The Clone Wars Fanfiction - Blog Posts

Heart in pieces 😭😭

Hellooo just wanted to ask for a 2nd part to endure

Everyone and their mothers were asking for a second part so here it is!

“Survive”

Read the first part here (☆)

Summary: the second part of “Endure” continues when Wolffe is trying to crack a plan to hopefully help those that mean most to him

Paring: Commander Wolffe x GN padawan reader (Platonic)

Warning: mentions of blood, wounds, broken bones.

Word count: 1254 (not proof read sorry!)

Notes: do you guys like the subtle change in POVs in my fics or when it’s obvious the change?

Good soldiers follow orders.

So why did Wolffe’s hand shake as he watched your unconscious form shake ever so slightly. What stoped him for doing his job?

A cough startled him slightly from his stare, dust filled the room once again and the layer of smoke near by would have made his eyes water if his helmet wasn’t in place.

Good- good solders follow-

Another sickly cough was let out. Wolffe peaked in further blaster still outstretched. Your eyes tried desperately to clear your vision but it was not use.

A pain like no other shot through your arm as you sickly realized you couldn’t move it. Something pinned in down but even thinking about moving to look was too much.

Through the haze a figure seemed to loom at the only light source you could just make out. A buzzing rang throughout your ears and you only wished to deafen it in some way.

Fear racked your body when the figure you thought you saw seemed to disappear, you could barley remember what happened. The only thing left seemed to be the haunting image of your own ships shooting you down.

One thought raced through your mind: what could have happened to Wolffe? He wouldn’t have let this happen, none of them would but Wolffe always knew what to do. In the war you envied him for it.

Something had to have happened to Wolffe, if he was hear with you he could help like all the times he’s done it before. If you could find Wolffe maybe you could get out alive.

Good soldiers-

Wolffe could see the daze in your eyes. The way your you literally pinned down. He watched the struggle for a moment as you tried to turn and push a piece of debris off of your arm.

He took a step forward, his mind shifted from buzzers and warnings telling him to help, and another that was the calm at the center of the storm. In that one he felt almost nothing.

Maybe that’s what scared him. Wolffe staggered back for a second, his free hand ripped his helmet from his head as his senses screamed in protest. His hand cupped the side of his head while searing white pain was all he could think about.

Good sol-

His eyes cleared for a moment, blaster along with his helmet hit the floor. Covering his face with an arm Wolffe started to climb through the rubble to you.

Fluttering eyelids were the only things that met when Wolffe shook you slightly. The slight move of your lips caught his attention as he started to rip away at the rubble holding you down.

All in an instant an arm grabbed out to the center of his chest plate freezing him in his tracks. The eyes of his commander met his own with fear etched in to every crevasse.

A small voice whispered in the back of his mind to find the blaster, that he didn’t finish the order he was given. What sent a shiver down his spine was knowing that the voice was undoubtedly his own.

“I knew you’d come.” The scratchy voice filled his ears and all others were silenced, hopefully for good. “What happened?” A sob threatened to break up your words while Wolffe started to move again.

“I- I don’t know.” Wolffes voice shook violently taking in the sight he just uncovered. The arm was definitely broken but a medic wouldn’t be able to help this time.

Taking your opposite arm he braced moving to sling it over his shoulder. He could hear the pained gasps trying to lift you up more. Your leg gave out slightly making you crash into Wolffe.

He didn’t know what to do, not this time. They couldn’t possibly use his own fighter to leave the atmosphere. Not while there was barley enough room as is.

They needed a bigger ship, something he could get you safely into. But that means getting back to the hanger and the odds were against them.

“Wolffe-“ the word was sparse and barely heard when the pair started to trudge back into the lights of the setting sun.

It was only then when Wolffe looked down at you, the orange sun colors your skin softly and the dying light wasn’t helping anything.

Blood was on the side of you robes, all over the arm that was cradled at your side, and by the opposite leg.

He did that- the pain was back and he fought all urges to double over in the very moment.

“Wolffe your hurt.” You whispered looking up at the man with a gaze that shifted in and out.

“My concerns is on you right now.” He spoke with a gruff coming back to his ship, only a few more steps.

He watched the daze clear for a second like the sun peaking out on a cloudy day.

“No I’m sacred. And I don’t know what to do.”

Wolffe’s heart caught in his throat. You were both helpless. As soon as his men saw what has become of him the Jedi wouldn’t be the only traitor among the ranks.

They both were scared.

A plan formed in Wolffe head, glancing over once he wondered if it would even work or if it would implode upon impact. They didn’t really have a choice, trying anything would be better than nothing.

“The base isn’t far.” He started. The memory of all the briefings flooded back to him slightly. “I can walk and get supplies, maybe even a ship and we can fly as far away from here as possible.”

Being a commander taught Wolffe to map out all possible outcomes for every plan he ever made. However dwelling on most of the outcomes he could think of made his stomach churn.

Most didn’t end up well.

“I can come with you.” You breathily spoke looking up to the man.

The helmet he grabbed on the way out positioned itself back in his head and the blaster landed on his hip.

“You can’t stand on your own.” Wolffe said bluntly pausing to take in the trek in front of him.

But what if- what if something happened to him leaving you stranded, or while he was gone you were taken from him. What if-

Wolffes eyes darted back and fourth, anxiously trying to find some way this could all be a twisted dream. You didn’t know it was him, could he even tell you? Putting so much trust in the man that did this to you.

You only looked up at him slightly waiting for him to make up his mind.

“You’re staying by me, we can figure out where to hide you when we get closer, and what to do about-.” He couldn’t bring himself to say brothers. They were both of yours families.

“Maybe we could save them.” The hope plagued your words. “They couldn’t have done this themselves.

That’s what Wolffe was worried about, what if he was in his right mind, if they all were, when they shit down the general and commander they fought the entire war with.

Good soldiers are loyal. Loyal to the ones they stand besides and the ones that protect them in the same way they do.

He was a good soldier.

Both commanders made they’re way in the direction of the base, Wolffe wasn’t sure if he was ready or if he could even protect you.

What if he snapped again?

Good soldiers follow orders.

_____________________________________

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @ct-0113

Touching Revelations || Captain Rex x OFC Mae (NSFW)

Author's note: Howdie there folks. Continuing on with the snapshots of our favorite Captain, and (hopefully) your favorite doctor on Pabu! As a reminder this is part of a collaboration with @leenathegreengirl as part of her AU series. You can find the full image on both her page HERE or all the way at the bottom. Anyways, thanks for stopping by and if you are new, feel free to check out her page, where you can see more of the AU. - M

Summary: Captain Rex seeks some solitude while he's traveling alone after a long day, as his routines seemingly continue to be undone by feelings growing a bit more undeniable.

Warnings: Male Masturbation, sexual fantasies, kind of pervy (but more in a horrified light than anything), slight illusions to breeding kink, mentions of penetration/strip tease

Minors go away.

Pairings: Captain Rex x OC Mae Killough (her info found HERE)

Word Count: 5,500+

Masterlist || Previous Section || Next Section (Coming Soon)

All clones did it, whether they admitted it or not. Anyone who claimed otherwise was a liar. During the war, privacy was a luxury few could afford, and quick moments of solitude in the fresher became a necessity. Fortunately, Rex had the rare privilege of private officer's quarters, granting him more seclusion than most. Yet, there was something irreplaceable about the feeling of warm water cascading over his shoulders, a rare moment to let go and feel truly at ease with himself.

It wasn’t that he never indulged in the occasional moments of respite during shore leave—he certainly did. Unlike many of his brothers-in-arms, he didn’t actively seek out such opportunities, preferring to let them come to him. Yet, from time to time, he found himself in the company of a charming woman who offered him her appreciation for his service in ways that were impossible to ignore. He wasn’t one to turn down their gracious offers, knowing better than to let a fleeting chance slip through his fingers.

Still, those moments were rare, and truth be told, he had grown accustomed to relying on his own hand for satisfaction. It was simpler, predictable, and free of the entanglements that often accompanied more intimate encounters.

Over time, he’d come to accept solitude as part of his life. The fleeting affections he experienced on shore leave were just that—temporary, like waves crashing on the sand before retreating into the vast, indifferent sea. There was no permanence to them, no promise of anything more than a brief break from the grinding monotony of his duties.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t seek it out the way others did. Many of his brothers treated shore leave like a hunt, prowling for companionship to fill the void left by endless days on the front lines. But for him, the chase felt hollow. The warmth of another’s touch, though intoxicating in the moment, was quickly replaced by an ache that seemed deeper somehow, more profound.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want more—he did. But the idea of tethering himself to someone felt as unrealistic as anchoring a ship in a storm. His life was unpredictable, driven by duty, and there was little room for the kind of stability that a real connection required.

He became quite familiar with the solitude of his right hand, the fantasies within his own mind, and the fleeting privacy offered by the confines of a fresher.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The day had dragged on, an unrelenting slog of challenges that felt insurmountable. Frustration weighed heavily on Rex’s shoulders—nothing he’d done had gone according to plan. The intel he’d been counting on had evaporated into thin air, and his contact had been compromised before he could secure anything useful. He’d barely managed to get out unscathed, though the near-miss left him tense and exhausted. 

As he leaned over the controls, ensuring the autopilot was engaged, Rex finally allowed himself to step away from the cockpit. The silence of the ship seemed louder than usual, amplifying the gnawing weight of failure pressing on his chest. Yet, it wasn’t just the mission that troubled him. It was the absence of Echo—a presence Rex had grown to rely on more than he cared to admit.

Not that he could blame him. Echo deserved to be with his wife-to-be, building a future Rex couldn’t fathom for himself. And what was Rex left with? The hollow title of a soldier with no army, fueled only by a stubborn resolve to cling to a life that no longer existed? A clone too set in his ways to imagine anything beyond the battlefield? Or maybe just a man too tightly wound to think clearly, running on fumes and purpose that felt increasingly fragile.

Yeah, probably that last one.

One perk of his most recent stay on Pabu was the repair of the hot water generator by Tech, which meant he could finally enjoy an endless stream of warm water after the grueling hours of the day. It was a small luxury that made a big difference, and as Rex reached for the controls of the fresher, his dirty hand fiddled with the temperature setting out of habit.

He stripped off the grimy clothes without a second thought, tossing them into the corner to deal with later. There'd be time for a proper wash when he made it back to base. These days, there wasn't much about the GAR he found himself longing for, but the ease of having droids on hand to handle the laundry was definitely a perk. Not having to worry about washing his fatigues had been a convenience. But as simple as it was, there was something oddly freeing about these everyday tasks—the small acts of self-sufficiency that reminded him he had more control over his life than he once did. Scrubbing clothes, though seemingly trivial, became a symbol of that freedom, a reminder that, for all the structure and orders that once defined his existence, he was now in a place where he could make his own decisions, even about something as mundane as laundry.

The warm cascade of water pouring over him felt like an indulgence, a rare moment of pure relief. It was as if every muscle, every thought, was being soothed by the gentle pressure, leaving behind only calm. Not that Rex was a religious man—he had long since abandoned any belief in an afterlife—but if there were such a thing, he imagined it might feel like this: like a long-awaited exhale, like a weight lifting from his chest, leaving only peace behind.

He wasn’t sure how exactly he ended up like this, his weathered palms instinctively curling around himself. It was almost automatic, like an ingrained reflex that had taken root during the years of war. Back then, he would have easily blamed it on the constant pressure of water rations—the brief, rushed showers squeezed in between missions or moments of solitude snatched in the most unlikely places. He’d learned to survive on the bare minimum, to find peace in the fleeting privacy that he could steal away, even if it was just for a few precious minutes of quiet in the shower.

Now, there were no rations, no hurried schedules. He didn’t have to share the water with anyone, didn’t have to rush or sneak away. Yet still, the habit remained. His hands moved almost as if by instinct, finding their way to his body, wrapping around himself without thought. In truth, there was nothing left to blame except the way his mind and body were constantly on edge, the tension that clung to him after years of battle and loss. Even here, in this moment of solitude, he couldn’t shake the remnants of that adrenaline, the tightness in his chest that made him long for something to hold on to, even if it was just the simple act of gripping his own skin.

It wasn’t about necessity anymore. It was something deeper, something his body had learned to do long ago—an anchor in a world that had constantly been out of his control. Even now, it was the only way he knew how to steady himself when the weight of everything, past and present, threatened to pull him under.

By touching himself. 

Rex wasn’t one to seek out encrypted holochannels. He had experienced enough moments in real life to know that sometimes, the old-fashioned way was better. For him, that meant retreating into his own mind, crafting his own fantasies. He’d had his share of encounters during times when he was granted some freedom, fleeting moments with women that blurred together into a single, faceless figure he could call on whenever he needed. It was simple, uncomplicated, and—most importantly—free of guilt. He could indulge without consequence, without the weight of expectations or the complexities of real connections.

The soldier didn’t necessarily need a clear starting point—his mind wandered wherever it chose, moving in its own rhythm. As his hand moved steadily along the length of himself, he found his thoughts drifting, no particular direction guiding him except the ebb and flow of his own desires. In the quiet, he imagined a pair of legs—strong, yet graceful, the kind that held an effortless power.

His mind traced the shape of them, starting with slender calves that led up to firm, muscular thighs, each curve and line reminding him of strength and subtle beauty. There was something magnetic about the way they moved in his imagination—something simple, yet deeply captivating. The way the muscles flexed, the smoothness of the skin, the promise of both strength and softness in one form. It was the sort of thing that, at its core, could be easily overlooked, but in his mind, it became something almost hypnotic.

And as if he was visualizing a real woman standing in front of him, he moved his attention to just slightly above. Eye’s closed as the steam only built around him, Rex couldn’t help but picture one of the most beautiful curves of a woman’s body. The kind of thing he and his brothers argued over the merits of in the solitude of their barracks. 

He wasn’t sure why exactly he’d always preferred a woman’s behind and the lovely visual it provided. Perhaps it was rooted in the simple aesthetics. A wish to latch his large hand on and just feel it under his grasp. Or the fact that he could get away with copping a glance more often in that arena than a woman’s chest. Regardless of the reason, he always appreciated a full, round, ass.

Deep within, the man had always been drawn to the idea of painting fair skin with the impression of his own hand, a touch that would linger long after he had gone. There was something profoundly primal about it—the raw, intimate connection of watching himself mark that vulnerable place. In those moments, it was as though the boundary between reality and something greater blurred, bringing heaven into the tangible world, if only for a fleeting instant. A handprint, a silent but powerful reminder, left its trace for later, a testament to his presence, his claim.

It stirred something wild in him, something fierce that he often tried to suppress. Though he was a clone, that didn’t diminish his natural biological instincts. The urge to reproduce—an inherent part of him—hadn’t been erased with his creation. In fact, after the removal of his inhibitor chip, that primal drive, once muffled and distant, had grown louder, more insistent. Now, during moments like these, it wasn’t a faint whisper in the recesses of his mind—it was a guttural, urgent call that resonated in the deepest corners of his consciousness, pulling at him like an unyielding tide.

That’s a nice train of thought…

His hand quickened, grip tightening as he leaned back against the wall, seeking the stability it offered. The steady rhythm didn’t do much for Rex; he craved the shift in pressure and speed to bring him closer to release. This time was no different. He flexed his hand, adjusting his motion to pull himself closer to the edge, all the while letting his mind drift away from the present moment.

At times, his mind seemed to latch onto the more uncommon, often unnoticed details—those subtle aspects that others would likely overlook. With his eyes closed, an image began to form in his mind, and he was taken aback when it settled into a pair of eyes. Innocent. Wide. Trusting, yet strangely familiar, as though they held a story of their own. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the appeal of such a gaze. There was something profoundly captivating about the submission they conveyed, the way they looked up at him with quiet vulnerability, as if they understood their place in the moment, beneath him. 

But beyond the submissive nature in their stare, there was an undeniable beauty to those eyes. Not that he considered himself a romantic by any means—he wasn’t one to indulge in such sentiments—but the vibrant blue tugged at something deep inside him. It was a hue he knew all too well, one that had marked his existence, one that had come to define him throughout much of his life. Cobalt blue was his color—his identity in a world of little variation among him and his men. Seeing 501 blue staring back at him was a strange comfort. 

A stray curl of hair that fell between them was another detail that caught his attention. It drifted between them like a soft, teasing gesture, framing the stunning eyes in a way that felt almost intimate. He’d always admired long, curly hair on the nat-borns when they were planet-side. There was something almost intoxicating about it—the bounce, the way it seemed to possess its own rhythm, its own life. It wasn’t just the texture that fascinated him; it was the femininity it exuded, the divine softness that contrasted so sharply with the harshness of the world around them. It was delicate, almost ethereal, a thing of beauty that was both natural and profound.

Not only that, but the curl was a dynamic shade of red—a color that always managed to captivate him, no matter the context. It wasn’t the garish, artificial red that so many of the women at the bar seemed to wear. The kind of hue that screamed of chemical concoctions, a clash of tones that burned his eyes and assaulted his senses with the lingering scent of synthetic dye. No, this was different. This was the kind of red that reminded him of something more natural, something raw. A vibrant, fiery hue that seemed to pulse with life—one that Rex had often associated with the women in the contraband magazines he’d come across in his years of service. Magazines hidden under the thin, uncomfortable mattresses in the barracks, carefully tucked away between flimsy sheets of paper, waiting to be discovered during routine inspections.

It was a shade of red that spoke of effortless beauty. It was neither too bold nor too soft, but instead, it held a unique vibrance that couldn’t be ignored. That deep, almost untamed red—a color that appeared in flashes of flame, in the quiet of sunsets, and in the rich, soft strands of hair that had always seemed so impossibly alluring to him. The kind of red that belonged to women in those glossy, forbidden pages—women who exuded a kind of captivating charm with every glance, a beauty that felt untouched by the world around them.

It was a color that told a story without words, one of fiery independence, untamed grace, and an almost dangerous allure. Rex had always found himself drawn to it, unable to resist its pull, as if it carried an unspoken promise of something more—something beyond what the sterile, clinical walls of his life had ever offered. The same shade as…

Then, as though his mind were playing a cruel trick on him, a fantasized voice echoed in his skull, sharp and clear, revealing the one he had been imagining all along. The full image solidified in his mind, and with it, the truth of who he had been fantasizing about all this time became undeniable.

Curvy, long legs, muscles shifting with each movement, water clinging to her pale skin like a second layer. He had seen those limbs before—balanced gracefully atop a surfboard on Pabu. Leading to that perfectly shaped ass, heighted by the delicate curve of a feminine lower back, all clad in a blue bikini upon the sand. Blue eyes had once stared up at him from the hull of his own ship, wide with amazement and wonder, a gaze that seemed to see straight through him as he tried to twirl the petite woman in his arms.

And those bouncy red curls, brushing against his cheeks from the gentle ocean breeze, their vibrant color catching the fading sunlight, glowing with a golden hue that made them look almost alive. The light made them burn brighter, a fiery halo that intensified the pull she had on him.

Then came the voice—the voice he knew all too well, still echoing in his mind, soft and filled with ecstasy. “Rex… yes.” It moaned, and he refused to open his eyes, unwilling to let the fantasy slip away. Teeth pulling plush pink lips behind a flash of white as he let the truth settle in.

Mae. He was fantasizing about Mae.

This wasn’t the usual fleeting fantasy that so often danced through his mind—the fragmented, nameless woman whose face was nothing more than a blur, a fleeting memory of someone he may have seen once in passing. No, this was something different. It was a vivid, intricate mental image of someone he knew well, someone whose presence had become a part of him. This was her. The image wasn’t hazy or incomplete; it was full, detailed, as though his mind had painted her with a clarity that made her feel more real than anything else in his world.

Had he been able to summon the same self-control he had relied on so many times in his life as a soldier—self-control that had kept him alive through countless missions and dangerous encounters—he would have stopped. He would have forced his hand to still, his eyes to open, and he would have put an end to the perverse act before it even began. But something inside him, some deep, unexplained force, kept him anchored in the fantasy. The mental image of her—the woman with whom he had shared such a rich companionship, a bond that ran deeper than anything he’d ever expected—overrode the disciplined restraint he had long prided himself on.

It was as though the very thought of her, the connection they shared, made the rules of gentlemanly behavior feel irrelevant. The boundaries he had once lived by, the ones that kept his emotions and desires in check, dissolved under the weight of this overpowering need. For some reason, Mae made him forget the lines that had always kept him grounded.

It wasn’t that he had ever intended to cross that line, not with her. She wasn’t some fleeting distraction, some unattainable fantasy to be locked away in his mind. She was real—her laughter, her presence, her touch—things he had grown accustomed to in ways that made the idea of imagining her like this feel both intoxicating and dangerous. There was a depth to their companionship that went beyond the physical, a connection built on respect and understanding. He had never allowed himself to imagine her in this way before, not like this.

But now, as the image of her lingered in his thoughts, he couldn't help but indulge in it. She had always been there for him in ways that went far beyond what anyone else could offer. In a world where he had learned to shut down his emotions, to push past the desires that could cloud his judgment, she had quietly unraveled the walls he had so carefully constructed. It wasn’t the passion that drew him now, but the intimacy they shared—the trust, the warmth, the way they could be open with each other in a world that didn’t often allow for it.

Her face, her body, the way she moved—his mind replayed every moment, every shared glance between them. Each small detail now seemed amplified in the haze of his thoughts, as if his own body was betraying him, wanting more, needing more. He could almost feel her—her scent, her warmth, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

But even in the haze of his desire, there was a part of him that still fought against it. He couldn't lose control, not over something like this. He had always been in charge, always kept his emotions at bay. Yet now, it seemed as if his own mind and body were taking him to a place he hadn’t planned to go. The more he fought it, the stronger the pull became, as if the very thought of her held him captive.

It was a twisted sense of vulnerability, a rawness he hadn’t expected to feel. She had never been a fantasy before; she had been his equal, his friend in every sense. Yet now, in this moment, she was something more—something his mind wanted her to be, something he wasn’t sure he could control anymore.

“Rex…” The artificial voice, an uncanny mimicry of hers, called to him, sending a ripple of heat through his veins. He watched as a playful smirk curved on those full lips, a look that seemed both teasing and knowing. At first, the images had been drawn from tangible memories—moments he had lived, moments that felt real. But now, as the vision took on a life of its own, he realized he wasn’t simply recalling what had already passed. No, now he was conjuring things that hadn’t happened. Fantasies, unspoken desires that had long been buried in a part of him he rarely acknowledged.

Delicate hands twisted into a soft blue shirt, dragging it up as more and more pale skin was revealed. A small thatch of neatly manicured curls briefly drew his attention before the swell of round breasts came bouncing before his view. Perky rose colored peaks just begging for a taste. The sight was glorious to behold. Not that he’d neglected to notice the way that her smaller frame amplified the shape or the side of such breasts, but the idea that he’d assumed them to look that way uncovered was something he’d unpack later. Right now he was so close to release simply at the thought of burying his length between those breasts even just for a moment. 

Hand clenched so intensely around himself as the steam nearly shook him from the fantasy, Rex clung on the best he could. Moving faster as he felt that telltale sign he was nearly there came in the form of beads of precum leaking over his hand. Body shaking from the exertion of it all, he finally came to one last thought. 

His body laying down. Rex could see the contrast of tanned skin on porcelain as his hands tightly gripped the curve of her waist. Mae perched herself above him, strong thighs straddling him. Smirk decorating her lips while she ran her nails up and down the expanse of his chest. The bounce of both breasts and curls as she leaned back, surrendering to the feeling of himself inside her body. “Rex… please.. fill me up-” came the song most delightful to his ears as he did just that. 

Well, not in her body, but his cock throbbed desperately as he spilled white ribbons of cum all over his fingers. Eyes finally opening, Rex saw just how sizable the mess was through the steam of the fresher. He couldn’t recall a time there ever had been that much mess. 

Reality shattered around him in an instant, crashing through the fragile bubble of his thoughts with brutal force. His mind had unraveled, driven by the image of the only woman he had ever allowed to mean something more than just a passing interest, the one he had held in such a profoundly deep regard. It had been a moment of weakness, one that exposed the rawness inside him he had long worked to suppress. The weight of that realization settled like a stone in his chest, suffocating him. The fantasy, the desire—everything he had indulged in—felt alien now, a betrayal of the very principles he had spent his life upholding.

Disgust curled in his gut, bitter and sharp. How had he let it go this far? How had he let himself become so tangled in a web of longing and fantasies that didn’t belong in the reality he had crafted for himself? The very thought of it sickened him, and he recoiled from the vulnerability he had unwittingly exposed.

Snatching the bar of soap from the small cutout in the wall, he scrubbed his skin with a desperate urgency, as if washing away the grime of the day could somehow erase what he had done. He lathered until his skin burned, raw and red, before finally pausing. Tilting his head back into the steady stream of water, he let it rinse the dirt from his short hair, hoping clarity might come with it. But all he could find was one question echoing through his mind.  

Why her?  

He had long since convinced himself that she was just a friend—nothing more. He might have believed it, too, if she hadn’t always been there, trailing behind him with that sweet, effortless smile. If she hadn’t given him that ridiculous little offering—a necklace, of all things. His eyes dropped to it now, glinting against his chest, almost mocking him. She had been the first woman to treat him with genuine kindness, not out of flirtation or manipulation, but out of a simple, quiet respect for the man he was.  

And yet, he wasn’t blind.  

He had done his best to ignore it, to shove down the thoughts that threatened to surface. She was beautiful—undeniably so. That’s why Jesse had teased him that day on the beach, throwing out some crude joke about how the pretty doctor should give him an STD exam.  

Wait.  

His movements stilled, the water forgotten as his mind latched onto the thought. Shutting off the shower, he hurriedly dried himself, his pulse quickening as a realization settled in. Maybe that was it. Maybe Jesse’s little joke had planted the seed, giving life to a fantasy he hadn’t even realized was forming. Maybe that’s why, when he was alone, it was her hands—small, delicate, yet certain—wrapped around his cock in the dark corners of his mind.  

The thought offered him a strange sense of relief. It was just that—just a fantasy. Nothing more. Pulling on a pair of briefs, he moved through the rest of his routine with practiced ease, shutting down any lingering doubts before they had the chance to take hold.It was easier to blame Jesse then confront the idea he might be falling for her. 

At best, he could admit that he might have let himself get too consumed by his physical desire for her. Even that acknowledgment felt wrong—uncomfortable and out of place—but after what had happened, he couldn’t deny it. He had lusted after a friend. That was a line he shouldn’t have crossed, one he would need to be mindful of the next time he saw her. For Echo’s wedding no less. A day in which would be filled with romance and- 

Rex stopped himself with a disgruntled shake of his head, as if someone were around to hear his loud thoughts. He would be rigid at his brother’s wedding. He could be polite, but he would not engage with her more than he needed to even if it pained him so. Those walls needed to stay high enough that pretty doctors couldn’t climb them.

Stretching out on his bunk, he checked the systems, ensuring no alarms had gone off. The ship hummed softly around him, the vast emptiness of deep space his only company for the next few hours. The solitude would do him some good—a chance to clear his head. Because even with a logical explanation for his feelings, the guilt and confusion still weighed heavily on him.

Just as his body began to relax, his datapad chirped. He sighed, annoyed at the interruption but knowing better than to ignore it. If there was any kind of avoidable danger, he couldn’t afford to let it go unchecked.

Flicking on the screen, he expected the usual—a fuel-level warning, an ETA adjustment, or maybe a quick message from Echo. But when he opened the waiting notification, his breath caught, and the pad nearly slipped from his hands.

It was a photo.

Glasses slid halfway down a delicate nose, tired eyes fighting to hold a smile. Messy hair framed flushed cheeks, evidence of exhaustion from what had clearly been a long day. Beneath it, a message appeared: Late nights are the worst. Hope yours is much better than mine :)

The image hit him like a punch to the gut and a flutter in his chest all at once. She looked utterly worn out, yet still so achingly beautiful. He hadn’t realized how much he had been bracing himself for her to reach out, but now that she had, his emotions tangled even further. She messaged him every night, a habit they’d formed long ago. And when he wasn’t dodging enemy fire or barely able to stand, he always responded.

Here, tucked away in his private bunk with no one else to overhear, he usually ended his days with these lighthearted exchanges. But tonight, with her image staring back at him, the comfort he usually found in her messages had turned into something far more complicated.

For a long moment, Rex simply stared at the screen, unsure what to do. The familiar pang of guilt twisted in his chest, tangling with the warmth her message brought. She had no idea what she was doing to him—how her sweet words and tired smile were unraveling the restraint he had worked so hard to keep in place.  

Keep it together, he told himself. Don’t make this more than it is.  

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tapped out a reply, keeping his tone light and casual.  

Long flights are never fun, but I think you win the “rough night” competition. Try to get some rest when you can—don’t overdo it. Captain's Orders.

He hesitated, rereading the message, debating if it sounded too cold. But before he could second-guess himself further, he sent it. Leaning back on the bunk, he stared at the ceiling, willing his mind to quiet.  

Her reply came almost instantly.  

Rest? What’s that? Pretty sure I’ll be on my feet until the sun comes up. At least I’ve got something to distract me now ;)

The winking face made him clench his jaw, a sudden heat building in his chest. She wasn’t flirting—not intentionally, anyway—but it was the way her words always felt so personal, as though she genuinely wanted his attention. And damn it, she had it. She always did.  

He started typing, then stopped. His thumb hovered over the screen, unable to decide if he should keep responding or put the datapad down and end the conversation there. But then another message popped up before he could reply.  

How’s the flight so far? I bet it’s quiet. I’d trade my chaos for your peace right now.

Quiet? Peaceful? That was what she thought this was. And in a way, she was right—out here in the stillness of space, there was nothing but the hum of the ship and his own thoughts. But right now, those thoughts were anything but peaceful.  

His fingers moved before he could stop them.  

I’m not sure you’d like it. Too much time alone out here makes a guy think too much.

The moment he sent it, he regretted the vulnerability. It wasn’t like him to open up like that, not even to her. But she responded almost immediately, her words striking a chord he hadn’t expected.  

Thinking isn’t always so bad. Just don’t let it get the better of you. You’ve got people who care about you, Rex.

He exhaled sharply, his chest tightening at her words. You’ve got people who care about you. Did she mean herself? Was that what she was trying to say? Or was he reading too much into it, letting his mind twist her kindness into something it wasn’t?  

He had to stop this.  

Rolling over, he typed out a quick reply.  

Thanks. I’ll try not to overthink it. Get some sleep, Doc. You need it.

The dots indicating she was typing appeared immediately, letting him know she hadn't deviated from his message, reading it instantly and forming a response without delay. Soon another message came across his screen.

That's a polite way to say I look terrible. Not that I blame you, these eye bags could carry a venator...

Grumpily sitting up, as if sitting up would somehow aid him in typing his message, he quickly replied without a thought before he could worry over the interpretation. Perhaps it was because he was angry with himself for the action he'd only very recently just undertaken, but something about the way she degraded herself didn't sit right with him.

Not at all what I meant, and you know that. Your eyes might show you're tired, but that doesn’t mean they're anything less than beautiful. Just… making sure someone forces you to get rest since we both know you have a habit of neglecting that. Whatever you are doing can likely wait till the morning. So just do me the solid and head home and get the rest? People care about you too.

This time, he didn’t wait for her response. He placed the datapad face-down on the small table beside his bunk and turned away, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep.  

But her image lingered in his mind—the tired eyes, the soft smile, the way she had reached out to him like she always did. It was comforting, and it was torture. And no matter how tightly he tried to close his eyes, he couldn’t push her away. 

His datapad chirped one last time, and despite his better judgment, he reached for it. He told himself he was just checking—just making sure it wasn’t something urgent. But deep down, he knew the truth. He wanted to hear from her again.

Her message was simple.

I suppose you are right. Goodnight, Rex. Sweet dreams.

That was it. No teasing remark, no playful jab—just a quiet goodnight.

He exhaled, sinking back into his pillow, the tension in his body finally easing. Maybe it was the exhaustion setting in, or maybe it was the warmth her words left behind, but for the first time that night, he let himself stop fighting it.

And whether he wanted to or not, she was the last thing he thought of before the stars faded into darkness.

Full illustration by @leenathegreengirl !