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𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

501st x F!Jedi!Reader General Skywalker clearly wasn't a reliable source of intell, having pointed you and Rex's squad into the icy tumbra of a long deserted planet, however, it was due to his calculated mistake that the Clones were able to reveal your deeply hidden desires. Being stuck in a cave with numerous handsome, attractive men was not on your to-do list, yet you weren't complaining. Word Count: 3028

Warnings: Unedited, random brain rainbow vomit I had whilst practicing writing techniques <3 It's somewhat (quite) spicy towards the end. There is a lot of fluff throughout most of it! A/N: This is mostly just Tup, Rex and Fives x reader as this was a very spontaneous fic T_T pls forgive me.

"General Skywalker said this would be an easy mission," Fives hissed under his breath, the deep, reverbrating sound of his voice lost underneath the wolfish howling of the wind, clusters of snow beating at his helmet. This was supposed to be a quick and easy diplomatic trip, but where did he and the 501st Legion find themselves? Somewhere on a deserted, icy, snowy planet. "My toes are about to fall off!"

"Yeah, he promised us there'd be clear blue skies and hot weather. A beach even!" Echo added on, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. Rather than being on a hot, sandy beach, the brothers had found themselves treading through waist-deep snow, their fingers and toes turning into icicles, their blasters heavy in their grasps. 

"I thought this was supposed to be a diplomatic trip, Captain," Fives continued, his voice becoming white noise as Rex all but ignored his brother, gracing him with an occasional hum or grunt, to let him know he was listening. But he wasn't hearing. Rex was also unhappy with the circumstances, but it was his job to do this kind of thing. It's not like the clones could refuse not going on a mission, not going head-first into a battle, so he definitely would have appreciated General Skywalker's honesty, over trickery. 

The weather was only getting worse, the wind and snow beating at the men cruelly, the blue paint on their armour completely disappeared under the clusters of snow that had latched themselves onto the clones. 

He paused in his tracks, scanning the area through his optical goggles. He spotted something. Something dark, something round. His men stopped behind him, eerily silent as they anticipated their Captain's next words. 

Rex, turning to face his brothers, couldn't help the way his shoulders visibly relaxed as he relayed the news, "I see a cave entrance just a couple yards ahead, boys! We will seek shelter there!" He exclaimed, waving his arm, signalling for them to keep going, to keep following him. 

In the very back, just behind Tup and Jesse, a lone, female Jedi guarded their backs, one hand hovering protectively over her weapon, the other shielded away in the pocket of her coat. A backpack hung onto her shoulders, the leather material soaked and cold, receiving most of the onslaught of the weather. 

Her mind was wandering, body craving to feel the heat of a hot sun glazing against her bare skin, just as Anakin had hinted to. But instead, she was stuck walking through a blizzard, her body cold and tired.

She had also been excited to spend some quality time with the boys from the 501st, whom she had been recently often paired with for missions. The sight of them all relaxing and enjoying their time on the beach, with their tops exposed, tan skin glistening under the sunlight.. Yeah, that would have been a sight worth seeing.

A sudden, much harsher gust of wind jolted her from her thoughts, clumps of snow quickly settling against the icy skin on her face. 

Her robes, too, were soaked, struggling to maintain the warmth in her body as she did her best to follow the path created by the clones, snow crunching under her winter boots. 

She too wasn't made aware of the true conditions of the mission. She couldn't tap into the force either, to predict or to feel some kind of warning of the mission ahead. What was Skywalker thinking? He was lucky none of her men had fallen! The moment she'd get back, the moment her eyes would land on him, he would be wise to run for the hills. She could imagine the fear in his eyes as she comically choked him out, swaying the male back and forth in a fit of anger.

Relief flooded the squad as one by one, they made their way into the cave, it being cleared by their Captain and medic, Rex and Kix. 

Quickly setting camp, the clones hovered around their makeshift fire, some huddled close together, others snuggling under individual, soaked blankets. The snow had penetrated all of their supplies; food, water, tents and blankets. All they could do was hope that the fire would last long enough for the storm to pass, for their blankets to dry out and warm up. 

"What the hell was the General thinking?" Fives muttered, his eyebrows furrowed. He rubbed his bare hands together until they were warm enough, and then he shifted closer to the fire. 

His feet stung, the feeling just barely coming back to him after that gruelling tread. He was sure if his feet didn't fall off yet, then something else soon would. 

You exhaled a heavy sigh, a blanket resting over your shoulders as you extended your palms out towards the fire. Rex had been kind enough to lend you his blanket, noticing that your robes and skirt were practically drenched from the weather. Sure, you weren't dressed for the beach, but you also weren't dressed well enough for a blizzard. 

You were lucky to have been warned, or rather told, by Master Kenobi of the true conditions of your mission. If you hadn't been, your troops wouldn't have had enough time to prepare for the weather. 

Looking over your squad, you made eye contact with Tup. A worried frown ghosted over his rough features, the creases that you hated so much appearing on his forehead. 

Slowly, you made your way over to the trooper, one hand outstretched.

"Tup? Are you okay?" You asked, resting your hand over his shoulder. As if startled, the man looked to you, his brows quirked in surprise. 

"G-General? Why do you ask?" He questioned, gaze flickering down to your hand, before coming back up to stare into your eyes. A soft, pink hue dusted over his cheeks, and your heart fluttered at the sight. Sure, he was sweet and kind, he was the shyest of your men. He was almost like a puppy, his chocolatey brown eyes so deep, so sweet, you had lost yourself in them again. 

He was the only man who gazed into your eyes long enough for you to drown, a soft smile erupting on your face as you fought your best to not reach up and caress his cheek in your palm. 

"General? Are you listening?" He asked, his gloved hands reaching up to shake at your shoulders, gently. 

Your lashes fluttered over your eyes, taking in a deep exhale, you shrugged. Were you really okay? 

Taking a moment to respond, your gaze flickered up, noticing how wet his hair was. 

"Tup, d'you want me to dry your hair?" The words tumbled from your mouth before your brain could finish processing their meaning. Tup's eyes widened into saucers as he stood there, frozen. You had never been so caring to your men, at least, not like this. 

Remember that pink hue that dusted his cheeks just a moment ago? Yeah, now that's turned into a beetroot blush, the colour painting his ears, his face and neck in a deep shade of reddish-purple. Would it be okay for you to display such blatant acts of affection? Wouldn't that be against the rules and regulations of the Jedi council? Against the regulations of the GAR? If so, would his brothers snitch?

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-" You started, your mouth quickly dropping into the shape of an 'o' as Tup interrupted you.

"General, I would love for you to dry my hair." He said with a soft smile, scratching at the back of his nape.

Realising it was too late now to back out, you gave a small nod of your head before taking his gloved hand in yours, the leathery material scraping nicely against your soft skin, as you led him closer to the campfire. 

Motioning for Tup to sit down, you stood directly behind, and, above him, reaching to remove your dry blanket from your shoulders. You didn't have a towel, so a blanket should be a good enough substitute. Your hands reached to remove his hairtie, sliding it over your hand to rest on your wrist, your fingers quickly making their way to masssage Tup's scalp. 

As he leaned his head back into your soft hold, Tup couldn't help the relieved sigh that escaped his lips. Your fingernails grazed softly against his skin, tugging gently at his soft curls, sending eletric shivers down the male's spine. 

But it was when your hands slid from his scalp, over to his nape and shoulders, applying soft but firm pressure against his tired muscles that the involuntary groan escaped his lips, rumbling deep from within his chest. 

Your body stiffened, stopping your ministrations as a familiar spark shot through your heart, right down to your abdomen. 

Your eyes, wide and unblinking, stared into Tup's as the colour red flushed his cheeks once more. His eyes searched yours, a worried glint dancing across as he waited for your reaction. His lips stuttered as he was about to apologise, provide an excuse, tell you it was okay if you didn't want to continue. 

But the words fell short on his tongue as the corners of your lips tugged upwards, your hands applying the slightest bit more pressure to his sore muscles. 

A grunt was stiffled in his throat, his eye fighting hard to stay open, looking anywhere but at your face. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, give you the wrong idea-

None of his brothers did. 

Though a lump formed in his throat as Tup looked around the cave, noticing the numerous lingering gazes of his brothers as they sat there, watching your movements. He could almost feel the jealousy vibrating off of Rex in waves, his gaze hardened as the corners of his lips fought to stay straight. 

A smirk tugged at Tup's lips, as he noticed Jesse squint his eyes at him. Deciding to add fuel to the fire, Tup groaned again when your hands pressed against a particularly tense muscle in his shoulder. 

"Woah, General, where did you learn this?" He asked, a familiar warmth blooming in his abdomen as your nimble fingers danced across his shoulders, tugging at the black suit he wore, exposed now as his armour rested beside a sleeping bag nearby. 

"Oh, you know, just learned bits here and there when I was stationed with Commander Wolffe," You chuckled, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, "That man was full of knots in his shoulders." You added, feeling Tup's shoulders relax more and more, until you had mentioned Wolffe. That's when his posture straightened, from a relaxed lean, to a pin-straight sitting up position. 

He tilted his head back to look at you, a curious yet worried glint in his golden eyes.

"Were you and Commander Wolffe close, by any chance?" He questioned, his breathing paused. 

If you were Wolffe's girl, then he knew the 501st couldn't, wouldn't pursue you. 

Or, if you weren't, then they knew at least they could ask the Commander of his previous.. Experiences, with you. 

Slowly, you caught onto Tup's drift, and your gaze travelled around the room. Some of the men were fully facing the two of you, legs spread, eyes laser-focused as they listened to your conversation, the cave suddenly, and eerily silent.

A shiver travelled down your spine, and a gentle smirk tugged at your lips.

"Oh, just you know, the occasional date here and there.." You said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. Your smirk threatened to grow as you heard someone scoff, and you looked up to see Rex rolling his shoulders, a scowl on his face.

"Date? Isn't that, like, forbidden?" Fives questioned across from you, leaning over curiously, his eyebrows raised, resembling the blue markings on his helmet. 

A giggle escaped your lips as your hands returned to Tup's hair, suddenly remembering why you were giving him a random shoulder massage. You reached over to grab the blanket Rex had given you, placing soft curls between the two valleys of softness created by your hands, which were hidden underneath the soft cushion.

Your hands brushed through Tup's soft hair, gently dragging the strands through the dry, fuzzy material of your blanket. 

"I don't mean a romantic date, Fives, though I wouldn't be opposed to one." You mused, softly tugging at the locks. "I don't particulaly agree with the 'No Attachments' rule. But that doesn't make me less of a Jedi, or does it, do you think?" You questioned, your gaze softening, a small scowl now tugging at your lips. 

"Of course not, General," This time, it was Rex who spoke up, albeit too fast for his liking, "You're one of the most dedicated Jedi I've had the pleasure of working with," He stated, soft footsteps making their way closer and closer to you, "Plus, it is human to wish to form attachments." He whispered that last part, now standing directly above you as you twisted Tup's hair into the towel.

Your heart fluttered at the proximity, warmth enveloping your pinkening cheeks.

"Is it now, Rex?" You asked, looking up at him. Your heart palpitated at the close proximity, your hands gliding down to caress Tup's shoulders. Your gaze stayed unwavering, unbreaking as you looked into Rex's deep, honey-gold eyes. The Captain suddenly shifted, breaking eye contact as he stepped back a little. 

"I-I believe any of us s-should be able to form attachments," He paused, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips, and back to your eyes, "Romantic ones, especially." A chorus of 'Yeah's' and humms of agreement followed, catching your attention as you looked around.

The atmosphere in the cave seemed to have completely shifted, the sound of howling wind drowned out underneath the loud beat of your heart. You swallowed a forming lump, looking between Rex and his brothers, Tup now stood by your side, sandwiching your body between his and Rex's. 

Gloved hands came up to softly caress your shoulders, fingertips lightly tugging at the edge of your collar, grazing the skin underneath. 

"What do you think, Commander?" He whispered into your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin.

"Of?" You prompted, turning your head lightly to look at Tup. 

"Of close relations between Jedi and their Clones?"

Your eyes widened, feeling a familiar heat rush over your body, and you took inhaled a slow, deep, shaky breath. As you looked between Tup and Rex, the latter had made his way closer to your body, his hands making their way to your hips.

The sound of soft footsteps reached your ears, and you saw Echo, Fives, Jesse, Kix, Dogma and Hardcase making their way closer to the three of you, looking completely entranced by the conversation. You hadn't casted any spells on them, have you?

Your breath hitched in your throat, shivers overtaking your body as someone nuzzled their nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, exhaling with a shaky sigh. As they spoke, your heart fluttered with recognition. 

"General, answer the question." Fives whispered, his voice gravelly and deep, one gloved hand gently grasping your chin, twisting it to face him. His gaze flickered to your lips,  just mere inches from his own. He could almost feel the taste of you on his tongue. Oh how he wished to kiss you, right then and there. He was so sure you'd let him, too.

Sure, maybe you did fantasise about the men from time to time, when your thoughts weren't preoccupied by ongoing battles and Jedi duties. How you wished to be allowed to form a connection deeper than General and Trooper, but did they?

"I- I.. I don't k-know?" You questioned, a soft whimper escaping your opened mouth, before you knew it, his lips crashed against yours, his hands latching themselves into your hair, pulling you closer, if physically possible.

The kiss was, to simply put it, sweet. His goatee rubbed nicely against your chin, his lips melting together with yours, as if they were always meant to. His tongue prodded at your bottom lip, asking for permission. Slipping in, it danced with yours, hot breaths mingling together as you felt something press up against your front.

Rex.

You had almost forgotten you were trapped between Rex and Tup, too engulfed with the sudden kiss Fives had engaged you in.

The smell of pine and smoke invaded your nostrils, their scents overwhelming, flooding your senses as Fives became rougher, his hands tugging at the roots of your hair. With one hand, you grasped the side of his face, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his rough skin, your breath hitched as a groan escaped his lips.

"Okay, that's enough I think." Kix spoke, the kiss abruptly interrupted as he pulled Fives away by the scruff of his neck. 

"General? Are you okay?" Rex's voice was soft as he neared you, his breath fanning over the sensitive shell of your ear. 

Inhaling a shallow breath, you grasped his biceps with both hands.

"Call me Y/n.." You whispered, hazily meeting Rex's stare, his eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

"R-Right.. Y/n, d'you want us to continue?" He questioned, bringing a hand to gently clutch your chin. 

Your eyes widened as you took in the situation around you; eight men surrounded you, watching. Waiting. Ready to pounce, the moment they received your permission. 

And receive it, they did.

With a brisk nod, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut as Rex closed the gap between the two of you, his lips rough but warm as his body pushed roughly against yours, your back meeting Tup's chest in a close embrace. 

Your hands rested against Rex's chest, feeling the soft material of his shirt underneath your thumbs. His chest was warm and firm under your touch, the feeling of his heart racing beneath your hand had your own chest swelling with joy. A sigh left your lips as you felt a pair of lips press open-mouthed kisses against the expanse of your neck, a new pair of hands rubbing up and down your hips, encouraging you.

You weren't dreaming, were you? You weren't about to wake up, were you?

Your questions were answered as you felt Rex bite your bottom lip, his hands tugging at the roots of your hair.

No, this definitely wasn't a dream.

And if it was, it wasn't one you wished to wake from.

Star Wars Masterlist

My tags for star wars fanfiction are open <3

Requests are open too ^^

Dear Diary - Captain Rex x Reader x Fives Dear Diary Pt.2 - Captain Rex x Reader x Fives Close Relations - 501st x Reader Forget Me Not - Captain Rex x Reader Forget Me Not Pt. 2 - Captain Rex x Reader Captain's Sweetheart - Captain Rex x F!Jedi!Reader Bonds Deeper Than - Fives x F!Reader x Echo Once Upon A Time - Captain Rex x F!Reader Longing For You - ARC Trooper Fives x F!Reader Meticulous - Commander Fox x F!Reader Starlight - Captain Rex x F!Reader The Viscount and his Maid - Captain Rex x F!Reader The Viscount and his Maid pt. 2

The urge to write smth for captain Rex is killing me but I don’t know enough yet about the star wars lore/lingo to feel that I can accurately write a good oneshot :,)) damn my bf for giving me another series obsession !!!

A Clone's Future

CT-7567 Captain Rex x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings: fluff, physical hurt/comfort, light angst, happy ending, domestic elements, brief suggestive themes, kiss, Anakin & Fives make an appearance

Word Count: 4.1k

Rex is a soldier of the Republic. A clone. And it is not worth daydreaming about what it would be like to have a family. But he does just that, not knowing that there is someone out in the galaxy waiting for him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

“I saw you eyeing that woman at Seventy Nines.”

Rex glances up from his datapad and flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. Fives grins down at Rex, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped.

“It was nothing,” mutters Rex, stepping around Fives’ comment.

The corner of Fives’ mouth quirks as he tries to hide a knowing smile. “Nothing? You were practically drooling,” laughs Fives, gently tossing his helmet on the bunk next to Rex’s. “Why didn’t you approach her?”

Rex blinks, confused. “Why would I?”

Fives shakes his head. “She was staring at you too, Captain. We all saw it.”

Rex looks back at the datapad, wanting to be done with this conversation. “And if I talked to her, what then?”

Fives shrugs. “You talk to a beautiful woman. Flirt a bit.” Fives leans in and Rex glances up from the datapad. “Slip into a dark corner for some—”

“That’s enough, Fives,” interjects Rex, his stomach twisting with understanding.

Fives pats Rex’s shoulder and then plops down next to Rex in the bunk. “This war is going to end. What do you plan to do after its over?”

What is he going to do? Rex hasn’t even thought about it. Hasn’t given the idea any life. Rex is a soldier of the Republic. Duty comes first. It always does. Thinking about the future when that future is entirely uncertain will only create heartache in the end.

“Haven’t thought about it,” answers Rex truthfully. Maybe Fives will drop this, and Rex can return to reading the latest war reports.

“Why not?” asks Fives, clearly not interested in moving on.

Rex’s grip on the sides of the datapad tightens.

Why not? Because fantasizing about the future in any capacity leaves Rex vulnerable and open to the realities of his situation. His family are his fellow clones. They are his brothers. All the family he needs is right here. Why would he ever need to consider anything beyond what is already in front of him?

“I don’t see the point,” answers Rex. “We don’t know when this war will end.” He pauses. “And some days we aren’t sure if we’ll even see tomorrow.”

Fives snorts. “That’s the whole reason why you should.”

“Fives—”

“We’re alive, Rex. We are people and we feel. We may serve the Republic, but we deserve to dream like the citizens we protect.” Fives reaches for his helmet and holds it reverently in his lap, the front side facing him. “In peacetime, we deserve a bit of happiness.”

Rex is silent a moment before he speaks. “Are you not happy now, Fives?”

Fives glances up and grins. “I’m happy, Rex. But happiness during peacetime is…different. I want to know what that looks like for us. Dreaming about it isn’t wrong.”

Rex didn’t say that it was wrong, but he’s not going to point that out to Fives.

Fives taps the edge of the helmet against his knee, sighing as he stands. “I’ll leave you to your boring war reports, Rex.” At the door, Fives turns, and grins mischievously. “Next time, if she’s there, you’re talking to her.”

The door to the room whooshes open, and Fives disappears into the hall. When it shuts, Rex is left in the lingering silence, the only sound that of the air filtration system. It hums softly, a dull buzz in the background.

Whenever his mind drifts toward the future—which is almost never—Rex rarely allows himself to linger. Maybe it’s because of his position, and that there are thousands counting on him to lead them. So many of his brothers look to him for guidance, even ones from other sections of GAR. He and Cody are always discussing strategies and offering advice.

Rex tries to live in the moment, to focus on what matters right now. But what Fives said is sinking in, lurking at the back of his mind, and drawing his attention away from the datapad in his hands.

This room is a small barracks area, one for captains and other ranked members of the Clone Army can go to rest. No one else is in here. It’s just him. They’re stationed on Coruscant, waiting to depart for a months long campaign. Rex and the rest of the 501st have some time to relax before returning to the battlefield.

Yes, they did go to 79’s last night. Yes, Rex may have had one too many strong drinks. And yes, Rex couldn’t stop staring at the woman giving him flirtatious glances all night.

Rex might be a clone but he’s still a man.

Locking the datapad, Rex sighs heavily, placing it on the edge of the bed. Tiredness sits in his bones, and Rex gives in to the exhaustion, bringing his legs onto the bunk and laying on his back. He stares at the bunk above him, at the smooth, plain metal, and tries his best to forget everything.

Tries is the key word.

Rex does try, but he cannot stop thinking about Fives and what he said.

He slips unexpectedly, falling into that space, considering the future.

The woman Rex pictures in his mind is faceless. He does not consider her features, or what her hair might be like. He does not consider whether this fictional woman is human or Twi’lek or any other species. Instead, Rex contemplates what he needs in someone else. Would she be soft and kind, someone to smooth out his sharp edges, to help him forget the realities of war, and linger in a calmness that soothes his soul? Or is she sharp witted, adventurous, willing to explore the galaxy and isn’t afraid of danger?

Or is she something else entirely?

Rex floats in the possibilities, of what this woman might be like and what she’d mean to him. Would General Skywalker want to meet her? Would he approve? Is it even allowed to him after the war ends? Will the clones have the right to enjoy the things the citizens of the Republic do?

These questions form in his head quickly but evaporate just as fast. Rex imagines warm arms around him, of knowing that there is always someone waiting for him, to share in all his failures and successes. It is a wonderful sensation, a calming sense of peace that ushers into his head and curls itself around him to take hold.

The physical isn’t entirely important to Rex, but he considers it anyway. He conjures up multiple images, giving the faceless woman hair then lekku then hair again, even picturing the woman he couldn’t stop glancing at while at 79’s. These thoughts bring the woman in his head to life a bit more, as if he’s stoking a fire, protecting the flame from extinguishing.

With his eyes closed, Rex imagines soft hands holding his, moving to his wrists and arms to eventually cradle his cheek. Rex sighs audibly, pretending that there is someone next to him in this bed, curled up against his side with their head on his chest.

But when he reaches across his chest to seek this someone out, his fingers only find empty air.

Rex’s eyelids slowly open, and a heaviness fills his chest. This is why Rex does not entertain thoughts of the future. This is why he lives in the present moment and focuses on the immediate needs of his soldiers and the Republic.

It’s self-indulgent. Unnecessary. That is what Rex tells himself as he turns on his side and tries to find some sleepful peace in the dark.

These streets are a maze, and Rex is utterly lost.

His personal communicator is crushed, and there are slavers on his trail. General Skywalker has no idea that Rex is being pursued. He has no idea that Rex took a blaster shot to the leg or that he’s limping along as he attempts to hide from his assailants.

This is supposed to be an undercover job, a way to figure out where an entire village full of Twi’leks were taken to after disappearing. While General Skywalker pretends to be a slaver interested in buying, Rex’s job is to find another way into where the Twi’leks are being held.

The whole thing fell apart. Crashed. Burnt up like an asteroid entering the atmosphere.

Behind him, his pursuers shout, and people scream. They’re closer than before, and Rex needs to find shelter. He needs to throw them off and return to General Skywalker.

He slips in a puddle, nearly stumbling into a pile of trash.

“Kriffing hell,” mutters Rex, staggering, placing one hand against the side of a building to balance himself.

His chest heaves and his leg is screaming, needing to rest.

Their pounding footsteps grow closer, and Rex takes off, dragging his leg along as he turns the corner. It’s shadowy here, and the street is long and narrow. There is nothing for him to hide in or around. The street is lined with residential buildings. There are entry doors and a few windows on the bottom level, but that won’t give him protection.

Desperation sinks in. Rex tries a few of the nearby doors, receiving no response.

There is a shout from the direction of where Rex just came from. “This way!”

Rex growls with frustration. He turns away from the door of one house, only to freeze when he notices the young woman in an open doorway.

“In here. Quickly.”

Rex glances back once and considers the alternative.

Kriff it, he thinks, entering the dimly lit home, the door whooshing shut behind him. Rex’s leg almost gives out beneath him, a sharp pain shooting up his side. He grunts, starts to double over, and his potential savior comes to him, placing their hands upon him gently.

Realizing that there is another person, Rex glances up quickly, the instinct to survive flaring white and hot and bright.

He finds…you.

And it is not what he expects. Because—no. Rex smothers the thought immediately.

There is a shout right outside the door, and you place a firm hand on Rex’s chest, easing him down toward the floor while holding a single finger up for silence. Rex doesn’t say a word, his gaze flicking between you and the door, and back again.

The voices soften, and then Rex doesn’t hear them at all.

When you sigh with relief, Rex relaxes a bit, knowing that he’s been spared some extra time.

But you? You are a mystery to him. Friend? Or foe?

“You’re hurt.” It’s not a question and Rex immediately likes the sound of your voice. “Heard the shouts,” you continue. “Saw you limping.”

Rex swallows. “Why are you helping me?”

Your smile is soft with a hint of mischievousness. “Do you think I like living amongst slavers?”

Rex shrugs. “Wasn’t really on my mind,” he admits.

“That’s fair,” you laugh. “They rarely treat the people who live here much different from the people they sell. I don’t mind disrupting things for them when I can.”

Friend, then.

Rex can work with that.

You glance down at his leg and frown. Your hand hovers just above the spot where the blaster bolt struck his thigh. Rex grimaces as the pain flares anew, like it knows he’s finally safe and demands immediate treatment.

“Can you stand on it?” you ask gently, placing one hand on Rex’s shoulder. Your palm is warm and a flood of comfort bursts inside him like a dam breaking.

What is it about you that’s different? Why does his body respond to you like he’s safe when his brain can’t seem to make the same connection?

Rex knows but stifles the thought again.

“Was running on it,” jokes Rex, trying to make light of that fact that the pain is a throbbing thing that won’t cease.

The smile you give him is so tooth-rottenly sweet that Rex feels heat warming his cheeks.

“Humor. That’s good.” You lean in a bit and Rex is immediately flustered by your closeness. “Means you’ll live.”

You present your hands, palms upward. They look so soft, so inviting, and Rex accepts. You help him to a fully seated position before sliding an arm around his waist to assist him to his feet. Rex drapes an arm over the back of your shoulders as the two of you hobble along.

You lead Rex into a small bedroom. The bed itself is unmade; the sheets tossed around like you’ve slipped out just to come to his rescue. For some reason, Rex pictures this happening, and then quickly dismisses it.

Easing onto the bed is hell, and Rex winces as you help him to his back. Thankfully, Rex isn’t wearing his armor, which will make tending to the wound much easier.

“May I take a look?”

Rex nods and you seat yourself next to him on the edge of the bed. When your hands touch his thigh, a shiver runs through him like an electrical current. You hum softly as you lightly press around the spot of the burn. Rex tries to stay calm, but in this prone position, Rex is only focused on your face.

He learns the line and curves, all your small tells, and the subtle way you tilt your head as you observe him. On Kamino—on any Republic vessel really—most of the medical care is run by droids, Kaminoans, and clones. It is mainly automated. Impersonal.

This isn’t.

You’re so close and delicate, taking so much care with him that Rex is void of words, only wanting you to keep giving him this attention. That memory, the one where he imagined what he wants creeps up unexpectedly, choking him.

Is this the feeling that Fives talked about? Is this the pull, the tug of what it means to try and find happiness outside of just duty to the Republic? Or is Rex only indulging himself while in the hands of a stranger?

“I have some bacta spray and bandages. I’ll be back in a moment.” When you stand, a momentary wave of panic grips Rex out of nowhere, stunning him.

What the kriffing hell is going on with him?

You’re back within a minute, placing the small box next to you as you return to your previous spot on the bed. Rex is instantly calm, relaxing as you consider where you want to begin.

“Could—” you pause. “It would be easier if the pants weren’t in the way. I can cut them or—”

“It’s fine,” replies Rex. “I can…remove them.”

Your eyes widen. “No. I didn’t mean—”

“Oh—”

“But if you want—”

“It’s—”

“I can cut it.”

“Yes,” nods Rex, relieved. “Yes.” Rex could start a fire with how hot his cheeks are.

With delicate fingers, you slowly cut away a perfect rectangle in his pants where the blaster burn is. Placing the cutters aside, you remove the bacta spray from the box.

“It’ll be cold.”

“I know,” answers Rex quickly.

Your eyebrows rise toward your hairline. “Is it normal for you to be hit by blaster fire?”

Kriff me.

“It’s a hazard of the job,” says Rex slowly.

Your lips part like you’re about to say something and then think better of it. “I won’t ask.” Your smile speaks to quiet amusement, and it feels like this one look is only for him. That this is something the two of you are sharing. That no one else is allowed to see inside.

The hiss of the bottle fills the room, and Rex momentarily flinches as the bacta spray hits his burn. Once done, you withdraw a gauze pad. With the other hand, you gently reach for Rex, lifting his own hand.

“Hold this for me,” you murmur, and the sound of your voice is so soft that Rex cannot resist your command.

Rex does as you ask, keeping the gauze pad pressed to the covered blaster burn. You unspool some bandages, and then begin wrapping his leg. You do not go over the pants. Instead, you slide your hand into the opening you created, guiding the end of the bandages underneath to the other side of his thigh.

It all feels too intimate, and Rex can’t help but linger on how close your hand is to something else.

“You can move your hand now.”

“Right,” mutters Rex, blinking quickly, trying to stare at the ceiling but failing completely.

Your subdued giggle draws his attention back to your face. Tying off the bandages, Rex mourns the loss of your hands when you draw away.

“All done.” You grin, and Rex melts. “I’ll grab you water and something to eat. We can talk after. Figure out a plan.”

We, as if it’s completely natural for you to help him, a stranger.

You bring him water first, and then go back to the small cooking unit, digging around for a pan to cook with while also grabbing ingredients. You shouldn’t do this for him, and yet you are. Rex’s military training tells him to be on guard, to be weary of you even if you’re showing him kindness. But that doesn’t sit right with him. Questioning your motivations taste wrong on his tongue, like he’s the bad person in this situation.

Watching you there next to the cooking unit, tending to him, it draws forth those memories again. Everything about this is too…domestic. Him reclining in bed as someone takes care of him for once is such a foreign thing. Odd. Almost forbidden.

He drifts, allows his mind to daydream of what a life like this could be like. With him, at rest for once, and someone close to him, wanting to do things for him just because they desire to do so.

But Rex doesn’t just think of someone. He thinks of you, and he sinks further and further into the daydream until the Republic, the war, and everything else in his life is a distant point in the galaxy.

But Rex needs to find General Skywalker. And you are a distraction. Healing is important but contacting Skywalker is even more urgent.

The meal you bring him is hot and so kriffing fresh that Rex nearly moans with pleasure. He could get used to this.

“Is it too intrusive to ask why you were running?” you ask, clasped hands resting in your lap. You’re sitting in the same spot on the edge of the bed, not opting to grab a chair or to sit anywhere else.

“I was poking around where I shouldn’t. Got caught.” Rex takes another bite and it’s better than the last.

“Are you alone? Or is there someone I can try to contact for you?” You shrug. “Don’t think it’s a good idea to turn you loose in the streets.”

“No,” laughs Rex. “Bad idea.” Your slightly embarrassed smile pleases him. While Rex ponders that, he also realizes he doesn’t know your name. “Here I am eating your food and sleeping in your bed. And I didn’t ask you your name.”

You give it without question and ask him the same. Rex considers whether or not he should tell you his real name or the fake one General Skywalker gave him for the job.

“It’s Rex,” he finally answers.

“Rex,” you say, as if rolling it around on your tongue, considering it and him, almost testing it out. Rex likes the way you say it. There is a soft sigh in the way you breathe his name. “Rex.”

“Just Rex.”

“Okay, Just Rex.”

He nearly chokes with laugher on the next bite of food. Once he clears his throat, Rex decides to be as honest as he can. “I’m traveling with someone. I need to find them.”

“I’ll go,” you say. “You shouldn’t leave.” Even though you’re staring at him, you still reach out and place a hand on his knee. You don’t break eye contact, and the earnestness is startling.

Rex gives you General Skywalker’s fake name and where you might find him. “It might be dangerous,” he says, trying to iterate the severity of the situation.

You squeeze his knee with a smile and stand, going to the closet to dig around. When you turn around, you hold up a large blaster. “I can handle myself.”

Using the strap, you secure it over your chest, the blaster hanging to the side. “I’ll be back. Don’t open the door for anyone.” You give him a little salute and Rex watches you leave through the front door.

The healing agent in the bacta spray and the need for rest creeps up. When the food is gone, Rex places the bowl to the side, slipping back into the daydream.

“Sleeping, Rex?”

Rex nearly launches himself off the bed. “General Skywalker,” he breathes, relief flooding his chest.

In the small doorway, you stand quietly, hands clasped tightly in front of your chest. You found him and even brought Skywalker with you.

He stops next to the side of the bed. “Glad you’re okay.”

Rex shrugs. “You would have come for me eventually.”

General Skywalker grins and nods his head. “That I would, Rex. I don’t like leaving my men behind. Especially you.” He glances at you standing in the doorway, and then turns back to Rex, one eyebrow arching in question. Rex nods, acknowledging Skywalker’s silent ask.

He exhales and approaches you. “Thank you. For taking care of my friend.” General Skywalker’s inclines his head in your direction.

“Of course. It’s nothing. Really.”

Skywalker holds out his hand and Rex clasps it. He drags Rex up to a seated position. “How’s the leg?”

“It’ll heal,” answers Rex. It’s already feeling better with the bacta spray on it.

“Can you walk?”

Rex stands. Wobbles. Remains upright. “I can manage, General.”

Skywalker glances at Rex’s torn pants. “We need to fix that.” He starts to remove his outer cloak and Rex shakes his head. “Don’t question it, Rex.”

Rex reluctantly grabs the cloak from General Skywalker and wraps it around himself, hiding the blaster burn. You step out of the way of the door to allow them exit. Rex’s glances at you and your lips turn upward.

At the door, Rex pauses, wanting to stay just a few minutes longer. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Just avoid blaster bolts. If you can. For me.”

The back of Rex’s neck heats up and he exits the small house with a nod of his head. When the door whooshes shut, General Skywalker’s muted grin turns devilish.

“What?” asks Rex, flustered.

“You like her,” says Skywalker.

“I—I don’t.” Rex straightens his shoulders. “Why do you think that?”

General Skywalker taps the side of his head with one finger. “Jedi.”

“Sir. That explains nothing.”

“The feeling is mutual, Rex,” calls Skywalker over his shoulder as he starts walking down the street.

Rex nearly trips. “What’s mutual?” he asks, already knowing what his general means but not wanting to admit it to himself. General Skywalker gestures in the direction of your home. “No,” blurts Rex. “That’s not true.”

General Skywalker’s knowing grin is enough to silence him.

“You’ll see her again, Rex. I have a good feeling about it.”

“You’re doing a good thing, Rex. Even if you can’t always see it.” Your fingers slide over his jaw to gently cup his cheek. Rex leans into the touch, sighing heavily. “Saving one is an accomplishment, and you have rescued so many.”

After the Republic fell, and Rex and Ahsoka parted ways, he came to find you, only to bring you along with him on his journey to save his brothers’. You’re not on the frontlines, standing by his side in Imperial complexes, executing daring rescues. Rex wouldn’t allow that of you even if you insisted. You’re good with a blaster but you’re no soldier and losing you might shatter him.

Instead, you stay on Coruscant, awaiting each of his returns, ready to take care of, and look after, any clones Rex brings back with him. You never complain. Never waiver. You are his rock, a home for him to find a bit of peace from the unending injustices of the galaxy.

With your hand upon his cheek, you lean into him, resting your forehead against the side of his temple. “You’re a good man, Rex. I know that you know that.”

Rex’s fingers intertwine with yours. Bringing your hand up to his face, he gently kisses every knuckle and each finger. Sighing, you press lightly on his cheek, guiding Rex’s face in your direction. There is no brief pause or wanton hesitation. Rex knows where he stands with you, and his lips meet with your own in perfect satisfaction.

The future he dreamed of is here, with you, while rescuing his brothers.

The Empire is vast. It is powerful. But he is not alone. And that, the shared experience of companionship, is a hope in the face of a looming darkness.

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppixie @ninman82 @beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu

𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (fem reader)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

𝟓.𝟏𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 (𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬) 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐥, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜? 𝐀𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬..

Crystal water swallowed me within its' jaws, rubbery kelp fluttered against my body as I swam through, observing the numerous bubbles that toppled their way towards the surface. I felt a childlike laughter erupt within my chest, and as I let it out with a cheshire grin on my face, I was met with a surprise.

Normally I'd have to swim back up to the surface, refill my lungs with oxygen before I could continue cruising away, but not this time. As the air escaped me, I didn't feel myself suffocating, didn't feel that familiar burn. Instead, I breathed the salty seawater in, as though it was the freshest, crispiest air I've had the pleasure of coming across.

Though the initial shock wore off quickly, and I soon found myself freely floating, spinning around, exploring deeper and deeper until I felt the grainy sand rub against my feet, wafting upwards as my feet dug into it momentarily.

In the far away distance, a speck of gold caught my attention, lingering just behind a boulder. It flowed in the water, casting some sort of spell on me.

As I neared it, a pair of emerald eyes came into view, inspecting me with a tinge of inquisivity.

The closer I got, the more I could see, and subconsciously I knew who it was; I just couldn't recall his name. It felt as though I had known him all my life, and yet I've forgotten him.

His tan skin glinted in the green hue of the water, his grin revealing a row of perfect, pearl-white teeth, his hands gripping onto the boulder which separated us.

I swam closer, placing my hands gently against the cool surface, nearing my face to his with a smile. Our noses almost brushed against each other, his hand coming up to cup my cheek, eyes searching mine lovingly.

A sudden shadow swept over us, and he no longer had that smile plastered on.

His eyes lost that starry spark, and were instead filled with an empty void.

I looked to him, his name leaving my lips, but I couldn't hear it.

I couldn't hear my voice.

I couldn't hear myself.

A burning sensation erupted in my chest, pricking against soft tissue like needles on skin; pricking and tearing.

I looked to the boy, my heart rattling against my chest as the burning intensified. A wildfire under water.

My limbs moved on their own, searching for the source of the sun rays, and my body moved upwards, until he gripped my ankle.

I didn't dare to look down. My feet were kicking violently, arms thrashing as I tried to swim, coughing and inhaling more salty water.

The grip on my skin began to crush at my bone, bruising the skin in shades of pinks and purples and yellows as though it was a canvas. My gaze slowly dropped down, eyelids fluttering as I felt the temperature drop, embracing my body in an icy hold.

"Y/n..." A honeyed voice whispered to me, resonating within the stillness of the water.

I could no longer see the sand, or the kelp. Only those eyes, his eyes. Swallowing me into a void filled with nothingness, my screams and thrashes more futile with each pull.

He pulled, and pulled, and pulled. He pulled until my body was trapped within his steel embrace, his nose ducking to hide in my neck, his hands gripping at my arms until all my thrashing ceased, until my eyelids fell over my eyes, darkness falling over me like a frosty sheet.

"Y/n? Wake up." His voice reached my ears, and my eyes snapped open. My breathing laboured, palms sweaty, heart startled.

"Hey, you need to wake up now." Was that Finnick? Why did he sound so... nervous?

I turned around, towards the direction that his warm, soft hand came from, and saw that he was leaning over my body, concern rippling across his features.

"Finnick? What's wrong?" I muttered, bringing a lazy hand up to my eye. I felt my gut twist, and my heart dropped as I remembered. "Are we there yet?"

Finnick confirmed with a nod, his lips pressed thinly together, hand holding me still. His mouth opened, and closed, like he was at a loss for words. With a shake of his head, he released a tired sigh, rubbing his hand over the side of his face.

"We're almost at the Capitol, Mags and Sylvia need you to be dressed and ready," He paused, inhaling deeply, "They want you and Beau to go wave at the citizens."

At that, a snort left me.

"You're being ridiculous. They want to parade us before the show's even started?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Yes, yes they do. That's what I did, and that's what the two of you will do." Finnick confirmed, a tint of annoyance lacing his tone. "I need you to get dressed, alright? You think you can do that for me?" He continued, lowering his face so he could keep level eye contact, his voice a low baritone drumming against my ears.

With an uncertain nod of my head, I released a sigh. "Look- Finnick, I- I'm sorry for- you know, for earlier..." I said, stumbling over my words as I felt another emotion get added into the swirl in my gut.

Finnick's hand rose up to wave me off, and he refused, insisting that it was 'fine' and 'totally understandable'.

"Anyone in your place would have done the same." His voice soothed me, his hand giving me one last squeeze before he rose from my bed, heading towards the door. Just before he was going to leave, he halted, his hand lightly pressing against the door frame, eyes casted down and away from me.

Then, he turned to me again, the glint in his eyes hardened over like stone.

"Look, I will do everything, and I mean everything, in my power to help you. To bring you home." He said, quickly turning back to the door as he pressed a button, the medal doors sliding open. 

"For Annie."

He didn't mean for me to hear it, but I did. And my heart felt as though it was about to shatter into a million pieces as I showered, the warm droplets of water covering my own, thick, salty tears.

The ride to the Capitol didn't take as long as I had expected; it was rather mind-numbing.

As soon as the train had breached through the stone gates, my eyes were bombarded with a flurry of colours; vibrant pinks, oranges, yellows, and so on.

It was ridiculous, the citizens looked almost delirious as they hollered and cheered when Finnick appeared, his face displayed across every single TV screen at the station.

The train had significantly slowed down, enough for some brave citizens to stick their unnaturally coloured hands on the crystal clear glass, leaving smudges and wet, sloppy tear stains as they chased after Finnick, screaming, begging and pleading for at least a glance.

Finnick, of course, didn't disappoint.

Flashing a pearly-white, toothy grin, his dimples on display, his ember eyes had looked directly at the cameras, his body being put on film as the cameras scanned down from the tip of his luscious golden locks, to his torso and more.

This was all just part of the plan. Part of the games.

I had looked up at him in that moment, noticing how that toothy grin, the one I loved so much, hadn't reached his eyes at all.

Maybe if Annie had been there, maybe if he could look after her, he'd seem more joyful.

Or worried.

I remembered how he'd smile so brightly every time she'd enter the room; as though she was the moon to his sun. He never failed to make some form of physical contact with Annie, whether it was pretending she had something in her hair, or holding her hand as he would lead us somewhere, me being left behind, of course.

Maybe if Annie was here instead of me, Finnick would have a better support for his own struggles. 

Not that Annie would be completely okay, but the two were much better together than apart. During my long friendship with them, I have come to learn that they often snuck out together, going on long walks on the beach, or simply walking around the edges of town, to avoid detection.

I remember seeing the two together as I was on my way home after another visit to the seals. 

They were laughing so, so loud,  it was a surprise that no one had heard them. They were causing a ruckus, splashing one another with water, golden rays of sunshine illuminating their bright, infectious smiles. 

That day, I witnessed the two almost kiss, though Annie had prevented it. From the treeline, I could just about make out the furrow between her eyebrows, and the way her lips moved so animatedly. Finnick had responded with a shake of his head, and I almost pictured a cartoonish question mark pop out of thin air, right above his head.

I didn't linger long enough to listen in on their conversation though; my mind was swirling with stormy rain clouds and thunder.

I always knew the two would fall for each other, but I guess a small part of me still hoped for Finnick to return my hidden affections.

Oh well. 

That evening, on my way home, I had released my anger, my frustration, and most of all, my pain, by kicking a boulder until my ankle had swollen over with excruciating pain.

Whatever. 

It didn't matter anymore, I was going to be dead soon enough anyway.

With a shake of my head, I pushed the memory away, my heart stinging just the smallest bit more, tears pricking at my eyes as I side-hugged Beau, putting on my prettiest smile for the cameras.

The rest was a blur, and as I sat in the cold, grey room, all that my mind could focus on was the strange sensations on my skin.

My prep team, who were no better than your average Capitol citizen, had smothered my body in sticky, sweltering wax, mercilessly ripping out my hair by the roots.

They wore sinister grins, their voices an unnaturally high pitch, gasping at the amount of hair they'd managed to rip out in one go.

They had pricked at my eyebrows with a small pair of tweezers, cut my nails, washed and brushed my hair, and then lathered my body in expensive-smelling oils. They eased the burning and dry sensations that the wax had left, flooding my nose with the faintest scent of lavender.

Once they had deemed me to be ready, they left the room in a flurry, leaving me shivering in a paper-thin blue gown.

Like a sitting duck, I took a moment to observe my surroundings; grey stony walls, a surgical table, and an empty stationary table. My prep team had taken great care to take all of their tortuous equipment, leaving me completely and utterly defenceless.

What if my stylist was dangerous? What if they tried something, and I defended myself?

Capitol punishment.

The grey walls seemed to have cracks all over them, expertly hidden under the dim lighting of the room. Had previous tributes tried to break free? Had they smashed everything this small room could provide?

I could imagine some of them, the tallest and the strongest, flipping the strange surgical table I was sat on top of, into the nearby walls in a fit of rage.

In a fit of panic, of horror.

Of helplessness.

A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined the previous years' largest and highest rated tributes, reduced into raging balls of fear and anxiety, clawing desperately at any semblance of security. 

Or maybe they weren't raging or violent, maybe they were simply diminished into cowering marbles of apprehension.

The doorknob clicking open had caught my attention, my head turning to follow the sound. 

A young man came through, a stone-cold expression gracing his features. His jaw was sharp, pulling in smoothly to his plump, peach pink lips, his nose almost as sharp. His eyelids sparkled, and his eyes had an unnaturally honeyed tone, each blink of his eyelids uncovering amber stones. 

"The name's Hazel, I'll be your stylist for this year's Hunger Games." His voice was velvety smooth as he quirked an eyebrow, looking me up and down with an almost patronising gaze. 

I thanked the heavens above for not letting my mouth droop open as I gaped at the man. I had never seen anyone like him, so glamorous, so.. Confident? I couldn't tell whether it was confidence or pure assholery as he finished looking me over, turning to look back as the door opened once again.

"C'mon, hurry up now, I don't have all day for this." Hazel snapped out, a vein popping on the side of his temple as he scolded a pair of peacekeepers, totally unfazed by the heavy guns that they were carrying in one hand each.

The other hands were preoccupied with carrying a large, raven suitcase. From how they heaved, I could tell it was packed with heavy tools. 

As soon as the suitcase touched the floor, Hazel barked orders at them, telling them to get out. 

And once the door had closed, he turned to me, his lips no longer pulled into a purse, and his alluring eyes all the more softer. "Now honey, would you like to come help me get this up?" He asked, his tone smooth like butter.

With a small nod, I got up, helping the man bring the suitcase on top of the table I'd just been sitting on. 

"Holy Mary, what the hell is in that bag?" I looked over to him, my eyes wide and unblinking, arm numb at my side. Hazel huffed out a breathy, snappy laugh, ignoring my question as he reached to open the suitcase.

"This, my dear, is a sewing machine, and those are my fabrics." He pointed with his finger, leaning over to rub the numerous coloured fabrics between his thumb and pointer finger. "You'll see what kind of hocus pocus magic I can do with these soon enough."

My eyes trailed over the fabrics, the different types of needles and threads, all in various colours that I had only seen on rainbows and TV screens, never on the clothing that we had in District 4. 

"Now tell me, are you scared of electricity?" Hazel asked, having leaned his face closer to mine, his sharp eyebrows and hooded eyelids casting a dark shadow over his golden orbs. 

"Hazel never ended up telling me his plans for my parade outfit," I spoke softly to Mags and Sylvia in between spoonful's of a creamy seafood soup, the familiar and yet strange taste of crab lingering on my tongue, "But he did choose out 'Lilac purple' and 'Electric blue' fabrics for my dress." I said with a shrug, eagerly reaching over for a fancy piece of bread called a 'garlic baguette'. 

It was heaven on Earth for my rumbling, exhausted stomach.

Hazel had kept me in that room for longer than I thought, having matched different colours to my skin tone, exclaiming excitedly about how different colours and shades had brought out the best or the worst features on me. 

"So you're telling me he didn't utter a single word to you about what you'll be wearing?" Sylvia asked, rubbing her pointer finger over the plump skin of her bottom lip. 

"Oh, he did ask me if I was scared of... Electricity?" I asked, hesitantly, my hand faltering in the air as I stopped eating the soup. My eyes wandered between the creamy, white liquid, and Sylvia's clouded eyes. 

From the corner of my eye, I could see Beau scarfing down his food, traces of a chocolate liquid visible on the corners of his mouth, his fingers lathered in some sort of oily liquid as he chomped down happily on a piece of deep fried chicken.

A small smile tugged at my lips; the boy was absolutely adorable. His curly locks had been tied into a small, palm-like ponytail to avoid it getting in his eyes, or worse, his food. He wasn't defensive or protective over his food, but his pearly blue irises shined with a newfound eagerness to try out all of the dishes that the Capitol had to offer.

Finnick himself joined in on the conversation once he had finished eating, his cheeks puffed up and stuffed with food, like that of a hamsters'. 

"I assume it will be something similar to what they have in mind for Beau, right?" Finnick asked, looking between everyone seated at the table. 

Earlier, he had muttered something about not having the stylists here and how it was so strange, though it hadn't mattered 'too' much, he had said sarcastically. The business of the stylists could only either make or break the tributes, after all. 

"I- I want to... T-to sleep." Mags rasped out, her voice strained and throaty as she massaged her throat, clutching her armrest to stand up. Finnick rushed to her side, his hands gently offering support to the woman, a warm smile gracing his face and a glint of worry in his eyes.

I took in a deep breath, lifting the bowl of soup to my lips to ensure I finished the whole thing, before I looked to Beau. "C'mon little man, let's go sleep now, alright?" I asked, though my voice seemed to sound so foreign to my ears now.

Beau turned his head to me, eyes looking up in confusion. 

"Y/n? Are you okay?" Concern laced his tone, and the boy placed down his fruit desert, wiping his hands on the table cloth. 

His concern was valid, as I felt dizzy as soon as I stood up from my chair, a numbness made my legs sway like the dessert I had back in the train cart, jelly. 

"I-I'm fine Beau, come on, let's go." I said, my hands gently taking a hold of his shoulders as I led him to his room. My head swayed, and I found myself leaning on Beau for support instead. My chest heaved up and down, and it felt as though there was a certain weight squeezing my lungs. But it didn't... Hurt?

The sound of footsteps made its way to my eardrums, but before I could move my head to look, a voice followed, and I instantly recognised it as belonging to Finnick. "Beau, what's wrong?" His voice seemed so close, but so far away as I felt him place a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Whatever Beau replied with, it had caused Finnick to place his other hand on my forehead, his eyes shooting me a concerned look as Finnick muttered something. 

"D-Don't... touch me." I muttered, taking my hands off of Beau's shoulders, which proved to be a bad decision as my legs instantly crumbled underneath me, my bottom landing on the carpeted floor with a loud 'thump'. 

"Ow."

"Come on Y/n, let's get you to bed." Finnick muttered, his voice now right by my ear, his breath fanning over my cheek as he lifted me into the air, moving towards my temporary room.

"Come on Beau." He said, his chin nudging against the top of my head.

"Put me down, F-Finnick. I can... walk-" My breaths became heavier, and it became all the more difficult to speak. My head lolled from left to right, right to left, and so forth, until it finally slumped against Finnick's collarbone, spots of black dancing in my vision as my eyelids drooped. 

I could hear the door to my room sliding open, and soon enough Finnick had placed me on a mattress, unwrapping his arms from my body. But now that I was suddenly so tired and sleepy, I remained latching onto him, having a newfound strength to grip onto his bicep.

"You can't go now.." I muttered, my head swaying lazily to the side as I opened my eyes, though droopily.

A quiet laugh escaped his lips as Finnick shook his head, that beautiful toothy grin gracing his features once more.

"Love, I need to get Beau to his room now, okay? I'll come back, I promise." He muttered, his voice husky and laced with a sweetness only I seemed to experience. My heart fluttered lightly at his words, and with a soft nod, I slowly set Finnick free.

His large hand came down to caress the side of my head, his thumb caressing my cheek lovingly. Was it lovingly though? It may have been forced. Who knows.

"I'll come back, honey." He whispered, and his hand slid down to give my hand a reassuring squeeze, before his touch left me and I was embraced by the chilliness of my room.

The last thing I heard was the sound of the door opening, and Finnick's honeyed voice muttering 'goodnight Y/n', before everything turned black and I fell unconscious.

The cheers and screams of the citizens shrouded me in a haze of puzzlement and anxiety, my thumb and pointer finger twirling and tinkering with the thin, golden bracelet enclosed over the wrist of my dominant hand. 

I wasn't with the other tributes yet, instead, Hazel was still fixing my dress, fluffing it up and ensuring the string of lights attached to the soft fabric was working and had no faults in it. 

'If one light breaks, the rest will not light up.' He had stated, pursing his plump lips again as his eyes narrowed, glaring at the remote switch. 

"As soon as you emerge from the lobby, I want you to flip the switch on, okay?" Hazel asked, his eyebrows raised high, his eyes staring into my soul almost threateningly. 

It was difficult to tell whether he cared about me as a person, or as a tool to reach more fame.

Though as the stylist of numerous tributes in the annual Hunger Games, with vast amounts of success, Hazel had climbed his way to the top and earned respected amongst the best of the best. 

So to be honest, he was probably most concerned about his reputation. 

"Do you remember how to turn the lights on, Y/n?" He asked, his tone gravely and gaze unrelenting. 

Swallowing down a forming lump, I nodded, my eyes unchanging as I refused to let my anxiety show. 

Hazel sighed, seemingly satisfied as he nodded and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. 

"Now stop fiddling with that bracelet, it makes you look nervous. It makes you look weak." Hazel spoke, adding extra emphasis onto 'weak', though his gaze had turned mellow and buttery, his hand patting down my hair. 

He led me to the elevator, a hand placed on my shoulder as we stepped into the metal box.

"I won't be set on fire will I?" I turned to him, gaze worried, my hands clenched into fists as they fell to my sides. 

A warm chuckle escaped his lips, and Hazel shook his head, his features almost unmoving. The corners of his lips had risen slightly though, so I knew he was amused.

"No, these are battery powered, so you'll be okay." He said, pointing to the lights scattered over my dress, glinting under the bright lightbulb above our heads.

I nodded my head in understanding, and turned to face the doors, heart beating wildly in my chest.

The elevator soon came to a stop, and I felt my stomach churning as I heard the machinery whirring above and around us, a sound coming from the doors.

"Now go show them all who's the boss." Hazel spoke softly into my ear, his hands giving my shoulders a soft push as the doors fully opened, and I was greeted by the sight of fifteen other tributes, all coming to a standstill, all heads turning in my direction.

The screams and hollers of the citizens had significantly risen in volume, and I fought hard not to look up in awe, as well as terror.

"Don't let them see that this fazes you honey." Hazel's voice softly muttered, even though he was a good distance away from me to be able to hear. He was carrying the flowy end of my dress, ensuring that the delicate, lavender fabric does not touch the ground ever.

A blue shawl hung from my shoulders, the tips reaching my knees as I strode forward, my face unmoving, chin pointed in the direction of my carriage, although my eyes were scanning over every other tribute present.

Most District partners were already at their carriages, stood on the vehicles as they watched expectantly. Some other tributes and I had certainly taken our time, but time and effort were essential to ensuring we get sponsors.

The boy from District 2 was eyeing me up and down, a scowl present on his face as he turned to his partner, his lips moving animatedly. I think his name was Geralt, or something, and he was just two years younger than me, though possessed a much stronger, much taller figure.

I had watched him carefully during the replay of the reaping, and he never showed any hint of fear, or dread or anxiety. He clutched his District partners, Amelie's, hand proudly, fisting them into the air before the screen had switched.

As I approached my carriage, I looked further ahead, noticing the stocky ginger girl from District 7 looking my way, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. 

I think her name was Ophelia, I think.

It was her body that took me by surprise; she was awfully muscular. And yet, still just as skinny as most tributes present. Maybe less so than those from Districts 8, 10 and 12, but nevertheless, she was intimidating as fuck. 

Her hair was long and thick, some strands had been tied into braids, which flawlessly fell over her shoulders, reaching her hips. She was wearing an ember green dress, which was accentuated with golden lines and swirls, travelling all over the expanse of her body.

"Quit staring." Hazel's voice ripped me out from my thoughts, now much closer as I was aided onto the carriage designated for District 4. For me and Beau. 

"I wasn't staring." I hissed out, fighting hard not to scowl at Hazel's accusation.

Why would I be staring?

I'm supposed to be the star of the show, in his words.

Hazel didn't respond, and instead, looked around, searching for Beau and his styling partner, Melina. I hadn't yet seen the woman, but Beau's eyes sparkled like stars when he described her thick, curly pink hair. 

She had said that she would dress Beau as a young fisherman, to which nobody objected. 

Minutes passed as Hazel and I waited, more tributes filing into the lobby, until finally, Beau, Finnick, Mags and Melina came into view. 

Beau wore a straw hat that seemed way too big for his head, his golden curly locks peeking out slightly under the hat, his dark blue overalls and checkered shirt fitting him adorably. Before I could move an inch, I felt Hazel's sharp gaze on me, and I remained still, wishing to pinch Beau's cheeks. 

"Y/n! You look stunning..." Beau said, his eyes widening in amazement as he looked over my dress, his hands extending as if to feel the fabric. 

Hazel's hand extended out, and he took a tight hold of the boy's hands, shaking his head in disapproval. "You can look, but you can't touch." He said, his tone as sharp as a butcher's knife. 

Beau visibly gulped, nodding his head as he tugged his hand free of Hazel's grasp.

"Hazel! Don't be mean to my little pumpkin over here!" Melina scolded, slapping the man's hand away as she shook her head at him disapprovingly. Hazel furrowed his eyebrows, tutting at her as he ignored her. 

The woman gasped, her pink-dyed eyebrows raised comically as she moved her head to the side like a snake, making her way back into my stylist's view. "You will not be ignoring me, do you hear me?" She asked, waving her pointer finger from side to side in front of his face.

An annoyed groan left Hazel's throat, and at that, Melina laughed, her body shaking animatedly. 

"You're as cute as ever, Hazel dear!" She shouted, smacking his back with the force of a god. 

Just before the man could reply, he was interrupted by an announcement,

"The tributes shall now file out in numerical order, please, give a round of applause to Geralt and Amelie from District 1!" A man's voice shouted over an intercom, followed by loud cheers and hollers from the citizens.

"Come on, Beau. Hop on that cart." Melina said, and wasted no time in grabbing the boy under his armpits, heaving him up next to me.

I turned to Beau, giving the faintest of smiles as the boy gripped the carriage with a newfound anxiety.

My lips opened as I was about to speak, but I was interrupted by an all too familiar baritone of a voice.

"Y/n?" Finnick asked, popping into view at the last second. I looked down at him, not sparing another smile his way as my heart palpitated in my chest. "You look- you look gorgeous." His voice was soft, husky as his eyes gazed at me as if I was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. 

I mentally thanked Hazel for the layers of makeup he had lathered onto my face, as I knew they would hide my blush. What betrayed me though, was the soft 'oh' that I let out.

I'm gonna kick myself for this later.

Just as I was about to utter a 'thank you', our carriage began pulling away, and with one last glance back, I saw an unknown emotion swirling in the green sea of Finnick's irises, as well as the way a soft, toothy grin that made its way onto his face.

"Show them who's boss!" Melina shouted, and just before I fully turned to face the oncoming audience, I saw Finnick and Hazel send me a 'thumbs-up'. 

With a deep breath, I straightened my back, raised my chin, gripped my fists onto the carriage. The horses that pulled us trotted slowly, entering the long stretch of lights, cheers and screams. A sea of colourful bodies welcomed us, and my eyes widened as I remembered the switch.

As if on cue, a man's voice, this time I recognised it to be that of Caesar Flickerman's, boomed through numerous speakers.

"Please, give a round of applause for the Tributes of District 4; Y/n and Beau!" His voice shouted, and I took that as my cue to turn on the switch. Instantly, Beau and I were engulfed in a swirling sea of lights, all twirling around my dress as I felt the back of it flowing in a gentle breeze.

I looked ahead, taking in slow, deep breaths through my nose.

I felt Beau's hand reach for mine, and I looked down to him, casting a soft smile as we held each other's hands, squeezing reassuringly.

"Beau, show them who's the boss." I said softly, and the boy looked at me with a small smile, followed by a nod of his head.

"Show them who's boss, Y/n."

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