#rex x reader

⟡ ݁₊ . 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

(Ex-Bf!Rex Sloan & Mark Grayson x F!reader)

🖤💖26/31 for Kinktober💖🖤

Word Count: 1,800

Debrief: Rex cheated on you… again. You want him to understand the pain.

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI - 18+, cuckoldry, cnc with Rex, p in v with mark

You let him in because you already know he’ll come. You both know the ritual: a text, a desperate arrival, the same apology tangled in the same tired voice. Tonight the hallway smells like rain and something faintly of his cologne; an afterthought he thinks will soften the edges of hurt. It’s worked on you before, after all.

clones x drunk&flirty s/o (my headcanons)

fem reader warnings: mature-ish

hunter tries not to get distracted when he's taking care of you, but sometimes, you're too difficult to resist. while you're drunk and bubbling with laughter, he sets his jaw and narrows his gaze at anyone who might be looking at you the wrong way. his hand is on your waist as he guides you through the crowd, away from the club still beating with music, his fingers flexing protectively. you smile up at him and slur, "you're pretty," gasping when your feet suddenly wobble beneath you. he catches your shifting weight almost immediately. "and you," he says, leaning close, "had too much to drink tonight." you shake your head, but your movements are messy, spinning the world around. "oh, you're no fun," you pout. he chuckles under his breath. "no fun, huh?" he murmurs as his mouth comes down on yours slowly, a sensual kiss that melts your body against him. his hands travel up your hips to embrace your figure, squeezing with a desperation he's trying to keep under control, but the scent and taste of the alcohol lingering on your tongue intoxicates him. he's drunk on the way you part your soft lips for him without hesitation, the way your fingers run through his hair and tug just enough for him to groan against your lips. "alright, pretty girl," he says hoarsely, pulling away before both of you get too eager. his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as he stares at you like you're the only person here. "time to go home."

tech sighs at your lack of balance and laces your fingers together, pulling you into his side every time he thinks you're going to veer off somewhere else without thinking. "you're pretty," you giggle, earning a wide-eyed stare from the side as he takes in your words. you don't seem to be aware of what you just said, so he faces forward again, but a response tugs on his mouth almost irritably, like he wants to say something but isn't sure what. your expression is blank yet happy at the time same as you glance around, not really looking for anything in particular until your eyes find him again, crinkling at the corners in the way that gets him nervous. he clears his throat awkwardly. "you seem to be in a good mood," he observes. you lean into him, feeling his heartbeat thrum against yours. "just happy to see you." "how happy?" he blurts out before he has a chance to think it through, like your state of unawareness is rubbing off on him. you beam at him and give him a quick kiss that catches him off guard. his lips are slightly parted, and his face is flushed when you pause to answer, "so happy." he lets you pull him into another kiss, this time deeper and longer, and suddenly, he doesn't regret asking. not one bit.

wrecker is quick to put you on his back, parting the crowd with his large figure way too easily. "had enough fun?" he asks. you rest your head along the muscular plane of his shoulder and mumble some incoherent answer, lazily tracing your finger across the scars on his face. he glances at you from the side and laughs, "guess that's a yes." your gaze softens when you see his smile linger even after his words have trailed off, and you can't stop yourself from blurting out, "you're pretty." he grins before facing forward again. "aw, you're teasing." "i mean it," you squeeze his shoulders and lean forward, trying to get him to look at you as his steps thump forward confidently. it's the same, heavy way he always walks, but you can tell he feels on top of the world from your compliment, a reaction that just can't be helped. he loves your flattery, your praise, anything sweet that drips from your tongue like honey. and he loves asking for more. "yeah?" he turns his cheek to you. "gimme a kiss to prove it." you roll your eyes and press your lips to his rough, scarred skin, letting them linger before pulling back with an exaggerated smack. he chuckles in content and tightens his big, burly hands around your thighs as he carries you home.

crosshair is always vaguely amused when you're drunk, keeping track of all the silly, unfocused things you claim you don't remember saying by the time your morning hangover arrives. but his playful smirks are only reserved for you. they turn into scowls as people carelessly pass you, nearly causing you to lose sight of him or trip over. "watch where you're walking," he grits through his teeth. his tendency to pick fights hasn't gone away, perhaps growing stronger if it means protecting you. he glances at you when you press your face into his side, safe and sound under the arm he has draped over your figure. "you're pretty," you mutter absentmindedly, and he almost doesn't hear it, but you know he does—he just wants you to tug on his ego a bit longer. he leans downward until your mouth is right by his ear, so close that you can feel his whole body hovering over yours, so warm that you feel as if you're wrapped up in this moment alone with him. "hm?" he whispers, "didn't catch that." you wind your arms around his neck and whisper back, "you heard me." he nuzzles into the side of your face just slightly, never excessive with his affection, but still deliberate. "are you calling me a liar?" his low, drawling tone sends a shiver down your spine, nearly sobering you up. "maybe," you tell him playfully, "a pretty liar."

echo is terrible at taking compliments, no matter how hard you try to convince him that they're genuine. each syllable meshes into the one before when you tell him, "you're pretty," sloppy with your movements as he links your arms together, firm so that you don't fall over. he chuckles under his breath and quietly replies, "you're drunk," like that cancels everything out. you frown, stopping in your tracks to his surprise. "you don't believe me?" you slur. he looks at you with wide eyes that soften when you cup his face and study every moonlit feature you admire all the time—whether you're sober or not. "i like your face," you insist drunkenly, and anyone passing by would think oddly of this conversation, but echo isn't one to ever laugh at you. "alright, you made your point," he concedes, trying to tug you along with him. unconvinced, you squeeze your hands a bit and pull him closer. "say it," you order. hesitation flickers across his expression before his shoulders loosen, and he smiles at you. "you're pretty," he teases lightly. you blink, but your delayed "wait—" gets cut off when he starts walking again, this time with his head held a bit higher.

rex doesn't even realize when his competitive spirit spills over into his affection. he's the type to fire back things like "i love you more" ... "i missed you more" ... but you're the winner when you tell him, "you're pretty." he smiles at you softly and squeezes your shoulder, shaking gently with a distinct playfulness as his face appears just inches away from yours. "you're prettier," he says matter-of-factly, like he's not willing to hear any arguments or disagreements. you shake your head, mumbling "nuh-uh." his lips curve before he kisses you, perhaps to shut you up or just because he wanted to, and you melt into his arms without complaint or resistance. although he knows you'll only remember blurs of tonight by tomorrow, he kisses you like he won't ever let you forget how pretty he thinks you really are.

Overworked and Overstimulated

Synopsis: You take on every job Cecil hands you as his overachieving daughter, but what could be more relaxing after work than getting high with your friends?

Warnings: Edibles, smut, threesome! MDNI💓

You returned back to the guardian’s hq, exhaustedly ripping your mask off of your head. Your father called you on four missions back to back because he had already sent the new guardians and invincible to space. You wanted to go sooooo bad, but he found it better for you to sit this one out. Coincidentally upon returning back, you had found out that they all made it back a few days ago and Cecil wanted you to handle everything until most of them recovered. Easier said than done. Usually it was about six life threatening issues a day, but to tackle four of the worst ones in one day was just a little too much.

You showered, then went up to your room. Dimming the lights, you changed and turned on your music as you took out a pot brownie. You deserved this, you worked too damn hard not to. Stupid GDA invested father using you as a machine.. but he was your dad and sometimes it was your fault for biting off more than you could chew. Typical of you to not say something yet act out when you’re overstimulated. Just typical.

As you got comfortable in your little room, Mark and Rex knocked at your door. What a surprise, they never approach you unless they need help, so maybe now’s not a good time to get high.

“Yo, y/n! Good job holding down the fort until we came back. I see the world’s got a new favorite nepo baby.” Rex chuckled as he grabbed a chair.

“C’mon Rex you know she doesn’t like that.” Mark nudged his shoulder.

“Sorry.. sometimes the social awareness just doesn’t que up fast enough in my brain. Anyways, whatcha doin? Taking the night off?” Rex asked as he played with the items on your desk.

“Yeah, my dad gave me four of the worst missions today. Just figured I’d mellow out in my room for the rest of the day.” You sighed.

“With a pot brownie?” Mark asked sitting in the edge of your bed and holding the ziploc bag containing your brownies.

“Uh-y-yeah. Well I was gonna wait til you guys left in case you didn’t need me for anything but this seemed important so I couldn’t eat one right this second.” You said nervously.

“Fuck that, this is your free time.. Mark and I have been off for a while. Let’s say we make this a group trip huh? I’ll pay you back for it later.” Rex said taking the brownies from Mark.

“I’m down, you don’t have to pay me back though Sloan. I’m content with this. Just quality time with my friends.” You said relaxing back in your bed.

You, Mark and Rex all ate a brownie, waiting for the effects to kick in.

About an hour later you were all feeling the effects. You had put some dumb chick flick on and both men were entertained. It was quiet. Mark was shirtless, with an arm wrapped around you and Rex was also shirtless laying on your chest. Before the high had kicked in you guys gave mark money to get snacks and he delivered. As you guys watched the movie, all that could be heard was the crunching of chips. Both of their bodies were keeping you extremely warm. The movie ended and all three of you were wondering what to do next.

“Basketball?” Rex offered.

“Let’s go. Me and you Rex.” Mark smirked at him.

The three of you went down into the HQ training center. Both boys were shooting hoops.

“This is boring, can we find a way to make it interesting?” Mark asked.

“Ask and you shall recieve. First one to score five shots wins a kiss from the pretty lady over there— and don’t tell me you’re not dying for a taste of that. The best things in life are things that you aren’t allowed to have.” Rex winked.

“I can reason with that as long as it’s okay with y/n.” Mark asked.

“We’ll— I don’t wanna sound desperate but I mean it’s perfectly fine with me.” You blushed. You were in fact the most desperate for this. The past flirtations between you and Mark and then you and Rex throughout your time at the GDA always got to you. Your dad always steered them both away.. well not just them, everyone—away. Mark and Rex didn’t really care, they were friends to the end. They stood up to Cecil which finally allowed you to go on missions, but Cecil drew the line at space. The old man knew better than to get between you and your friends. Yes, you loved your dad but there’s always a battle to be fought with him.

“You’re on.” Mark smirked.

Both boys played away and suddenly the score went from one to four. It was the final point for each of them.

“This one’s for you!” They both shouted together. The anticipation guided you to insanity. If Rex scored and mark felt jealous? It would ruin you. If Mark scored and Rex feel jealous? God.. it’s too much to handle. It’s okay to change your mind and everything, the boys would understand. You don’t want one without the other.

“Well looks like we’re both getting kissed. Both our baskets were made.” Mark smiled smugly.

How did you miss it? Oh well. You weren’t kissing them in the middle of the guardians hq, that would be an awkward moment you couldn’t come back from. The boys held their excitement until you all made it back to your room. Now it was really awkward for you.

“I know I’ve only gotten high with you guys once before but holy shit you look like you’re in a real predicament right now y/n.” Mark laughed.

Rex joined in on laughing, both of them were laughing a bit too hard, it was a little too contagious.

“You’re right, she’s as red as a fucking ripe ass tomato!” Rex was wheezing at this point. The laughter coming from your room was intense and anybody coming by your room could tell you were having a fun time.

You started laughing along with them and soon the laughing turned to joyous tears from your stomachs hurting so bad. After all the laughing, you rested your head on Mark’s shoulder again as you all made it back to laying on your giant bed that took up most of the room in your little box. Mark scooted you, letting you in between his legs as your back touched his chest. Mark played with your hair and Rex was up to something mischevious. Rex snuck himself under the covers, pulling down your lace panties and your pajama pants. You would have been way more alarmed in any other circumstance but for this one? You felt so at peace with both of them doing what they wanted to you. It was the best stress relief you had in a while.

Mark’s hands reached for your shirt, lifting it up off your body and kissing the back of your neck. As Rex started to eat you out your body started to tingle with numbness. The high was really intensifying all your senses. Rex’s tongue lapped and licked your little bud under the covers. To ease you, Mark grabbed onto your breasts, kneading them and kissing your neck. Rex’s grip on your hips stayed firm.

“I thought you both wanted a kiss.” You whined.

“We did, the high just feels too nice to waste on a little kiss. You getting overstimulated? I can tell by the way you’re squirming. Quit acting out.” Mark said firmly as his hands shifted positions, as one arm was now around your neck.

You whined and groaned until you started getting close, both boys were naked at this point, the temperature in the room getting hotter, the feelings more intense.. both boys were slipping in and out of you roughly as you were still whining, eventually the three of you would finish at the same time. You all hit the showers and you went back to your room in silence. Your body was now tired.

“Hey- uh.. thanks for that. If you ever wanna use me I left my number on your board.” Rex winked at you before deciding to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” You asked.

“Yeah.. unfortunately you’re not the only girl on my roster sweet cheeks.” He whistled.

“Alright, see you around.” You waved.

Well at least Rex admitted to wanting a late night booty call.

Mark walked into your room timidly.

“You leaving too?” You pouted.

“Oh stop pouting. I got you flowers. I wanna stay and cuddle. I was in space for five days I thought you’d miss me a little more.” He said.

“Now look who’s pouting.” You smirked.

Mark came into your room placing the flowers on your nightstand and laying down on top of you, his body weight giving you the utmost relief.

“I don’t want to share you again. That was a one time deal.” He complained.

“I understand, thank you for letting me experience that.” You smiled at him.

The room seemed to go quiet, you eyes started to shut and mark had one last thing on his mind.

“When are you gonna tell your dad about us?”

what should have happened

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If you’re reading an X Reader fic, and it’s dual POV, would you rather the reader was referred to as “you” still even from the other characters perspective? Or whatever the set pronoun is for the fic?

Example

“He can’t stand you. More than simply not being able to stand you, he hates you.”

Vs

“He couldn’t stand her. More than simple not being able to stand her, he hated her.”

And then when it’s the readers POV it’s always;

“You could tell he was thinking something, just not exactly what.”

I usually do the third person option for the other POV, but I wonder if you guys as the readers find it janky! Thank you!!

Description: You and Rex get some time off. Rex likes to cuddle. Gender neutral.

Words: 906

Warnings: established relationship, none unless you're allergic to fluff

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Note: Past three weeks have just consisted of me being sick plus exams, so this is the best I can do. But who doesn't like a short fluffy fic?

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You’re propped up on one arm, half lying on Rex’s chest, while you’re watching him sleep... not in a creepy way. You're just appreciating how at peace he looks because it's very rare for him to relax, even in his sleep.