tapped away on his datapad, mumbling the essential items they were required to fetch. 

Meanwhile, Crosshair clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I'm going for a drink, don't wait for me.”

Hunter blinked, pivoting on his feet. “Crosshair–” 

But the silver-haired clone already made his separate path towards an unknown direction, not sparing them a glance over his shoulder. 

Sighing, Hunter shook his head whilst Wrecker and Tech stared after their departing brother.

The larger clone stepped forward, casting a questioning look towards Hunter. 

“Want me to follow him, Sarge?”

“No, let him be. I'll come find him after we're done.”

“A’right, if you say so. Tech! Let's start with food, I see a store over there selling–”

Tech rolled his eyes, but he was already walking towards the place where Wrecker boldly pointed at.

“I see it, Wrecker. Do not buy everything. We are on a tight budget.”

“Got it!”

As the two of them moved ahead, Hunter threw one last glance to where Crosshair disappeared before he followed his brothers.

I'll find him later.

Day six of shore leave.

The sixth day came slow, like the soft sunrise beaming over the horizon.

Nature always soothed Hunter's nerves without any fail. In times of interpersonal trouble or intrapersonal conflict, the brunette clone always resorted to taking a walk or a hike to somewhere secluded if possible. Preferably, some place where the wind could whisk away the tension in his body and replace the storm in his mind with clouds of peace.

Alderaan truly did not spare any beauty.

Here he was, sitting down on top of a hill he had found during the wake of dawn, gazing into the brightening skies.

In his other dreams, he envisioned himself enjoying a quiet life. Perhaps he could take upon farming, tend to his crops, feed his animals, and maybe even sell some of his produce as well as handmade artisans. His brothers would do their own thing, or maybe they would band together and build on acres of land.

Although it was a far-fetched dream living a life like that, it was good to have an inkling of hope. A laughable thought for someone like him. 

A clone? Hoping?

The two words did not mix well together. At least, not to his ears. However, in the crevices of his mind, it never left. If anything, Hunter cradled hope like it would save him from this war.

Perhaps after all of this was over, he could pick off a nice planet to settle into. Somewhere far from the Republic's reach. Somewhere quiet and peaceful. 

He and his brothers deserved as much.

A time where they were not used as weapons. A future when they don't bleed in battlefields, wearing leisure clothes rather than war-torn armors. Even when that hope flickered at times, Hunter never truly gave up. They were good people, and he prayed to the Maker for a good future. 

After this war, what would happen then?

What would happen to you?

Now, that was a thought Hunter guiltily returned to every now and then.

Because it also involved them in a sense. Of course, they were your squadron. After years of fighting alongside each other, what would be of your ties after this? Do you sever them and return to your Order? Would you cast them aside like mere tools, simple attachments, and leave?

In his gut, the thought of it churned bitterly.

But he knew you would never do that. 

The kind of person you were… You were every bit of hope he has clung to. 

Maybe you would leave the Order to join them, become a permanent part of their squad. Not for the reasons of war or duty, but because you loved them as who they were. 

Maybe you would join them in searching for a new home. Somewhere you haven't been before, somewhere you could love them loudly and shamelessly. 

Maybe you could finally be theirs. 

Maybe—

Just maybe… You would choose them instead of your code.

Hunter released a breath, shaking his head at the dubious thought.

You were devoted to them, that much was true, but you were loyal to your order. And they were just clones, born to be used and discarded. What kind of future would they give someone like you?

Someone who will most likely outlive all of them?

It was another one of Hunter's fears. 

The inevitable time of their passing due to their rapid growth and age. That even if they did achieve that future, one where you chose them over your order, what would happen when they all grow old? 

When that time comes, would you still love them the same?

You would.

Hunter already answered, clinging on that measly hope again.

And we would do the same.

Through life and death. Especially in death.

It would be an honor dying knowing he had loved you. Knowing he had the chance to show you how much you meant to him. 

This was foolish, all this dreaming and longing, but Hunter would like to die a hopeful fool. The irony of it sounded so contradicting. Still, better hopeful than hopeless. At least, he had hoped. At least, he had wanted.

A future with you and his brothers. A new sunrise to wake up to. A life that was his.

But I'm just a hopeful fool.

Because every time the sun wakes, that hope shines brighter.

But every time night fell, he's reminded why he’s nothing but a fool. 

As soon as the sun hovered above the mountains, Hunter made his way back to the ship to start their breakfast.

I think eggs and polystarch portion bread would do.

Day seven of shore leave.

The next day, Hunter cannot look Tech in the eye.

Not after hearing him again, this time in the refresher. In broad daylight. Whatever, the sergeant could care less when his brothers decide to relieve themselves, as long as they keep themselves quiet. 

Although Hunter did remember Tech marching off from the direction of the cockpit wearing a distressed expression on his flushed face earlier that moment. It had him staring after the begoggled clone in confusion, followed by your worried figure appearing a minute later. Hunter asked you what happened, but you just told him Tech's incident with his caf before he briskly fled the area.

Hunter shrugged it off, until he caught his brother's voice in refresher when he passed by the hallway.

Okay, nope.

He swiftly turned towards the open ramp, exiting the ship before his senses could be overwhelmed.

The sun was perfect, as it has been for the past few days, and the lake where he had talked to Crosshair should have plenty of distractions to pass the time. Perhaps he could catch a few fish to have by the fire later at night.

Hours passed when Hunter decided to return to the Marauder, carrying six freshly captured fish in a makeshift net. It would suffice as their dinner, he and Wrecker could gut all of it before cooking it over fire.

And guess who was the first one to greet him?

“Oh, Hunter! I was just–” Tech took one good look at him, eyeing the net clutched in his hand. “And what is that for?”

Still not looking at him, Hunter stiffly shoved the damp net towards him, ignoring the shocked exclamation from him as he descended back outside.

“Where did you get these–”

“Gather the others out, we're gonna make a fire.”

“Right…”

The rest of the night was spent around a campfire, the fish he had caught cooked slowly above the dancing flames. For a moment, Hunter basked in the peaceful atmosphere. 

Wrecker sat beside you, close enough for his side to brush against yours. On the other side, Echo helped with removing the bones in your fish. Crosshair sat on another log across Hunter, and sat next to him was Tech—who silently stared at his cooked fish, lost in thought.

But he wasn't subtle, because Hunter caught the stolen glances his brother threw at your direction whenever you laughed at something Wrecker said or spoke with Echo. It was obvious what was going on in that big brain of his, and it wasn't complex ideas or technological information. 

Hunter didn't need to be a Jedi to see through his thoughts, his senses were enough.

He trailed his gaze away, returning to you, and melting at the rare softness you allowed them to see.

In this light, underneath the stars and surrounded by them, you didn't look like a general. Without the dust and dirt smudging your cheeks, without the shadows underneath your eyes from the constant result of staying alert, and without the exhaustion weighing your shoulders.

Tonight, you looked—

Beautiful.

Smiling so freely like that, with the apples of your cheeks highlighted by the soft glow of the fire, and the spark in your eyes burning so bright against the dark.

When you laughed, the flames swooned. And when you tilted your head, they stopped to stare as well. Even the flames became entranced, wrapped around your finger just like the rest of them.

Maybe they were not so different from the flames, because they would burn too just to be in your presence. When you lean close, they feel their insides warm with different emotions—admiration, awe, and love.

Because you were just so…

Achingly beautiful.

Hunter closed his eyes for a brief moment, committing the image to memory. 

If you weren't a Jedi and he was just a normal man, if Hunter had found you as a civvie on some planet out there, he wouldn't hesitate to carry an attachment to you. He wouldn't be guilty of the dreams he might have of you, and he wouldn't shame himself for harboring dangerous emotions that could threaten everything.

He wouldn't stop himself from wanting you.

When he opened his eyes, you were already looking at him.

You tilted your head at him, thanking him for the dinner and how it must've been difficult to catch them, but the sergeant dismissively deflected the praise with a small smile in return. 

Under his breath, he whispered. “Anything for you, mesh’la.” 

Day eight of shore leave.

During the eighth day of their shore leave, Hunter spent his time in town alongside Wrecker and Echo. There was no objective in mind, merely an unspoken agreement between them to give Tech his privacy with you. As expected, Crosshair was nowhere to be found when they tried to find him.

As Echo was too busy laughing at something Wrecker joked about, Hunter tried to distract himself from remembering the fact that today you were in the arms of another one of his brothers.

Most likely in the cockpit.

He just hoped Tech would know what to do, well-aware of their last failed attempts to try and set him up with someone. Not once did Hunter see the goggled clone get intimate with someone, always too busy or too uninterested to even form a brief connection with someone. Not that the sergeant minded, because he knew someone like Tech required a closer bond with the person before even entertaining the idea of engaging in a sexual relationship with them.

He's just not the kind of guy for a one night stand.

That was more of Crosshair's thing. Often himself. Sometimes Wrecker. Rarely Echo. 

The brunette clone took his time observing his brothers, Echo and Wrecker walked ahead of him by a couple of steps, lost in their conversation. Inside him, a gnawing sensation brewed like a storm. They already spent their time with you, and Hunter could only wonder silently how their nights went. 

Based on the past few days since their turns, it was as if a fog had lifted. The tension on their shoulders eased as each day passed, the shine in their eyes gleamed brighter. The change was prominent, not only through their appearance, but the way they carried themselves.

Now, Hunter can recognize the afterglow from a good fuck. Especially from his brothers. That satisfied smile on their faces, the sudden raise in their spirits, the easygoing gait in their steps, even the lines on their faces seem to vanish just for a while. He's seen it all before. However, that was not the case for this one. It might be similar, but there was something else—something entirely past the line of no return.

Whatever it was, Hunter wanted to know.

He was just… curious.

What did you sound like at the brink of pleasure? 

What did you taste like gasping in desperation?

How did you feel beneath their bodies?

How did you look like when you cried for more?

What did your skin smell like in the afterglow?

All those questions that would feed his senses were kept locked in his heart, too personal and too much.

So, Hunter settled on waiting. 

He was a patient man, after all. Or so he told himself. Deep down, there was a restless itch underneath his skin. A kind of appetite that no ordinary crave can satiate ever since he met you three years ago. A dormant hunger that was lying in wait, like a starving beast prowling around in a steel cage. 

As much as he wanted to know, Hunter promised himself not to ask you or any of his vode. Those nights they had with you were theirs, a private secret locked in their memories, and he has no right to pry it out of their grasp just because he was the last one to have you. 

A few more days.

Hunter thought to himself, glancing back over his shoulder towards the direction of the Marauder.

And I'll finally have you to myself.

You were here.

Pinned beneath him.

Hunter didn't know how it happened, when it happened, but he was right above you now. 

And you were panting, he could feel your body trembling against his. 

“Hunter,” You moaned loudly, shamelessly. Or was it a plea? It all sounded the same in his mind. “Hunter, please.”

Now, he just registered the state you were in.

Flushed, that much was obvious, with your wild hair sprawled against the forest floor. Robes torn open, leaving you bare and exposed to his ravenous gaze. But what surprised him the most were the marks that had already bloomed on your skin. 

Did he make those?

Hunter's pupils dilated at the noticeable shape of a crimson crescent on the junction where your neck met your shoulder. 

Teeth marks. 

Unmistakably his. 

When did he–

Then, your hips moved. 

And Hunter groaned like a wounded soldier, then cursed like a damned sailor when he realized something else.

Kriffing hell. 

He snapped his gaze down, and saw himself inside you. Buried to the hilt. The bulge protruding on your lower womb was the evidence of it.

Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.

“Hunter, please.” You mewled again, resisting against his hold. 

His hands were on your wrists, preventing any movement. However, he was too far gone to hear you. Not when the sensation of your walls swallowed him whole. Not when he felt you squeeze around him like a vice. Not when you whimpered so prettily in his ear, begging him to move.

“Mesh’la, wait–”

“No, please!”

“No, this is not–”

“Please, Hunter.”

You were crying now. You were crying because of him, and now he hated himself for denying you.

Strengthening his resolve, Hunter released his hold on your wrists. You immediately latched around his neck, bringing him down to hug him close.

He moved his hands down to grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh—hard enough to leave the imprint of his palms. 

Then with a low voice, he whispered in your ear.

“Mine.”

Day nine of shore leave.

“Kriffing hell,” Hunter groaned into the ceiling, turning over to bury his face into his pillow. “Maker, just take me now.”

What in all blazing stars was that?

Cursing, he just noticed the hardness straining below his blacks. The uncomfortable sensation rendered him immobile to his bed, refusing to be a victim to the ache of relief. No, he will not allow himself to surrender to the urge. He respected you too much, and his pride didn't allow him to.

I need to get it together.

That was the third dream he had of you during this shore leave, and it already skipped to the part where he had you trapped underneath. He vaguely recalled the last dream to be swift, when you vanished like smoke right in front of him and he fell to cold waters until he woke up drenched in sweat. 

The first two dreams were vivid, but this one—

This time… It felt real.

He can still hear your voice, not just the sounds, but the way you made them. So broken, so desperate, and so tempting. He can feel the ghost of your skin on his palms, the soft flesh that shifted each time you tried moving your hips. 

Those hips. 

The same ones he found himself guilty staring at each time you sauntered confidently with a slight sway on your step. Hunter particularly loved that miniscule habit of yours when you used your hips to express yourself. 

Whenever you acted all smug and cocky, which was a rare occurrence, your hands would purchase themselves on your hips. When you argue and stand your ground, you'd cross your arms and jut one hip out as you leaned on one leg. And there were times when you teased him or his brothers, you would casually bump your hip against theirs wearing a coy smile on your face. 

Sometimes, he cursed your robes for all the wrong reasons. 

He cursed them because they reminded him of what you were and who you stood for. He cursed them because they were too thick and impractical for someone like you to move around in. And he cursed at them because it hid the shape of your body from his—

Stop thinking.

He tried closing his eyes, regaining his bearings, but all he could see was yours staring back at him.

That look in your eyes, all teary and half-close, gazing up at him as if he could give you heaven and unleash hell at the same time.

And kriff—

He felt you around him.

Warm, fluttering, and wet. 

Don't think about that.

He had been good. He had been patient. A dream like this will not make him falter. It will certainly not make him break. Because he knew if it did, what more should the real thing happen? Oh, he would not survive at all. 

But first, he just has to survive you for the next few days to come.

Later that day, he avoided any interaction with you—much to you and everyone's bewilderment.

He can look at Tech now, but he couldn't look at you.

Not after that dream, still playing on repeat in his head. Not after he smelled Tech's scent on your skin the moment he passed by you that morning. And especially not when he froze in shock as soon as he entered the cockpit, the scent of sex and sweat still lingering in the air—the space had already been sterilized—but still faint enough to hurt Hunter and his senses.

You're a patient man.

A patient man who was doomed to snap at any given moment now. 

Be patient.

He kept telling himself, pretending to ignore the slight limp in your step. How your eyes drifted towards Tech's direction, how his brother automatically met your gaze, a noticeable spark passing the two of you in that quiet moment.

And the others were not too subtle as well, much to his dismay.

How they trailed after your movements, a barely concealed heat in their eyes, satiated but still ever-present. Like a match ready to be lit once again, but refusing to be drenched to oil. The desire coiled like smoke each time he was in the same room, the lingering stares and the shift in the air all too much for him.

Patience.

But Hunter was not a virtuous man from the start, but at least he tried to be. He has killed, he has destroyed, and he has fallen. 

He just needed to hold out, take a deep breath, and wait for another day. He has survived wars, fought countless campaigns, and took painful strikes and punches to his body. And this shouldn't be more difficult than trudging through a forest swamp, dirt, grime, and sweat clinging to his armor and blacks—the weight of exhaustion slowing his muscles down.

It shouldn't be difficult.

It shouldn't be.

But suddenly… patience slowly felt like torture.

Day ten of shore leave.

Hunter was convinced that he would punt Crosshair to the sun if he didn't stop this game. Tomorrow was his turn, but he has been avoiding you already today. It would've passed off as his stubborn pride, that unknown fear of breaking your Code which Hunter knew he beat himself up with. 

But there was something else, and nothing escaped Hunter's eyes.

He knew it from the way Crosshair looked like he was lost in thought, the way he stared into the distance, the way he glances towards your direction time and time again—as if torn by a battle within him—only to tear his gaze away the moment he caught himself staring after you.

Stubborn, prideful bastard.

Hunter already knew something's bound to happen, especially with the undeniable tension between the two of you. He actually prayed to the Maker that the two of you would finally talk, maybe you would confront Crosshair about what's on your mind. Perhaps all the sniper really needed was a clear scope of his aim—of what he truly wanted. 

Whatever conversation you had prepared for him, it should knock some sense into his stubborn brother.

Because today, Crosshair went back in town and lost himself again in another drink.

Sighing to himself, Hunter adjusted his armor before heading out in search for him again.

It wasn't difficult to locate him, there were only a few cantinas in this town. And the one he had chosen was quaint. Unlike the usual spots they were used to—the harsh neon lighting, rowdy customers, and overlapping voices—this one was too sterile for their tastes.

However, it wasn't so bad.

He could picture you enjoying this place, ordering the same drink you have chosen that night in Coruscant. That was if they served it here. Plus, this atmosphere suited you more than the rough and shady low level bars they pick. 

Hunter took a second to appreciate the low glow from the lights above, almost casting an artificial sunlight on the floor as he walked towards Crosshair's booth. The place was not crowded, just enough patrons who busied themselves in pleasant conversations and iced drinks. The music echoed softly across the space, catering to the serene mood.

There, tucked at the far back, sat Crosshair nursing his glass of Maker's-knows-what in hand whilst glaring daggers at it like it personally betrayed him. 

Typical.

Hunter only sighed, quietly sitting himself down across him, studying the dark shadows covering Crosshair's face. However, the red hue tinting the sniper's cheeks did not escape his keen observation.

“How many have you had?” His question only earned a non-committal grunt, so he tried again. “What did you get?”

Crosshair clicked his tongue, flitting his piercing gaze upwards. “Why do you care?” 

“So I can get the same one.”

For a while, he didn't reply. 

But Hunter picked on the slight twitch on his lips, that miniscule tug at the corner out of habit from shifting his toothpick, and the hesitant whisper that followed under his breath.

“Cider.”

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

“Nah, I didn't.”

Hunter did, he knew it by the smell immediately, and he fought the urge to smirk at Crosshair's annoyed expression.

So they do have it here.

Leaning back against the leather seat, Hunter flagged for a nearby Twi'lek server and ordered another round of Corellian Cider for the both of them. 

Once their glasses have been filled, Hunter swirled the ice around to let it thaw the alcohol. 

“So,” He started gruffly, casual yet all-too-knowing. “Any reason why you decided to drink your sorrows away?”

Crosshair merely glared, but the cider already tempered the venom in his gaze. In those sharp irises reflected a kind of mirror that Hunter rarely got to witness from him. Vulnerability, but also guarded hostility—like a coiled serpent provoked.

Sighing, Hunter took a sip of his cider and swallowed his pride.

This is gonna be a long night.

Day eleven of shore leave.

This was beginning to test not only his patience, and his sanity.

Hunter really thought he could have a day of peace, a moment of rest, from the dreams. No, he should've known a soldier like him would experience some other struggle. No, it wasn't war (for now), it wasn't a massive gash on his side or a mild concussion to his head. At this point, he would rather have those done to him all at the same time than this.

Currently, the batch was out in town again, looking to explore the rest of the areas they haven't been in before. 

Wrecker was showing you the things he has seen, marching in front like an excited child showing wonders to his parents. Echo was close on your right, shifting his gaze to check on you every once in a while, whilst Tech walked on the other side to your left.

Hunter chose the rear position, keeping an eye out for the surroundings. 

A force of habit. 

He knew damn well nothing could harm them whilst they were on this neutral planet, but better be safe than sorry. It should be easy enough, if it weren't for the obvious fact he can see everything in front of him.

The way Echo placed his left hand on your lower back whenever they entered a densely populated area, the act looked so natural and thoughtful, but it still made Hunter’s eye twitch. Tech occasionally leaned down to whisper something in your ear, standing too close, and your amused smile did not escape Hunter's keen eyes.

And Wrecker, oh he was the most obvious one.

Hunter, normally, would've laughed at the sight as the larger clone pulled you into his side, one large arm on your shoulders. He would laugh when Wrecker did the same to you, tucked under his arm, pinching your cheek and ruffling your hair.

And you would let him, despite being their general and a Jedi, you allowed the attachment. 

Unlike before, there was still a boundary. A line they never knew would be crossed. Yes, you allowed them to bet close, but always at an arm's length.

But now… Something's different.

Now that the line was crossed. 

Now, there was no going back.

Each of them had a taste of you, all except him and Crosshair. But even so, the latter would get his turn soon. They haven't seen him all day, probably in this town spending his credits on the bottom of another drink again. 

Or at the lake again moping alone.

Hunter scoffed to himself, shaking his head. 

Crosshair should have talked to you by now, but you were here with them. He could have let his pride down, finally admit to what he always wanted, and take it. 

Either he takes it, or I will.

When the afternoon light rolled over the town, blanketing everything in its soft golden hue, you turned towards them and said.

“I'm going back early,” There was a curious glimmer in your eyes as you spoke. “Will you guys stay here for long?”

Wrecker pouted at your words, crossing his arms like a child ready to throw a tantrum. 

“But you haven't even seen the best part yet!”

“There's still next time, Wrecker.”

“Why are you leaving though?”

“Oh, uh… I need to talk to Crosshair.”

At that, Hunter perked up, and so did the rest of his brothers. Of course, they knew immediately what that meant. In an instant, they backed off and nodded solemnly. 

Today was Crosshair's turn.

Tech only nodded his head, but his fingers twitched at his sides as if tempted to reach out for you. Echo merely let his eyes talk, a silent plea and a yearning call. Meanwhile, Wrecker gruffly grumbled something under his breath but forced himself to stand still. All of them wanted you the same way, silently wishing that their intentions would be just enough to make you stay, but you already made your decision.

And you chose Crosshair now.

That coward. 

He thought to himself, watching you depart from the group with one last glance and a wave over your shoulder as you make your way back to the Marauder. 

He better not kriff this up.

He didn't know, but his brothers all shared the same thought.

But only Wrecker was the braver one to voice it out. “If he kriffs this up, all of you hold me back not to punt him to the sun.”

Hunter scoffed, shaking his head.

Way ahead of you.

Later that night, Hunter was stirred awake by the sounds coming from the direction of your bunk. At first, it had him sitting up in panic. You sounded hurt, pained, as your muffled sobs reached his ears from his bed, but then—

Another voice slithered in, sharp and serpentine, and Hunter recognized the situation immediately when your tone shifted into something else.

I don't know whether I should be proud or what.

Hunter thought to himself, burrowing his head deeper into his pillow to drown out the distinct echoes of your voice.

So the bastard has finally done it.

And it looked like he was doing a damned good job, much to Hunter's dismay. Because the noises you were making blended perfectly between sweet moans and pleading cries. The kind that forced Hunter awake in alert, half in arousal and half in frustration. It was the first time Hunter heard those kinds of sounds from you, and it was because of Crosshair, who was now drowning himself in your heat.

Keep it down, or I'm gonna lose it.

Out of all the time in the day, Crosshair really chose the hour so late at night to make up his kriffing mind.

Hunter assumed it was another dream at first, when he distinctly heard your voice resonating in his subconscious mind. That sweet tune of your voice, melting under the throes of pleasure, gasping and mewling for him. That catch in your breath when you tossed your head back, the cracked cry at the back of your throat, and the soft plea of his name.

Only it wasn't his name, it was another that had his eyes shooting open.

“Crosshair!”

The brunette clone groaned, now fully aware of what's happening. So, he wasn't dreaming after all. 

The noises went on for another couple of minutes, he couldn't quite hear everything being said. The hiss in Crosshair's voice was too low, but yours rang so clearly, flowing smoothly like a silver river.

“Yes, please. Keep going.”

“Feel so good, Cross.”

“Kriff, just like that please.”

He felt himself twitch in his blacks, cursing at himself for his body's betrayal.

No, you were with another man right now. His brother. Saying his name. Taking him completely. Sounding so ruined by everything he gave you. 

He should not indulge in this. 

He should just close his eyes, try to drift back to sleep, and pretend it was nothing—

But then, he heard you again.

“Keep going.”

Kriff my life.

Hunter bit back another pained groan, as if he was the one experiencing the pleasure. Across from him, Echo slept soundly, blissfully unaware of what was currently making Hunter spiral into a mad descent. Amongst other things.

The minutes ticked by, but your voice remained engraved into his skull. 

He had to stop the images from surfacing, it wasn't right to do so. He can't be thinking about you—bare, bruised, and utterly undone—when you were with his brother at this moment. He shouldn't be this affected by your sounds, the scenes they evoked in his mind, or the way he hears every whine and moan spilling from your swollen lips.

Think of other things.

So, Hunter attempted to refocus himself. 

Embarrassing moments during his time in Kamino after being caught by authorities. An even more embarrassing moment when you hear him attempt to flirt his way out during a mission. Explosions. Falling from an airship. Dropping down into battle face first. Accidentally banging his head against a pipe. Getting hit by a speeder in the middle of a warzone.

Anything and everything to drown out the waves of guilt, shame, and—

A particularly loud moan ricochet across the durasteel walls, causing his eyes to snap open and throw a panicked glance at Echo.

He slumped down once he found him still knocked out, but tensed again when the volume picked up gradually.

For kriff’s sake, Cross.

Shut her up, or I'll come there and—

Thankfully, his brother might have heard his plea because your noise immediately got cut off. 

Not entirely, but it softened deliberately.

Just enough to haunt Hunter in his bunk, enough to see you behind his eyelids, and enough to let him open his eyes to stare at the ceiling in thought.

Be patient.

He never imagined you would sound like that. So unabashed, unrestrained, and undone. As if freed from the chains, years of restriction and u attachment, broken into shattered pieces. Who knew a Jedi like you could break like this, and Hunter somehow blamed himself because of it.

Would it be any different if he didn't suggest following Tech's plan?

No, it wouldn't. 

Because Wrecker already had a taste even before that, so naturally it would lead to this moment.

Was this a good idea?

Too late for that now. 

What would happen after all of this?

Now, that was a question that halted Hunter's heart. The same question he forced himself to forget, or ignore for as long as possible. After this shore leave, what would happen then? 

Will you return to being their general? 

Would they keep this shore leave as a secret? 

Will they ever get the chance to let you know how they truly felt after all these years? 

The questions multiplied into a hundred more, ultimately distracting him from the distant sounds which gradually lessened as each second passed.

Until, it was complete silence.

Finally.

Hunter released a heavy sigh of relief, finally letting his muscles sag into his mattress. The thunderous beat of his heart calmed, so did the drums in his ears. 

Just like that, Crosshair's turn was done. And in two more days, it would be his.

In two days time, he would finally have you all to himself. After waiting for so long. For three ridiculously long years, now two torturous weeks, and finally two days until this shore leave was over. But before it ends, he'll get to have you.

He just needed to wait patiently until that day arri—

The sounds picked up again, this time fainter. Still, it practically exploded in Hunter's ears. 

The realization crashed over him, the terror in his eyes and the cold sweat against his temple came back. The hair on his arms prickled on alert, jaw clenched so tight his teeth might break against each other.

Of course, it wasn't over. 

Now, he has to force himself to sleep or endure it until the sun rises.

Patience.

Hunter didn't know how he got into this position.

But here he was, laid flat on his back against the forest floor, staring up at the molten heat burning in your eyes as you peered down at him from above. Somehow, his top and armor were nowhere to be found, only left with his bottom. 

Your hands, scorching against his bare skin, left a trail of wildfire across his taut stomach up to his chest. The scars were left warm with the ghost of your touch, prickling the old wounds into a new kind of pain—open, raw, and aching.

The air in his lungs came in shallow gasps, pupils blown wide, while the ascension of your hands came to rest around his neck.

You didn't wrap your fingers yet, but there was a slight pressure from your thumbs against his pulse point. 

“Hunter,” The coo of his name spilled dangerously low from your lips, stroking the skin above his racing pulse as a way to calm him down. “Relax, sergeant. I haven't done anything yet.”

He faintly registered another pressure somewhere else on his body, and he tossed his head back once the pressure rolled again.

Your core pressed against his, leisurely setting a torturous pace. 

To punish him? For what? 

To assert yourself? Maybe.

To prove a point? What point?

A breath tickled near his ear, the brush of your hair falling gracefully onto his cheek. Like a lover's caress, gentle and lingering.

“You claimed me, Hunter.” You whispered like sin, teeth tugging on the lobule of his ear. “It's time for me to claim you back.”

Then, you squeezed his throat with one hand as the other made its deadly descent to the waistband of his blacks. He should stop you. Maker, he should take control. This was his dream, why were you stopping him from taking control?

He could easily flip you around, pin your wrists above your hand just like last time. You would learn your lesson not to provoke a beast, not to dangle yourself in front of him like his next meal. And you knew damn well he could snap his teeth around your throat, holding you down in warning.

However, something else made him pause. 

Other than you, some hungry part of him craved this side of you. To owned. To be chosen. He wanted you to make him yours. He wanted everything you could give him, even your cruelty and torture—just as long as he has you.

Just as long as you have him.

It was only then when he was finally freed, cursing your name into the air, he allowed you to take him into your heat without resistance.

And when you finally sunk down fully against him, you pressed a rewarding kiss beneath his jaw.

“Let go, sergeant."

Day twelve of shore leave.

Hunter would have believed he was already immune to the dreams, but that was not the case at all. Especially when they appear out of nowhere, always at a random night. Always at a different hour. He didn't notice any patterns which could be the cause of them. All he knew was he was utterly and irrevocably kriffed.

That dormant hunger within him boiled, threatening to burst out of its seams if he wasn't careful. So, he kept on reminding himself.

You're a patient man.

You're proud.

Be admirable.

Those were his repeated mantras.

He didn't know what time he had managed to fall asleep, but when he woke up, Echo was already gone from his bunk. Again, for the fourth time, Hunter spent this moment staring up at the ceiling to process his dream.

Why were they all so vivid? 

Why did he remember every single one?

This is bantha shit. 

At least now, Crosshair had finally grown a pair and swallowed his pride down. And the sergeant couldn't honestly wait how the sniper would act now that his turn was over. Now that he had allowed himself to taste the forbidden fruit, and you let him. 

When he decided to get up for today, after a few minutes of cooling down to let his situation fade away, he stepped out of his bunk the same time Crosshair exited yours from the end of the hallway—shirtless and back littered with red lines drawn from his shoulder blades to his lower back.

When he turned around, he met Hunter's apprehensive stare. He stared back, lifting an eyebrow, unsure who to speak first. 

Crosshair narrowed his eyes, and Hunter did the same.

Finally, the brunette broke the silence.

“Had a nice sleep?” 

“Just fine.”

“That's not your bunk.”

“And you have eyes.”

The comment caused Hunter to scoff, but there was mirth instead of annoyance. He relaxed his stance and nodded towards his brother's direction. A quiet respect and understanding, which the silver-haired sniper surprisingly blinked at.

“It's about time you grew a pair, after all these years.” 

Was all Hunter said, before he left Crosshair, snickering to himself once he heard a faint curse behind.

Later that day, it was no surprise you slept in to recover more hours. No one bothered to wake you, except Echo who was worried you haven't eaten anything yet but Hunter assured you needed to rest.

The rest of them busied themselves with their own things. 

Hunter sparred with Wrecker in the same clearing he had found you in when he— Okay, nevermind. 

Tech was occupied with further maintenance of the ship, making the final inspections before the departure the day after tomorrow. Crosshair practiced his sharpshooting, with the help of Echo who threw pebbles into the air at random directions.

As Hunter dodged an incoming punch from Wrecker, he swiftly pivoted around to deliver a kick behind his knee.

“Cheat!” The larger clone yelled, quickly regaining his footstep before Hunter could bring him down. “General tried that first.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hunter huffed, stepping aside to evade another massive swing. “Did she try this?”

Without pause, the brunette spun to deliver a high roundhouse kick towards his face. The kick managed to stun Wrecker, head whipping to the side, arm blindingly shooting forward. Using his brother's unbalanced momentum, Hunter dropped low and swept a leg underneath his legs.

Wrecker tumbled down flat on his back, groaning more from the impact than pain. Meanwhile, Hunter smirked to himself after another round concluded, dusting himself off.

Shaking his head, the larger clone blinked repeatedly. “Yeah, she didn't try that.”

“Glad it worked on ya.”

“Just don't do it again, yeah?”

“No promises.”

He offered a hand, helping his brother up to his feet again as the two shook hands and patted each other's back.

A few hours passed, and you finally woke up wearing one of Crosshair's blacks. The size almost dwarfed your body, the hem stopping around the middle of your thighs, barely covering your sleeping shorts. 

Sleeves too long, and fabric just tight around some areas enough to highlight your figure.

Groggily greeting them when you passed by, you failed to notice the stunned expressions on their features.

Wrecker has his mouth comically wide open, staring at you with round eyes. Echo merely blinked repeatedly, avoiding letting his gaze slip down your bare legs. Tech fumbled his datapad eye, adjusting his goggles when he averted his gaze. Crosshair wore a small, smug smirk, sipping on his caf from the side.

And Hunter took a deep breath to compose himself when you directed a sleepy smile at him.

Patience.

Day thirteen of shore leave.

One day left.

One day left before they're enroute again to Coruscant, back to the unforgiving reality of war, and the unending hours of deadly missions.

But what Hunter focused on the most was the terrifying fact—

One day before his turn.

A few days ago, he would've been thrilled for that day to come. A reward for his patience. An ending to his nightly dreams, and a way to show you how much you meant to him.

But first, Hunter wanted to distract himself from the thought. And what better way to spend the near end of their leave than to have a little swim? 

As soon as he suggested it to the others, Wrecker excitedly whooped and dashed towards his bunk to get changed. Echo originally declined the idea, but then agreed to come and watch the chaos unfold. Tech and Crosshair seemed reluctant, like begrudging loth-cats who shared a distaste for water, but Echo managed to convince the two by looping an arm in theirs and dragged them towards their bunks.

Meanwhile, you seemed to consider the idea much longer.

Hunter turned towards you, raising an eyebrow in concern. “Everything okay, mesh'la? You can stay here and rest. I'll handle the boys just fine.”

Shaking your head, you offered him a timid smile as you averted your gaze from him. “No, it's not that. It's… Well, I don't think I can–”

“Then, stay and rest.” Hunter repeated, though his tone became softer as did his eyes. “It's okay, mesh'la. Figured it would be a fun day out with the boys. You can use this to have some time alone, meditate, or–”

“I want to! It's just that…”

“What is it, mesh'la?”

“Well…”

“Are you sick? Have a fever?”

“I still have marks on my body.”

“Oh,” Every thought in Hunter's head vanished, replaced by a white noise that stretched as long as the silence that followed between you.

You shifted on your feet, a hand coming up to fiddle with the collar of your tunic. 

On instinct, he zeroed in on the movement. And there it was, the faint yet visible marks peeking through the fabric. Some new, most likely Crosshair's, and some old from the past few days. They have yet to heal, it would take a good amount of weeks for all of them to completely fade. 

He wouldn't even be surprised if he found out Wrecker's marks were still there tomorrow—

Clearing his throat, Hunter nodded silently as he glanced away. “Ah, I understand. You can just join Echo's side and watch?”

You beamed, content with the suggestion. 

Several minutes later, the boys chased each other in the water. Except Echo, who had resorted to just recording the whole scene at the shoreline. 

Wrecker led the fight, splashing anyone and everyone with powerful strikes with water. Crosshair, much to all of their surprise, was splashing back using precise hits to his brother's eyes. Meanwhile, Tech kept diving into the deeper depths to retrieve some shells he kept on rambling about earlier—his usual goggles replaced by aquatic enhanced visors.

Beside Echo, you sat next to him laughing and pointing at the irked expression on Crosshair's face once Wrecker had a chokehold around him.

Tech resurfaced from the depths, swimming back to shore whilst avoiding the onslaught of Wrecker's attacks. Unlike his two shirtless brothers, who only wore swimming trunks, Tech opted for a skin tight top—similar to his blacks—that was equipped for deep diving and blue shorts.

He bounded over to you, excitedly showing the collective items he had managed to find underwater. You admired each one just as enthusiastically, studying the iridescent colors against the sunlight. Echo snickered, teasing him about turning into an aquatic creature just because of pretty shells.

Hunter stood just behind, leaning against a tree as he gazed at the scene wearing a small fond smile.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

Because the day after tomorrow would be the end of their brief paradise. This two week leave would just be another memory for them to carry and look back to in front lines. 

When Wrecker began taunting him from the water, Hunter drew a small breath before tossing his shirt off from his body to make his way over. He pretended not to notice your wandering eyes over his exposed body, smirking to himself. 

And so, for the entire day, all of you spent the remaining hours dipped in water, sunlight, stories, laughter, and memories.

Day fourteen of shore leave.

Before Hunter knew it, the last day of their two week leave finally came.

And so did his turn.

With the clock ticking, he had set out a plan for him to execute. It wasn't perfect, nor carefully crafted, but it might nudge things in the right direction if everything goes well.

The forest was alive in ways most people couldn’t hear.

To Hunter, it was a map of sound and scent, every detail sliding into place like pieces of a puzzle. The faint drip of water from a high branch. The weight of his footsteps pressing into damp soil. The slow stream of your breath, coming out of your parted lips in concentrated huffs.

He found you outside the ship training with your lightsaber, twisting and turning over imaginary attacks and blaster shots. Foregoing your usual heavy robes, you settled for lightweight elastic pants underneath a sleeveless training tunic. There were wraps around your forearms, thin layers of sweat clinging to your exposed skin at each powerfully lethal strike you exerted.

He stood aside, watching you with a keen gaze as you multitasked with swinging your lightsaber and evading invisible attacks.

Your blade hummed with each swing, a violent purple hue wrapping your body like it was a natural extension of you. As if you sensed him watching, your movements shifted from a casual training to a real performance.

You moved fluidly, a dancer with a memorized choreography—light on your feet, flexible, and impressively agile. Your body moved on instinct, arms glistening against the sunlight every time you swung using one grip before switching to both hands.

He knew you could feel his presence like heat on the back of your neck, even when he leaned back against a tree trunk just a few feet away.

The others were missing, most likely out in town carrying the knowledge that it was his turn today. Like they have agreed all those nights ago, privacy must be given. And Hunter wouldn't let that opportunity go to waste after all this time.

Finally, you switched your lightsaber off as the purple light drew back to the hilt producing a low vibrating hiss.

“You haven't lost your touch,” Hunter commented roughly, leaning against the tree trunk as if he had all the time in the world.

You shot him a look over your shoulder, grinning playfully. “Enjoying the view, Sarge?”

He pushed off the tree, taking a slow step forward.

“The view’s just fine. How long have you been out here?”

“Since the others left.”

“What time did they leave?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you clipped the hilt to your belt. “Not sure, but they were already gone when I woke up. Just an hour ago.”

Hunter hummed, nodding, mulling over the information. “Well, looks like it's just us here. How about a little game, mesh'la?”

You shifted to face him fully, hand braced on your hip, leaning against one leg. 

“Game?” Your head tilted to the side, smirk falling over your lips. “I'm getting a real bad sense of Deja Vu. What's the game?”

“You think you could outrun me?”

Your chin lifted, molten eyes glinting in challenge. 

“In my sleep.”

That earned you a smirk, not because he found it funny, but because he liked the way your pulse jumped under your skin when you said it. He could hear it from here, pulsating, thrumming with anticipation—with dangerous knowing.

In my sleep, things were different.  

“Prove it,” He said, leaning forward. “If you're so confident.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“You run. Ten second head start. No weapons. No Force.” He let the silence hang, before adding. “There's a cave ten klicks away from here, by a mountainside. Make it there in an hour without me catching you, and you win.”

“And if you catch me?”

His smile didn’t change, but something in his tone dropped a register when he answered. 

“You’ll find out.”

The tension wafted around you in a suffocating smoke, both your eyes stayed locked in each other. He could hear the hitch of your breath when his eyes dipped to your parted lips, lingering there, before his gaze returned to yours—unflinching, heated, and daring.

He was tired of being patient, days of watching from the sidelines whilst his brothers all had their way with you. He had enough of being proud, of denying that dormant beast within him the hunger he craved for so long. And he was so sick of being admirable, because he knew all of the things he wanted to do to you were anything but.

He didn’t give you time to argue, just uttered one word that raised the hair on your arms. 

“Run.”

You took off in a burst of speed, boots digging into the earth. He didn’t move right away. Let you think you were getting a head start. Let your heart rate climb just enough for him to hear it thunder in his ears.

“Time starts,” Hunter drawled out. “Now.”

Ten.

You nearly lost your balance from a stray log over your path, thankfully catching yourself and starting a steadier pace. He let you go for now.

Nine.

Hunter smiled to himself, leisurely walking towards the direction you took off to.

Eight.

After a few minutes, he shifted his rhythm, letting his footsteps fade into the natural noise of the forest. Like a civvie taking a nice stroll in the forest, whistling a casual tune into the wind. 

Seven.

Your footsteps slowed to a silent halt, trying to listen. He could picture you, head turning, bright eyes glancing back over your shoulder.

Six.

Hunter unsheathed a blade from his holster, expertly twirling the dagger around his fingers.

Five.

Ahead of him, faint footfalls echoed again in the distance. You were getting farther and farther now, but Hunter knew it wouldn't be too difficult to track you down. 

Four.

He surveyed the area, taking everything fully. The trees stopped saying, almost trapped under a hypnotic trance. Watching. Listening for his next move.

Three.

Sheathing his blade back to his side, the brunette rolled his shoulders around. He snapped his neck to the side, shaking off the tension.

Two.

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening back to his surroundings, smelling the air to pick up the trail of scent you left in your wake. 

One.

When he finally pushed off, breaking off into a sprint, he kept his pace steady. Fast enough to keep you in range, slow enough for you to think you were ahead. Your trail was obvious: crushed leaves, broken twigs, the faint trace of your scent curling through the pines—sweet, sinful, close.

He tried to empty his thoughts, focusing on the path before him, but then your words rang in his ears.

“Oh, we all know how good of a leader Hunter is. Brave, dependable, trustworthy, and a hell of a soldier.”

A hell of a soldier, huh?

Smirking to himself, Hunter allowed himself to blend with the forest. Silent. Stalking. Growing closer to where you thought he wouldn't be near at. However, you thought you could outsmart him. He noticed the false trail leading towards a random direction. 

Believable, but your scent didn't last long there.

Impressed, Hunter took a second to appreciate the effort you made to make a detour for him. However, you should know those tricks won't work on him, but he has to applaud you for trying.

“But I wonder… What lies beneath that armor of righteousness? What kind of a man does he hide underneath?”

A dangerous thought for you to have. An even more treacherous idea for you to entertain. For years he had been keeping himself in check, in fear of letting the cracks start to show what truly hid underneath. He let his armor conceal his body's reactions to everything you did, his helmet covered the way his eyes tracked every movement and shift from your body.

A predator memorizing his prey. A hunter learning his target's routine.

He kept on telling himself it was just for your safety that he kept you close. That he didn't trust anyone, other than his brothers, to be left alone with you. Even when you were perfectly capable of defending yourself, he has seen it multiple times before, that strange sense of uneasiness bridling deep within his chest never failed to make him more protective.

Still, he didn't want to let that border into anything else. As your sergeant, it was his main priority to maintain the safety of your well-being. You were his general, after all, and you were part of their team. It's only natural for him to do so.

So, he kept that righteous front. 

He kept on believing he was still the patient, proud, and admirable man years before he met you.

But he was just believing a lie at this point.

“He always puts this restraint around him, like he's afraid of losing control. What does it take for you to snap, Hunter?”

A twig cracked to his right, and he immediately knew it was you shifting your weight just enough to break it. He whipped around to find the source, slowing his pace down. For a brief moment, this scene looked awfully similar to his first dream. 

The same hunt. The same forest. The same sensations flooded his body—anticipation, excitement, and dark amusement.

Something about the reality of experiencing it caused a violent swirl of delight in his mind. The hunger from that beast will finally have a taste. It's no longer dormant, no longer leashed. Now, he was in his territory. Here, deep within the woods, where the air betrayed your scent to let him gain closer.

His blood pumped louder, wilder in his veins, as his eyes scanned the area. The scent was faint, gradually getting stronger the more steps he took. 

The sun was still high in the sky, blaring its intense heat on everything it touched. Thankfully, the canopy above him blocked most of it, but the humid moisture in the air remained. It overwhelmed his senses slightly, his blacks stuck against his skin uncomfortably tight and his armor weighed heavier. 

But his steps didn't falter, carefully trudging through the path. 

Another snap, a skip of a heartbeat, and Hunter caught a brief glimpse of your figure bolting the other direction where he was headed.

When he turned, you were already gone.

“Does the thrill of a chase excite you?”

The air was warm and damp here, perfect for carrying scent. He closed the gap, moving with purpose now, letting the forest mask him. Every small sound you made was a marker, leading him straight to where you were.

His pace moved faster, his breath steadier. 

You ran again, swifter this time, attempting to outrun him with your Jedi stamina. Still playing by the rules, no use of the Force to assist you in this game. Just the years of training and the harsh trials (you told them the whole story one time over a campfire) you endured during your time as a Padawan.

Does the thrill of the chase excite me?

Hunter chuckled silently, slowing his pace again to give you enough time to escape. He wanted to draw this out for longer. Feel that thrill simmer deeper within his bones, hear the drums beating wildly in his ears. 

It does something worse than excite me, mesh'la.

At the same time, he wanted you to tire yourself out. Rung out of energy. Use it all in this wild chase. Until you have nothing left, and he would finally pounce when you're at your weakest.

It makes me obsessed.

Even when the path you've chosen included annoying obstacles—protruding roots, low-hanging branches, dark canopies, and scattered large rocks—Hunter followed like a man obsessed.

“What would you do if I let you chase after me?

The better question was… What would he do after he finally caught you?

What would you do when he finally has you?

“Perhaps you should live up to your name to find out, huh?”

You should've known better than to taunt a man like him with those words. You should've known better why they gave him his name. You were in his domain now, his territory, and there was no place here you could hide or run off to without him finding you. Without him claiming you after all this time of waiting patiently.

You thought this was a game. A simple and fun game shared between friends.

His breathing grew ragged, sharper and faster, so did his steps. A shadow fell over his eyes, darkening with intent.

No, this was a hunt.

You have no idea how much time has passed since you ran off from the ship. 

The moment he said run, you ran.

The forest swallowed you whole, pine and loam in your lungs, damp earth giving under your boots. Your wove between trunks, leapt over risen roots, ducked low branches that almost clawed at your hair. You didn’t dare look back, not when you felt the tremor in the Force of something wild and untamable—something primal.

At first, you could hear him. 

The measured, confident tread of someone who didn’t need to hurry. He wasn’t chasing you. No, he was tracking you, letting you wear yourself out until he can have his moment to size you into his grasp.

But no, you won't allow him.

You persevered through the dense forest, kept your head down, and pushed harder. Your lungs burned at the effort, filling the air inside your chest with burning embers. Your calves screamed for rest, but your mind pleaded for you not to stop. The thought of him catching you made your feet find more speed, more power, until you're able to find that cave before the hour was up.

Before he can sink his teeth on you.

Sliding behind a large tree trunk, you paused to catch your breath. 

I don't ever think I've ran that far before.

You probably did, you most likely have before in the heat of a battle. However, the difference from them and now was that this felt terrifying. And you didn't know why. Something churned low in your stomach when you saw the glint in Hunter's eyes, daring you to run off.

And you did.

You didn't know whether to feel afraid or not. 

He must be close. 

You knew Hunter was an efficient tracker, that's why you created a small diversion for him earlier. A detour. A fake path. One he could easily spot from a klick away. You just need one more second to devise another plan, so hopefully that stunt worked.

Gathering yourself, you closed your eyes and listened to your surroundings. 

Silence.

And that concerned you.

Not even the sounds of wildlife, a rustle through the leaves, a breeze along the trees.

Nothing.

You turned your head, scanning the shadows between the trees. Nothing. But the skin between your shoulders itched, the prickling that came with being watched—stalked—came back. It caused the hair on your arms to stand, something in the Force trembled in trepidation. 

A twig snapped to your right. 

You whirled towards it, gaze narrowed, only for a faint rustle to come from the bushes instead. 

Beneath your chest, your heart lurched.

“This is starting to get scary,” You whispered under your breath lightheartedly, but the strain was undeniable.

Keep moving.

You started forward slowly, each step deliberate. 

Like you didn't want to disturb the peace that suddenly enveloped the entire forest. The air felt warmer now, thicker. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting your palms as you wove deeper into the trees. Careful not to snap another twig, careful not to rush too fast in fear of letting some wild beast out there to come find her.

Or a man.

But somewhere deep in your mind, the two started to sound the same.

Another snap, this one behind you. You spun again, but the space was empty. The forest looked the same in every direction. Just hues of green, brown, and occasionally a flash of red—

Kriff.

Panic tried to press its hands around your throat, eyes widening in fear.

Without a second thought, you ran.

The world blurred into motion once more, trailing past you in those shades of green, gold, shadow. The ground uneven beneath your boots, causing you to stumble into the sloping terrain. Every few strides, you thought you caught a flicker of movement—the edge of an armor, the edge of a shoulder—but when you focused, there was nothing.

You didn’t know how long you'd been running when the pressure eased. Again, you paused to listen. No sound. No flicker of movement. Even that itch between your shoulders was gone.

Have you lost him?

You didn't wait to find out, taking off into a sprint again in desperate search for the mountainside with a cave. Breath heaving in your chest, you scanned the forest with a darting gaze. The path ahead looked clear, the light filtering through the canopy softer here. 

Your lungs burned as you pushed forward, jumping over stray logs and ducking under large vines, ears straining for any trace of him.

Still nothing.

But then just up ahead, a clearing peeked through the end of the treeline. 

A shaky laugh slipped past your lips, forcing your legs to carry you farther. Closer to hope. Running towards victory.

Closer. And closer. And closer.

Until—

Something shifted above you.

The air changed, suddenly heavier and thicker. Not wind, but the weight of it, pressing down just enough to trip your instincts. 

You looked up, but it was already too late.

A shadow dropped from the branches.

Before you knew it, a hand closed around your wrist. Before you could react you were spun, back hitting a tree. Bark scraped your shoulders through your tunic, itching against your body. His body was there in the next instant—heat, weight and a steady wall that left you nowhere to go.

Glancing at the side, you gazed at the clearing where you spotted the edge of light. The chance of hope lost, only a few feet away from your reach.

Your breath came out faster, pulse hammering, and he could feel every beat through the small stretch of space between the two of you. You glanced back at your captor, weighing the options in your mind. His strength was the unnatural result of his engineering, even a Jedi like you has no match for it, but that doesn't mean you cannot fight back.

But then his grip squeezed harder, his eyes caught the light, glinting with the knowledge that he had won.

“You lost,” He murmured, the sound of it curled low in your stomach, dark and content—as if claiming something that had always been his.

The finality was clear.

You've been caught.

Oh, you looked even more beautiful like this than in his dreams.

Bright eyes filled with terror, flushed skin heated from the running and something else, pulse thundering violently, and the struggle you attempted to perform almost tempted him to release you.

You look ravishing.

Hunter's teeth flashed when he grinned, a dark chuckle reverberating from his chest. 

“Looks like I've won the game,” He neared his face to your neck, breathing in the scent of your sweat, fear, and faint perfume. It made his head swim in glee. “Nowhere to run, mesh'la. Finally have you after all this time.”

And I'm not letting you go anytime soon.

It was amusing to see you run around earlier, with him trailing close behind from above. You made a crucial mistake of only listening to the sounds on the forest floor, constantly checking for his footsteps or glimpses of his silhouette. You never once looked up, because he was certain you would've seen him.

But that didn't matter now, Hunter finally had you where he wanted you.

A shaky chuckle escaped you, ghosting the shell of his ear. “You caught me, Sarge. Should've known I couldn't win against you.”

Hunter grinned, slow and sharp. “Should've known better, mesh'la. Now what should I do with you?”

He watched your pretty throat bob, overwhelmed with the urge of sinking his teeth around the column of your throat.

Besides your flushed countenance, what actually drove him crazy was your smell. Maker, it reminded him of the first time he met you three years ago at that hangar. Back then, it was barely there—only catching a trace—then it vanished before he could register it. 

Though, there were other times he caught the scent when you officially became their general, it was always quick to disappear (as if masked on purpose) and he forced himself not to think too deeply about it.

Now, up close, the scent flooded his senses and he growled in recognition.

Arousal. 

And he only noticed the signs now. 

The flush on your cheeks were not just from the exertion, but from the proximity. Pupils dilated in your eyes, shadowing the color around in a dark eclipse. Subconsciously, he felt your body instinctively arch into his—pressing against the front of his armor. 

Hunter could also feel the heat radiating from your sweat-slicked skin, tracking the sweat sliding from your jaw down to the line of your throat, before it disappeared inside the collar of your tunic.

The thread of his restraint began to thin, and that burning look in your eyes tested its remaining strength. 

Hunter let his eyes rise to your lips, tracing the curve and memorizing the color. He could kiss you right now, he could finally have a taste of what he's been dreaming of for the past two weeks. No more holding back, only claiming what he had been denied for so long.

“Mesh'la.” 

Hunter slowly leaned in, tilting his head slowly as both of your breaths met in the middle.

You stayed still, waiting for his kiss, head angled to the right. 

“Hunter.”

And just when his lips brushed against yours, you quickly brought a knee up to his stomach and kicked him off as soon as he doubled over. 

Kriffing hell–

Taking the chance to free yourself, Hunter felt you slip from his grasp while he clutched his stomach in pain.

Playing dirty, are we?

Hunter regained his composure, grinning wolfishly as he watched you dash off into the forest again.

Or playing hard to get.

Now fueled by a new kind of adrenaline, one that coursed through his veins with the kind of dangerous excitement, the sergeant started his hunt again.

This time, he'll make sure you won't escape again.

Kriff, maybe that was a bad idea.

You've been running for Maker knows how long now. Never stopping to rest, not even looking back to see if he had followed you. All you knew was you needed to get away. 

Just until the hour is up.

The temptation to go back to the ship called you, to hide somewhere safe and familiar.

Although, that wouldn't be fair. Neither was the little stunt you pulled.

And since when have you followed orders?

Perhaps that was the reason why your former master thought it would be suited to pair you with the Bad Batch, the similarities were too uncanny. Your inability to follow through with the Light, always tiptoing on the precipice of the Dark. Similar to your former master, you never played on one side, and that was why he has chosen you as his Padawan.

And perhaps why he assigned you to be the General of the Clone Force 99.

When you were certain you've reached a good amount of distance from him, you slowed your speed into a slight jog. 

Finding yourself in another clearing, the sounds of the forest played again. Insects trilled along the high branches, echoing all around you. Beyond you, water flowed through in a long steady stream, glistening under the sun spots that touched the ground. The air carried a lightness that filled your burning lungs with a cool breeze—the scent of dew and pine soothed your nerves instantly.

You glanced back behind your shoulder, seeing the visible tracks your boots have made.

Then, your eyes drifted to the stream in front of you, an idea conjuring in mind.

You stepped into the stream, water gliding fluidly around your boots. The depth just ended below your calves, and the flow quickly covered your tracks when you walked forward. 

Perfect.

Smiling to yourself, you set your gaze to where the stream was coming from. 

Let's see if you can follow me now, Hunter.

And so, you hurriedly trudged forward hoping to lose the tail of him. But little did you know of the beast that lurked from the shadows.

Clever girl.

Hunter watched you walk along the stream, perched on a tree branch, tracking your movements with narrowed eyes. On his lips, a smirk stretched the corners apart.

The tracks you left on the forest floor led him here to the clearing, where he heard the gush from the stream just up ahead. He expected you to cross over, walk across the waters, to continue the path on the other side. He didn't expect you to make your own on the stream itself.

But not clever enough.

Because he was not focused on your tracks now. It was long forgotten. 

No, he followed another trace.

One that wouldn't disappear like the tracks being washed away by the flowing waters. And one he could easily pick up on without his sight or hearing, even from a klick away—the very thing that drove him crazy right from the start.

Your scent.

You had a feeling that the hour was already done, and that this game was no longer just for fun. You tried to ignore the possibilities of what might happen when the time comes Hunter found you. The possible outcomes on how this game would end.

But this wasn't just a game anymore—this was survival.

It has been a few minutes since you abandoned the stream that you had found earlier. Now you were just running again, hoping to find the cave Hunter told you back at the ship. If there was a cave in the first place. For all you knew, it could be one of his traps again to make you run circles, hopelessly trying to find a sign of hope that you know deep down did not exist in the first place.

This is just like my trials. 

Thought yourself sardonically, almost laughing in amusement. But you kept the noise stuck at the back of your throat in fear that a certain someone may hear and pounce at any moment.

Ever since you lost the stream behind, the Force trembled around you. You didn't even mean to feel it. No, not on purpose. However, you can't shake the feeling of something dreadful about to happen. 

And you know what that feeling was.

The hair on your arms stood upright, goosebumps lie awake as you traversed the forest. Your skin prickled with an unknown sense of anxiety, and your heart raised at each second that passed when the silence around enveloped your senses. 

Because the forest suddenly became too quiet, almost as if it was listening as well. 

And that unnerved you.

It didn't seem like the silence that you encountered earlier. 

This kind of silence had your blood pumping wildly. It was the kind of quiet that rang in your ears, heavy and full, like the forest itself was holding its breath. Waiting for something to happen. But there were no footsteps. No voice. Only the sounds of your shallow breaths escaping from your lungs filled the air. 

And at this point, it might be the only sign of life.

I just need to find the cave before Hunter finds me.

Which was easier said than done.

The sky gradually lost its color, fading into a graying hue over the horizon as the sun began to set. The golden cast of light melted away, leaving only a shade of cool gray. Perhaps it has been hours since you have started this game. Perhaps the others might have returned to the ship by now, or they were wondering where you might be. 

You were really tempted to go back and head to the Marauder after all this hectic chase.

Exhaustion crept onto your bones, weighing heavier than steel and beskar. Your tunic clung to your body like a second skin now. Your muscles ached for rest, and your throat was too dry from the lack of hydration for the past hour. You almost turned on your heel to try and find the stream again just to have a drink, but your stubborn pride kept you pushing forward.

Where is that kriffing cave?

The question almost tore from your lungs in a frustrated scream. Your thighs shook in effort to keep you moving, eyes sluggishly glancing around to see if there was anyone following you from the shadows. 

After this, I'm going to sleep for hours.

When all hope was about to be lost, your eyes caught an opening to your right. At the center of the large rocks, there was an empty gap inside. And if you squinted hard enough, you could almost distinguish the dark gaping just past the trees.

There it is! 

You almost screamed in joy and in relief the sight of it, quickly angling your body to run towards the direction of the cave. After what felt like an eternity, this game would finally be over. And soon, you would laugh at the face of Hunter for beating him in his own game. 

Using all the remaining strength in your body, you force yourself to run faster than before. 

Almost there. 

You thought to yourself, breaking into a wide grin as each step took you closer and closer to victory. 

Until—

Another set of footsteps fell behind you, and it immediately cost your heart to jump in panic. 

You risked a glance over your shoulder, and the dread that pooled in your stomach sparked into blazing flames as the familiar sight of the clone closer on your heel. 

And when you met his eyes—

Kriff, he looks absolutely manic. Possessed even. 

Like you weren't staring at a man anymore.

It was the kind of heat you recognize from a predator who has finally found their prey. It was wild, hungry, and dark. Just from one look alone, his gaze consumed your entire being with unbridled fear. It could almost rival a Sith's ferocious gaze. The russet hues in Hunter's eyes were swallowed by the large eclipse of his pupils, almost making his eyes black and unrecognizable.

He met your gaze, darkening, a snarl curled at his mouth.

Then, his pace increased. His legs carried him across the ground with unbelievable speed. The resolve in his movements were clear, so was the fire in those russet irises.

You will not escape again.

And only one word rang in your head. 

Run.

You snapped your head forward, clenching your teeth, and willing yourself to move faster than ever before. Unlike earlier, you ran as if your life depended on it. You ran until the air in your lungs was replaced by desperation. You ran until your feet almost collapsed beneath you, but you regained your footing and continued on. 

Ten feet.

The pressure from behind weighed heavier and heavier, the sound of his footsteps sounded nearer than before. 

I can make it.

The conviction in your thoughts lacked its resolution, the dread in your veins too much to bear. 

Four feet.

“Stop running!” You heard Hunter's growl from behind, but you ignored the rough command to focus on the ringing in your ears.

Three.

You stretched your hand outwards and jumped forward, time slowing down around you. 

Two.

Your body was almost at the edge of the cave’s entrance, just enough for you to slip inside into the darkness and claim victory.

One–

A heavy mass slammed into your body, arms encased around your torso, throwing you off to the side away from the entrance.

Your back collided with the hard ground beneath you, wrists held above your head in a steel grip, and your hips were pinned down by the weight of Hunter's body almost crushing you into the forest floor. Preventing you from pushing him off and escaping again.

When you opened your eyes, Hunter stared back with the intensity of a wild beast starving for its prey. His teeth were bared into the light, large thighs stationed between your parted legs, and face too close his nose brushed against yours as he spoke—low and dangerous.

“Caught you, mesh'la.”

And this time, you believed it.

There was no escape now. Not when the hunter finally seized his prize. 

And you could only dread what he would do now that he has it.

The dormant beast was no longer docile.

No, it roared against his ears. Loud, wild, and absolutely ravenous. The chase kept it on its toes, ready to pounce and strike since the beginning of the game. But he quelled it for the meantime during the first few minutes, kept it in check whilst he tracked you down. 

But now, keeping it in check was the last thing Hunter wanted.

Now, he allowed it to consume him.

He watched you stare up at him, wide-eyed and terrified, and he could only savour the evident terror on your face. The scent of that fear stuck to your slicked skin, merging with the sweat and exhaustion that seeped through your body. He could almost taste it on his tongue, and he was almost tempted to.

“You caught me,” You panted beneath him, struggling against his hold, but it was futile. "Hunter?"

Hunter grinned, wolfish and hungry, leaning down to let his lips graze your exposed throat. 

Finally.

He opened his mouth and bit the side of your neck, reveling at the scream of shock that tore through your throat. His hands tightened around your wrists, body pressing down to keep your body firmly planted on the ground. No matter how much you writhed or bucked underneath him, he remained unflinching. 

His tongue soothed the sting, then pressed a light kiss afterward on the skin. And when he detached himself from your neck, he admired the harsh crescent shape of his teeth.

His mark.

His claim.

His prey.

“Mine,” Hunter heard himself grunting, before he lifted his face and crashed his lips onto yours.

He kissed you the same way thunder kissed the skies—electric and powerful in the same breath. 

But it wasn't the force of his kiss that stole your breath. No, it was the wildness. 

The primal and all-consuming need to taste you. The physical desperation to have you closer, feel your teeth scraping his mouth and tongue battling his—clashing for dominance and ultimately losing. Every breath he drew from you, every small whimper that pushed against his tongue, he swallowed it all with a greedy need. The way he kissed you contrasted heavily from his brothers, the desperation was there but there was something else that left your mind reeling quickly.

Wrecker kissed like fire, eager and full of warm energy that burned through you the first time. Echo kissed like the wind, gentle yet overwhelming with its power. Tech kissed like the earth, grounding, certain, and measured in each calculated action. Crosshair kissed like water, his ache and desperation drowned you under its deep depths until you couldn't breathe.

But Hunter? His kiss was a storm.

Hell-bent fury that has been unleashed after days of waiting. Years of agony, frustration, and patience all came raining down in every rough gasps and broken groans.

You whimpered against the kiss, unable to do anything against the brutal force but to accept the ferocity. 

Hunter had been patient. He was proud. And he had been admirable. But he hasn't been this hungry before. Only you can make him this way.

And only you can satiate the hunger.

After years of waiting, after days of watching. 

He finally has you.

“Give up, mesh'la.” His words were rasped into the kiss, the stern tone left no room to argue. “Give yourself to me, and I'll give everything to you.”

The heat of his body, the grounding weight of it, everything at the present moment lulled your mind into succumbing.

You gasped when he bit your bottom lip, taking the chance to quickly slip his tongue inside to taste you. Helplessly, you squirmed underneath him, displaying a small show of resistance. But in the end, you kissed him back with equal desperation and lust—finally giving into defeat.

Surrendering yourself to him.

Hunter groaned into your mouth, smiling against your lips when you sucked on his tongue.

Removing one hand from your wrists, he let his left hand trail down to the front of your sweaty tunic. He greedily swallowed another surprised yelp from you when he ripped it open, impatiently tearing the coarse fabric off of your body. 

Including the annoying chest band underneath. 

“You have any idea how long I've wanted you like this?” Hunter kissed his way down to your jaw, nipping on the unmarked areas. “How long I've dreamed of you like this?”

He sucked more bruises along your collarbone, painting your skin with his claim, listening to all the noises you made for him.

“I had to watch you walk around the ship, wearing my vode’s scents, their marks, and I can't do anything but watch. Especially with Crosshair. I could hear the two of you all night.”

You whimpered loudly when he grinded his hardened length into your core, freed from the lower armor that protected him. You didn't even notice his hand working it off of him after he tore your tunic open, too distracted with the flood of sensations racking your body.

“And I can always smell them,” Hunter glared down at you, like he was mad and deemed it as your fault. “On your skin. On your clothes. Everywhere. It drove me crazy. You drive me crazy.”

You bucked against his crotch, grinding yourself against the hardness that strained his blacks. 

“Hunter, please.” 

Kriff, his knees almost buckled under him when you moaned his name like that. Never in his wildest dreams and fantasies did he expect this to happen. Not in this way. But now he won't let it slip from his grasp.

A hoarse chuckle fell past his lips, dark eyes roving down your exposed form to take in the state of your body.

The previous marks from his vode were still present, faint but it glared back at him like a taunt. 

That they had you first. They had tasted you first.

But that didn't matter now. Because he would be your last, and he will damn make sure all you remember was him.

“On your knees,” Hunter ordered, smoke in his voice and fire in his eyes. “And don't move.”

Then, he removed his grip on your wrists, trusting you to obey without resistance by the pleading look in your eyes.

Shuffling back on his legs, Hunter hungrily watched as you hurriedly turned over and laid your front against your tattered tunic.

“That's it, mesh'la.” He started unclipping the rest of his armor, letting it all fall to the ground beside him. “On your arms and knees. Arch your back down. Bend over towards me. Just like that.”

And you willingly complied with every command.

Despite your higher rank and status, you pliantly obeyed without question. Something about the authoritative manner of his voice, that raspy gravel and deep timber, turned you into a mindless cadet waiting for another order—or a Padawan wanting to please their master.

Left in only his blacks, Hunter groaned in appreciation at how well you followed him. How easily you can take orders, even when you constantly defied him earlier.

“So beautiful like this,” His hands mapped the dip of your spine, curving downwards from your hips to your trembling shoulder blades. “All for me, mesh'la?”

You only whimpered in return, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

His fingers threaded along the tie of your hair, pulling your head backwards. 

“Words, mesh'la. Answer me properly.”

“Yes!” You mewled, nodding along. “Yes, Hunter. All for you. Just for you.”

He smiled at that, tugging the tie off of your hair completely. “That's right. Just for me. My good girl.”

The last words evoked an embarrassing moan from you, high off of his praise, and he grinned wider at the sound. Oh, he always knew you had a thing for praise. He has seen the way you attempted to cover your blush when he or another one of his vode complimented you after a mission. 

Or when you tried to dismiss their words, while wearing a visible tint on your cheeks.

Or the way he heard your heart jump multiple times when Wrecker called you pretty. 

The way you melted under Echo's soft words of encouragement, and his sweet acts of service. How you smiled with pride when you helped Tech in his work, or the way you basked in Crosshair's rare praises with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

Hunter cooed teasingly, letting his hands roam over the expanse of your back.

“So kriffing beautiful, mesh'la. You absolutely have no idea how much we've been dying to get you like this. For three years, we believed we didn't have any chance with you. You're a Jedi, and we're just clones. How funny.”

His voice dropped into lower, and rougher, register at the same time you looked over your shoulder.

“Wanna know a secret, Hunter?”

There was a coy lilt in your tone, that playful cadence he'd grown familiar with.

Hunter smirked at you, carefully removing his gloves. “Tell me yours, and I'll tell mi–”

He bit back a curse when you pressed your clothed crotch back against his, rubbing yourself on him like a Loth-cat in heat. The pressure and warmth stirred him into life, already throbbing inside of his blacks. His hands slipped around your hips to stop the movement, but he found himself missing the feeling quickly. 

So, he pulled you towards him and grinded his hips back. “You're kriffing dangerous.”

“Tell me something I haven't heard before,” You gasped, already soaked through your underwear and pants. “I wanted you to take me like this. On my hands and knees. Taking me from behind. Sometimes, I imagine it while the others watch.”

Kriffing hell.

Hunter groaned at the idea, thrusting his hips rougher against you. “You like that, mesh'la? I'll take you like this while my vode watch us?”

“Yes,” You whimpered, pressing closer to him. “And maybe they can have a turn after you.”

He chuckled at the suggestion, sharp and possessive, eyes bright with fury.

Like hell I'd let them.

Nearing his lips on your skin, he placed warm kisses along your spine. A simple and innocent gesture, but the intention behind it spoke differently. A warning, a test. He felt you shiver from the action, gasping quietly at each kiss he placed on your sensitive skin.

“I'll save the idea for another time,” The brunette clone murmured, but his tone was laced with poison. “Maybe I'll tell them when we return to the ship.”

But deep down, the beast within him prowled in annoyance at the idea—huffing and growling in distaste. 

He heard you chuckle beneath him, glancing back again to let him see the glint of mischief flaring in your eyes. 

“You want to share me with the others?” 

“They're my brothers. We share everything.”

“Including me?”

“You’re ours, mesh'la. But if I could have it my way, I'll make you mine.”

And only mine.

He swiftly brought your pants down to your knees, along with your standard underwear, carefully placing your lightsaber aside. Immediately the scent of your arousal invaded his nose. 

Dank farrik.

It clouded his mind, momentarily losing focus on its dizzying aroma. You smelled absolutely divine, and he knew you tasted just the same. So, this was what made him feel restless the first time he met you. The familiar sweetness made his skin crawl, and it hasn't left his mind ever since. 

“Tell me something, mesh'la.” Hunter started a slow, teasing stroke of his forefinger down the wet slit of your center. “What was your first impression of us? And be honest.”

“Why do you–” You exhaled as you felt his finger part your folds with ease, blushing at the slick sound of your wetness. “Why ask that?”

Hunter slipped his finger down to your clit, swirling deliberately. “No reason. Just curious.”

He felt himself twitch in his blacks when you moaned again, grinding back to his hand as he continued to tease your swollen clit. He also fought the urge to laugh at the pitiful whimper that escaped you when he removed his finger.

“Well?” The sergeant drawled, caressing the skin of your ass with his other hand. 

“I was…” You hid your face on your arms, not allowing him to see the embarrassment. “No, it's inappropriate.” 

“What was that?”

“No, it's– Jedi shouldn't think that way.”

“I think we're past that, mesh'la. Now, what did you think?”

“I thought you were… incredibly attractive.”

Oh.

Oh.

Hunter blinked in surprise, genuinely taken off guard by your admission. He didn't expect that answer, or even for you to answer it. Was it a joke? A trick to fluster him? But something told him it was an honest answer, based on your body language, and he could only huff in amusement.

So, that explains it.

His finger returned to your clit, rubbing circles around the swollen bundle again. In an instant, you whimpered again. 

“Wanna know a secret too, mesh'la?” 

The sergeant slipped two fingers into your entrance, exhaling at the way your walls easily sucked him in. You moaned at the intrusion, arching away from his touch but he quickly held you in place in a firm hold.

Hunter slowly pushed his fingers in, drawing them back out again, starting a languid pace that had you gasping in pleasure.

“I thought the same thing about you.”

Working you open now, Hunter added a third finger at the same time he began kissing your shoulderblades. But you kept squirming, looking back at him again wearing that impish smile on your face. 

“I could show you,” And Hunter was left wondering what you meant by that. “Close your eyes.”

Wordlessly, Hunter obeyed without question.

And as soon as he let his eyelids flutter close, a foreign sensation blanketed his senses similar to the bright flare of a newborn star. It exploded behind his eyes, a whirlwind of scenes flashed across his mind's eye as voices started to surface through the light. 

The first scene flashed, and it was that moment Mace Windu introduced you to their squad as their newly assigned general. Hunter was momentarily confused why he was staring back at himself and at the rest of his brothers at the vision, but then he realized that he was seeing it through your eyes.

Suddenly, he heard a voice. Distinct, but unspoken. And he immediately recognized the sound, it was none other than your thoughts.

Because as soon as he—you—met his gaze, your thoughts rang loud and clear through his head.

Handsome. 

Shame they're my men.

No, don't think about that. Remember the Code, these are my squad from now on.

Don't forget it.

Then, the vision switched to another scene. 

A time lapse to a few weeks into the new assignment, where you joined them in the Havoc Marauder as the new resident. This was during a hyperspace travels en route to one of your earlier missions to an Outer Rim planet to aid with General Skywalker as the called in back up.

It was in your perspective again, standing beside Echo's seat in the cockpit whilst Tech sat on the other side. At that moment, Hunter stood behind you. When the ship lurched into a hyperspace jump, you lost your footing backwards and he instantly provided support from behind with his hand on your waist. His front pressed against your back, there was a brief warmth shared between the two of you and a thought to evoke in your mind.

He's sturdy. Quick on his feet. Someone I can lean on.

And stars, his hand feels nice on my waist.

The scenario switched again, and again, and again. 

It all varied from quiet moments alone in the privacy of your bunk, meditating the inner turmoil away that consisted of all the inappropriate thoughts you have garnered from your squad. The late night hours spent relieving yourself, a hand between your legs, muffled gasps released into your pillow when your thoughts were occupied again by one of his brothers. 

The guilt and shame that followed after those intimate acts, heat burning your cheeks when you avoided looking at them the next day. Repetitive reminders containing the words Code, Jedi, Squad, Professionalism, and Prohibited. All chanted in tandem every time you found yourself slipping closer to your attraction.

And then came the fantasies. 

Hunter almost doubled over by the intensity of it, overwhelmed with the abrupt surge of ache, want, and lust all at the same time. 

The amount you tried to suppress and forget by meditating for hours after waking up from another dream, buried it all deep within the dark crevices of your mind as secrets. But you can never destroy a seed that has already been planted, you can only ignore it until it blooms into a blossoming flower—or a tree bearing forbidden fruits.

Hunter saw scenes of your fantasies, unable to do anything but to watch like how he has been for the past two weeks now.

You're in the cockpit, head thrown back, pants nowhere to be seen, and chest heaving in desperate gasps as Echo lapped against your center from between your legs—kneeling like a fervent devotee who was thirsty for salvation.

“You taste so good, Cyar'ika. Can you give me one more? Just one?”

But something told Hunter it wasn't the first time Echo begged for you, or the first time you allowed him to.

Wrecker has you on his lap, telling you not to move while you squirm restlessly. He was inside you, hard and throbbing, and he only grinned at your struggle with a coarse chuckle. The filthy words he grunted into your ear had you blushing in shame, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“Don’t move, little Jedi. Just sit there and look pretty.”

And Hunter gazed at your form in this fantasy, hungrily itching to put you in your place when you continued to writhe on his brother's lap.

Crosshair's hands were on your head, bunching your hair along his lithe fingertips, pulling you back and forth along his cock. Your lips were wrapped around his length, teary-eyed as you stared up at him, swallowing him down to your throat while the sniper hissed out sharp praises.

“That's it, doll. Finally put your mouth to better use than arguing with me.”

Hunter clenched his jaw, seeing the tears finally spill from the corner of your eyes as soon as Crosshair slammed his hips forward.

You were on Tech's lap while he worked on an open panel of the Marauder, telling him to focus on his work while you slowly chased your pleasure. Lifting yourself up and slamming back down, shushing his whimpers and labored gasps of your name with a coy smirk on your lips.

“M-My dear, please– I cannot focus.”

Hunter felt a shiver run down his spine when you began rolling your hips into a sensual movement, as if he was the one experiencing the gesture. The sensation caused him and the Tech in your fantasy to curse out, and the latter finally dropped his tools to latch his hands on your hips. 

But then—

You were on your knees, hands tied behind your back, face pressed against your pillow. Hunter knelt behind you, using the cloth restraining you to pull you back and meet his merciless thrusts. Only then he realized that his hair was wild, free from his red bandana, and the missing cloth in question was the one wrapped around your wrists.

“Look at you, mesh'la. Taking me so well. You always wanted this, right? Well now, you have it.”

There were much more, he could feel there were so much more, but you have forcefully tore him out of your mind the moment the scene ended.

Now, back in reality, Hunter only realized how deeply he has been heavily breathing the entire time. His breaths poured out in ragged gasps, like he had finally breached the surface of the water after being forced underneath for hours. His hands were trembling, shoulders tense from the power—your power—and the vividness of those fantasies.

He never should've expected anything less from a Jedi who has been taught to suppress every emotion, cast away passion, right from the moment they have been chosen.

The moment he stared back at your eyes, and saw that molten glint simmering in them again, Hunter lost all sense of control—

And snapped.

He pulled you up until you were standing, directing you towards a tree with a rough yet firm shove. Then, he kicked your feet apart and bent you down again as you braced yourself on the tree. 

You glanced over from your shoulder, about to say something, but Hunter clicked his tongue loud enough to render you silent.

“All this time,” The tremor in his voice rolled into a thunderous growl. “All this time, you've wanted us from the start. You kept it from us. We could've had you like this years ago.”

“Hunter,” You gasped in shock when he shoved the rest of your pants down, urging you to remove them completely as you kicked them off of your ankles. “Y-You know I couldn't. I have a Code–”

Hunter ripped his bandana off of his forehead, then used his other hand to pull your hair until your head was thrown back. 

“With all due respect, General. Kriff your Code.”

Then, he swiftly tied the red fabric around your eyes. 

The immediate loss of your sense of sight caused you to panic, but the brunette clone was there to hush your worry. One of his hands smoothed over the elegant slope of your spine, tracing the dip in the middle, as the other freed himself from his blacks. 

You whimpered in question, only relying on your hearing and touch while Hunter stroked himself while he watched you.

“In other scenarios, I would've prepared you better. Treat you nicely like you deserve. Work you open with my fingers, or my tongue. Get you used to me before I take you. You'd like that, wouldn't you, mesh'la?” He mused darkly, coating his cock with the remaining wetness seeping out of your entrance. 

He could only smirk at the whimper that tumbled off your lips, sliding the head of his flushed cock down until he aligned himself properly. The tip nearly brushed past your walls, almost slipping in when you shifted, but he held you in place by clutching your hips in a warning grip.

“But… I think my brothers have done enough of that for me.”

Without warning, he entered you like a storm—unforgiving and cruel.

You screamed at the sudden intrusion, then whined at the fullness that stretched you open to the brim. 

Maker above, he's–

Unlike Wrecker's domineering size, or Crosshair's impressive length, Hunter possessed both the latter and the girth that it physically had you moaning in both pain and pleasure. You finally understood the reason why that woman threatened him into marriage after their one night stand. 

Kriff, imagine having this every night.

Meanwhile, Hunter cursed in both Basic and Mando’a upon reaching the brim of your womb. The warm and wet snugness of your walls almost made his mind blank out. He fought the urge to fuck you against the tree, knowing full well he needed to wait at least a minute to get you adjusted, but the control already snapped. 

And so, he growled under his breath and started thrusting like a man condemned to nature's natural order. 

Rough. Wild. Hungry.

Every trait of a predator who had been hunting for months, who finally had his prey within his claws, and now fully intended to mark them with his claim.

And you easily surrendered to it.

Hunter gritted his teeth, continuing his brutal pace as you dug your nails against the tree bark.

“No more secrets, mesh'la.” He grunted, threading his fingers along your strands to pull your head back again. “You want the man underneath the armor? You have him. You want everything I've been hiding from you for the past three years? Then, take all of it.”

You choked his name, whispering plea after plea, begging for him. 

“Hunt– Hunter, please. Please, I–”

“Please what, mesh'la?”

“Please, take it off. Wanna see you, kriff–”

“Can't do that,” Hunter feigned disappointment, clicking his tongue once he heard you sob. “I can't let you see how much you drive me wild. How much you ruin me. But I can let you feel it instead. Does it feel good, mesh'la?”

He reached underneath you, descending between the apex of your thighs in search of your clit. Once he found it, he swirled his middle finger around the swollen nub in time of his powerful thrusts.

When you made no effort to answer him, he removed his fingers and asked again. “Does it?”

“Yes!” You nodded, arching your back to meet his hips. “Right there. Please, don't stop.”

Hunter was about to taunt you more, but then you squeezed around his cock at the same time he pulled back, which almost made him lose his tempo. The heat of your walls already sent his mind into a delirious frenzy, already addicted to the feeling of you wrapped around him, but when you decide to do that out of nowhere–

He's not going to survive long.

You did it again, this time out of instinct when he pushed you farther against the tree. 

Kriff, don't do that.

As if you heard him, you gasped silently, bucked your hips—

And did it again.

“Dank farrik,” Hunter groaned, a mix of frustration and amusement blending together. 

He pulled himself out of you, not caring if it drew a high-pitched whine of disappointment from you, before he turned you around and hoisted your thighs around his waist. The action almost caused a whiplash to your senses, but thankfully the blindfold kept you from staggering off of balance.

However, your bare back scratched against the rough bark behind you, eliciting a harsh curse. You were about to cuss him out when your words were cut off before they could even form as Hunter captured your lips in another ravenous kiss. 

Instead, you gasped into his mouth and poured your annoyance through the hot, and messy kiss.

Your arms encircled around his neck for stability, fingers coming up to tangle along his lustrous strands and tugged.

“Kark–” He hissed out, eyes snapping shut, more in pleasure than pain. A shameless heat burned his cheeks at the stinging sensation the action brought to his scalp. Before he even realized it, words escaped his mouth in a gruff whisper.

“Do that again.” 

You didn't even have to be told twice before you tugged his hair back again, rougher than you intended, but it pleasantly produced the same broken groan rumbling deep within his throat. He would've seen the look of satisfaction plastered on your flushed face if he dared to open his eyes.

The action triggered a rather sharp thrust inside you, leaving you crying out in return.

“Kriff, Hunter. Too much.”

“You close, mesh'la?”

“Almo– Almost there.”

“Hold it.”

“What? But I–”

Hunter clicked his tongue again, resting his forehead against the slope of your neck and shoulder. 

“Hold it.”

And he fucked you through the pleasure and pain, bringing you closer to the edge of your release. When he felt your muscles tighten around his cock, his pace would completely stop and still himself inside you. And when you begged for him to move, Hunter started again.

Slow. Deep. Hard.

To make sure you could feel every inch of him, stretching out the moment to prolong the end.

Hips snapping, the sound of slick skin echoed throughout the dark forest. The stars were the only witness of your trust, gleaming down at you knowingly. Hunter knows they will carry this secret until they burn out, and so will his heart. Because tomorrow, you will return as their general, and they will be your soldiers again. 

When the sun rises tomorrow, this two-week dream will fall back into the shadows—back in the dark crevices of their mind and tucked beneath their helmets.

So now, Hunter ravaged you in all the ways he wanted to—dreamed of—in that forest.

In every praise, a sense of possessiveness laced his words. 

“You’re perfect for me, mesh'la.”

“So sweet, and beautiful.”

“Ner mesh'la Jetii.”

“You belong to me. To us.”

And in every deep thrust, a new kind of devotion bled through.

We've always been yours.

Right from the start.

You can't escape us, mesh'la.

We belong to you now.

His hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, silently afraid if he didn't you would fade away into smoke again. Just like in his dreams. He pressed himself closer each time he pushed back in, teeth around your neck and tongue tasting the sweat off of your skin. 

During this, his mind wandered to his own fantasy he long kept buried. It was a ridiculous idea, stupid and hopeless, but Maker, did it make him feel as alive as he was right now every time he indulged in the thought. The desire to fill you up, planting his seed deep within your womb, along with a possible future of your shared passion forming into a new life.

That itch to make you swollen with a child, his child, came crawling back from the darkest corners of his heart. The urge to breed his child into you, knowing you would be a perfect mother without a doubt. You would love them fiercely, strongly, raise them as a warrior like yourself. And he would teach them how to hunt, survive, and live underneath the stars. 

A wild little thing with your bright eyes and his sharp mind.

You'd be a wonderful mother, mesh'la.

He heard himself thinking, and the moan you let out might be a sign he must've said it aloud instead.

Wanna make you a mother. 

Wanna let you have my child. 

After this war, you can be one.

After the war, he will steal you away from your Order to live the rest of your lives on another planet out there. Where you would build your own empire—happy, free, and yours.

You continued to tug on his hair, whispering shattered praises of your own that were almost indecipherable with the hiccups and sobs that racked through your body. But Hunter knew what you were trying to say, your body said enough already. Every twitch, suppressed choke, the scent of need, and all the tell tale signs of your pleasure. 

Only when you started crying for him, begging for that release you desperately wanted but denied many times, Hunter ripped his bandana off of your eyes. 

He wanted to see you fall apart, and to see if there was a wild look in your eyes and how they would roll back at the climax. You blinked away the tears, finally meeting his gaze and moaning loudly when you saw the darkness swirling around his russet irises. 

“Come for me, mesh'la.”

And Maker, you did.

The coiled tension finally snapped and bursted into white flames in your lower stomach, coating his cock the hot release of your desire. 

He spilled inside you the same time, seizing your lips once more in a kiss that sealed the final moment. 

Hunter didn't even realize there were tears streaming down his cheeks, assuming they were yours, until you wiped them off with your thumbs as soon as you parted from him. He stared dazedly at your swollen lips, forehead pressed against yours, listening to the beautifully chaotical beat of your heart. A second beat joined in, and he recognized it as his own when his heart started to thrum in sync with yours.

You finally opened your eyes, glazed yet still so bright against the darkness. 

“Hunter?” You whispered in the dark, quiet enough not to disturb the peace of the forest.

“Yes, mesh'la?” Hunter replied softly, the roughness lost to the night.

With a small yet content smile, you tenderly kissed his tear-stained cheeks.

“You'd be a wonderful father.”

Hope.

What a dangerous little thing.

You've given him hope time and time again, but this time it bloomed into a warm ember instead of a fleeting smoke. A tiny spark, but it was enough to fill his being with life.

Smiling, Hunter shook his head and peppered soft kisses all over your face as well.

“Thank you, mesh'la.” 

I'm glad you came into our lives.

The confession remained unspoken, but the emotion did not need to be. You thought of the same thing about them, you always have. 

“Don't thank me,” You yawned as the exhaustion crept slowly over your body. “Thank the cider.”

Hunter blinked in confusion, before he snorted and laughed. And it was the kind of laugh that made you smile, because it was loud. It was chaotic. It was him. 

And it was beautiful.

It didn't take long for you to doze off into his arms, and he carefully pulled himself out of you to start fixing both of your state before returning to the ship. He removed his top, covering your bare frame and pulling your pants back up again to shield your skin from the night's cold air.

Once you were decent, Hunter picked up your lightsaber from the ground, eyeing the scattered pieces of his armor on the forest floor. 

I can come back tomorrow to get these.

Stripped out of his armor, he carried your sleeping back towards the Marauder without them.

Not as a soldier.

But as a man.