That One Old Man Rex Fic

That one old man Rex fic 🌞

Old Man Rex is hot and I will die on that hill

Title: Ticklish - Read on AO3

Summary: You spend a lazy morning with Hardcase.

Prompt: 7. “I could just stare at you forever” “Creep”

Words: 470

Warnings: none

Prompt from this list.

**********

You shivered in the cool mountain air and burrowed deeper into the warmth of your sleeping bag. Your boyfriend, Hardcase, was on leave and had asked you to go camping with him. After arranging a flight to Alderaan and shopping for the necessary gear, you and Hardcase had started your adventure.

The mountains of Alderaan were famous, and your first experience with them left no doubt in your mind as to why. With clean, clear air, stunning views, and wildlife, you were seriously considering moving to Alderaan. With Hardcase in the lead, the two of you had hiked for hours before finding a lovely little meadow where you pitched your tent as twilight settled in. The two of you had zipped your sleeping bags together so you could cuddle during the night.

Now, you rolled onto your side and watched Hardcase’s sleeping face. Morning light filtered through the side of the tent and touched his brown skin tattooed with vibrant blue. You hadn’t known it was possible, but you thought you loved him even more today than you had yesterday. And yesterday had been a personal best.

With a little sigh, you scooted closer to Hardcase and reached out and take his hand. You curled your fingers around his, closed your eyes, and drifted back into sleep. An unknown amount of time later, you woke to the feeling of eyes on you. You kept your own eyes closed, letting Hardcase look his fill.

"I could stare at you forever," he murmured.

You giggled and opened your eyes, reaching out to boop his nose. "Creep."

He grinned back at you. "Yeah, but I'm your creep. C'mere."

Hardcase pulled you close and you shrieked happily. His fingers danced along your ribs, under your arms, and over your neck making you howl with laughter. When his merciless onslaught ended, you lay in his arms gasping for air amidst fading giggles.

"Pest," you wheezed.

"You love me," he said.

You felt your expression soften and wound your arms around him. “Yeah, I do.”

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. You cupped the back of his bald head and pulled him in for a kiss. As Hardcase deepened the kiss, you slipped a hand under his shirt and smoothed it over his warm, broad back. Then, when he was well and truly distracted, you lightly ran your fingernails over his side.

Hardcase jerked back with a startled laugh. “No fair!”

“All’s fair in love and tickle wars,” you said, applying your fingers to his underarms.

With his superior strength, Hardcase quickly subdued you, but you didn’t really mind. You’d achieved your objective by sneak attacking him. Besides, a moment after pinning you and grinning triumphantly, Hardcase was kissing you again, and that was the best way you could think of to start your day.

Saw someone's post about Cody repainting his armor gray because of the loss of Obi Wan

Yes, the following may seem harsh to some, but that's my opinion.

Let's start with the fact that gray in Mandoloran language means mourning -> hence it's the sadness and pain of losing people dear to him, BUT it's not just Obi Wan and I even doubt Cody is more worried about him.

Cody lost many brothers during the war and afterward. His world came crashing down the moment of order 66. His brothers are thrown out like unwanted things from the military. They are nobodies in the eyes of others, just a used and broken thing to be thrown away.

He sees the chaos around him and the lawlessness that the Empire is doing on other planets under the false slogan of liberation. But back to his brothers: nobody needs them and the people who were able to protect them (Jedi) are "gone". There is no one to stand up for them and the army is already dominated by civilians rather than clones.

From episode 7 with Wolff, it becomes clear that according to the Empire's official documents, Rex is dead. Who will Cody be mourning for? Obi Wan? Most likely his younger brother, with whom they fought side by side throughout the war.

So, in my opinion, the gray colors on his armor signify mourning for his brothers, because they were the ones he loved, and they were the ones he lost. He lost those with whom he spent his childhood, training, war.

He was left alone with his pain and so the colors of the warm sunset became gray sadness.

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐔𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Captain Rex x Reader Every waking moment you had to yourself, you spent on trying to remember. To remember his touch. His voice, his warmth. His face and his eyes. But how could you when after so many years it's become nothing but a blur? And each time you're close, each time your mind drags back pieces of the puzzle together, you're interrupted. Word Count: 1,462 Warnings: Angst A/N: This idea came to me whilst listening to Once Upon A Dream from Sleeping Beauty and I couldn't help myself but vomit words onto screen, I hope whoever reads this enjoys this because I loved the idea TT

The city lights from below twinkled and burned brightly like the stars in the dark sky above. A miniscule smile rested atop your lips, a familiar gleam sparkling in your irises.

The cold autumn breeze flew past you, ruffling your unruly hair into an even more so, larger mess. 

A blue, old scarf a size too big hugged and entangled your shoulders, floating up and down with the cold. Your fingers twiddled with the loose threads, feeling the coarse material between the pads of your fingers. It was a gift from him. The man from your dreams. 

You used to love him. You used to miss him. You used to wait for him.

You used to walk with him,

Once upon a dream.

His hands used to be warm, his gaze so smitten. 

That look in his eyes, was so familiar a dream.

His voice used to be so soft, his touch so tender. 

Those visions of him, you knew they were seldom true.

His embrace endearing, his kisses slow and passionate, as though you were the most delicate flower he had ever the pleasure of finding. 

His love was your hope, like that of a sprouting seedling in a vast desert. His scent was your calm, like the sound of rain pattering against glass. His voice a lullaby to your dreams.

And now all you had left of him was the old, scruffy, pale blue scarf. 

And you loved it as much as you loved him and he loved you.

The faint scent of his cheap cologne still lingered. You had done your best to find the brand, but failed. How hard was it to find the same exact cheap cologne? Very, you had come to realise.  

The Empire destroyed everything. It took him away, it destroyed his memory.

"Y/n?" His voice asked, but it wasn't his voice. This one had a husky timbre to it, as though he hadn't felt anything but the familiar burn of a cigar against his lips in a long time. It wasn't the same.

"Hunter?" Your voice came out soft, quiet as though he had interrupted an intimate moment you were having.

He took a long moment to continue, his gaze sturdy and focused on your figure.

"Someone's here to see you." 

His eyes met yours as you shifted around, a brow raised questioningly. His shoulders stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. He knew what you were about to say.

"Tell them-"

"It's urgent," He interrupted, putting emphasis to his words, swallowing harshly as he felt his throat tighten, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't," He paused again, this time his gaze dropping to the wet concrete beneath his feet, and suddenly he was all too aware of the loud pattering of the rain against his hair and the concrete, of the rough and short beats of your heart echoing in his ears, "Trust me." His gaze rose back to yours.

With a shake of your head, you pulled the scarf tighter around yourself. This was one of the few bits of time you had to yourself, that you could spend on thinking. Thinking of him. 

Amongst the many missions and bounties, your mind always failed to remember him. The faces of his brothers, the different tones and accents and timbres, they all mixed and matched together until it was all a blur. At first, you were happy to be surrounded by Hunter and the Batch. But now you could barely remember the face of the man from your dreams.

The door creaked shut behind you, the sound of rain muffled by the all-too loud music of the bar below. You hated it. You could never focus with it on.

The heavy scent of alcohol lingered in the air, like a poisonous fog ready to fill your lungs and taint your blood. Your chest felt stuffy every time you were forced to be in the vicinity of the awful stench. 

Hunter's heavy boots thudded against the concrete floor, his head hung low as he kept a fast. steady pace, refusing to give you enough opportunity to question him, enough chance to prod him where you needed to get your answers.

He wouldn't give in so easily even if you tried.

Not tonight.

Though it seemed you hadn't felt the need to ask. 

Not tonight.

Your mind was in a different plane, a different galaxy. A distant past.

The hallway seemed to narrow down the longer you walked, winding around corners and staircase openings like a never-ending labyrinth. You were slowly becoming sick of it. Why was this building so dauntingly tall? 

The walls seemed to be crumbling down and wailing for repair with each crack that extended down hallways, staircases and rooms. Grimaced faces were painted on the sickly orange walls, freshly patched spots grasping to hold the structure together as the building shook with the volume and vibrations of the music.

Hunter hated it too. But he could bare with this for a moment longer. For you.

His throat dried up as the door came into view, and his ears heard the way the pace of your heart picked up as he spoke, "They're behind that door."

His hands fell to his side, smearing the sticky sweat on his armoured thigh, and his steps slowed down, his own heart matching the pace of yours. You must have known by now, right?

"Who is it?" You asked as you came to an abrupt stop, just inches away from the door. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. The two of you stared into each others eyes, silently communicating through the miniscule, atomic-like movements of your irises.

It wasn't hard to know what you were thinking. Nor what Hunter was.

Who is it? He imagined your voice to be soft, velvety like freshly cleaned cushions, the unsure tenderness of it warming his heart.

Go ahead and find out. You imagined his voice to be gravelly, like waves crashing against a sandy shore, the hum they left behind sending shivers down your spine.

With a soft sigh, you turned away from his towering frame.

Lifting a shaky hand, you turned the knob. 

The door creaked uncomfortably, like the wornout strings of an old violin. 

A gentle, dimmed light flooded the hallway, painting it a sickly shade of yellow. Was this a hotel or a pigsty?

You could almost taste the years worth of dust on the tip of your tongue.

The doorknob felt rough and weak under your touch, the dragged wood pressing against the pads of your fingers. 

With a heavier push, the door managed to pull open, screeching in protest until it came to a final stop. 

Your chest stopped heaving up and down as the air was caught in your throat. 

A sudden lightheadedness hit you, eyelashes blinking rapidly as you tried to get a tighter grasp on the doorknob. For a moment, you scrunched your eyes shut, and fought away the dizziness that clamped around your temple like a pair of metal tongs. 

When your eyes opened again, you felt a pair of arms get a hold your waist. 

Was someone hugging you?

Maybe, you thought and as you slowly looked down, you noticed a pair of armoured arms wrapped around you. Hunter's arms. 

Did you fall?

You couldn't feel your legs. 

As you looked up again, it all dawned on you.

The man from your dreams.

At first, you only saw the faded maroon poncho. It was overly large, and clearly didn't fit. It looked old, tattered as loose threads stuck out at odd angles.

And then you glanced down. White armour clung to his legs, embracing his feet and shins and thighs.

Your gaze wondered up, spotting the helmet seated atop a bed behind him. Blue streaks dancing down the expanse of the white coat of paint. It lingered there, pricking at your heart strings as though wanting them to snap one by one. 

It hurt.

Your chest was burning. 

Your throat tightened, the painful drags of a wail tugging at your voice chords.

The arms around your waist tightened, a familiar head of ashy, chestnut brown hair tickling at your skin.

Where were you again?

Your eyes fluttered, blinking erratically as you fought to look up. Your mind couldn't let you.

You couldn't- 

You couldn't rememeber his face.

A hand flew to your gaping mouth, covering the strangled whimper that erupted from deep within your chest, tearing at your throat as slowly, slowly you allowed your eyes to look up.

It hurt.

Did he always look so familiar? So.. Awfully perfect? So familiarly strange? 

His warm, honey gold irises were locked onto you, wide and unblinking and disbelieving. 

New wrinkles and aged lines dragged at his tanned skin, painting the picture of an abandoned, weary, scarred soldier, an abandoned and forgotten man. 

His hair was still that beautiful blonde, his sun-kissed skin and chapped lips still brought out that awfully familiar, but long forgotten feeling in the pits of your stomach.

It's him. 

It's-

"Rex?"

you ever get surprised by your own recurring issues. like come on man. I thought we were past this.