“Call Me Pynn”

I've never drawn droids or clones before, so this was a first! :) Thank you @mr-damian-s-power for your order and I hope you like it! 🥰🥰

“A Safe Place to Fall”

Captain Howzer x Reader

You didn’t remember the escape.

You remembered the cell—the sting of cold stun cuffs, the fluorescent hum of sterile walls, the shadow of an Imperial officer’s boots crossing your field of vision.

You remembered pain.

And silence.

And waiting for the end.

But now, you woke to the sound of wind.

Real wind—not the artificial filtered kind used to simulate nature in Imperial holding zones. This was dry and real, carrying the scent of rock, dust, and maybe desert flowers if you were still sane enough to tell.

You lay on a cot, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket. Dim golden light crept across the floorboards of what looked like an old storage room—repurposed into a makeshift sleeping space. There were crates stacked in the corner, and a small table with two chipped mugs.

You sat up slowly. Your body ached like it had been stitched together too quickly. And then—movement.

A man was sitting in a chair across from you, unmoving. Broad-shouldered, armored only in the bare essentials of his gear. He stood when he saw you stir.

You flinched. It was instinct. You hadn’t seen his face yet—just the outline, and the authority in his posture.

“Hey,” he said quickly, palms lifting, voice calm and low. “You’re safe. You’re out. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

You blinked up at him as his face came into focus. Not a stormtrooper. Not an officer. A clone.

But not just any clone. There was something different in his eyes—something soft. He wasn’t holding a weapon. Wasn’t armored head to toe. He looked almost… tired. Grounded.

“Name’s Howzer,” he added, watching you carefully. “I was with the squad that got you out. Captain Rex sent me.”

You opened your mouth, but your throat wouldn’t work. You clutched the edge of the blanket tighter around your shoulders, fingers trembling.

“You were in that cell a long time,” he said gently. “You don’t have to talk yet. Just breathe. That’s enough.”

Your eyes burned, but you nodded. That felt like something you could do.

Howzer stepped back a pace, giving you space. He moved with a kind of deliberate calm—like he knew exactly how close not to get. Like he understood trauma too well to make it worse.

“I put some tea on the burner,” he said after a beat. “It’s not great. Local stuff. But it helps.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure you could. Your whole body still felt like it was waiting for the next scream, the next interrogation, the next blow.

You watched him move to the small table and pour something steaming into one of the mugs. Then, without pressure, he set it down on the crate beside you and stepped away again.

“I’ll sit right over here,” he said, nodding to the chair. “You don’t owe me anything. I just… thought maybe you shouldn’t wake up alone.”

That sentence.

That sentence hit something in you.

You stared at the mug. It was shaking. No—it was your hand. You gripped the blanket harder to stop it.

“I thought I was going to die in there,” you rasped. “I didn’t think anyone would come.”

He didn’t say you’re safe now. He didn’t say it’s over. Instead, his voice dropped low and sincere.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve seen what they do. To people who speak out. Who know too much.”

Your eyes lifted to his again.

“Why are you helping?”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Because someone should.”

You stared at him, then looked down again. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t oppressive. It breathed.

“I didn’t think any of you clones cared,” you admitted softly.

Howzer let out a slow exhale. “A lot don’t. Not anymore. Chips saw to that.”

You didn’t know what that meant yet, but you filed it away. It sounded like something buried deep.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then added, “But there are still some of us who remember what we fought for. What it was supposed to mean.”

You looked up. “And me?”

“You spoke up against the Empire. You tried to protect civilians. You mattered.” He paused, voice softening. “You still do.”

A strange sound escaped your throat—half sob, half laugh. You covered your face with your hands, shoulders curling inward. It was too much. Too kind. Too intimate after so long spent dehumanized.

“I don’t know how to be around people again,” you confessed. “I feel… broken.”

“Then be broken,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to be.”

You lowered your hands, blinking at him. His expression hadn’t changed. Steady. Open.

He moved again—slow, cautious—kneeling beside your cot so he didn’t loom.

“I can leave if you want,” he said. “Or I can stay. I won’t touch you unless you ask. But you don’t have to go through this next part alone.”

Your throat clenched. You didn’t know this man. And yet, his presence was the first thing since your arrest that felt real. Safe.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered.

He nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”

You shifted the blanket, and after a moment’s hesitation, reached out. Your hand found his gauntleted wrist—just the edge of it, where skin met armor.

He didn’t move. Just stilled, like he didn’t want to scare you. Like the contact meant something to him, too.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

He gave a small nod. “You don’t have to thank me. You made it out. That’s enough.”

You held onto his wrist for a long time.

And when your breathing slowed, and the tears dried, he stayed right there, kneeling beside your cot, steady as a lifeline. No words. Just quiet company in a broken world.

And in that small, silent room, lit by the desert sun and filled with nothing but the sound of two survivors breathing, you finally began to believe that healing might be possible. That not all soldiers followed orders blindly. That kindness hadn’t been stamped out entirely.

Captain Howzer didn’t promise to fix you.

He simply offered to stay.

And in that moment, it was more than enough.

⸻

You couldn’t sleep.

Even in safety, your body hadn’t learned how to rest. The cot creaked when you shifted, the blanket tangled around your ankles, and the stale air felt heavier the longer you lay awake.

But what really kept you up were the memories—the sterile cell walls, the screaming, the waiting. The echo of boots outside a door that never opened. You hadn’t realized how deeply loneliness could burrow inside your ribs until you were finally out.

You sat up and pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, feet touching the cool floor.

A creak sounded outside the room.

You froze.

Then—Howzer’s voice, quiet, near the door. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” you answered softly.

He hesitated. Then, his silhouette appeared in the doorway, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the hallway lantern.

He was wearing only the bottom half of his armor—no chestplate, no pauldrons. Just a plain dark shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His expression was open, calm. He looked more like a man than a soldier tonight.

“Can’t sleep either?” you asked, voice hushed.

He shook his head once. “Too quiet, sometimes. Feels wrong.”

You understood that too well. The silence that had once meant peace now scraped against your thoughts like broken glass.

“I made some tea,” he offered after a pause. “Didn’t want to drink alone.”

You stood slowly and followed him into the main room. The safehouse was small—two bedrooms, one main area, and a kitchenette that looked like it hadn’t seen Republic service in years. It was old, but clean. Familiar now.

You sat across from him at the small table. The light was dim, warm. Between you sat two steaming mugs.

“This is becoming tradition,” you said, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic.

Howzer gave a low hum of amusement. “It’s the only thing I know how to make that doesn’t involve rations.”

You took a sip. “Still better than what the Empire served.”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he watched you too carefully—like he was searching for bruises no one could see.

“You’re sleeping more,” he said. “That’s good.”

“Not dreaming less,” you admitted.

“How long were you in there?”

You hesitated. “Three months. Maybe more. They stopped marking the days. I think they thought I’d break.”

A silence settled between you. But not a heavy one.

“They don’t like people who speak too loudly,” he said eventually.

“I didn’t scream when they came for me,” you murmured, almost surprised to hear the words aloud. “I thought… maybe that would mean something. That I stayed quiet. Dignified.”

Howzer’s voice was soft. “You don’t owe them your silence. Or your strength.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

His eyes weren’t cold, like the ones behind stormtrooper helmets. They were warm and tired and human. He looked like a man who had seen too much and decided to carry it anyway.

“You’re not like the others,” you said.

He shook his head once. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

His jaw tightened, and for a long moment, you thought he might not answer.

“I saw what they did to Ryloth,” he said finally. “The Empire. The orders. I followed them for too long. But one day… I just couldn’t anymore.”

He didn’t sound proud. He didn’t sound angry either.

He just sounded real.

“Do you regret it?” you asked.

“Every day. And I’d do it again.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s brave.”

“No,” he said quietly. “That’s necessary. Brave would’ve been doing it sooner.”

The silence between you changed. It warmed. Stretched. Your eyes lingered on his hands—strong, scarred, fingers curled around the mug like he was anchoring himself to something.

“You’re the first person who’s made me feel safe since…” You trailed off, unsure if you could finish.

He didn’t press. Just said, “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I want to.”

That surprised both of you.

You lowered your eyes to the table, your thumb tracing the rim of the mug. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel normal again. Or… human. But with you, I don’t feel broken. Just… healing.”

Howzer’s voice dropped to a hush. “You are human. You never stopped being.”

You looked up.

And the way he looked back at you—gentle, unwavering—made your chest ache.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you said. “I don’t know how to be close to someone again.”

Howzer reached out—slowly, carefully—and laid his hand on the table, palm up. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t move any closer.

But he offered.

And after a long moment, your hand found his.

You curled your fingers around his palm. The warmth of his skin grounded you, anchored you in the present.

“You don’t have to know how,” he said. “We can just sit here. That’s enough.”

The silence that followed was the good kind—the kind that let you breathe.

You didn’t realize how close you’d leaned until his forehead touched yours.

The contact was feather-light. Chaste. His breath ghosted across your cheek. His eyes stayed closed, and his free hand hovered near your elbow, waiting for you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your forehead stayed against his, your fingers tightening around his.

“You’re gentle,” you whispered.

He smiled, barely a breath. “I have to be. You’ve had enough pain.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t know if I can feel everything yet,” you admitted.

“That’s okay,” he said. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

And gods—how many people had said that and meant it?

You leaned into him, letting your weight rest partially against his chest. He adjusted, gently guiding you closer, until your cheek pressed against the space just below his collarbone. His arms wrapped around you slowly, hesitantly, then held you like you were something precious.

He didn’t try to deepen the moment. Didn’t press for more. He just held you. One hand in your hair, the other resting low on your back. His heartbeat against your cheek. Steady. Warm. Alive.

“I don’t want this to be temporary,” you whispered.

“Then it won’t be.”

You stayed like that until the lantern burned low, and your body stopped flinching at shadows.

And when you finally fell asleep—held safely in Howzer’s arms, your fingers still twined with his—you didn’t dream of the cell.

You dreamt of the desert wind.

And hands that never hurt.

I might just move to making canon characters now.

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Hiya babes! Hope you’re doing well! Just outta say I absolutely adore your writing and always brings a smile to my face when you post!!

I was hoping you could do an angst fic where it’s the boys reactions to you jumping in front of them taking a hit/bolt. You can choose the clone group! Xxx

Thank you so much — seriously, your kind words mean the world to me!! I’m so glad my writing can bring a little light to your day 💛

I hope you don’t mind that I decided to go with the Wolf pack for this one. I hope you enjoy 🫶

⸻

“For the Pack”

Reader x 104th Battalion (Wolffe, Sinker, Boost)

⸻

You don’t think. You just move. That’s what instinct does when family is in danger.

The air was thick with heat and cordite, the jungle humid enough to choke on. Blasterfire lit the treeline in wild flashes—red bolts cutting through the green like angry stars. You pressed forward with your saber raised, breath tight in your chest, the Force buzzing like a live wire beneath your skin.

This wasn’t supposed to be a heavy engagement. Just a scouting mission. Routine.

But nothing about war ever stays routine for long.

“Wolffe, move it! You’re exposed!” you shouted, watching him duck behind cover just as two more shots chewed bark over his head.

“Copy that,” Wolffe growled, popping off a few retaliatory blasts. “Boost! Sinker! Sweep the right flank and flush that nest!”

“Already on it!” Boost called from somewhere in the brush.

“We’re getting pinned down out here!” Sinker added, tone sharp but controlled.

You moved closer to Wolffe, saber up, covering his retreat as he repositioned behind the half-blown trunk of a felled tree. The rest of the battalion had spread out, covering the ridgeline, trying to locate the sniper.

That’s when it hit you—the feeling.

The Force spiked.

Time slowed.

A heartbeat ahead of the moment, you felt it: danger, aimed at someone you couldn’t let go.

Wolffe was turning. He wasn’t going to make it in time.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

A leap. A cry. A single instant of instinct and fear and absolute certainty.

And then the bolt hit you square in the back.

Wolffe didn’t register what happened right away. One moment he was turning to call out an order, the next there was a flash of blue, the hum of a saber, and a sickening crack of a body hitting the dirt.

“—[Y/N]?!”

You were lying on your side, smoke rising from your robes, your saber a few meters away, deactivated.

You weren’t moving.

Sinker screamed something wordless over comms. Boost shouted your name.

“MEDIC!” Wolffe was already moving. “Get me a medic now!”

He slid to his knees beside you, hands already tearing open the fabric around the wound, even though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing—just doing. There was too much blood. Too much heat coming off your skin. You were smaller than him, younger, not armored like they were. You were a Jedi, yeah, but also just a kid compared to the rest of them.

His kid. Their kid.

And you’d taken a shot meant for him.

⸻

Hours Later you were in bacta now. Still alive. Barely.

The medics said it was touch and go. The bolt had burned through muscle and clipped something vital. You’d coded once during evac, but they brought you back. Your saber had been returned to Plo Koon, its emitter dented from where it had slammed into the ground.

Wolffe sat in the corner of the medbay, helmet off, armor streaked with dried blood—your blood. He hadn’t moved in two hours.

“Why the hell would she do that?” Sinker muttered, pacing with his helmet tucked under one arm. He was flushed, angry. “We wear armor for a reason. We train for this. She’s a Jedi, not a clone. She’s not supposed to—”

“Be willing to die for us?” Boost cut in, voice tired. “Guess she missed that memo.”

Sinker let out a long, low sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’re the ones who throw ourselves in front of people. That’s the job. That’s our job.”

Plo Koon stood at your bedside, one hand lightly resting on the glass of the tank. He’d been silent for most of it, his calm presence a strange contrast to the chaos.

“She has always seen you as more than soldiers,” he said gently. “You are her brothers. Her family.”

Wolffe finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “She’s part of the pack. And the pack protects its own.”

“But she nearly died protecting you, Commander,” Boost said. “What does that make us?”

“Alive,” Wolffe answered. “That’s what it makes us. And when she wakes up, she’s going to be reminded that we never leave one of our own behind.”

Sinker stopped pacing, jaw clenched.

“She’s not gonna get off easy for this.”

“Oh, hell no,” Boost muttered. “Soon as she’s conscious, I’m yelling at her.”

“Not before me,” Wolffe said, standing finally. “I’ve got seniority.”

They tried to joke—tried to banter—but it didn’t land. Not yet.

⸻

Your vision was blurry. Everything felt heavy. And sore. So sore.

“Hey—hey! She’s waking up!”

Voices. Familiar. Warm.

You blinked hard. One blurry helmet. Then two. Then a third face appeared—scarred, grim, but so full of relief it almost didn’t look like Wolffe.

“About damn time,” he muttered. “Thought we were gonna have to start arguing over who got to carry your sorry ass out of here.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaky whisper: “Pack…”

Boost leaned in closer. “Yeah. We’re here.”

Sinker had a hand pressed to your arm, trying not to squeeze too hard. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

You smiled weakly. “Didn’t think about it.”

“No kidding,” Wolffe said, arms crossed now. “You jump in front of another bolt like that and we’re stapling your robes to the floor.”

Plo Koon stepped forward, voice kind and firm. “Rest now, little one. You have done more than enough. The pack is safe. Because of you.”

You let your eyes fall shut again, not from pain this time—but because you knew they were watching over you.

Always would.

Hello, hope this is an ok ask but I was wondering if you could Omega and Fem!Reader where the reader takes an omega on a mother-daughter outing? And the boys see just how much of having a mother figure in omegas life is beneficial? Maybe omega has some attempts of trying to set you up with one of her brothers so you have a reason to stay? Funny shenanigans ensue as omega tries to push her brothers toward you (and succeeds with one of them, your choice of who)

Hope this makes sense! ♥️

“Operation: Stay Forever”

The Bad Batch x Reader

Omega was practically vibrating with excitement as she tugged your hand through the streets of Pabu, her curls bouncing and her voice a mile a minute.

“We’re gonna get snacks, and go to the market, and you have to help me pick a new dress—Hunter says all mine are covered in grease stains but I think they’re just lived in—and maybe we can do something with my hair later! Do you know how to braid? Of course you do, you’re amazing!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heart full. “I do know how to braid. You want one with beads or ribbons?”

Omega gasped like you’d just offered her the throne of Naboo.

“Beads. Obviously. Ribbons are for formal events. This is casual fabulosity.”

You smiled, following her into the plaza. “Of course. Casual fabulosity. My mistake.”

Hunter squinted as he watched the two of you walk away, Omega’s hand in yours, already talking your ear off.

“…She never talks that much to Tech.”

Wrecker laughed. “That’s ‘cause Tech tried to explain fabrics to her like he was listing battle specs. She just wanted to know if it was twirly.”

Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “She needed this.”

“She’s had us,” Crosshair said simply, though he looked less like he was arguing and more like he was observing.

Echo’s brow lifted. “She’s had four brothers and a droid. That’s not the same thing as having a mother figure.” He glanced at Hunter. “Which I keep telling you. For years.”

“Oh, come on,” Wrecker grinned. “You were basically the mom until she met [Y/N].”

Echo didn’t miss a beat. “And you were the big toddler I was babysitting.”

Hunter snorted. “Can’t argue there.”

⸻

Omega twirled in her new outfit—a bright tunic you’d helped her pick, complete with beads braided into her hair. You’d spent the last hour painting your nails and hers, sipping local fruit teas, and chatting about everything from your favorite foods to who the you thought the cutest clone was.

“So…” Omega said slowly, squinting up at you with faux innocence. “Do you like anyone?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know. Like like.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Because I think one of my brothers likes you.”

You choked on your tea. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Well, it’s obvious. Everyone likes you. But I think Echo likes you. Or maybe Hunter.” She tapped her chin. “Definitely not Crosshair. He’s weird. He called feelings ‘tactical liabilities.’”

You laughed despite yourself. “That sounds about right.”

“But you could be the mom! Then you’d have to stay! I’ve decided.”

You raised a brow. “That why you’ve been dragging me by the hand all day like a trophy?”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

⸻

You returned to the Batch’s quarters just in time to find the guys lounging around post-dinner. Omega skipped ahead of you, proudly showing off her outfit and beads.

“Look what we did! She’s so good at braiding, and she picked this out, and—oh!” She turned, sly grin in place. “You know, she really likes men who are good with kids.”

Hunter arched a brow.

Echo narrowed his eyes.

Crosshair rolled his.

Wrecker leaned forward excitedly. “Ooooh. Is this one of those matchmaking things again?”

“Again?!” you hissed, turning to Omega.

Omega threw her hands up. “I’m just trying to help! She’s amazing, and you all need help with social cues.”

Echo blinked slowly. “I’m going to get blamed for this, aren’t I?”

Hunter sighed, rubbing his temple. “Omega—”

“I mean,” Omega went on innocently, “she is pretty, and Echo’s the responsible one, but maybe a bit too serious. Hunter, you’re too emotionally constipated—”

“Hey!”

“Crosshair’s a walking red flag—”

“Not inaccurate,” Echo muttered.

“—and Wrecker’s a brother to everyone. Which means Echo is the best option. Or maybe Hunter if he could manage one emotional conversation without running off into the jungle.”

Hunter looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices. “Omega, you’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me. I have diplomatic immunity,” she beamed.

Wrecker burst out laughing.

You were crying with laughter now, face flushed. “I can’t believe you just called Crosshair a red flag.”

“She’s not wrong,” Crosshair said, leaning back with an almost-smile.

Echo, still composed, finally looked your way. “You’re really good with her.”

You smiled. “She’s easy to love.”

He paused. “Yeah. She is.”

Your eyes met. The moment hung—just long enough for Omega to wiggle her eyebrows dramatically in the background like a gremlin.

Echo sighed. “Omega, if you don’t stop matchmaking, I’m going to let Crosshair do your next math lesson.”

Her horror was immediate. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I would.”

Crosshair smiled slowly. “I’ll make flashcards.”

⸻

Later that night, you were helping Omega with her beads and hair.

“Did I mess it up?” she asked suddenly. “Trying to push things?”

You looked at her in the mirror and smiled softly.

“No. You just reminded me how lucky I am to be here.”

She smiled back, cheeks a little pink. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

You pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Not unless Crosshair actually makes those flashcards.”

“Please don’t leave,” she said dramatically, “I’m not ready for that.”

Neither were you.

And honestly?

You weren’t going anywhere.

⸻

The next morning, you found Omega hunched over the small dining table with a data pad, scraps of paper, crayons, and a very serious expression. Wrecker walked by, glanced at the mess, and raised a brow.

“Whatcha doin’, kid?”

“Mission planning,” Omega said without looking up.

“For what, exactly?”

She tapped the screen with finality. “Operation Wedding Bells.”

Wrecker blinked. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

By midday, Hunter had found out.

Because Omega had tried to get his measurements.

“For the suit, obviously,” she said.

Hunter rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. “What suit?”

“For the wedding. Between Echo and [Y/N].”

You nearly dropped the tray of food you were carrying. “Omega.”

She held up the data pad and pointed to a crude drawing of a beach, some flowers, and what you assumed was Echo in some sort of tuxedo with his armor still on. “Do you want a sunset wedding or a moonlight one? I can make either happen. I’ve already got Crosshair assigned to security. And I told Tech that he could officiate.”

Echo stared at her blankly. “Why Tech?”

“He’s got that ‘wise old man’ vibe now.”

“I’m no older then the rest.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got the vibe.”

Hunter sighed. “You’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me,” Omega said, standing up and striking a dramatic pose. “I’m planning a wedding.”

⸻

The sun was setting, warm orange light spilling over the ocean, casting long shadows across the sand.

You were sitting quietly, sipping a cool drink and letting the breeze brush across your skin, when Echo stepped out and joined you. He had something in his hands—a small, folded piece of paper, clearly drawn by Omega.

“She gave this to me,” he said, handing it to you.

You opened it.

It was another “wedding plan.” The two of you were stick figures holding hands, surrounded by a bunch of questionably drawn flowers, and what looked like Wrecker as a ring bearer. At the bottom, in bold handwriting, Omega had written:

“You’re already a family. This just makes it official.”

Your heart squeezed.

“She really wants you to stay,” Echo said softly, sitting beside you. “We all do.”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

He met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable there—an honesty he didn’t often allow himself to show.

“I think I’ve wanted that since the moment you helped her with that first braid. You made her feel… safe. And seen. That means everything to me.”

You smiled, heart thudding. “You know she called you the responsible one, right? Said you were the best option.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips. “Guess I’ve got her endorsement.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “I’d take it seriously. She’s planning outfits now.”

Echo chuckled, quiet and warm. “Of course she is.”

The silence between you stretched into something comfortable, like warmth curling around your chest.

“She’s not wrong though,” you said softly.

Echo turned to you, brows lifting just slightly. “About what?”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the man who had lost so much, given so much, and still stood tall—quiet, steadfast, kind.

“That you’re the best option.”

There was a beat. Then another.

He reached out, hesitating only for a second before his gloved fingers brushed yours.

“I’d like to prove her right.”

You didn’t need any more words than that.

Your fingers laced with his as the sun slipped below the horizon.

Back inside, Omega leaned over the data pad and added a final touch to the sketch.

A heart.

Right over where your stick figures stood, holding hands.

She beamed.

“Mission success.”

⸻

212th material List🧡🍑🍊🔶🏵️

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

Commander Cody

- x Twi’lek Reader❤️

- x Queen Reader❤️

- x Jedi reader “meet me in the woods”❤️

- x Jedi Reader “Cold Wind”❤️

- x Bounty Hunter Reader “Crossfire” multiple chapter❤️

- x GN Mandalorian Reader “One Too Many” ❤️

- “Diplomacy & Detonations” ❤️

- “I Think They Call This Love”

Waxer

- x Twi’lek Reader “painted in dust”❤️

Overall Material List

You are SO TALENTED!!!! I love reading your fics so much. There is something so comforting and perfect about how you write. I can’t put my finger on how to explain what I mean other than I really love your style and how you describe things and write the characters. You always start the fics off in a unique way and I love how to interpret people’s ideas into your style!! Would it be okay if I make a tech request please? I was thinking about something kind of idiots to lovers where they are both obviously interested in each other but haven’t made that step yet and everyone is relaxing on the beach (because they deserve it) and reader can’t stop staring at tech and is super obvious and helpless about it. Maybe he gets all flustered and shy about it and the others are teasing them and pushing them together? If you want of course only if you feel inspired! Thank you 💗💗💗 so much love for you and your fics!

That means so much—thank you! Seriously, I’m really honored by your words, truly means a lot 🤍

“Heat Index”

Tech x Reader

The beach wasn’t part of the mission.

It was just…there. Unoccupied. Warm. Irresistible.

Clone Force 99 had been rerouted after a failed rendezvous with Cid’s contact, and with no immediate threats or intel to chase down, Hunter declared something miraculous:

“Stand down for the day. You’ve earned it.”

And that’s how you found yourself on a quiet, sun-drenched coast with the sound of waves in your ears, sand between your toes, and a distinct inability to stop staring at Tech.

You told yourself you were being subtle. Sitting beside him while he recalibrated his datapad, watching him tap at the screen with focused precision, eyes half-hidden behind his signature goggles. You probably looked like you were zoning out—beachy daydreaming, normal and relaxed.

But inside? Inside you were on fire.

It was embarrassing, really, the way your stomach flipped every time he pushed his glasses up or muttered to himself. The man could be describing planetary topography and you’d nod along like he was whispering sweet nothings.

And you weren’t slick. Not even a little.

“Y/N, you’re staring again,” Echo said, not even trying to be discreet as he passed by with a makeshift towel slung around his neck. His prosthetic hand glinted in the sun as he pointed an accusatory thumb your way.

“I’m not,” you mumbled, heat rushing to your face.

“You are,” Wrecker chimed in from where he was wrestling with Omega in the shallows. “Even I noticed. And I was busy winning.”

“You were not!” Omega shouted, shoving at Wrecker’s broad chest as he laughed and face-planted into the surf.

You groaned and covered your face. This was fine. Totally fine. They were just teasing. They always teased.

But Tech?

Oblivious.

He didn’t even look up, still scrolling through data with maddening focus, the sunlight glinting off his goggles. You watched as he adjusted his posture on the towel beneath him, arms flexing under the light linen of his casual shirt—of course he rolled his sleeves. Of course.

“You know,” Crosshair drawled from behind you, “he’s been stealing glances at you all day.”

You jumped.

“What?”

“Mm.” Crosshair didn’t elaborate. He just took a slow sip from the coconut drink Wrecker had found earlier and tilted his head, smirking. “Took you long enough to notice.”

You turned back to Tech quickly, trying not to look like you were checking—but yes. His head was angled just a bit too stiffly toward his datapad, like he’d jerked his gaze away the moment you turned. His fingers weren’t moving. He was paused.

Flustered?

That couldn’t be right. This was Tech. The man had calculated the thermal resistance of Wrecker’s cooking experiments and quoted entire military texts without blinking. Emotion wasn’t his operating system.

…But his ears were a bit pink.

You squinted. No way.

“Hunter,” you hissed toward the Batch’s defacto leader, hoping for confirmation.

He looked up from where he was lounging with a smug expression that had definitely been inherited from Crosshair at some point.

“He likes you. Don’t ask me to interpret how—but yeah. You’re just as obvious as he is.”

You buried your face in your hands again.

This was a mess. A ridiculous, tangled, sun-soaked mess.

And yet—

“Y/N?” Tech’s voice was right beside you. Quiet. Tentative. You startled a little—when had he moved closer?

“I—I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “But I noticed a discrepancy in your hydration levels. You haven’t had water in two hours and thirty-seven minutes.”

You blinked. “You’re…tracking my water intake?”

“Well, I’ve been tracking everyone’s. But yours in particular was… below optimal parameters.”

You stared.

He cleared his throat.

“I made this for you,” he added, holding out a homemade drink container fashioned from a modified canteen and what looked like part of a fruit rind. “It’s rehydration-optimized. With, um… taste. I believe that matters to you?”

Your heart did a completely traitorous little leap. “You made me a beach drink?”

His ears turned very pink. “Yes.”

Crosshair made a gagging sound from somewhere behind you.

You took the drink, fingers brushing Tech’s. He didn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “That’s… really sweet.”

He stared at you for a second, expression flickering behind his goggles.

“Would you—” he blurted, then stopped himself. “Would you… be interested in accompanying me on a walk along the beach? For scientific reasons.”

“Scientific reasons?”

“Yes. I’d like to examine the tidal patterns. But also… I’d like to spend time with you.”

You almost laughed in relief, and it was so him, so endearing and awkward and precise, that you couldn’t say no.

“Yeah,” you said, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

The walk started slow.

He kept his hands behind his back at first, clearly trying to keep things casual, but he couldn’t help rattling off bits of data about the tides and the weather patterns. You nodded, asked just enough to keep him talking—but you were watching him more than anything else.

His brow furrowed when he talked, like every thought had to be carefully handled and shaped before it left his mouth. But he got passionate. Excited. Animated.

He gestured toward a tide pool and nearly tripped over a rock, catching himself with a flustered noise that made you giggle. His cheeks turned pink again.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered suddenly.

“What is?”

He turned to you, still awkward, but determined. “I’ve run the probabilities. Of outcomes. Of this… situation.”

“This situation being…?”

“You and me,” he said, like it was a confession he’d been holding in for weeks. “Statistically, the indicators are positive. Even when accounting for external variables and potential mission constraints.”

You bit your lip. “Tech—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

He hesitated. Then: “I like you. Very much. In a not entirely logical way.”

Your breath caught.

“You do?”

“I have for some time,” he admitted. “I didn’t say anything because I assumed the feelings were not… mutual. And I didn’t want to make things awkward among the squad.”

“Oh,” you said, voice breathy. “You absolute idiot.”

He blinked.

“I like you too,” you said, taking a step closer. “In a totally not-logical-at-all way. Everyone else figured it out ages ago.”

Tech looked stunned.

You took his hand—he startled, but didn’t pull away.

“I wanted to tell you,” you said. “But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I am, in fact,” he said slowly, “very comfortable at the moment.”

The silence stretched between you, warm and fizzing with promise.

And then—

“Finally!”

You both turned. Wrecker and Echo were standing waist-deep in the surf, cheering.

“I owe you five credits,” Crosshair muttered to Hunter.

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Let them gloat,” Tech said softly, fingers brushing yours again. “We have better things to do.”

“Like?”

“Another kilometer of beach to explore. And perhaps later… dinner. Just the two of us.”

Your stomach fluttered.

“Sounds perfect.”

⸻

Dinner arrived in pieces.

Wrecker had scavenged half the ingredients from the nearby forest—safe and edible, confirmed by Hunter—and Omega, ever the creative one, had helped wrap them in broad leaves and skewer them over a makeshift spit. Echo insisted on seasoning, mumbling something about dignity, and Crosshair contributed by not poisoning the mood with snark.

But you and Tech?

You barely noticed.

You’d spent the entire afternoon orbiting one another, caught in the gravitational pull of what had finally been said and shared. And when Tech suggested you take your food to the far end of the beach—just the two of you—there was no hesitation.

You walked in silence at first, the smell of salt and roasted fruit mingling with the low roar of the tide. The sand cooled beneath your feet as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long and purple-blue across the coast. When you reached a quiet, rocky cove framed by tidepools and a sloping dune, Tech paused.

“This will do,” he said.

You laid out the blanket Omega had packed, and he helped you unpack the food with the same precision he brought to every mission. Only this time, you noticed the small things—the way his fingers brushed yours when handing you a wrapped meal, the quiet way he lingered near your side as if anchoring himself.

You sat cross-legged beside him on the blanket. He adjusted his goggles. Again.

“You can take those off, you know,” you said gently.

“I—well, yes, I could, but…”

“But?”

“I prefer to see you clearly.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t even trying to be smooth. That was the worst part—it was just honesty, simple and unaffected, and it made your chest feel like it had been sun-warmed from the inside out.

He must’ve noticed your reaction because he fumbled with his fork.

“I apologize. Was that too forward?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Just… unexpected.”

A small smile touched his lips. He nudged his glasses up slightly anyway, so you could see more of his eyes.

“Then I shall try to surprise you more often.”

The meal was delicious—maybe not restaurant quality, but easily one of the best things you’d tasted in weeks. The food was secondary, though. The real warmth came from being beside Tech, talking about nothing and everything. His shoulders relaxed the longer you chatted, especially when you teased him lightly about how long it had taken for him to make a move.

“I calculated risk scenarios,” he said indignantly, mouth twitching at the corners.

“Uh-huh. And how’d that go?”

“Well, clearly, I underestimated you.”

You laughed. “You really did.”

After dinner, the sky deepened into indigo, and stars began to prick through the darkness.

You lay back on the blanket with a contented sigh, staring up at the galaxy above. Beside you, Tech adjusted his posture, lying just close enough for your arms to brush.

“The constellations are different from Kamino’s sector,” he murmured. “See that cluster? That’s the Aurigae Trine. It’s only visible from this hemisphere.”

You turned your head to look at him.

“And the one over there?” you asked, pointing.

He followed your gaze, expression thoughtful. “That’s informal. Not officially charted. But some smugglers call it The Serpent’s Tongue.”

“Romantic,” you teased.

“Perhaps not. But…”

He hesitated, then shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you fully.

“I once thought romance was a variable I would never encounter with clarity,” he said. “It seemed inefficient. Distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I find it… illuminating. Like gravitational lensing. Everything bends, but you can see further.”

Your chest tightened with something sweet and aching.

“You always talk like that?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head. “Do you prefer I don’t?”

“No,” you whispered. “I love it. I love how you see things.”

His gaze softened, and this time, it was his hand that reached for yours.

“I may not always say the right words,” he murmured. “But I will always mean them.”

You laced your fingers with his.

“I know.”

The sky stretched endless above you, starlight threading between the waves and wind. And for once, there was no war. No danger. Just you, and him, and a night that felt like it had waited for years to happen.

me rereading a scene: omg why is she acting like that who wrote this? i wrote this.

“In all honesty darling, they only started calling me the Negotiator because the slut was considered too unprofessional.” - Obi-Wan Kenobi to Cody at some point in the war

Someone, Evermore (Sunshine, Evermore.) by songofsewerrats on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62754613

@songofsewerrats

Edit: since this post is being seen by a lot of people, im letting you guys know that this fic is the best Codywan fic I’ve ever read and I strongly recommend you to check it out!

Wolffe x Reader (79’s)

It was another night at 79’s, the bar where the clones and the occasional visitor came to unwind after a long day of battle. The flickering lights cast shadows on the grungy walls, but the lively chatter, laughter, and clinking of glasses created a comforting hum in the background. You leaned against the bar, swirling your drink, eyes scanning the room when your gaze landed on a familiar face.

Commander Wolffe, as always, had a commanding presence even when he was off-duty, but tonight he was uncharacteristically relaxed. His armor was discarded in favor of the usual clone-issue tank top and fatigues, his black-and-grey hair tousled in a way that made him look rugged, even more so than usual. You’d bumped into him here plenty of times, always with the same playful banter and flirtatious remarks that made you look forward to your time at 79’s.

Tonight, however, something was different. You weren’t alone.

A new face—a clone commander you didn’t recognize—was sitting at a nearby table, chatting you up with ease. His dark hair was shaved close, a subtle scar above his eyebrow, and his grin was disarming, though his overconfidence was starting to wear on your patience. You were just humoring him for the moment, enjoying the banter and not entirely bothered by the attention. After all, it was 79’s, and a little flirtation never hurt anyone.

It was harmless enough, or at least you thought so, until you noticed Wolffe watching the exchange from a distance.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been flirted with by clones here, but you could sense Wolffe’s usual relaxed demeanor had shifted. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable as he made his way over to you, standing a little too close, his presence commanding the room.

You flashed him a smile, unfazed by the tension that had suddenly thickened between them. “What’s up, Wolffe? You seem a little tense tonight.”

“Everything alright here?” Wolffe’s tone was sharp, his eyes flicking to Cody, who was now giving him a questioning look. He then turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening for a moment before he added, “Is this guy bothering you?”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin pulling at your lips. “No,” you teased, “we’re just having a drink.”

Wolffe’s jaw tightened as he turned to Cody, who hadn’t broken his cool demeanor. “Well, he’s bothering me,” Wolffe said, and before anyone could react, he delivered a quick, sharp punch to Cody’s jaw.

Cody staggered slightly, more out of surprise than anything, his usual calm expression barely cracking. He recovered quickly, though, smirking as he rubbed his shoulder. “Well, that’s one way to say hello, Wolffe,” Cody said, voice tinged with amusement.

“Just a friendly reminder,” Wolffe grumbled

The room fell silent for a brief moment before laughter erupted from the nearby tables, the other clones eyeing the two commanders like they were about to see something more entertaining than a training session. The bartender, however, wasn’t as amused.

“You three! Out!” The bartender called, waving a hand at the trio of you, his patience running thin.

Wolffe flashed Cody a final look, an unspoken challenge in his eyes, before he gave a half-smile in your direction. “Guess we’re kicked out,” he muttered, already stepping toward the door.

Outside, the cool night air hit you, the chaos of the bar quickly fading behind you as you all stood on the street. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Well, that was interesting,” you said, grinning. “Couldn’t help myself, you know? It’s hard to resist a little harmless flirtation with handsome clones.”

Wolffe smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re trouble,” he muttered, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes. “Next time, try not to get two clones in a punch-up over you.”

Cody, rubbing his jaw with a slight wince, chuckled. “I’ve had worse, Wolffe. But maybe you’ll want to keep that temper in check next time.”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’ll have to think about it. I mean, you’re both so handsome. It’s hard not to get a little distracted.”

Wolffe shot Cody another look, then glanced at you with a half-smile. “Well, I suppose it’s good to know where I stand,” he said dryly. “But just remember, no one’s going to flirt with you as much as I do. So maybe I’ll keep punching my way to your heart.”

Cody snorted, shaking his head. “Brotherly rivalry at its finest, huh?”

You laughed, amused by the two of them. “Yeah, looks like it.” You gave Wolffe a playful look. “But I have to admit, I like the way you fight for my attention.”

Wolffe grinned, his usual cool demeanor returning. “Good,” he said, voice low and steady. “Because I’m not going to let anyone else take it.”

The three of you shared a brief, comfortable silence, and though the situation had been far from ordinary, there was a sense of camaraderie that you wouldn’t have traded for anything. And even though it had been an unexpected turn of events, you couldn’t help but enjoy the playful rivalry—especially when it involved such intriguing company.

“You two are something else,” you said, shaking your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “But it looks like I’m going to have to pick a side, huh?”

Wolffe gave you a smirk that told you everything you needed to know. “I’m already on your side,” he said, his voice full of quiet confidence.

Cody chuckled, stepping away with a wink. “Don’t think I’ll let you forget this, Wolffe.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wolffe shot back with a grin. And with that, the three of you parted ways for the night, the bond of camaraderie—and the subtle, unspoken rivalry—lingering between you all.