Hiya babes! Hope you’re doing well! Just outta say I absolutely adore your writing and always brings a smile to my face when you post!!
I was hoping you could do an angst fic where it’s the boys reactions to you jumping in front of them taking a hit/bolt. You can choose the clone group! Xxx
Thank you so much — seriously, your kind words mean the world to me!! I’m so glad my writing can bring a little light to your day 💛
I hope you don’t mind that I decided to go with the Wolf pack for this one. I hope you enjoy 🫶
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Reader x 104th Battalion (Wolffe, Sinker, Boost)
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You don’t think. You just move. That’s what instinct does when family is in danger.
The air was thick with heat and cordite, the jungle humid enough to choke on. Blasterfire lit the treeline in wild flashes—red bolts cutting through the green like angry stars. You pressed forward with your saber raised, breath tight in your chest, the Force buzzing like a live wire beneath your skin.
This wasn’t supposed to be a heavy engagement. Just a scouting mission. Routine.
But nothing about war ever stays routine for long.
“Wolffe, move it! You’re exposed!” you shouted, watching him duck behind cover just as two more shots chewed bark over his head.
“Copy that,” Wolffe growled, popping off a few retaliatory blasts. “Boost! Sinker! Sweep the right flank and flush that nest!”
“Already on it!” Boost called from somewhere in the brush.
“We’re getting pinned down out here!” Sinker added, tone sharp but controlled.
You moved closer to Wolffe, saber up, covering his retreat as he repositioned behind the half-blown trunk of a felled tree. The rest of the battalion had spread out, covering the ridgeline, trying to locate the sniper.
That’s when it hit you—the feeling.
The Force spiked.
Time slowed.
A heartbeat ahead of the moment, you felt it: danger, aimed at someone you couldn’t let go.
Wolffe was turning. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
You didn’t think. You just moved.
A leap. A cry. A single instant of instinct and fear and absolute certainty.
And then the bolt hit you square in the back.
Wolffe didn’t register what happened right away. One moment he was turning to call out an order, the next there was a flash of blue, the hum of a saber, and a sickening crack of a body hitting the dirt.
“—[Y/N]?!”
You were lying on your side, smoke rising from your robes, your saber a few meters away, deactivated.
You weren’t moving.
Sinker screamed something wordless over comms. Boost shouted your name.
“MEDIC!” Wolffe was already moving. “Get me a medic now!”
He slid to his knees beside you, hands already tearing open the fabric around the wound, even though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing—just doing. There was too much blood. Too much heat coming off your skin. You were smaller than him, younger, not armored like they were. You were a Jedi, yeah, but also just a kid compared to the rest of them.
His kid. Their kid.
And you’d taken a shot meant for him.
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Hours Later you were in bacta now. Still alive. Barely.
The medics said it was touch and go. The bolt had burned through muscle and clipped something vital. You’d coded once during evac, but they brought you back. Your saber had been returned to Plo Koon, its emitter dented from where it had slammed into the ground.
Wolffe sat in the corner of the medbay, helmet off, armor streaked with dried blood—your blood. He hadn’t moved in two hours.
“Why the hell would she do that?” Sinker muttered, pacing with his helmet tucked under one arm. He was flushed, angry. “We wear armor for a reason. We train for this. She’s a Jedi, not a clone. She’s not supposed to—”
“Be willing to die for us?” Boost cut in, voice tired. “Guess she missed that memo.”
Sinker let out a long, low sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’re the ones who throw ourselves in front of people. That’s the job. That’s our job.”
Plo Koon stood at your bedside, one hand lightly resting on the glass of the tank. He’d been silent for most of it, his calm presence a strange contrast to the chaos.
“She has always seen you as more than soldiers,” he said gently. “You are her brothers. Her family.”
Wolffe finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “She’s part of the pack. And the pack protects its own.”
“But she nearly died protecting you, Commander,” Boost said. “What does that make us?”
“Alive,” Wolffe answered. “That’s what it makes us. And when she wakes up, she’s going to be reminded that we never leave one of our own behind.”
Sinker stopped pacing, jaw clenched.
“She’s not gonna get off easy for this.”
“Oh, hell no,” Boost muttered. “Soon as she’s conscious, I’m yelling at her.”
“Not before me,” Wolffe said, standing finally. “I’ve got seniority.”
They tried to joke—tried to banter—but it didn’t land. Not yet.
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Your vision was blurry. Everything felt heavy. And sore. So sore.
“Hey—hey! She’s waking up!”
Voices. Familiar. Warm.
You blinked hard. One blurry helmet. Then two. Then a third face appeared—scarred, grim, but so full of relief it almost didn’t look like Wolffe.
“About damn time,” he muttered. “Thought we were gonna have to start arguing over who got to carry your sorry ass out of here.”
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaky whisper: “Pack…”
Boost leaned in closer. “Yeah. We’re here.”
Sinker had a hand pressed to your arm, trying not to squeeze too hard. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
You smiled weakly. “Didn’t think about it.”
“No kidding,” Wolffe said, arms crossed now. “You jump in front of another bolt like that and we’re stapling your robes to the floor.”
Plo Koon stepped forward, voice kind and firm. “Rest now, little one. You have done more than enough. The pack is safe. Because of you.”
You let your eyes fall shut again, not from pain this time—but because you knew they were watching over you.
Always would.