Accidental First Kiss With Rexy-boy!! God I Love That Man With My Whole Heart! (Ps, This Request Is From

accidental first kiss with Rexy-boy!! god I love that man with my whole heart! (Ps, this request is from @snippy-tano, this is just my main blog)

Yayyy @snippy-tano -- Here ya go! <3

Rex x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.3k

Accidental First Kiss With Rexy-boy!! God I Love That Man With My Whole Heart! (Ps, This Request Is From

Amidst the bustling corridors of the Republic starcruiser, you were going about your duties in the med bay, tending to injured soldiers as the Clone Wars raged on. The constant influx of casualties was a grim reminder of the galaxy's turmoil. As a medic, you had become accustomed to the chaos of the war, yet it was the healing and saving lives that gave you purpose and perseverance.

One day as you worked diligently, a familiar authoritative voice disrupted the typical clamor as a few orderlies accompanied the new arrivals. Captain Rex, the steadfast leader of the 501st, had been brought in with a minor injury. The proximity of such an iconic figure in the Grand Army of the Republic gave the room an electric charge, and it wasn't just from the buzzing medical equipment. Your position as medic had allowed you a variety of encounters with the clones, and there was one who had always stood out to you. Not that you’d ever expect him to actually notice you, considering his position and yours, but the short conversations you’d enjoyed had always been laced with a surprising depth that drew you to him like a magnet.

"Captain Rex," you acknowledged him, your voice maintaining a professional tone while your heart raced. His handsome face was marred by a jagged cut from his eyebrow to his hairline, dark with dried blood. "What happened this time?"

Rex offered a half-grin, a mix of pain and amusement in his eyes as he answered, "I think a clanker was trying to kiss me." His tone was playful, but his words brought immediate *thoughts* to mind, and you pulled the flimsy curtain closed behind you as he sat on the exam table, muttering “I don’t blame it,” under your breath.

There wasn’t any way to stand in front of him that didn’t feel awkward; you didn’t want to put one of your legs between his, so you shuffled to the side to lean over his head, which was just below yours in his seated position. You swallowed as you tried to remain nonchalant, reaching a hand to his chin to gently tilt it upward for a proper assessment. Maker, his amber eyes reflected every light in the room, and you found yourself lost in them for a split second before jerking your gaze back to his head. You left your fingers on his jaw and placed the other hand on the side of his head, his blond hair bristling beneath your palm.

"You're fortunate it wasn't more severe," you commented, seeking anything to discuss to take your mind off of his proximity… his quiet gentleness… his broad shoulders... You cleared your throat, “You could have lost an eye.”

Rex's gaze was unwavering, filled with respect for your dedication and an unspoken admiration that ran deeper; it was something he had held for a while as he watched you go above and beyond in your care for the endless stream of injured troopers. He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the small space. "Yeah, I suppose I am. But if it gives me a little time to… ah… hang out here… then it’s not all that bad.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but blush slightly as you began to clean the wound with delicate hands. The war had left little room for such conversations, and this unexpected exchange felt like a breath of fresh air. Especially from him.

“I mean,” he continued, “because you’re… you’re such a skilled medic. No one sprays that bacta quite like you…” He faded off at the end, cringing at his own words and causing you to wonder if he was so quick to correct himself because he would never want that sort of assumption…

“Yes, that is pretty much all I do,” you said, intending it to be light and playful but realizing as it came out that it could be interpreted as indignation or sarcasm. Before you could clarify, he had already jumped in.

“No! No, I know you do more. You do… a lot! So much more… Ah, kriff,” he finally declared, and his earnest floundering made it impossible for you to hold back a giggle. How could someone be so fearless, commanding, strategic, and… awkward?

“I was just teasing,” you offered, giving him a wink as you sprayed the all-purpose bacta. He closed his eyes at the cool sensation, and you released your gentle hold on his chin, allowing him to lower his head. You bent closer to ensure adequate coverage, resting a hand on the outside of his bicep. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about touching his arms before… gliding your hands across the scars and muscles as you lay in his embrace, listening to his smooth voice in your ear as he shared more of himself with you than he’d ever allowed to anyone else…

You noticed suddenly that some of the silky liquid had gathered on the edge of his eyebrow, threatening to drip into his eye. Without thinking, you wiped it away with a brush of your thumb that lingered on the edge of his face for a moment longer than was medically necessary. At the same time, he was opening his eyes, and they widened at the sight of your face so close to his. You couldn’t pull your hand away, resting bent fingers against the side of his head and staring at him like an idiot. Gods, he was enrapturing – an inexplicable combination of competence and humility.

He lifted his face to yours, moving suddenly and deliberately as if you’d given him an order. His hands were tightly gripping the edge of the bed on either side of his legs; you could feel his knuckles pressing into the side of your thigh as his nose touched yours, lips slightly parted. As if in a dream, you closed your eyes and met his mouth with your own.

Fireworks exploded across every inch of your skin, and you dropped your hand to his shoulder, tilting your head to meet him more fully. You were frantically trying to memorize every detail of this moment, because you were positive that you would wake up soon and none of it would have really happened. His lips were so soft, yet pressed against yours with a firm resolve. The scent of his face and the sound of his breathing were intoxicating, and you felt as though you were drifting on a cloud.

As quickly as it began, it was over, both of you pulling back with shock and awe painted across your faces. Your mouth remained slightly open as you stepped back on wobbly legs, and he lifted a hand to his own mouth in disbelief.

“Is that… That wasn’t what you were… You weren’t going in for a kiss, were you?” he stuttered, muffled between his fingers as his face blossomed red. Your heart swelled in your chest at his reaction, and you couldn’t resist touching his cheek one last time with a shaky, adoring hand.

“No,” you admitted shyly, “but that was… amazing.” Your voice was quiet and breathy as it carried your vulnerable admission, and his mortified expression began to melt into one of unsure curiosity.

“I’m sorry, though…” he continued, “I didn’t mean–”

“Please,” you interrupted, “Don’t be sorry. You don’t need to say anything. Just… thank you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand as you stood up straight again, and he rose to his feet beside you, eyes unable to leave the ground. He chuckled as a preface to his next words, “Head wounds, you know…” Your sudden laughter brought his gaze up to meet your own, and you couldn’t hide the affection and admiration on your face.

“Head wounds,” you echoed with a smile.

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Sick Day

Crosshair wakes up sick, and Omega proves herself the best big sister. Written for the @summer-of-bad-batch prompt Lula and inspired by the nagging sore throat I have today. (Edit: it’s Covid!!! Why!!!) ~1000 words of comfort fluff, set a year or two after the Batch settle on Pabu.

---

Crosshair groaned, rolling over in his bed, the covers twisting around him. He shivered despite the layers of sheets and blankets. That didn’t seem right. He slowly blinked his eyes open and swallowed, grimacing when his throat felt like fire.

Oh. Great. He was sick.

There was a knock at the door. He propped himself up on his elbow and glared blearily at the sound. Omega stood in the open doorway, looking in on him with concern clear on her face. “You’re still not up?”

“I’m sick,” Crosshair said thickly. “Stay away if you don’t want the plague.”

“Sick? With what? Hunter and Wrecker and I are fine,” she said, taking a few steps into the bedroom.

He waved a hand at her in irritation, trying to warn her off. “How should I know? I’m not a medic.” He sighed, rubbing his face. His skin felt hot, even to his own touch.

“You don’t look good,” Omega said worriedly. She’d closed the distance to his bed and now leaned over him, smoothing his short sweaty hair back from his forehead. “You’re burning up!”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He shivered again, pulling the blankets up to his nose and squinting up at her. “Just leave me to die. It’s the only way.”

“Oh come on now,” Omega said, but this time she wore a hint of a smile at his hyperbole. “Okay, if you’re still able to be snarky, I guess it can’t be too bad.” She squeezed his shoulder with her hand. “I’ll get some things for you, all right? You just sit tight.”

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” he mumbled.

“Very funny, Crosshair.”

It was a few minutes when she returned, arms piled high with various items. She pulled his bedside table out with her foot, leaning down and depositing everything she’d brought onto its surface beside where his prosthetic hand lay.

“Crosshair. Wake up.” She nudged him slightly, and he blinked hazily at her.

“I’m up.”

“All right, here’s what we’ve got.” She held out a metal flask, waving it in front of his face. “Cold water. I want you to drink all this before you go back to sleep. You have to stay hydrated.” She helped him sit up, and it was a measure of how crappy he felt that he didn’t even have it in him to make a face at her. He let her help him into a sitting position, and he took the bottle in his left hand after she opened it. “Do you want your other hand, or --”

He waved her away with his stump, and she left the prosthesis on the table in its case. He didn’t always use his hand; it was necessary for many tasks, but just as often he preferred to go without, as it took extra effort to use and control. Wouldn’t be much point when he was stuck here in bed. He took a drink of the cold water, flinching as he swallowed, his throat a bed of knives. But the water was deeply refreshing, and he forced himself to take a few more drinks.

“Good. Here, we’ve got some other things. Lozenges if your throat’s bothering you, medication for a fever, an extra blanket, toothpicks if you need them….” She looked up at him hopefully.

Crosshair nodded to the bottles of medication. “I’ll take some of that.” He traded her the bottle of water for pills tapped into the palm of his hand, tossed them into his mouth, then took back the bottle of water to take a swallow. Maybe that’d help him feel less like something that had been scraped off of somebody’s boot.

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I was supposed to be down at the docks today. Let Beryx know I’ll be late --”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Omega sternly. “You stay in here and rest. I’ll let her know you’re sick, but don’t overdo it. I know what you’re like, little brother.”

He managed a chuckle, though his throat seared. “I guess you do.” He managed to finish the bottle of water. “Satisfied?”

“Very. If you didn’t let me help, I was going to go get AZI,” Omega said. “I still will, if you get worse.”

“Threats now, is it?”

Omega giggled. “Oh, there you are. Good. Give me a minute, I forgot something.”

“I can hardly wait.” He drowsed against the wall for a moment, waiting for her to return. She was such a good kid. There was a warm glow in his chest that had nothing to do with the fever.

“Here we go,” she said. He opened his eyes to see Omega holding Lula in his arms, offering her out to him.

He hesitated.

It’d been years. The last time he’d really had anything to do with the tooka doll had been after Kaller, after the Order, when Wrecker had pummeled him with her. It hadn’t done anything to help the ache in his head that he now knew had been the inhibitor chip, and it certainly hadn’t done anything to help his unsettled, paranoid mood.

But he also remembered being small, legs throbbing from growing pains, head aching after hours focusing on target practice, curling up with Lula in his bunk and jealously guarding her from his brothers. She’d belonged to all of them back then, a secret gift from 99, something all their own in a world where they knew they themselves were owned. She’d been the reason they’d picked those colors for their armor, even if they would rather die than admit it to the regs.

A reluctant smile creased his face. “Fine. She can stay.” He lowered himself back to the bed, burrowing back under the blankets, and Omega tucked Lula in snugly beside him. “But if anyone asks, you made me take her.”

“Of course I did,” Omega said with a conspiratorial wink. “Everyone knows I’m even more stubborn than you are.”

He snorted, closing his eyes, sleep calling once more to him. But there was one last thing he needed to do. “Hey. Omega,” he said softly.

“Yes, Crosshair?”

“Thank you.”

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