#clone x reader

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…?”

Clones x gn reader: soft/endearing habits

Includes TBB, Rex, Wolffe, Cody, Fox

warnings: none

⟡ ݁₊ . fem!reader x clones ⟡ ݁₊ .

pt 1

“their reactions to when someone is staring at you.”

a/n: saw @tanobatcher’s tiktok where she wrote out her own head cannons and i NEEDED to write them out. thank you for giving me permission to write this out pooks. doing the commanders and captains first!

✶⋆.˚ CODY - CC-2224

It starts while you and Cody are waiting in line at a small café on Coruscant—one of those rare, quiet days where the war feels far away.

You’re reading the menu, rambling about wanting to try the new pastry, and Cody is just… watching you. Soft, relaxed, genuinely happy to be here with you instead of on a battlefield.

Then he sees it.. some guy at a table across the room, openly staring at you.

Not a passing glance.

Not polite curiosity.

A full-on, shameless, hungry stare.

Cody’s smile doesn’t even falter, but he shifts his stance ever so slightly—shoulders squared, chin lifting.

His hand rests casually on the small of your back, thumb brushing with a grounding gesture for himself more than for you.

You don’t notice.

But Cody sees everything.

He leans in, voice low, teasing, warm against your ear,

“Look at you… collecting fans wherever you go.”

You laugh, nudging him.

“Fans? Please. He’s probably staring at the menu behind me.”

Cody snorts, soft but incredulous.

“Oh no, cyare. Trust me.. he’s definitely here for you.”

You roll your eyes, amused, flustered, completely unaware that Cody has already mapped out five different ways to remove this man from the room without disrupting lunch.

“He’s harmless,” you shrug.

“Mm,” Cody hums, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Inside, his thoughts are a different story.

Stop staring at her. She didn’t invite your attention. Walk away before I make you.

He keeps his expression light, because the last thing he wants is to ruin your good mood over something so small.

You finally decide on chocolate, and Cody orders for both of you—calm, polite, charming.

But while you wait, the staring continues, and Cody feels every muscle in his body coil tighter.

He doesn’t confront.

Not yet.

Instead, he slides closer, arm brushing yours, claiming you without making a scene.

“Careful,” you tease him. “People might think you like me.”

Cody gives you that tiny, sideways smirk that always melts you.

“Oh, they already know,” he murmurs. And I want them to.

When you run to grab napkins, Cody’s eyes flick back to the man.

One single look—sharp, commander-level, utterly lethal.

Stop. Now.

And like magic, the guy’s gaze drops to his drink, shoulders stiffening, suddenly reconsidering every life choice he’s ever made.

Cody exhales slowly, controlled, tension draining from his posture.

Not because he doubted himself, he just didn’t want to escalate and ruin your day.

When you return, completely oblivious to the storm that almost happened, he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers resting comfortably at your hip.

You raise a brow.

“Possessive much?”

He chuckles, brushing a playful but honest kiss to your temple.

“Well, what can I say? My girlfriend’s famous.”

You laugh, leaning into him, and Cody decides, yep, worth it.

He’ll joke, he’ll tease, he’ll keep it light… because your happiness matters more than his pride.

But Maker help the next person who forgets how to respectfully use their eyes.

✶⋆.˚ REX - CT-7567

The 79’s cantina is unusually calm tonight—soft music, dim lights, clones scattered at tables unwinding after long rotations.

You and Rex sit in a booth tucked against the wall, his arm draped behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel protected.

He looks relaxed even though he wore his armor, chestplate reflecting the warm lighting, helmet resting beside him on the seat.

He’s smiling because you just said something that made him forget there’s a war outside.

And then he sees it.

Across the room, a man—civilian, slouched at the bar—eyes locked on you.

Not accidental, not passing curiosity.

Lingering. Bold. Disrespectful.

Rex’s smile fades, jaw tightening just a fraction. He forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose.

Benefit of the doubt, he tells himself. Maybe he’s looking past her. Maybe he’s not actually staring.

You’re too busy talking, unaware, glowing in the low lighting, and all Rex wants is to stay in this tenderness a little longer.

But then the stranger’s gaze drops—slowly, lingering, crawling—and returns to your face with a smirk.

Rex’s patience snaps like a blaster bolt through glass.

His arm moves from behind you to rest firmly on the table—protective, grounding—as he turns his head just enough to confirm what he already knows.

Yeah. The guy’s staring at you.

Controlled yet furious, Rex exhales through his teeth. Maker, keep me from decking this man in front of her.

He really does try to stay seated.

To ignore it.

To be the reasonable, composed captain you deserve.

He lasts maybe a second.

Then he stands, his plastoid armor shifting with the movement. Smooth, silent, terrifyingly calm, and he starts walking.

“Rex?” you ask softly, confused.

He doesn’t answer, because he already knows what needs to be done.

He reaches the bar and stops right beside the man, close enough that the air shifts, close enough that the entire room quiets.

Rex doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t have to.

He leans in slightly, voice dangerously even.

“You wanna tell me what you’re lookin’ at?”

The man startles, eyes wide. “I—I wasn’t—”

Rex lets out a humorless and sharp laugh.

“Oh, you were. And now you’re gonna stop.”

The stranger opens his mouth, maybe to deny it, maybe to be stupid, but Rex raises a brow, and the words die in his throat.

Rex’s posture is relaxed, hands loose at his sides, but every fiber of him radiates do not test me.

The man swallows hard. “S-sorry.”

Rex nods, like this was a polite conversation about the weather.

“That’s what I thought.”

He steps back—not breaking eye contact—until he’s sure the guy gets the message.

Then Rex turns, face softening instantly when he sees you watching him.

He returns to the booth, sliding in beside you again, armor knocking lightly against the seat.

You give him a look mix of concern and affection.

“You okay?” you whisper.

Rex shrugs, arm returning behind you, this time brushing your shoulder deliberately.

“Fine. Just didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

He scoffs, but his ears turn the faintest shade of pink.

“Protective,” he corrects, voice quieter. “There’s a difference.”

You lean into him.

“Well… thank you.”

Rex pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was gentle and grounding, everything he wishes the galaxy was.

“I’ll always look out for you, cyare. Always.”

Across the room, the man suddenly finds the floor very interesting.

And Rex?

He goes right back to smiling, because as far as he’s concerned, problem handled.

✶⋆.˚ WOLFFE - CC-3636

It’s supposed to be a peaceful night—just you, Wolffe, and a quiet stroll through a small Coruscant marketplace after his shift.

Shops are closing, lights dimming, crowds thinning.

Wolffe stays beside you, hand instinctively hovering near the small of your back. Not quite touching, but always there if you need him.

He’s in full armor, helmet tucked under his arm, hair slightly mussed from hours of command.

He looks tired, but content.

You’re pointing out a vendor selling tiny holo figurines when Wolffe feels it—the weight of someone’s stare.

Sharp. Intentional. Unwelcome.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in him goes perfectly still.

Without a word, his gauntleted hand finds your waist and gently guides you forward, placing you directly in front of him.

Your back meets his chest, solid and warm, as his legs widen just slightly, bracketing yours.

A wall of armor and possessive silence.

You blink up at him. “Wolffe?”

He doesn’t look at you—he’s too busy tracking the man across the walkway, gaze narrowed to a sniper’s focus.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” he mutters, voice low, controlled.

But his arm stays firm around your middle, pulling you closer, tucking you securely into his side like you belong there.. because you do.

The guy keeps staring—pretending he’s not, but failing miserably.

Wolffe’s jaw flexes once. Twice.

He won’t cause a scene… not unless he has to.

You go back to browsing, unaware of the storm brewing behind you.

Wolffe rests his chin lightly atop your head, positioning himself so his body blocks the man’s line of sight completely.

Then the stranger decides to walk past you both—slowly, deliberately—eyes still lingering.

Wolffe doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t warn.

Doesn’t negotiate.

He just moves.

As the man passes, Wolffe straightens, shifts his stance, and shoulder checks him HARD.

Hard enough to send the guy stumbling, nearly losing his footing, making a few heads turn.

“Oh. Sorry,” Wolffe says flatly, tone so insincere it’s practically a threat.

The man looks up, ready to start something, until he sees who hit him.

The armor.

The scar.

The unblinking grey-striped commander staring him down like prey.

Wolffe tilts his head. Just a fraction as he silently challenges him.

The guy swallows, quickly averts his eyes, and keeps walking fast.

Wolffe watches him disappear into the crowd, making sure he’s gone.

Only then does he soften, hand returning to your waist, pulling you gently back against him.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You turn, confused but smiling, completely oblivious. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Wolffe exhales through his nose, relief slipping into something warm, almost fond.

“No reason,” he lies, thumb rubbing absent circles into your hip.

You loop your arm around his middle, leaning into him.

“You’re in a cuddly mood today.”

He huffs. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”

You laugh and start walking again, and Wolffe follows—close, attentive, protective—eyes still scanning the area, just in case.

Because if anyone else even thinks about staring?

They’re getting shoulder checked too.

✶⋆.˚ FOX - CC-1010

Coruscant nightlife always felt a bit too loud, too bright, too chaotic, but you liked it.

And Fox liked you, so here he was, escorting you to a late dinner during his shift, armor still on, helmet on, posture relaxed for once.

You’re talking about your day, your voice was soft yet excited, and Fox can’t stop staring at you.

Not in the way others do.

His gaze is reverent. Protective. Home.

Then he notices it.

A man at the bar—leaned back in his stool, drink forgotten—eyes glued to you.

Tracking every movement. Undressing you with his stare.

Fox’s pleasant mood dissolves instantly, replaced with a cold, razor-sharp alertness.

You don’t notice since you’re too busy looking through the dessert menu.

Fox does, though. He always does.

He leans slightly toward you, voice calm but edged with steel,

“Stay here a moment, mesh’la.”

You blink. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says with a reassuring smile. “Just handling a little… administrative matter.”

You don’t even have time to ask before he’s already striding across the room—purposeful, predatory, commander mode activated.

The man doesn’t look up until Fox’s shadow falls over him.

Fox crosses his arms—biceps straining against plastoid, posture perfect and terrifying.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks pleasantly.

The guy stutters. “Wh-what?”

Fox smiles dangerously under his helmet. “I said, were you enjoying staring at the woman I’m with?”

The man’s mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.

“I-I wasn’t staring—”

Fox taps the Coruscant Guard emblem on his shoulder plate.

“Right. Because if you were, that would qualify as harassment. Which, fortunately for you, falls under my jurisdiction.”

The man pales, looking around for help. There is none.

Fox leans closer, lowering his voice so only the man can hear.

“Here’s how this goes. You’re going to stop looking at her, finish your drink, and leave. Or I will drag you out of here in binders, and you won’t see daylight again without clearance codes.”

He pauses, letting it sink in.

“Do we understand each other?”

The man nods so aggressively Fox worries he’ll sprain something.

“Good,” Fox says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

When Fox turns away, the man grabs his coat and practically sprints out of the building.

Fox returns to your table like nothing happened, sliding into his seat, expression calm, voice soft again.

“Sorry about that. What did you decide on?”

You narrow your eyes.

“What did you do?”

Fox shrugs innocently.

“Public safety is my responsibility.”

You give him a look. “…Fox.”

He sighs, reaching for your hand.

“Alright, alright. Maybe I reminded him I outrank literally everyone in this district.”

You snort. “You love pulling the rank card.”

Fox smirks, kiss-creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Why have power if you can’t weaponize it in defense of your beautiful partner?”

You laugh, shaking your head, until your datapad pings.

You glance at the screen.

“Um… Fox? Did you just add him to a watchlist?”

Fox removes his helmet as he pops a bite of bread into his mouth, casual as ever.

“Of course. Can’t be too careful.”

“Fox—”

“What? Saves time later.”

You stare at him in disbelief, and maybe a little awe.

He softens, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I’m never letting someone make you feel unsafe. Not on my planet.”

You melt, because honestly? You believe him.

And somewhere in a database, a brand-new entry reads:

Subject: Creepy bar guy.

Status: Watched, monitored, and extremely unlucky.

✶⋆.˚ GREGOR - CC-5576-39

The hideout was busy today—more civilians than usual had come to drop off supplies: food, medical stock, blankets, spare tools.

You were helping organize it—clipboard in hand, sorting crates, directing where things needed to go.

Gregor was supposed to be helping too.

He was not.

He was leaning against a stack of ration boxes, helmet on the floor beside him, arms crossed, watching you with that familiar lazy grin—like you were the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen.

Then he noticed it.

One of the civilian volunteers—a young guy carrying a crate—kept staring at you.

Not quick glances.

Not accidental looks.

Full-on, wide-eyed, wow who is she staring.

Gregor didn’t tense.

Didn’t get jealous.

Didn’t even frown.

He just let out a quiet, amused little laugh.

You looked over, brows furrowing. “What?”

He tilted his head toward the civilian, smirking.

“You’ve got an admirer.”

You blinked, confused, until you caught the guy doing that lingering stare again.

Your face warmed instantly.

“Oh Maker,” you muttered, pretending to check your clipboard. “He’s being obvious.”

Gregor shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

“Well, of course he’s staring. Look at you.” He waved a hand at you dramatically. “Anyone with functioning eyesight would.”

You swatted his arm lightly. “Be serious.”

He leaned in, voice rich with playful innocence.

“I am being serious. You’re hot. It’s practically a public hazard.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Gregor cut you off—eyes sparkling, grin widening.

“Honestly?” he mused, nodding toward the guy, “Maybe you should give him a chance. Poor kid looks like he’s about to faint.”

Your jaw dropped. “Gregor!”

He held both hands up like he was being reasonable.

“What? I’m just saying, good for him. Look at his taste! Impeccable!”

You stared at him, scandalized and flustered.

He leaned closer, dropping his voice into something softer, warmer—meant only for you.

“But…” his fingers brushed yours, just barely, “you’re already taken.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

His grin shifted—still playful, but undeniably possessive—like he enjoyed reminding you as much as saying it.

Across the hideout, the staring civilian suddenly found something else to carry—quickly, awkwardly, and in the opposite direction.

Gregor chuckled, satisfied, bumping your shoulder with his.

“See? No need to scare him off. Just had to remind the room who you belong to.”

You squinted at him. “You are insufferable.”

He winked, picking up a crate like he finally intended to help.

“Yeah, but I’m your problem.”

And as he walked past you, he added—just loud enough for you to hear.

“Lucky you.”

✶⋆.˚ HOWZER - CT-7569

The two of you are standing in line at a small open-air café on Ryloth—warm lights, soft night breeze, quiet chatter filling the streets.

Howzer’s shift ended an hour ago, but he’s still in his armor—minus the helmet—arms crossed loosely over his chest, hair slightly tousled, expression relaxed.

He’s listening to you talk about your day, nodding along, eyes warm and focused, because when you speak, he always listens.

You’re mid-sentence when he notices someone a few tables over staring.

Not a curious glance.

Not a passing look.

A lingering, territorial stare.

Howzer’s smile fades just a touch, shoulders straightening.

He doesn’t interrupt you—he never would—but his attention shifts, eyes narrowing slightly.

He watches for a moment, giving the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe the guy will look away. Maybe he’ll realize he’s being weird.

He doesn’t.

In fact, he stares harder—eyes dragging over you slowly, disrespectfully.

Howzer’s jaw ticks.

He tries to breathe through it, tries to stay calm because he hates conflict, hates making a scene, hates the idea of ruining your evening.

But he also refuses to let anyone treat you like that.

So he steps forward—smooth, controlled, radiating authority—and positions himself slightly in front of you, blocking the man’s view.

You pause. “Howzer?”

He offers you a gentle smile. “One sec, mesh’la.”

Then he turns and walks toward the man with a calm, steady, and purposeful stride.

The guy looks up, startled, clearly not expecting a cloned captain built like a wall to approach him.

Howzer stops right beside his table, tilts his head slightly, voice polite, but sharpened with steel.

“Can I help you…?”

Not friendly.

Not genuine.

A warning wrapped in manners.

The man blinks. “What? No— I wasn’t—”

Howzer raises a brow, unimpressed.

“Oh, really? Because you’ve been starin’ for a while. Thought maybe you needed something.”

The tone is condescending and just enough to make the point without escalating.

The entire patio goes quiet, all eyes suddenly on the interaction.

The guy flushes, shrinking into himself.

“N-no, sir. Sorry.”

Howzer holds his gaze for a moment—long enough to make sure it sinks in—then gives a curt nod.

“Good. Then keep your eyes to yourself.”

His voice is calm, quiet, but devastatingly firm.

He doesn’t wait for a response, he just turns on his heel and walks back to you.

You’re staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Everything… okay?” you ask slowly.

Howzer’s expression softens immediately as he reaches you, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back—guiding you forward in line again.

“Yeah,” he says, voice warm now, almost playful. “Just helped someone remember their manners.”

You snort. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He leans down, lips brushing your temple.

“I know. But I’ll never let someone disrespect you, not while I’m around.”

Your heart flips, cheeks warming.

You loop your arm through his, and he pulls you a little closer—protective, but tender.

Behind you, the man hurriedly pays and leaves, head down.

Howzer watches him go for half a second—satisfied—then returns his full attention to you like nothing ever happened.

“Now,” he says, smiling gently, “you were telling me about the part with the flowers?”

And just like that, your night continues—safe, comfortable, yours.

✶⋆.˚ MAYDAY - CC-????

The outpost is quiet for once—snow drifting lazily outside, heater humming, you and Mayday sharing a rare moment of peace at his cluttered desk.

He’s half in armor—pauldrons off, chestplate unbuckled, gloves tossed aside—hair slightly messy, scruff framing that devastating smirk.

He looks tired, but lighter with you there, shoulder brushing yours as you flip through supply logs together.

Then he notices it.

Some visiting lower rank officer across the room—pretending to review paperwork—eyes glued to you.

Not subtle.

Not respectful.

Just staring like you’re a warm fireplace in the middle of a frozen wasteland.

Mayday doesn’t tense, doesn’t posture, he just… laughs.

A low, amused, is this guy serious? kind of laugh.

You glance up. “What?”

Mayday tilts his head toward the man, voice dripping with smug amusement.

“You’ve got an admirer.”

You roll your eyes, dismissing it. “He’s just looking around.”

Mayday arches a brow, no he isn’t, and leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest like he’s settling in for entertainment.

But his gaze stays soft on you—never threatening, never demanding—just quietly claiming.

Then the staring continues.

Longer.

Harder.

Bolder.

Mayday exhales through his nose—still amused, still dangerous.

He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, leaning in close enough that his breath brushes your ear, voice low and wicked.

“Wanna give him a show?”

You freeze, pulse tripping. “Mayday—”

He chuckles again, hand sliding to your thigh—not squeezing, just resting there like it belongs.

His eyes never leave yours.

“I’m just saying,” he murmurs, tone playful but possessive, “a kiss would send a very clear message.”

You turn slightly, meeting his gaze—dark, confident, inviting.

“And what message is that?” you ask, breath softer than intended.

His smirk deepens—dangerously slow, smug, sure.

“That you’re mine.”

Not up for debate. Not a question.

A fact.

Before you can respond, he gently cups your jaw—thumb sweeping across your cheek, touch both reverent and territorial—leans in, and kisses you.

Unhurried and certain. Completely unapologetic.

The kind of kiss that says I’ve waited for this and I dare you to look away.

You melt into him, fingers gripping the edge of his pauldron, and he smiles against your lips because yeah—he knew you would.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t glance at the staring officer.

He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he keeps his forehead resting against yours, voice soft but laced with smug satisfaction.

“Still looking?”

You peek over his shoulder.

The man is suddenly very invested in a blank datapad.

Mayday laughs—low, satisfied—and presses one more kiss to your temple, thumb brushing your chin.

“Thought so.”

Then he sits back, arm draped over the back of your chair, posture relaxed, claiming you without touching.

“Now,” he says casually, “where were we?”

Like he didn’t just ruin someone’s self-esteem and mark you as his in one breathtaking move.

star wars masterlist

give him all the smooches

—

Rex/Bats 💙

AO3: More Than Empty Servitude

Getting Broody After Seeing You With a Baby

Includes; Wolffe, Cody, Rex, Fives, Fox, Bacara, Hunter & Howzer

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.”

Warnings: Suggestive but that's about it. A/N: So...I know these aren't requests butttt I just am a greedy person who loves to treat myself so what can I say? Requests are still coming, I'm just stumped on a few so please bear with me.

Hunter

Hunter can sense your body heat before you even wrap your arms around him, and he chuckles lightly as you squeeze him tightly, breasts pressing into his back. "What are you up to?" He asks, jolting as your hands slip past the hem of his shirt, wandering along his stomach and sliding up towards his chest teasingly. He can feel the vibrations of your laughter in the expanse of his shoulder, and he's about to turn around when you abruptly pull away, patting him lightly on the ass and leaving the scene as quickly as you came.

Wrecker

Your arms just barely wrap around Wreckers waist, and he giggles softly as you squeeze him tightly from behind. He pats your hands, curiously raising a brow as he looks at you over his shoulder. "Its cute when you do that, baby...but what exactly are you doing?" You answer him by slipping your fingers in his waistband, fingers brushing against the soft hairs of his happy trail as you playfully tease him just right above where he's most sensitive. He grunts before grabbing your hands and twirling you around, pulling you into his chest as he settles his hands against your ass and squeezes tightly.

Tech

Tech leans back in his pilot seat as your arms wrap around his shoulders, soft lips pressing into his cheek in what is a sweet and completely innocent manner. He types a few notes on his data pad from the last mission, barely noticing the way your hands rub his shoulders before drifting lower towards his chest. Its only when your palms encompass his chest, softly squeezing and groping the flesh there, that he finally sets his data pad on his knee and turns to look at you. "Are you...massaging my pectoralis major?" "Man boobs, Tech." "Uh, no. That is incorrect."

Crosshair

Its nothing new to Crosshair when he feels your hands slide up and down the sides of his waist, before curling around his front and settling on his stomach. He's wiping down his rifle, breathing in sync with yours as you press your chest up against his backside, nose nuzzling into the curve of his spine needily. His lips quirk up, thinking he has you beat as your continue your desperate ministrations for his attention, until he feels a sharp nip through his blacks and he yelps, almost dropping his rifle. "What the fuck--did you just bite me?" He whips around, but you detach yourself from him quickly, darting down the Marauder as the echoes of your laughter follow.

Echo

...Because you just might get it.

The clone you've made of Satoru Gojo is, much unlike the original, quite taken with you. Or, more accurately, you've been taken by him. But you don't mind... right?

This work is part of a series! Read the first part here!

tw: explicit content. dubcon. drugging. yanderes all around. non-consensual cloning. non-consensual exhibitionism, voyeurism, recording.

"See, isn't this just perfect?"

You can't answer, of course, though you don't have to - it is perfect, after all. Satoru knows you very well.

Every last fold of your cunt, every pulse and throb of your clit, the exact degree he should curl his fingers to make you whimper and sob while his other arm squeezes you close and he presses nibbling kisses into your neck.

It's perfect. Everything is. You're so much happier like this.

Oh, he'd tried talking. But there wasn't anything he could say, no combination of words that would alleviate your unfounded fear that he - the actual strongest sorcerer in the world - was somehow an unwilling captive forced to accept your affection.

To fix this, he had to get to the heart of the issue. Dig his fingers deep, deep in, press hard, in long strokes -

"Hngh - nngh!"

You whine, high pitched and pitiful in a way that makes his heart clench. He just can't help it; you're so cute, so helpless, entirely at his mercy, all hazy and fucked out. Satoru kisses your cheek, rubs his thumb over your clit.

"Nnnh..!"

Makes his dick hard, too. You can feel it, can't you? So hard, just for you, just like you trained him. Just like you wanted. Grinding into your ass. Even incoherent, blinded by overstimulation and drugged into docility, you know him.

Satoru can see it all. Your nervous system all lit up, flickering like a dying neon sign. Reward centers glowing like embers as he strokes your poor, tender bud.

There it was - the heart of the issue. Your big beautiful brain; overworked and overwhelmed.

You think too much. Satoru can fix that. And he will - since he's so nice. Since he loves you.

And of course, how could you continue to suspect that he's your captive, if he's the one who takes you captive?

It's poetic, really, when he thinks about it. He really is good at everything. You'll know his love when you see it, because you'll recognize it. The shape of your love, returned to you.

"Ahhh... aughh... hng~"

It's so easy to wrench another orgasm out of you. Your cunt is slick, pliant, so perfectly sized to his long fingers that reach on, press on just the right slot, all while rubbing circles over your clit.

With fascination he watches. Neurons firing off as the pleasure shoots through you, the pure dopamine flooding through your cute little head in the aftermath.

Astonishing. It's like every single thing you do makes him like you more. You're pretty when you cum, pretty when you're pleased, when you're exhausted. Just one look at you and he's hard again, or burning with the urge to snuggle, or spilling with love confessions he know you won't believe.

He can see every single brain cell firing off in your head but he never gets tired of guessing what's on your mind. In fact, it just makes him more curious.

If he didn't know for certain he was a clone - that another Satoru Gojo walked the earth, and had done so for decades - Satoru would truly, genuinely believe that he had been custom-made for you.

"Hey," He nudges your shoulder, tipping your face up to look him in the eyes.

Glassy, dreamy, there's only the barest stirring of recognition in your gaze, but that's okay. He can work with that.

"Who loves you most in the whole wide world? Hm?" Satoru purrs, cupping your cheek with one hand.

Your head presses into his hand, like you don't even have the strength to hold it up.

So weak - so adorable. Something hot and thrilling churns in his chest at the thought; like you're weak, something that needs protecting. Needs him.

"Who?" He urges, nuzzling his face close to yours. "Who loves you most? Tell me, baby, and you'll get a reward~"

"Ah... hhhn..." Oh, poor, pretty thing. Not a thought going on in your head.

"It's me!" He says, laughing, kissing you on the mouth. Tasting you with a flick of his tongue over your limp one. Pulling away, licking his lips. "It's Satoru. Can you say that for me? Sa~to~ru~"

"S-sato..." Slumping forward, you nearly fall, but Satoru's arm is ready to pull you back against him.

"Baby..." He kisses up against your cheek, "Come on, you can do better than that. Wake up for me, okay? Don't you wanna come out and talk?"

A hand reaches up, over your brow, stroking gently. Tenderly.

"Tell me who," He breathes, hooking his head over your shoulder with a sigh, "Tell me who loves you most in the world, baby... you've got to practice this..."

"Satoru... How did you...?" Your eyes blink, slow and bleary, dilating until they focus on him - where they should be.

"There you go," Satoru crows, though you probably don't remember his question.

With a gentle hand caressing your hair and an even softer smile, he kneels at your bedside. Give you a view of his pretty face you like to stare at so much.

See, he's generous. Nicer than you'd been. But that's okay - he likes being nice to you. He likes you.

Even if it was going to take a hundred years to get that through your poor, neurotic, anxious little brain; he'd enjoy every second of it.

"How...?" You murmur, eyes focusing onto him.

That's his darling. Always overthinking. But he did a good job - it's okay to brag a big, right?

"The biometric locks were sealed with your eyes," Satoru says, grinning widely, "So that's what I used."

His fingers trace over your temple. Thumb feathering past your eyelid, your fluttering lashes.

A nail digs into the skin at the edge of your eye. Pressing hard, harder, enough to draw blood. Your eyes widen - he can see the alarm bells ringing.

"Don't worry," He laughs, pulling his hand back, licking the blood off. Your gaze is heavy on him, locked in. Like it should be.

Satoru leans in close, kissing at the cut on your temple. Licking over it. There's heat there, and something else; he relishes how your body tenses in confusion at it.

He pulls away, lips stained red, and swipes his fingers over your temple once again. Pulls them away to show them to you - unbloodied.

"Reverse curse technique," He half-crows, licking his lips while he stares down at you.

The shock is naked on your face. Really? It's that surprising?

"I've got to say, I'm a little offended," He lurches forward, leaning over you. Crossing his arms and resting his head on them, "Don't tell me you thought I was like that loser. I can use it on myself as well as others. It's really not that hard, he just sucks."

"I - you took out my eyes?" Your whole form stiffens up, heart lurching, "While I slept?! How did I not wake up?"

Ohhhhhh, that's what it was.

With a laugh, he pulls out another hand, "That one's actually really easy when I can see your central nervous system. Here - "

"You can see-"

A finger taps, gently, in the center of your forehead, and your words stop in their tracks. You stare forward, almost puzzled for a second, and then your eyes roll back as you slump over, asleep.

"Night~" Satoru says, crooning your name as he kisses over your forehead, smoothing your hair back.

Gently, he sets you down on the bed, settling you carefully into place while he lies next to you, holding you against his chest.

His smile is brilliant as he snaps the picture.

Of course, the whole area where you were was covered in cameras, too, but who didn't love a good selfie? Satoru knows someone who'd like it.

He gets why you have the setup. Really, it's perfect - he can watch you all day if he wants to. You're always asleep when he's not there, though - it would be downright cruel otherwise. Why have you awake only to leave you all by yourself?

It'd ruin all your progress, if you've even made any yet. Poor thing. It hurts his heart just to think of how you'd feel, lonely and abandoned like that.

Thought, he has to admit, it would be ever so lovely to come home to you after that. But it remains just that, a daydream, something to amuse himself with as he watches you on the camera feed.

A little sigh escapes him. Lovestruck. He can't help it, really, you're just that cute.

And up here in this lab, he really does have all the angles.

Not just of what he's done with you, but also what you've been doing him, since his very earliest memories.

All his training sessions, the fun ones, and the agonizing ones. Your punishments, your rewards. Every moment of fun or affection together.

Mostly, though, he's compiling the training.

Little vignettes of how you'd stuck that cock ring on him, left him home alone to moan and squirm and cry, unable to get over the edge. How you'd cooed at him, whispered in his ear, forced him to confess his love and devotion for you when you finally allowed him release -

Ahhh. Fond memories. And how can he forget you showing him how to eat you out? That was a fun one, too, not really laced with pain, just your playful hand tugging in his hair, a tweak against his nipples, or a foot on his dick.

God, he wants you to step on his dick again. It felt so fucking good having you grind into it, with force, he'd burned with desire and heat and the overwhelming need to explode all over you.

Other times, too, where you'd showed him how to enjoy any touch on his cock. It all felt good, coming from you; your hands, your foot, your tits, your cunt.

One time you'd made him cum just from tweaking his nipples - that was such a treat. Took you days of edging him to tears, begging for release, but you were right in the end; he could do it.

Satoru could do anything if it was for you.

He's too impatient, too horny to try to cum like that again, not when he can just stick his cock inside your sweet, welcoming cunt at will. But he remembers the lesson.

Right now, it's you who needs training. And he puts that together, too. Some of the best pieces are there!

How you're limp in his arms as he makes you ride him, bouncing you up and down on his cock while you ragdoll against his shoulder, panting and whimpering and clinging to him weakly for dear life.

Another time where he has you in his lap again, but this time facing away from him. How his long fingers press down on your tongue and you drool on it, suckling mindlessly while he creams your cute little cunt.

What better way to teach you how much he wants you than showing you over and over again how hard you make him? Not very creative, he'll admit, but he's got time. He can think of more ideas.

Other than that, he's here to watch over the "original". See if there are any tricks left.

It was confusing for a bit, watching him. He figured out all the limitless techniques easily enough - those were fine - but it took a while to learn how to use reverse cursed energy. And a bit longer to use it on someone else.

You'd gotten a bruise from walking into something while climbing out of bed. Satoru would have pulled you away - but you'd had him all tied up for some punishment or another.

Just goes to show, you didn't know what was best for you. Your anxiety was hurting you. Stopping him from protecting you.

It felt like such a relief when he finally was able to heal you up. Finally, he had mastered all the techniques of the original - he could stand as his equal.

Except, Satoru Gojo - Gojo, rather - can't perform reverse curse technique on other people. He teaches first years, the most vulnerable students, often by tossing them directly into danger to fight on their own... and he can't heal other people?

And then he'd watched more and more, waiting to see what was so good about this guy. What he had that made you fall in love to begin with.

Snarky humor? Maybe, but Satoru's just as funny (if not more). Insulting attitude? That would just make your insecurity worse. Looks? They're great and all, but they're identical. Confidence?

Well, if it was his confidence that had roped you in, Satoru's got heaps of that as well.

It's crazy, how hard he's searched this loser's life for a single redeeming moment or feature.

No hobbies. No friends, really. No girlfriends for sure. Satoru kind of suspects he doesn't have regular sex - or worse... he couldn't be a virgin, right?

Satoru hasn't seen Gojo satisfy a single woman (or man) since he started watching, but maybe his personality was just that repulsive, despite having the world's most perfect body?

Honestly, he's drawing a real blank here. Why doesn't this guy do anything but work? Satoru puts together that the dude is killing curses (which can't be captured on video) but like... so what?

He's got money. He's got looks. He's got confidence. Why is he alone all the time? Is it really just because he's afraid someone will get hurt and he can't heal them?

What an absolute chump. Just learn how to do it. How can he suck this badly? Is he stupid?

It haunts his mind. Satoru wonders if maybe Gojo is just so genuinely unlikeable that he's never had a friend before and doesn't know what human companionship is like.

Can't miss what you've never had, right? That would make sense. It's really the only explanation for turning down someone like you.

That's what plants the idea, he thinks. Or so he tells himself.

But deep down, he knows it's just about his ego. The stinging thought that no matter how you loved Satoru now, you'd loved Gojo first.

It's okay, though. You have Gojo's number on your phone -

And Satoru know just what to send him.

Gojo had to admit - you were determined.

What you were determined to do by sending him all these videos and pictures of yourself with the admittedly convincing doppelganger (if it hadn't been straight video editing magic), he wasn't sure, but you were determined.

"Oh, happy for you babe. But keep it between you and him next time, yeah? Little creepy of you to share all this with some stranger."

No response. Just more videos.

"Listen, I don't care about your sex life. This is getting kinda cringey and desperate. He's not even that good-looking."

The guy in the videos is eerily good-looking, actually. The closer he looks, the more it... it really does look like him.

And like the freak you are, you call the guy his name. Satoru.

"Seriously, stop it or I'm blocking you."

It doesn't stop. It never stops. If anything, it gets more risqué. More... obscene.

The double of him in the videos gets more desperate. More clingy. Begging on his hands and knees, clawing at your thighs, crying in your lap for a taste of your cunt.

"What's wrong with you? Fucking freak. How funny would you find it if I were sending you this kind of shit? Lay off."

The voice sounds like him too, but he's never said those words. Certainly not with your name attached to them. I love you, I love you, you're my whole world, my everything, I swear, I love you, it's like a chorus.

"This is so obviously desperate and staged. I feel sorry for you. Not enough for the pity fuck you're hoping for, though, so fuck off."

It's so like him it's starting to get really fucking creepy. They say everyone has a person who looks exactly like them but this is just too much.

Gojo knows you watch him, spy on him, you even stole some of his things back in the day - you'd sent an apology text and he hadn't heard from you since. Though he could still tell you were watching, it wasn't all the time.

But where would you get footage to edit something like this together? You couldn't possibly be this good.

What was this? What the fuck did you want?

And then - he sees it.

It's not obvious. Only in a scene later on. He can only tell by watching, re-watching carefully. Even with the six eyes, on video it's hard to see.

A bruise. On your upper thigh. Barely there anymore, but he sees it.

And then. The double, your hired whore or whoever he is, kissing up your leg, mouth watering for your cunt -

After he passes over the bruise, it's gone. Completely. Like it was never there.

Like it was healed.

Except, you're not a sorcerer. You could see curses - even had some cursed energy - but you have no curse technique. No way could you pull off reverse curse technique.

And as time goes on he starts to notice other things.

At first, he didn't block you because he was curious. It looked like him in the thumbnail, after all. You were basically sending him your homemade porn, it was only polite to take a look!

Plus, maybe you were having some kind of episode or something. It could be a cry for help!

If he jerked off to one or two of them... or more... if he got hard seeing his own face painted in desperation, laving over your cunt, red-eyed and teary as hands tug in his hair... if he bought a cock ring for himself and stroked along to the body double's agony, edging until he gets to the part where you come home and let him open...

If he gets hard every time he sees you've texted him a new video, it was just porn.

It's not his fault, either. He told you to stop, and you didn't! In fact, you never responded to any of his texts. Didn't pick up any of his calls.

His calls. He called you. With video, even!

Sure, you ghosted him after the rejection until now, but this was crazy behavior. You were absolutely crazy for him, you literally stalked him for months, and this was him calling you!

Something is off. Gojo works around sorcerers - around crazy people. He knows crazy, and that's what you are, deep down to the core.

Researching him, watching him, looking up everything around him, leaving absolutely no stone unturned in the pursuit of his affections. Honestly it was kinda flattering! Creepy, but flattering.

Point is, you were crazy. fucking crazy. And even if you were completely over him (which, come on, how could you be?), why would you reach out again like this?

Why make such an obvious, desperate bid for his attention and then not accept it when he deigns to give it to you?

And when it came to the videos, they've started to get kind of... worrying.

In the earlier ones, it was obvious you hired some male hooker to dress up as him and boss around. Generic, but hot. Very femdom. He could respect it. Get off to it, even.

The hooker, or escort, or whoever he is - he's convincing. Too convincing. He's obviously happy to be there, even though you seem all to willing to slap him around, chew him up and spit him out, step on his -

Anyways, the point is. The escort had been a willing participant from the start. But you're starting to look... less so.

At first he thought you were just drunk, or high on something. And yeah, it was hot. Seeing you limp and boneless and making low, little noises as his perfect copy folds you over, manipulates you like a doll.

There's an appeal to it, he'll admit. You're smaller than him - the double has a similar frame, all broad, terribly tall, long, muscled limbs that bend you in half and bounce you on his dick like a living fleshlight.

Then the way you cum - you're so unguarded, so open. Face flushed, panting open-mouthed, twitching in the aftershocks as your lover holds you close. Drooling freely over his fingers, his cock.

It's hard not to wonder what it feels like. Being there. Inside you.

You weren't his type before, but he's touched himself so many times to you - and 'him'. You scolding him, punishing him, teaching him.

He's watched you force him to eat you out for hours, and thank you for it. And god if it didn't make him hard.

Gojo can admit, he's a little jealous of the double. What an easy life he has; jerking off with his cock stuck in a ring, waiting for hours for you to come back.

To some people that might sound like agony. To him, it sounds like something to do to himself during missions to make them more fun.

Rile himself up, stick the ring on, fight and kill while he's hard until he can get home and watch, listen, to you coming back and cooing at him before you grant him sweet release.

Suddenly, you're not just hot. You're erotic. Instantly arousing. The sight of you makes him hard and seeing you like this? Undone? Weak and pitiful and clinging to him - god, fuck. It does something to him.

And then there's the way the double looks up into the camera. His eyes are - fuck, they look a lot like his. Could it be some kind of visual effect? He can't tell over a video.

But as they keep coming, Gojo can just tell. There's malice in there. Pure disdain and loathing. The double touches you with hands wide, clawing, like he's making a statement - staking a claim.

...and the he puts together something he should have known since the beginning.

Why weren't you answering him? Why did you keep sending these videos? Why did you call that man "Satoru"?

It all falls into place instantly. How did he not realize sooner? There's only one thing that would prevent you from picking up his calls. A freak like you would never willingly pass up on his attention, but if -

For the first time in years, Satoru Gojo makes a call and tells the Higher Ups he'll be out for the next couple days.