Areyoufuckingcrazy - The Walking Apocalypse

Do you ever just go about your day, sip your little drink, open your little email, and then remember that Hardcase—our chaos ADHD king, our walking serotonin shot, our human thermal detonator—sacrificed himself with a grin and a quip so his brothers could escape? That he went out in a blaze of glory, piloting a stolen ship with literally no plan except “blow stuff up real good,” and the last thing he said was "live to fight another day boys, live to fight another day"???

Hardcase, who never stopped calling his brothers “sir” even when they told him to quit it. Hardcase, who probably never got promoted because he was “reckless.” Hardcase, who loved flying and loud noises and sunshine and probably didn’t understand why no one ever let him just have fun—and then he died for everyone else. Just. Like. That.

Do you ever remember Echo? Sweet, by-the-books, “regulations exist for a reason” Echo who lost everything and kept surviving anyway? Echo who got blown up during a rescue mission, turned into a cybernetic lab rat, hooked up to machines like a tool, stripped of his name, his agency, his brotherhood—and he still came back.

He came back and found out Fives was gone. He came back and the war was ending only to find out there was no end to begin with. He came back and nothing was the same, and he still kept going. That man has literally had half his body replaced with cyber-grade hardware and he's still more human than some Jedi.

Do you ever think about Fives? Fives who figured it out. Fives who knew about the chips. Fives who died saying the truth. He didn’t go down in glory. He wasn’t martyred. He bled out in a hangar, shaking and crying and trying to tell the people he trusted that everything was a lie. And NOBODY BELIEVED HIM. They said he lost his mind. THEY. SAID. HE LOST. HIS MIND.

Fives who just wanted to be loyal. Who just wanted to protect his brothers. Who died trying to save them all and didn’t live to see a single one freed.

Do you remember Jesse? That sweet, noble ARC trooper who wore the Republic symbol on his face like a badge of honor and who looked absolutely shattered when he turned on Ahsoka. He didn’t want to. You could see it. You could feel the war inside him. But the chip won. Because "good soldiers follow orders".

Do you remember Tup? That sweet, soft-spoken clone who glitched first. Who killed two jedi, because “Good soldiers follow orders,” like he was possessed. Because he was. Because the war broke him open before anyone was ready.

Do you ever remember Waxer and Boil? Waxer who kept an eye on a scared little Twi'lek girl Numa through a war zone. Waxer who died seeing his brothers were turning against each other because of Krell and his lies, and who apologized with his dying breath?

Do you remember that clones had names? Do you remember that they named themselves? That they forged their identities with paint and banter and nicknames and loyalty and found joy in being individuals even when everything about their existence was designed to erase that?

Do you remember that they aged twice as fast and weren’t supposed to live long enough to get tired?

That the GAR never intended to care for them after the war? That there was no post-war plan? That the Empire swept them aside for cheaper labor?

That Rex had to watch his brothers turn, die, disappear, and he STILL fought in the rebellion with a heart twice the size of Coruscant???

Do you ever think about how the clones were raised in pods, trained like blaster fodder, taught to say “Yes sir” and never think twice, and still found ways to be brave and kind and funny and GOOD???

DO YOU???

Anyway. I’m normal. Totally fine. Just sitting here naming my coffee cups after 501st troopers and crying into my caf. Would die for every single one of them. Even Dogma. ESPECIALLY Dogma. And Rex. And Fives. And Hardcase. And Echo. And Waxer. And-

Some things I made

new quiz y'all! worked on this until 4 am lol. reblog and tell me, what kind of supervillain are you?

Fives fans vs. Fox fans discourse is so lame. Just kiss and makeup PLEASE

“Recalibration”

Tech x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, spicy tension, clothing still on, touches and innuendo, mild dominance/control themes

You’d noticed it before—how Tech’s fingers twitched just slightly when you leaned over him to grab a datapad. How his jaw clenched when you touched his shoulder in passing. The way his eyes—behind those lenses—followed you a fraction too long.

You didn’t push. Not at first. But you knew.

You knew.

And you waited.

Until now.

The Marauder was parked and quiet. Everyone else was either sleeping or out doing recon. You stayed behind under the excuse of “gear maintenance,” but Tech knew that was a lie. You could see it in the way he hadn’t looked up from his diagnostics once since you sat down across from him. But the corner of his mouth twitched like he was waiting for something.

The tension was coiled between you like a tripwire.

You stretched, slowly, arms overhead—shirt lifting just slightly at the waist—and Tech’s eyes flicked upward before he caught himself and looked back down.

But not fast enough.

You smiled.

“Problem, Tech?”

He adjusted his goggles. “No. Merely running recalibrations on the navigation matrix. Your movement caught my periphery.”

“My movement?”

He paused. “…yes.”

You stood and crossed to him, leaning on the console, your hip nearly brushing his shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s the matrix that needs recalibrating.”

He stilled.

When he looked up this time, there was something… not clinical in his expression. Something sharp. Focused. Hungry.

“You’re provoking a reaction,” he said, voice low.

“I know.”

He rose slowly, the air between you crackling with heat. He stepped forward—and kept stepping until your back hit the bulkhead behind you. The flat metal cooled your skin where your spine met it. His hand came up beside your head, not touching but close enough to make your breath catch.

“I’ve been very patient,” he murmured, eyes scanning yours like he was mapping terrain.

“Too patient,” you said, voice a whisper.

His hand ghosted up your arm. “You want satisfaction.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw—not quite kissing, not yet. His hand slipped around your waist, fingers splayed, controlling without force.

“I’m accustomed to solving problems with precision,” he said, mouth at your ear now, voice as steady as a scalpel. “And I have studied you—extensively.”

You let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“You’ve been studying me?”

“I observe everything,” he said simply. “The way your breath hitches when I remove my gloves. The way your pupils dilate when I speak close to your ear. The way you pretend not to notice when I watch you.”

His hand moved lower—fingertips dragging slowly, teasing over fabric.

“I’ve considered all variables,” he went on. “The tension. The time. The proximity. And I’ve concluded…”

His lips finally pressed to yours—precise, controlled, until you responded with something not controlled at all. Then he let go. Just a little.

You moaned against his mouth, hands gripping the front of his gear, pulling him in. His kiss deepened, mouth commanding now, and he pressed you harder into the wall, like he’d been waiting months for this.

Maybe he had.

When he pulled back, barely, he breathed:

“I am very thorough.”

You laughed, a little breathless, a little wrecked.

“I can tell.”

Tech’s hand curved along the inside of your thigh, over clothes, but still enough to make you shudder.

He tilted his head. “Your reaction suggests positive feedback.”

You kissed him again—harder this time—and gasped against his mouth. “Keep going and I’ll give you a damn thesis.”

His smirk was quick and hot and wicked.

“Excellent. I do enjoy peer-reviewed results.”

And then he was kissing you again, touch deliberate, every movement calculated for maximum effect—like you were another piece of tech he had mastered. Only this time, you were the one burning under his hands, unraveling under precision.

No chaos.

No wild passion.

Just sharp edges.

Purpose.

Satisfaction.

strong desire for Echo to take a nice relaxing bath but also concerned about him electrocuting himself

“Diplomacy & Detonations”

Commander Cody x Village Leader Reader

Their ship barely had time to land before blaster rifles were pointed at them.

“I told you I didn’t want help,” came a voice from the treeline—sharp, challenging, full of attitude.

Commander Cody raised a hand to signal the 212th to hold. From behind him, Obi-Wan calmly stepped forward.

“We’re not here to interfere, only to support your defense—”

“You are interference,” the voice snapped.

Then you stepped into view.

A whirlwind of belts, loose straps, feathers, and leather. Goggles shoved to your forehead, hands on hips, expression full of contempt. You looked at the fully armored, clean-cut clones like they were an invasive species.

Obi-Wan bowed slightly. “You must be the village leader—”

You held up a hand. “No, no, don’t butter me up with that Jedi etiquette crap. You’re uninvited.”

“I think you’ll want to hear what we have to say,” Cody said, stepping forward.

You blinked at him. Then walked slowly around him, circling like a predator.

“Mm. Square jaw. Soldier posture. Serious as a stun baton to the ribs. You’re the commander?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Unfortunate.” You gave a nasty grin. “I was hoping for someone I could beat in an argument.”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re welcome to try.”

You smirked.

Just as you squared your shoulders, ready to argue—maybe throw a punch—a group of kids came tumbling out from the trees. A little one tugged your coat.

“Boss! Are we really getting Republic soldiers? That means laser tanks, right? And hot rations?”

You didn’t even turn. “Not now, shitheads, I’m busy beating up strangers.”

Cody blinked. Waxer coughed to hide his laughter. Ahsoka’s eyes went wide. Anakin mumbled, “Oh, Force.”

Later, around a crackling fire in your chaotic half-open planning tent (made of repurposed sailcloth and wire), Obi-Wan laid it out clearly.

“The Separatists are planning a full invasion. Three battalions of B1 units, two AATs, and an orbiting cruiser for support.”

You sipped from a cup of what smelled like fermented jungle fruit and blinked slowly. “So… what you’re saying is… there’s gonna be a fight?”

“Yes.”

“And it’ll be… big?”

“Yes.”

You sat up straighter. Your grin turned hungry.

“Fine. I accept your help.”

Cody raised a brow. “That fast?”

You threw your arms out dramatically. “You brought me violence! You should’ve led with that!”

Boil leaned over to Waxer. “She’s gonna get us all killed, isn’t she?”

Waxer whispered back, “Yeah. But it’ll be fun.”

⸻

Two days later, you were mid-dismantle of a thermal sensor when Cody approached.

“You shouldn’t be in the blast zone. This isn’t standard military procedure.”

You blew a strand of hair from your face and smirked. “I’m not a standard anything, Commander.”

Cody exhaled. “You’re reckless.”

You held up a small grenade. “I call it chaotic innovation.”

“It’s dangerous.”

You grinned. “So are your cheekbones, but I don’t hear anyone complaining.”

He blinked. “…What?”

You tossed the grenade to him. He caught it reflexively.

“Good hands,” you said. “I like that.”

He stared down at the live grenade in his palm.

“Is this—armed?”

You winked. “Might wanna disarm before you end up splattered on that wall.”

⸻

When the droids finally attacked, you were thriving.

You rode into battle standing on a makeshift hover-skiff, brandishing a long spear with fireworks tied to it, cackling like a banshee.

Cody shouted into the comm: “Can someone please get her out of the crossfire?”

Waxer replied: “We tried. She bit Boil.”

Boil yelled: “She did NOT! I just tripped—!”

“You tripped because she kicked you!”

⸻

Later that night, after the battle, the village lay safe. The droids were in pieces. And you sat on a fallen log with your knees tucked up, staring at the jungle.

Cody approached, helmet off.

“You did well today.”

You sighed. “Don’t ruin it with compliments.”

He smirked. “I’m trying to be civil.”

You eyed him. “Why? Planning to ask me to dinner?”

A pause.

“…Would you go?”

You stared.

Then laughed. “Commander. If you take me to dinner, I’ll probably start a bar fight and make you pay the tab.”

“Noted.”

You tilted your head. “You’d really take me?”

Cody shrugged, voice quiet. “You fight for your people. You’re unpredictable, reckless… and you’ve got guts. I respect that.”

You squinted. “That’s either the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me… or the scariest.”

He held out a hand.

You took it, grinning wide. “Alright, Tensejaw. Maybe I’ll let you stick around.”

Hello!!! Hopefully I won’t bother you but i loved the 501 x reader where they all are crushing on her!!! Do you think there’s the possibility that we could get a part two? I just want them all to be happy together -but a little angsty moments are great too! Thank you and i love your writing! Best clone scenario page on tumblrrr 🥰🥰🥰

Of course! A part 2 for this fic has been requested nearly 10 times.

I may need to turn this into a series. There will definitely be a part 3 at least 🫶

⸻

“Hearts of the 501st” pt.2

501st x Reader

You were still reeling from the contact.

Rex’s hand, steady at your waist, had felt like it burned through your tunic. Not with heat, but with something more dangerous—something forbidden. And it had lingered just a second too long. Enough for you to realize he wanted to hold you there. Enough for him to realize that he couldn’t.

Now he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Not during the rest of the rotation. Not at the debrief. Not even in the mess later that night.

Hardcase had gone back to his usual boisterous self, none the wiser, but Kix glanced between you and Rex with the subtle awareness of someone too observant for his own good. You tried to brush it off. Smile. Pretend. But it was like breathing around broken glass.

Later that night, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling of your quarters, eyes wide open, body still.

And then the door chimed.

You sat up fast, heart racing. “Come in,” you called, voice steady despite the storm inside.

It was Rex.

He stepped in and the door hissed shut behind him. No armor—just blacks. He looked exhausted. And maybe something else. Haunted, almost.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“I know.”

Silence stretched between you. And then he finally looked at you.

“I didn’t mean to cross a line,” he said, voice low, gravelly. “Back in the training room.”

“You didn’t,” you lied.

Because the truth was worse. He didn’t cross it—you wanted him to. You still did.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. You’re a Jedi. I’m… I’m a soldier.”

“You’re Rex.”

That made him pause.

You stood up, crossing the small space between you, pulse thundering.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t move. But the way he looked at you—like you were the last light in the galaxy—that was enough to break you.

“We’re not allowed this,” he said, finally.

“I know.”

But you also both knew something else, something unspoken: if the war didn’t kill you, this would.

⸻

You thought things might settle after that night with Rex. But they didn’t. If anything, the tension only thickened. Because it wasn’t just Rex watching you a little too long anymore.

It was Kix, catching your arm after a mission with fingers that lingered too long on your wrist as he checked for injuries.

“You push yourself too hard,” he murmured, voice low as his eyes searched yours. “Someday, you won’t come back. And I…” He trailed off before finishing, but the weight of what he didn’t say clung to the air between you.

It was Fives, who cracked jokes louder than usual when Rex entered the room, his laugh a little too sharp. When he caught you alone, he dropped the act.

“You know he’s not the only one who cares, right?” he said, eyes dark with something more serious than you were used to seeing in him. “He’s not the only one who notices.”

It was Jesse, who always sat beside you at the mess, quietly pushing your favorite ration pack your way without saying anything. You caught him watching you once, and when you met his gaze, he didn’t look away.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, voice tight. “Better than silence. Better than having to hide.”

Hardcase didn’t hide a damn thing. He wore his affection on his sleeve—laughing too loud, standing too close, finding excuses to spar. “You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” he asked one evening, sweaty and bruised, grinning. “No questions asked.”

Tup was quieter, but it was there. In the way he always made sure you were covered. In the way he sat across from you during ship travel, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught him once, and he blushed so hard he looked like he might combust.

Then there was Dogma, who clung to rules like they were life rafts—but his devotion to you bent those rules every damn day. He flinched when others got too close. Spoke up when he thought someone pushed you too hard. And when you called him out on it, he just said, “You matter. More than they think.”

They were a unit. Brothers. But when it came to you, that unity was starting to fray.

You could feel it in the silences.

In the way they hesitated to speak freely when Rex was in the room. In the way Jesse squared off subtly when Fives stood too close. In the tension crackling in every quiet corridor.

You were the Jedi they shouldn’t have fallen for. The light they wanted to protect. But you were also one person—and they all knew that.

And maybe the worst part?

You didn’t know who you were falling for.

⸻

The op on Vanqor should’ve been simple: recon the outpost, confirm Separatist movement, exfil. No drama. No losses.

But nothing was simple anymore.

You split the squad in two. Rex led one team, you led the other. Standard formation. Except the tension was anything but standard.

From the start, Fives was running his mouth.

“Oh, so Rex gets to babysit the high ground,” he said as he checked his rifle. “How convenient.”

“Because I’m the Captain,” Rex snapped without looking up. “And because someone needs to stay focused on the mission.”

“Focused?” Jesse muttered under his breath. “That’s rich coming from you.”

You glanced at them all sharply. “Cut the chatter.”

They did—sort of. Kix shot Jesse a look. Jesse shot Fives one back. Even Tup, usually calm, was twitchier than usual. And Dogma was walking like he was seconds away from snapping someone’s neck.

Still, the op moved forward.

You took Hardcase, Tup, and Jesse with you. Rex had the others. Two klicks into the canyon, comms lit up.

Rex: “General, got movement near the ridge. Confirmed clankers. Looks like a patrol.”

You: “Copy. Proceeding to secondary overlook.”

Then static. Followed by—

Fives: “We’ve got this, General. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him from throwing himself in front of a blaster for you.”

There was a sharp click before Rex cut him off: “Fives, stay off the channel unless it’s tactical.”

Back with your team, things weren’t much better.

Hardcase was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can’t believe I missed the team with the romantic tension. You should’ve seen Rex’s face, Tup—guy’s wound tighter than a wire.”

Jesse barked a laugh. “At least he’s not pretending he’s subtle. Unlike some.”

Tup sighed. “Please don’t start again.”

You stopped in your tracks, glaring at them. “You think this is a game? You want to bicker while droids are swarming a ridge less than a klick away?”

They fell silent, shame flickering in their eyes.

Then came the ambush.

Blasterfire erupted from the cliffs. Shouts, heat, chaos.

Rex’s voice came through the comm again—sharp, controlled. “Engaging hostiles. Kix is hit but stable.”

You snapped orders, leading your squad into flanking position, instincts taking over. You caught sight of Rex across the ridge, laying down cover, Fives behind him—but they were arguing even mid-fire.

“Cover me!” Rex shouted, moving up.

“Could’ve said please,” Fives muttered, though he did as told.

Jesse nearly got clipped trying to keep you shielded. “I said I’ve got you!” he snapped when you tried to redirect him.

After the skirmish, when the smoke cleared and the ridge was secure, the tension boiled over.

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Rex growled, throwing his helmet down. “We can’t run a clean op because every one of you is too busy acting like kriffing teenagers.”

“Don’t pin this on us,” Jesse snapped. “You’re the one sneaking around with her after lights out.”

“Nothing happened,” Rex shot back.

Kix scoffed. “No, but something wants to.”

Tup looked between them, torn. “This isn’t what we’re supposed to be.”

And Dogma, silent until now, spoke with cold finality: “Feelings don’t belong on the battlefield. You’re all risking her life.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the blasterfire.

You stood there, heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between fury and grief.

This war was pulling you apart from the inside. Not from wounds or droids—but from love, jealousy, and every unspoken word between them.

The silence stretched long after Dogma’s words hit the ground like a blaster bolt.

You could see it—every line in their faces taut, wounded. The guilt. The fear. The ache.

And still, you stood tall.

Composed. Cold, maybe. But you had to be.

“I need every one of you to listen to me,” you said, voice even, sharp like a vibroblade. “And I need you to understand this the first time, because I will not say it again.”

No one spoke. Even Fives went still.

“I am a Jedi,” you continued. “And whether or not that means something to you anymore—it still means something to me. The Code forbids attachment. That isn’t a guideline. It isn’t a suggestion. It is a foundational truth of who I am and what I chose to be.”

Rex looked away. His jaw tightened.

“This war has blurred the lines between soldier and brother, between ally and… more. But that does not change the Code. It does not change the expectations I hold for myself.”

You took a breath, feeling the heat rise behind your ribs—but not letting it show.

“I am not your hope. I am not your escape. I am not something you can cling to in the middle of this chaos. I am your general. I will fight beside you. I will protect you. I care about you. But I will not—I cannot return these… feelings.”

Hardcase looked like you’d slapped him. Kix’s mouth parted, then closed again. Fives had nothing to say.

And then you said the thing none of them wanted to hear:

“If any of you truly respect me—if you truly believe in the Jedi you claim to admire—then let me go. Detach. Redirect whatever it is you feel into something that will not get one of us killed.”

Tup stepped forward, hesitant. “But you do care. We know you do.”

You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. But you answered with the quiet, unmoving weight of Jedi truth.

“Yes,” you said. “But caring is not the same as holding on.”

Another pause.

“I’m not your way out,” you finished. “I’m the one leading you into the fire. Don’t follow me with your heart. Follow me with your discipline. Or don’t follow me at all.”

And with that, you turned—cloak sweeping, boots hitting durasteel with finality.

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did… you weren’t sure the Jedi in you would win.

⸻

The moment she disappeared into the shadows of the canyon pass, the squad felt gutted. Not wounded—hollowed out.

The silence wasn’t peace. It was pressure. It built between them like a thermal detonator waiting for a trigger.

“She didn’t have to say it like that,” Hardcase muttered first, breaking the quiet. “She made it sound like we’re a liability.”

“She’s not wrong,” Dogma snapped, arms crossed tight over his chest. “We lost focus. We compromised the mission.”

Fives scoffed. “Oh, come off it, Dogma. You’re not exactly guilt-free just because you pout from a distance instead of making a move.”

“Don’t start,” Jesse growled. “We wouldn’t even be in this mess if you hadn’t made a scene during the damn firefight.”

“I wasn’t the one staring at her like a lovesick cadet while blaster bolts were flying!”

“You want to go?” Jesse stepped forward.

Kix shoved himself between them. “Enough. You’re all making this worse.”

“No,” Rex said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I’ll take it from here.”

Everyone turned. Rex’s helmet was still tucked under his arm, his face unreadable—controlled, cold, and deadly calm.

“She’s right,” he said, no hesitation. “Every word. We let our feelings get in the way. We made it personal. That’s not what we were bred for. That’s not what she needs.”

Fives shifted, jaw clenched. “So what—just pretend it doesn’t exist?”

Rex stepped closer, tone steely. “We have to. Because if we don’t, she dies. Or we do. Maybe all of us.”

Tup looked away. Jesse stared at the ground. Even Hardcase, for once, didn’t have a joke.

“You think I don’t feel it?” Rex said, quieter now. “You think I haven’t thought about what it would be like to give in? To tell her how I feel?”

He shook his head. “That’s not what love looks like. Love is discipline. Restraint. We follow her lead. We put her safety above what we want. That’s our job. That’s who we are.”

Nobody argued.

Because they all knew he was right.

⸻

They all handled it differently.

Dogma pulled back first.

He barely spoke during prep. Stood at parade rest with surgical stillness. Didn’t sit with the squad, didn’t meet your eyes. He obeyed, to the letter—but colder now, like retreating behind a regulation shield.

Fives, on the other hand, spiraled.

He picked fights. With Kix, with Jesse, even with Rex. His banter turned sour, jokes laced with venom.

“She doesn’t mean it,” he muttered to Jesse in the hangar. “You don’t just fight beside someone for years and feel nothing. She’s trying to protect us. But that doesn’t mean we stop caring.”

Jesse didn’t answer.

Because Jesse was the one pushing harder.

He wasn’t loud about it—but you noticed. He stayed closer during patrols. Walked you to your quarters even when you didn’t ask. Spoke softer. Asked if you’d eaten. You knew the intent behind it. And it terrified you.

You needed clarity. Solitude.

But the moment you stepped outside the command tent to breathe—Tup was already waiting.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just offered you a ration bar with a small, tentative smile. Like he didn’t expect you to take it, but needed you to know he’d tried.

You sat beside him anyway.

“It’s a lot,” he said after a beat, voice low. “Too much, sometimes.”

You didn’t speak.

He didn’t push.

“I’m not gonna say they’re wrong to feel it,” he added, eyes on the dirt. “But I get why you had to say what you did. It hurts. But I get it.”

You turned your head slowly. “Do you?”

He met your eyes. Soft. Steady. “Yeah. Because when you love someone… really love them… you don’t ask them to break themselves just to make you feel better.”

That quiet truth stuck in your chest like a blade.

Tup didn’t reach for your hand. He didn’t move closer. He just stayed there, beside you, letting you breathe.

And for the first time in days… you felt like maybe someone saw you—not as something to win. But as someone to understand.

You didn’t want to fall apart.

But with Tup sitting next to you, not expecting anything—not even an answer—it was hard to keep everything held together.

The ration bar stayed in your hand, unopened. You stared at it like it held answers you didn’t have the strength to look for.

“You know,” Tup said gently, “you don’t have to be the strong one all the time.”

You gave him a dry look. “That’s rich, coming from a soldier bred to never break.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah, well. We all crack different. Some of us just do it quieter.”

You laughed—soft and broken. “Is this you trying to cheer me up, Tup?”

“Maybe,” he said with a small shrug. “Maybe I just wanted to sit beside someone who makes the war feel a little less like war.”

You looked away. His words landed somewhere deep, somewhere dangerously tender.

There was a moment—just a moment—when you let your shoulders drop. When you leaned just barely toward him, not enough to cross a line, but enough to feel how close the edge really was.

And Tup’s voice, softer still: “You don’t have to be alone.”

Your breath caught. Eyes burning. Just a blink from letting it slip—just a few more seconds and you might have said something you couldn’t unsay.

But then—

“General?”

You turned sharply, straightening.

Kix.

He looked between the two of you. His gaze landed on Tup’s proximity, on your expression—cracked, vulnerable.

Too late.

“I—” He cleared his throat, eyes guarded now. “I was coming to check on you. Thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

Tup shifted, quietly rising to his feet. “She’s alright. Just needed some quiet.”

You could feel the tension coil between them—one of them arriving first, the other arriving just late enough to lose something that hadn’t even happened.

You stood too. “Thank you, Kix. I’m okay. Just tired.”

He gave a short nod, but the disappointment was unmistakable. He wasn’t angry. But he felt it.

And you knew that by tomorrow, the silence between some of them would stretch even deeper.

Because kindness had turned competitive. And comfort was starting to feel like a battlefield too.

⸻

Previous part

I’m I the only freak who finds Old Man Hunter hot?

“Duty Calls, Desire Waits”

Boss x Reader

The door to your quarters hissed open, and before you even turned around, you felt him. That familiar presence—silent, commanding, unwavering. Boss was back.

You didn’t need words. The way his heavy boots hit the floor, slow and steady, told you everything. The weight of the mission still hung in his posture, but beneath it, something softer—a need. For you.

He finally looked up, eyes dark behind that helmet’s visor, and you caught a flicker of relief. You stepped forward, your hand reaching for his arm, fingers curling around the reinforced armor. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a fraction.

No words were spoken, none needed.

Your fingers traced the edge of his visor, then slid down to his neck plate, where the cold metal met bare skin. Boss’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer—no space left between you now.

The heat built slowly, burning through the quiet. His grip tightened, and you tilted your head up, brushing your lips lightly over the rim of his helmet as if to remind him you were here. That this was home.

A low, almost inaudible sound vibrated from his chest—a promise, a confession. You smiled, heart racing.

Then, the world faded until it was only you and Boss, the steady beat of two hearts finding their rhythm again.

He finally took off his helmet to reveal his eyes—intense, dark, tired. The kind of tired that comes from seeing too much but still standing tall.

“You’re here,” his voice was low, rough around the edges like gravel, but steady.

You reached up, fingertips brushing over his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Every time I leave, I wonder if I’ll come back.”

Your hand slid from his neck to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the armor. “You always do.”

His other hand cupped your cheek gently, thumb stroking as if trying to memorize your face. “You’re my anchor. The only thing keeping me grounded when everything else is chaos.”

You leaned into his touch. “Then stay grounded. Stay with me.”

For a moment, all the walls around him seemed to crumble, and he looked vulnerable—the soldier behind the mask.

“I want to,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than anything.”

You closed the small distance between you, resting your forehead against his. “Then show me. Stay.”

The tension between you was electric, but it wasn’t just desire—it was relief, connection, and the unspoken promise that no matter how dark the mission, you were both each other’s light.

He pulled you closer, the strength in his embrace both protective and tender.

And in that quiet space, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and his steady heartbeat, you both knew this was home.

Boss’s hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your waist, pulling you tighter against him. The heat between you grew, the space shrinking until the world outside ceased to exist.

His voice was a low growl near your ear. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

You whispered back, “Me too.”

Just as his lips brushed yours, soft and promising, the sudden buzz of the comms cracked through the silence.

Boss pulled back slightly, annoyed but alert.

“—Scorch here. Uh… I might’ve accidentally blown up the supply depot. Again,” came the familiar voice, a mix of sheepish and panicked.

Sev’s harsh reply followed, “You’re gonna pay for that, Demo. I’m coming for you.”

Boss shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “So much for a demolition expert.”

You laughed softly, the moment broken but the warmth lingering as Boss reached for his helmet.

“Duty calls,” he muttered, eyes meeting yours one last time. “But I’ll be back.”

You nodded, voice steady. “I’ll be here.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you both wanting more — and counting down until the next time.