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my clone headcanons: "who did this to you" wound trope
a/n: yesyesyesyes crash out crash out crash out
gn reader
warnings: none
hunter is impossible to lie to. he finds the injuries and wounds you try to hide from the group all the time, his mouth pressed in a flat line as he crouches to the floor in front of you. “easy, easy…” he murmurs when you flinch away from him. he rubs his hands down your shoulders slowly, leaning in close to meet your eyes. his gaze burns with anger, but his voice is soft, reassuring you that you’re safe. “who did this to you?” he asks.
tech is known to figure things out pretty quickly, putting two and two together like it’s nothing. he sits at your side with his lips pursed together, hesitating before he rests a light hand on your thigh to get your attention. you glance at him, seeing that he’s already looking at you. he speaks so calmly despite the threat laced in his tone. “you can make it easy for the both of us and tell me who did this to you. or i can find them myself.”
wrecker gets scary when he’s pissed off, and that is exactly what he is when you get hurt, suddenly ready for a fight that he knows he’ll win. but he reserves his gentleness for you, cupping your face with his hands that are so large you basically disappear inside his grasp. he caresses your cheeks, the creases on his face deepening with his frown. “who did this to you?” he growls in a low voice, “i’ll take care of ‘em for you…”
crosshair is dangerous when he’s still and silent, his jaw tightening as hot anger boils under his skin. he brushes a careful finger over the tears and blood staining your cheeks, dragging his touch down to your chin where he tilts your face up, scowling darkly. “who did this to you?” he hisses. he wraps his hand around your jaw when you don’t say anything, leaning in so close that he whispers, “staying quiet won’t help him…”
echo just wants you to open up to him—to trust him when you’re in a vulnerable spot. he of all people knows how hard that is, which is all the more reason he craves this intimacy with you. he grips your hands gently, taking the med patches away so that he can dress your wound himself. he’s not looking at you as his stern voice rumbles through the silence. “who did this to you?” then he stares up at you. “i won’t ask again.”
wolffe doesn’t beat around the bush, and he doesn’t let you do so, either. his voice is deep and commanding when he stands over you, folding his arms over his chest. “look at me.” you lift your head slowly, with hesitation, so he cups the side of your face and tilts your face up, brushing his thumb over some tears to swipe them away. his eyebrows draw together in subtle anger ever so slightly, narrowing his gaze at you. “i’m not going to repeat myself,” he breathes quietly. “tell me who did this.”
fox is a stickler for the rules until someone hurts you, and suddenly, he’s a hypocrite who itches to burn whoever is responsible for this. he loses his cool just like that, grabbing your face with a slightly crazed look in his eyes when he demands, “who the fuck did this to you?” his breath comes in fast as he slides his hands down to cup the back of your neck, a possessive grip that reminds you that you’re his to protect.
cody never cowers from a fight worth his time, and you’re worth everything to him. he folds his arms over his chest and asks “who did this to you?” you shake your head, “cody, don’t…” he frowns and crouches low to the floor slowly, kneeling between your legs. “nobody has to get hurt,” he tells you, taking your hands to kiss your bruised knuckles. “you’re lying out of your ass,” you mutter. “and you’re hiding from me.”
mayday grips your waist, holding you still as you try to squirm away from his help. “shh, come here, let me take a look,” he orders softly, his voice spreading over your body like warm, relaxing waters that pull you under. “you’re alright…” he murmurs, stroking the top of your head slowly while assessing the damages. he clicks his tongue in disapproval and lifts his head to meet your eyes in a hard stare. “who did this to you?”
rex touches the back of your neck, slowly tightening his hand to turn you around. you avoid his gaze while he looks down at your body, around your face in quiet observation. “give me a name,” is all he says. you tilt your head and sigh, shaking your head, but he cups your face to stop your movements. he leans in close, staring with a sharp, unwavering determination. “maybe i wasn’t clear the first time,” he murmurs in a low tone.
fives has a temper everyone knows about, and the best way to set it off is for something to happen to you. he plants his hands down around your sitting frame, caging you into his body. your faces are close, your breaths even closer, mingling and shared as he stares into your eyes unflinchingly. “who did this?” he asks firmly. “fives, don’t make a big deal out of—” he shakes his head, “oh, we’re making a big fucking deal out of this.”
kix has a caretaking instinct that prioritizes your wellbeing over anything else. he feels guilty when he’s not there to prevent you from getting hurt, but he’s always there to fix up the damages. his eyes soften into a pained frown as he cradles the back of your head and strokes your hair. he kisses your scalp, whispering, “you’re safe now, you’re okay…” he waits for you to catch your breath. “can you tell me who did this to you?”
jesse is the type of guy to react to your pain like it’s his own. you already know he’s going to be pissed, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when a heavy glare shadows his expression, and he snaps, “who did this to you? which fucker was it—” you cut him off before he gets too riled up, whispering, “jesse, calm down, please…” he scowls and cups the back of your head to pull you into his chest protectively. “like hell i’ll calm down…”
hardcase feels like a bucket of cold water is dumped over his head when you’re hurt. the reality of your pain sobers him up faster than he can blink, and things aren’t so fun and games anymore. he settles you into his lap and lets you lean your weight on him, giving up all your strength. “hey…” he murmurs in your ear, his strong arms around you as you quiver in his embrace. “shit, what happened? who did this to you?”
gregor knows you’re tough enough to handle yourself, but he still freaks out at any blemish big or small. “who did this?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “you want me to handle them for you?” you wave him off, “gregor, i’m fine…” but he’s not convinced, stroking a hand down your hair as he rasps, “you’re not fine, look at you…” he buries his face into the top of your head, kissing you softly. “c’mon, tell me who it was…”
howzer cups his hands around your face delicately, like you’re made of glass, exhaling raggedly as he presses a long, hard kiss to your forehead. his lips linger against your skin when he murmurs, “who did this to you?” and he slides his hands down to wrap you in a tight embrace. “tell me, and i swear he won’t ever put his hands on you again, yeah?” he pulls back, searching your eyes with his own, whispering, “you trust me?”
emerie concerns herself with taking care of you before asking any questions, but the silence drags on as she furrows her eyebrows and tentatively touches her fingertips to your wound. you don’t seem to react in discomfort, so she presses her hand down over the bandage, smoothing her touch out in a comforting circle. “you’re not going to tell me what happened?” she asks, kissing your shoulder, “who did this…?”
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star wars fans are so funny bc like you can mention a background clone character who shows up in like, two episodes at most, and there will be some fangirl who's memorized his wiki page, has a pinterest fan page dedicated to him, and ships him with riyo chuchi
Can you maybe write headcanons about the boys seeing you with a baby and getting ideas? Just seeing you happy and the baby laughing or something with you gets them thinking. can you write for wolffe and bacara(hardly anyone includes grumpy bacara!). No pressure though, thanks
Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, some mature comments
Wolffe
The baby is laughing. Full-body giggles, little hands grabbing at your fingers while you talk in that soft voice you only use around things you love.
And maker, Wolffe is staring.
He tries not to. He really does. But there’s something about the way you look down at the baby, patient, warm, and completely gentle, that hooks into his chest and pulls.
The kid spits up on your sleeve and you just laugh, wiping their chin with the edge of your shirt while murmuring, “Oh, you’re lucky you’re cute.”
Wolffe never thought babies were his thing. Too loud, too fragile, too unpredictable. He’d spent most of his life around soldiers and warzones, not soft blankets and tiny socks. But then he sees you sitting in the corner of the barracks lounge with someone’s infant tucked against your chest, his entire brain short-circuits.
Wolffe’s gone after that.
Because now he’s imagining what your child would look like. If they’d have your smile. If they’d curl tiny fingers around his scarred hands without fear.
It unsettles him how badly he wants it.
Later that night, he corners you in the corridor, arms crossed, trying to act normal while absolutely failing.
“You’re good with kids,” he mutters.
You grin. “That surprise you?”
“A little.”
His eye lingers on your mouth before dropping lower. “Made me think.”
“Oh?” you tease.
Wolffe steps closer, voice rough. “Thought about you carrying one around that looked like us.”
The silence after that is dangerous. You blink at him, cheeks warming, and he notices immediately. His smirk is slow and wolfish.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That got your attention.”
When you shove at his chest, embarrassed, he catches your wrist easily and pulls you closer.
“Don’t start blushing now, cyare. You were the one making domestic life look tempting.”
Then, “Besides, I think youd look good carrying my kid.”
And the bastard sounds entirely too pleased with himself when your knees nearly give out.
Cody
Cody has always been good at adapting. New battle plans, impossible odds, sudden chaos, he handles it all with a calm smile. But nothing prepares him for seeing you with a baby asleep against your shoulder during a base gathering.
You’re swaying gently to keep the little one asleep, absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles over their back while talking to someone nearby. The baby’s fist is curled in your shirt, completely content.
Cody feels something in his chest go painfully soft. He’s done for.
He leans against the doorway watching you for way too long, helmet tucked under his arm while his mind wanders somewhere dangerous. Somewhere warm, somewhere domestic.
You catch him staring eventually and raise an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
You narrow your eyes. “You’ve had that look on your face for five straight minutes.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re pretending not to think very loudly.”
That gets a laugh out of him. But he walks closer anyway, gaze drifting back to the baby.
“He trusts you,” he says quietly.
“Well, babies can tell who’s safe.”
The words hit him harder than they should. Because Cody suddenly imagines coming back from deployment and finding you in shared quarters with a sleepy infant curled against your chest. Imagines hearing tiny footsteps running toward him. Imagines home.
He’s absolutely cooked.
The baby wakes and starts fussing. Before you can soothe them, Cody crouches beside you and offers his finger. Tiny hands grab him instantly.
Your expression melts. And stars, that look from you almost kills him.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“You’d make a really good dad.”
Cody freezes for half a second.Then his eyes darken just slightly as he looks between you and the baby. “That so?”
“Mhm.”
He stands slowly, close enough now that your breath catches. “Careful saying things like that to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I already spend enough time thinking about you.”
Your face warms instantly.
Cody grins, completely unrepentant. “Now I’m imagining you pregnant and looking at me like that too.”
You choke on air while he laughs softly, leaning down to murmur, “And honestly? That mental image is becoming a problem.”
Rex
Rex doesn’t notice it happening at first.
One second he’s walking into the medbay looking for Kix, and the next he’s stopped dead in the doorway because there you are with a baby balanced on your hip like you were born for it.
The little girl is babbling at you while clutching your name tag, and you’re answering her with complete seriousness.
“Oh really? That’s fascinating. Tell me more.”
The baby squeals happily and Rex feels his heart fold in on itself. You look so natural like this.
And suddenly he’s wondering what it would feel like to have a life outside the war. A tiny apartment somewhere quiet. You laughing in a kitchen while a child toddles after him calling him dad.
It hits him hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
The baby grabs your cheeks with both hands, making you laugh louder, and Rex is completely helpless after that.
“You break easy around kids, Captain?” you tease when you notice him staring.
“Only this one,” he says automatically.
Your eyebrows lift. You start laughing and he groans because now he’s embarrassed and you look adorable laughing at him.
But then the baby reaches toward him.
Rex hesitates before taking her carefully, surprisingly gentle for someone built for war. The baby immediately grabs his blond hair and giggles.
Your expression softens instantly.
And maker, that look from you nearly ruins him.
“You’re good at that,” you murmur.
Rex glances up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Something shifts in his face then. Something quieter. More vulnerable.
“I think…” He pauses. “I think I’d want one someday.”
Your breath catches slightly and Rex notices. His gaze drops to your lips before meeting your eyes again, warm and steady. “With the right person,” he adds softly.
The silence between you suddenly feels charged.
Then he smiles, slow and devastating.
“And if you keep looking at me while holding babies, you’re not making it easy to stay responsible about that.”
Fives
Fives notices things other people don’t. Tiny details, expressions, habits.
So the second he sees a baby crawl straight past three shinies and make a beeline for you, he’s paying attention.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hangar, laughing softly while the little boy climbs into your lap like he belongs there. The kid immediately grabs your face with sticky hands, and instead of recoiling, you kiss his palm dramatically.
“Well, hello to you too, tiny menace.”
The baby shrieks with delighted laughter.
Fives feels something dangerous spark low in his chest. Because you don’t even realize what you look like right now, smiling all soft and sleepy, holding that kid like it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. Like you were made for it.
And suddenly his brain betrays him completely. He imagines a baby with your eyes and his curls. Imagines hearing you laugh like that in the middle of the night while holding his kid. Imagines waking up beside you with tiny feet kicking between you both.
He’s staring so hard Echo has to elbow him. “You look insane right now.”
“Shut up.”
You glance over at the sound of their bickering and grin. “You wanna hold him?”
Fives tries to play it cool. “Depends. Is he gonna throw up on me?”
“Probably.”
“Alright, hand him over.”
The second the baby settles against his chest, tiny fingers gripping his blacks, Fives is absolutely finished. Completely gone.
And then he looks up and catches the expression on your face. “You’re good at this,” you say quietly.
Fives smirks automatically. “Good with my hands, mesh’la.”
You snort. “That line work on everyone?”
“No.” His eyes flick down your body slowly. “Just the people I think about having a future with.”
The teasing leaves his voice at the end, replaced with something warmer, realer.
Your breath catches. Fives notices immediately, grin turning wicked. “Kriff,” he murmurs. “You really liked that one.”
Then he bounces the baby lightly and adds, “Careful or I’m gonna start thinking about putting one in your arms for real.”
Fox
Fox is exhausted almost constantly.
Coruscant never sleeps, which means neither does he. His life is paperwork, politics, and trying to stop the galaxy from collapsing every five minutes.
Domestic thoughts don’t happen for him anymore.
Until you. Until he walks into the Senate daycare during a security sweep and finds you sitting in the middle of a pile of toddlers like some kind of battlefield medic for tiny disasters.
One kid is asleep against your side. Another is braiding your sleeve strings together. A third is demanding you read the same holobook for the fifth time.
And you’re handling all of it with this calm, patient smile that hits Fox directly in the chest.
He leans in the doorway longer than he should.
Then one of the toddlers waddles over and wraps themselves around your leg while whining sleepily, and you scoop them up without hesitation, kissing their forehead automatically.
Fox is done for.
Because now he’s imagining coming home to this.
To you waiting up late with a baby half-asleep on your shoulder. To tiny socks left around quarters. To hearing laughter instead of blaster fire ringing in his ears.
It’s terrifying how much he wants it.
“You look scary when you stare,” you tell him eventually.
Fox crosses his arms. “Occupational hazard.”
“Mhm.” You smile knowingly. “Or you just like watching me babysit.”
His silence gives him away instantly. Your eyebrows rise. “Oh my gods,” you laugh softly. “Fox.”
He exhales through his nose, already doomed. “You’re good with them.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m thinking things I shouldn’t.”
Your smile turns dangerous. “Such as?”
Fox steps closer slowly until he’s standing right in front of you, gaze dropping briefly to the baby in your arms.
Then back to you. “Such as how good you’d look holding mine.”
The words come out low and rough and your face heats immediately. Fox notices, eyes darkening just slightly before he leans down near your ear. “And now I can’t stop imagining it.”
Bacara
Bacara is not soft. At least, that’s what everyone assumes.
The commander of the Galactic Marines is cold efficiency wrapped in armour and discipline. People straighten when he enters rooms. Troopers go silent.
Then he sees you holding a baby and suddenly the terrifying commander looks like he’s forgotten how to function.
It happens on leave. Some little girl from the settlement toddles toward you with grabby hands, and you crouch instantly to pick her up.
The child presses her face into your neck like she trusts you completely.
Bacara feels something sharp crack open in his chest, because you look beautiful.
You sway gently while talking to the girl, smiling every time she babbles nonsense at you. The kid eventually falls asleep against your shoulder, tiny fist curled into your shirt.
And Bacara cannot stop staring.
He starts thinking things he’s never let himself think before. About family. About seeing you heavy with his child and knowing, for once in his life, that something good belonged to him.
It scares him with the intensity of it.
“You’ve been glaring at me for ten minutes,” you say eventually.
“I’m not glaring.”
“You absolutely are.”
Bacara walks over slowly, eyes fixed on the sleeping child in your arms. His expression softens almost imperceptibly.
“She likes you.”
“She likes everybody.”
“No,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”
Something in his tone makes your stomach flip.
You shift the baby slightly. “You ever think about kids?”
Bacara’s gaze drags up your body slowly before meeting your eyes again. “Never used to.”
Your breath catches. “And now?” you ask softly.
His voice drops lower. “Now I can’t stop picturing you full of mine.”
The honesty of it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.
Bacara notices instantly, thumb brushing briefly against your wrist.
“You’d look good like that,” he murmurs. “Safe, happy. Full of my child.”
And somehow the bluntness makes it infinitely worse.
Hunter
Hunter hears the baby laughing before he sees you.
Bright, uncontrollable giggles echo through the Marauder, and he follows the sound automatically, only to stop dead in the doorway.
You’re lying on the floor with a baby balanced on your stomach while Omega sits nearby absolutely delighted by the whole thing.
The kid is cackling every time you make exaggerated shocked faces.
“No way,” you gasp dramatically. “You stole my nose? Give it back!”
The baby smacks your face happily. Hunter’s chest aches instantly. Because this, this easy warmth around you, fits too well.
He’s spent so long protecting people that sometimes he forgets there’s supposed to be more to life than survival. But watching you with that child makes something painfully domestic settle into his mind.
A home somewhere quiet. Hunter’s completely lost in the thought before you notice him.
“You just gonna stand there looking mysterious?” you tease.
Omega snickers. “He’s doing the staring thing again.”
Hunter sighs. “Traitor.”
You laugh, and the baby reaches for him immediately.
The second Hunter takes the child, tiny fingers latch onto his bandana and tug hard enough to make the kid squeal triumphantly.
Your smile softens.
And stars, that expression from you nearly drops him.
“You look natural,” you murmur.
Hunter glances up. “With kids?”
“Mhm.”
Something vulnerable flickers across his face then disappears beneath a crooked smile. “That dangerous for me?”
“Very.”
He steps closer, baby balanced carefully against his chest while his eyes stay locked on yours.
“You know,” he says quietly, “seeing you like this is giving me ideas.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “Hunter—”
“I’m serious.” His grin turns softer. “Can’t stop wondering what our kid would look like.”
The air between you suddenly feels too warm.
“Think they’d have your smile or my attitude?”
Howzer
Howzer falls a little bit in love with you every day already.
Seeing you with a baby just seals his fate completely.
You’re visiting one of the families on Ryloth when their infant starts crying mid-conversation. Before the parents can apologize, you hold your arms out automatically.
“Can I?”
The mother hands the baby over gratefully. And somehow within seconds, the crying stops.
You bounce the little girl gently against your chest, murmuring nonsense in a soft voice while her tiny fingers curl around yours.
Howzer stares like a man witnessing a divine revelation. Because you look radiant. Warm sunlight catches your face while the baby blinks up at you sleepily, completely calm now. You kiss her forehead without thinking, and Howzer feels his entire heart cave in.
He’s gone. The dangerous part is how quickly his mind jumps ahead.
He imagines children with your laugh running through open market streets. Imagines you teasing him while a baby naps against his chest. Imagines slow mornings and peace and a future he never thought he’d get.
“You’re staring again,” you say with amusement.
“Can you blame me?”
You grin. “I’m holding a baby, not performing magic.”
Howzer smiles softly. “Feels pretty close.”
The baby yawns, nestling deeper into you, and he physically has to stop himself from saying something reckless immediately.
Unfortunately, he fails.
“You’d make an incredible mother.”
Your eyes widen slightly. Howzer notices and steps closer, voice gentler now. “I mean it.”
There’s something devastatingly sincere in the way he says it. No teasing, no deflection. Just completely honest.
Then his gaze drops briefly to the baby before returning to you, warmer now. More intimate.
“And selfishly?” he murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’d look carrying my child.”
Your breath catches hard enough that he smiles instantly.
“Ah,” he says softly, delighted. “There you are.”
Then he brushes his fingers against yours where they rest against the baby’s back.
“Good. Means I’m not the only one thinking about it now.”
