Wolffe X F!Officer!Reader: One And Only

Wolffe x f!Officer!Reader: One and Only

[A/N]: Bullying sucks, and for some reason, a lot of anti-bullying campaigns seem to make bullies nastier. I can't say if those campaigns succeeded, though, because I feel like the term 'bully' itself has been beaten to death. This oneshot is an edited, old work that I had deleted a few years ago. My younger self wrote this hoping for a cathartic escape from my past experiences with bullies. If it's a little overdone, that's why - but I hope some of you know what it was like, too. I hope you got the support you needed during those times, but if you didn't, I genuinely hope you will, sooner better than later.

Summary: Y/N, a naval officer spending most rotations on a Venator-class star destroyer, has loved and cherished Commander Wolffe as a partner for months now. They've always managed to stay in touch and pretty much nothing could break their bond—that is, other than the scathing comments of the critical and envious.

Warnings: Bullying and self-esteem issues.

read it here on ao3

"Ugh! How did Y/N ever get promoted to naval officer? She’s such a bitch ," A voice hissed from beyond the steel corridor of the Venator-class star destroyer, namely, the Reverence.

"It's unbelievable! And they say she's Commander Wolffe's girlfriend." Another voice added.

From the far end of the hallway, you sighed, keeping your eyes glued to your datapad. The snide comments of gossipy subordinates and snarky superior officers were starting to eat away at what little confidence you held onto. The fact that they'd even mentioned Wolffe twisted their dagger-like insults into the very flesh of your psyche.

Taking a sharp left into the control room, you wished that their eyes could refrain from boring straight into your back and following your bowed head past the glowing table to where the Admiral stood.

"Admiral." He nodded in acknowledgement of your entrance.

"L/N. Have you received word from General Koon about our strategy for the offense?"

"I just received the transmission, sir. I came to inform you that he has approved our strategy and is willing to put it to the test." You answered, handing him your datapad.

"Thank you, officer. You may go now." You nodded and strode right out of the room and right into a gaggle of medbay nurses—civilians from a volunteer corp, terribly patronizing and unbelievably annoying—who immediately scattered, tittering with laughter.

"Maker, I’m so glad I don’t have to wear the Navy uniform. Y/N L/N takes the olive out of olive-drab." One of the medbay nurses remarked as the group disappeared down the corridor, your full name rolling off of her tongue harshly, each syllable pronounced in repulsive mockery. You instinctively clutched your datapad, focusing on the deep black of space from outside the Reverence. Somewhere out there, Wolffe is waiting for me, you thought to yourself. Let's hope he hasn't forgotten about me.

Somewhere, several systems away, Commander Wolffe ducked into a canvas tent. The sound of LAATs soaring overhead, the revving of speeder bikes, and overall commotion filled his ears—but he paid no attention to the din as he quickly punched a code into his holoprojector. After a few minutes of dialing, a familiar blue hologram finally appeared in the palm of his hand.

“Wolffe?" Your voice, although crackling with signal static, was music to Wolffe's ears.

"Y/N!" He smiled for the first time in days, the smile reaching his eyes that had become shadowed from many sleepless nights. "How’s work on the Reverence?" You shook your head.

"Well, it's been a lot like the usual." You answered, sighing. You didn’t feel like lying to Wolffe anymore—’good’ just didn’t sum up your experience at all. "I don't think a whole lot of people like me on this ship." Wolffe's smile immediately disappeared.

"What makes you think that?"

"It's just...I always hear this mechanic or that nurse talking behind my back. It's like they don't bother to hide it anymore." You rambled. "I hate it. I wish they'd issued me a bucket like yours to wear so I wouldn't have to show my face in front of a bunch of people who absolutely detest my ugly face!" You clenched your fists, making wrinkles in your olive-drab uniform pants.. Watching you hold back tears, Wolffe solemnly wished that he could be physically present to comfort you and hold you in his arms.

"Y/N..." He averted his eyes, the cogs turning in his head. "I wish I could just tell all of those di'kuts to stop—"

"Wolffe, you don't have to." You interrupted him, expression caught between twisted despair and an apologetic smile. "I'm used to it, but all of this bantha shit gets to me sometimes." Wolffe chuckled quietly, sending butterflies fluttering into your stomach.

"I'm sorry you have to go through all of this, Y/N. I promise we'll be together soon." His eyes were sincere, despite his cybernetic eye. As he spoke, Sinker poked his head into the canvas tent.

"Commander? We're still waiting on bacta. Do you really think we should consider buying bacta from the locals?" The clone inquired, jerking his thumb to where the medical tent was pitched.

"They know that we can't tell the difference between real bacta and watery jelly..." Wolffe grumbled. "Give me a moment." Sinker ducked back out of the tent, and Wolffe returned to his call.

"What was that about?" You inquired, cocking your head in questioning.

"Sorry Y/N, Sinker just popped in with a question." Wolffe paused, thinking quickly. "Say, Y/N. We're running out of bacta at the camps, but the locals cultivate and sell it. I don't know if we should buy it, 'cause we don't know if it's legitimate or not, and if it's actually medical grade." You pondered for a moment, searching your memory for whatever had been scribbled into the reg books of years past about Wolffe's particular dilemma.

"Hmm...what you can do is check samples of the bacta they sell to make sure it's legit. Real bacta has a thin but slimy consistency, like that of sticky porridge rations, you know what I mean? Make sure it isn't watered down.” You stated. “Oh, and the preferred kind of bacta that we typically use is mostly clear or tinged blue from the added drugs. It should also have a certain smell, kind of pungent because of the bacteria cultures in it but also kind of like the chemical additives it contains."

Wolffe listened intently as you listed the specifications of medical-grade bacta. He enjoyed hearing you talk, especially about something you were well-versed in or passionate about—he could see the admiration glimmering in your eyes, and what confidence you had finally began to show itself. You could read him a whole reg book and he’d be riveted.

"So, as long as it meets the requirements for standard bacta, you can buy it. As long as it doesn't cost an LAAT and a few DC-15s, I guess." You concluded with a quiet chuckle.

"That's all I need to know, Y/N. You're a life-saver, I mean it." Wolffe answered with a sincere smile. He clambered off of the munitions crate he had been using as a seat and shifted his gaze to the commotion outside of his little canvas nook. From within the hologram, you saluted.

"No problem, Wolffe. I'll see you around, I guess."

"I'll be with you as soon as I find time, Y/N. I promise." Wolffe murmured, eyes softening.

"I'll be waiting."

Wolffe did end up striking up a bargain with the planet's natives, heading back to the camp with crates full of bacta. He'd memorized your instructions from the beginning to the end—check the viscosity, the color, and the smell. With your trusty advice, Wolffe inspected the bacta carefully with his medics.

"This is some good bacta." One of the medics whistled, hauling the last of the load into the rather haphazardly set up medical tent. “How much did you say you bought it for, Commander?” Ducking under the coarse fabric, Wolffe nodded in agreement and replied absentmindedly, thoughts wandering to the many misfortunes that could have unfolded had you not been there to guide him.

Many, many parsecs away, you gazed at the stars through thick transparisteel with forlorn eyes. Your many tormenters—one of which included your own conscience—taunted you, but their voices became muffled as you diverted your focus to a different, more uplifting hypothetical, wondering on about the pit of shame you would have been wallowing in had Wolffe not picked you up out of the pile of bantha shit you'd gotten yourself into simply by introducing yourself to a crew that wished you'd never existed.

Every minute he had to spare, he was attempting to patch through a transmission in hopes of cheering you up. He could have picked anyone to surrender his love to—someone more beautiful, more confident—but he had to pick you.

"Officer L/N. The Admiral wants you on the bridge." One of the OODs' voices crackled onto the comm on your sleeve, snapping you out of your star-studded reverie. Peeling your eyes away from the glimmering beauty of space, you dashed for the elevator.

"Tell him that I'll be there in a few." You called out while slipping into the lift. The door opened to the command bridge, where the admiral stood admiring the vacuum of deep space as you had a couple of floors below.

“L/N." He began. "General Koon has informed me that the offensive against Separatist blockades has succeeded. Moderate to minimum damage and little casualties." Excitement began to bubble from within you. "He states that no other officer could have created an attack plan as brilliant and niche as yours, L/N. He considers you to be one of his best tacticians."

"I am honored to receive such praise from General Koon, Admiral. I only consider this a part of my duty as a strategic officer."

"You certainly should be, L/N. This assault was one of our campaign's most successful by far. We have scheduled shore leave in two rotations, L/N. Keep up the good work." With a curt nod, you pivoted on your heels and exited the bridge.

Every inch of Wolffe's body was tingling with electric excitement. He couldn't possibly wait a second longer until he could finally hold you in his arms, unlike the incorporeal hologram he'd been speaking to for endless rotations. As the Reverence entered the atmosphere and his ship neared the hangar's tractor beams, he felt as if he could feel your Force signature on the ship, even though he wasn't Force-sensitive.

The ship slowed to a stop, backing into the hangar bay. Wolffe was quick to jump down the ramp and onto the hangar, much to the surprise of his brothers and commanding officer still on board.

"Are you in a rush, Commander?" Quipped said commanding officer. The Kel Dor Jedi was making his way down the ramp, watching amusedly as Wolffe searched the bustling hangar for what seemed to be nothing in particular.

"Yeah, where are you going so quickly?" Comet inquired, appearing from within the ship with Sinker and Boost on his heels. "Maybe he's looking for his girlfriend ," he whispered to the two, who cast knowing, side-eyed glances at each other.

You were cloistered away in your office, agonizing over several datapads and a rather large and complicated star map. Anxiously running a hand through your hair, your eyes flitted from one barrage of glowing blue Aurebesh to another.

"Our campaign, our offensive." You muttered frantically. "I can feel the dark circles under my eyes growing." You pulled up yet another intricate star map, this time depicting a different sector. "Intel says there's a blockade here, here, and here...there, too..."

Your thought process had already been set into motion as you first inspected the loose estimates of the Separatist numbers. Then, according to that, you instinctively began to formulate the optimal course of action—after months of long nights of studying for exams and even longer nights of strategizing aboard the Reverence and formerly the Triumphant, formulating battle strategies like so had become second nature to you.

"The last two-pronged 'bident' attack might have been successful upon deployment of the Y-wings, but can we really guarantee the success—or predict the failure—of a Y-wing bombing run or a Torrent fighter attack?" You mused.

"Oh my Force, she's back at it again..." You heard a fellow naval officer groan from across the office. “Karking hell, shut the kriff up!”

"Back again at what, exactly?" A familiarly gruff voice nearly made you trip over your abandoned desk chair from standing up so quickly. The big-mouthed officer from the other side of the office shut himself up immediately, standing ramrod straight and saluting stiffly. Prying your eyes away from the star maps, you saw the most welcome sight of all—Wolffe, tossing his helmet to the ground with a clatter as lurched over your desk to cup your face in his warm, gloved hands. You shimmied around your closet-like office space to throw your arms around his neck, closing in for a passionate and well-deserved kiss, filled with all of the emotions that had lost themselves in all of the sleepless nights you'd spent apart.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you again." You breathed, melting in his embrace. Admiring the facial features that had been the object of ridicule by your bullies, Wolffe showed an air of concern at the dark shadows making themselves prominent under your drained-looking eyes.

"You don't look too good, mesh’la. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Sleep can wait when an entire fleet is at risk." You answered, slipping out of his arms and making your way out of the office. You sat yourself back down at your cluttered desk, putting your head in your hands. Wolffe opted to lean against the doorframe.

"I heard from General Plo that your strategy was a success." Wolffe began. "He thinks very highly of you, Y/N."

"And so I've heard." You droned sardonically, peering at the clone commander from over your hands. "The Admiral told me all about it. How was your ground campaign?"

"Well, your advice worked wonders for our medical team. Your instructions alone saved dozens of good men out there, Y/N."

"I'm just doing my job, Wolffe. It's all in a day's work. Any other borderline competent naval officer could have told you how to buy bacta." You replied. Wolffe sighed, taking a seat atop your desk and grasping your hands.

"You've gotta be bluffing. I can't think of any other officer who takes control of a situation like you do."

"Really? I'm not that special."

"Are you kidding me, Y/N? Have you really been listening in on whatever those grunts are saying? Look at you." Wolffe released your hands and reached over to let a hand graze over your cheek. "Look at the wit in those eyes. You're smarter than what you give yourself credit for." Before Wolffe could continue, your comm chirped.

“Officer L/N speaking,”

"Officer?" The Admiral’s voice made you jump. "I wanted you to know that General Koon and I have put in a good word for you on the subject of promotion to a higher rank that is to be determined."

"Really?" You sat up in your office chair, staring incredulously at your comm.

“Congratulations, L/N. Keep up the good work.”

"Need I say more?" Wolffe cast you a lopsided smile, eyes twinkling. "You're one of a kind, Y/N. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise." He pulled you in for a kiss.

"One of a kind, huh?" You mumbled into the kiss.

"That's right." Wolffe firmly believed that there wasn't a single person in the galaxy that could compare to you. Your ingenuity, astuteness, and acuity illuminated the black-and-white, never-ending crusade he had been born into.

“You’re my one and only.”

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