Clone Trooper Preferences - Blog Posts

Title: Meet Me in the Woods

Commander Cody x Jedi!Reader

Warnings: inner conflict, Dark Side temptation, brief mentions of violence and war. Inspired by the song “meet me in the woods” by Lord Huron

⸻

The war had changed you.

You could feel it in the way your saber moved—too fast, too forceful. You felt it in your voice, now lower, sharper when giving orders. And you felt it in the way the Force wrapped around you lately—not like a comforting current, but a rising tide, dark and deep.

You hadn’t meditated in days.

You didn’t want to.

Instead, you wandered into the woods after the battle, far from the bodies, the smoldering tanks, and the smothering weight of Republic victory. The trees here were ancient and gnarled, the canopy so thick that the light barely broke through. It felt like walking into another world—one that didn’t know your name, or your rank, or your failures.

And still, somehow, he found you.

“You’re not supposed to be out here alone,” Cody said behind you, voice low, familiar. His helmet was under one arm, the other hand resting casually on the DC-17 at his hip. He looked like he always did—composed, focused, but you knew the worry in his eyes.

You didn’t turn around. “A lot of things I’m not supposed to be.”

Silence stretched between you like mist in the trees.

“I felt you slipping,” he said quietly. “Even before this last mission. I thought… maybe if I gave you space…”

You let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t need space. I need the war to stop.”

He stepped closer. You heard the soft crunch of damp leaves under his boots. “It won’t. Not for a long time.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And that’s the problem.”

You turned to face him finally. His eyes locked on yours. You saw how tired he was, how long the war had weighed on him, too. But Cody was a soldier—he didn’t break. You weren’t sure if that was strength or something else entirely.

“I killed someone today,” you said. “Someone who tried to surrender. I didn’t even hesitate. It felt… right. Like the Force wanted it.”

His brows furrowed. “The Force doesn’t want blood.”

“Then what is it that’s whispering to me? Making me feel stronger every time I give in?”

Cody didn’t answer immediately. He just closed the distance, slow and steady, until you could feel the heat of him, grounding you.

“I don’t know much about the Force,” he said. “But I know you. And I know you’re not lost. Not yet.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong. I’ve seen what’s inside me. There’s something dark. Something hungry.”

His hand touched your arm—gently, like you were something fragile and wild. “Then let me walk with you into it. Into the woods. Into whatever this is. You don’t have to face it alone.”

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat.

“You’re not afraid?” you asked.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” he said simply.

Something inside you cracked—just a little. Enough to let in the light. You leaned your forehead against his chest, and for a long moment, he held you there, arms steady around your shoulders, as if he could keep the darkness at bay just by holding on tight enough.

The woods were still around you. The war was far behind—for now.

And maybe, just maybe, if you kept walking, you’d find a way out of the forest together.

⸻

Jango Fett x Reader

Summary: Pre-Attack of the Clones leading up to the first battle of Geonosis. inspired by “Cat’s in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin as I feel this song is very Jango and Boba coded.

______

Rain never stopped on Kamino.

It drummed a rhythm on the windows of the training facility—sharp, persistent, lonely. You stood by the glass, arms crossed, eyes scanning the endless gray. Somewhere outside. Another bounty. Another absence. Another silent goodbye.

“Back soon,” he always said, planting a kiss against your temple with a touch too light to anchor anything real. You used to argue—beg him to stay, to train, to raise the boy he brought into the world. But you learned quick: Jango Fett was a man of war, not of roots.

He was strapping on his vambraces when he noticed you watching him.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, not looking up. His voice was gruff, frayed from too many missions and too little sleep.

You didn’t move. “He asked if you were coming to training tomorrow. I didn’t know what to tell him.”

Jango paused, only for a second, before clicking the final strap into place. “Tell him the truth. I’m working.”

You stepped forward. “You could take one day off. Just one. He looks up to you—he waits for you. When you’re not here, he starts acting like you. Staring out windows, keeping things inside. Like father, like son.”

His jaw twitched. “I didn’t bring him here for you to turn into his mother.”

The words hit like a slug round.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not trying to replace anyone, Jango. But you leave him here alone. What do you expect me to do? Pretend I don’t care?”

He finally looked at you. Those eyes, dark and calculating, softened only for seconds at a time. This wasn’t one of them.

“I expect you to train the clones. That’s the job. Not to start playing house.”

“I didn’t fall in love with you for the job,” you said, quieter now. “And I didn’t stay on Kamino because I like watching kids grow up as soldiers. I stayed for you. For him.”

Jango adjusted the strap on his blaster. “He’s not yours.”

“I know.”

You did know. You weren’t trying to be his mother. Not really. You just wanted him to have one—someone who remembered to ask if he’d eaten, who noticed when he had nightmares, who held him when he tried not to cry. Someone who didn’t just see a legacy in him.

Jango stepped close, pressed a kiss to your forehead, too soft for someone always on edge. It almost made you forget everything else.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said.

“You always say that,” you whispered.

But he was already turning away.

Slave I rose through the Kamino rain and vanished into cloud cover.

You didn’t cry. You just went back inside and checked Boba’s room. He was asleep, curled up with one of his father’s old gloves tucked under his pillow like a security blanket.

You didn’t belong in their family. You knew that. But in Jango’s absence, you became something Boba needed. A voice when silence was heavy. A shield when pain crept too close. Not a mother—but a presence.

Even if Jango never wanted you to be.

So you stayed behind. For Boba.

He was quiet, sharp, and already wearing boots two sizes too big—trying to fill his father’s shoes before he even hit puberty. You weren’t his mother, not by blood, not by name, but someone had to care enough to keep him human. To make sure he didn’t disappear behind armor and legacy.

You cooked for him. Taught him hand-to-hand when Jango was gone. Helped him with clone drills, even when he rolled his eyes and said, “I’m not like them.” You tried to make him laugh. He rarely did.

One night, while putting away gear, he asked, “You gonna leave too?”

You paused. “No, Boba. Not unless I have to.”

“Dad says people always leave. That it’s part of the job.”

You crouched beside him, met his eyes. “He’s wrong. Or maybe he’s just scared to stay.”

⸻

Geonosis burned red.

Jango’s signal cut out too fast. Too sudden. You heard Mace Windu’s name in the comms, and something inside you fractured. Still, you led your squad—your clones—into the fight. They needed you. They trusted you. Jango didn’t.

When the battle ended, smoke still rising from the arena, you ran to the landing zone—knew exactly where the Slave I would be.

And there he was.

Boba, small and shaking, helmet too big in his arms. He looked up, eyes glassy but sharp.

“You’re with them,” he hissed, his voice more venom than grief. “You helped them.”

You stepped forward. “I didn’t know he’d—Boba, please. This isn’t what I wanted.”

“You’re a traitor.”

He turned, walking toward the ship, the ramp already lowering.

“You can’t do this alone,” you warned. “The galaxy isn’t kind. It’ll eat you alive.”

“I’ve got his armor. His ship. That’s all I need. I don’t need you anymore”

You reached for him—but he was already walking up the ramp, shoulders square like his father’s, jaw clenched with fury too big for his body.

You didn’t follow.

⸻

Years passed.

The Empire rose. You faded into shadows. The clones you once trained died in unfamiliar systems, stripped of names and purpose. You lived quiet, took jobs on the fringe—nothing that put you on anyone’s radar.

Until you crossed paths again.

Carbon scoring lit the walls of an abandoned outpost. A bounty had gone sour. You moved through smoke with the ease of memory—blaster in hand, breath steady. And then he stepped into view.

The armor was repainted, darker, scarred, refined. The stance, identical. The voice, modulated but unmistakable.

“You always did show up where you weren’t wanted,” Boba said.

You stared. He was taller now, broader. His face—Jango’s face, down to the line of his brow.

“I didn’t know it was you,” you murmured.

“Wouldn’t have mattered if you did.”

You lowered your weapon first. “You’re good.”

He gave a single nod. “Learned from the best.”

A beat.

“You look just like him,” you said quietly.

“Yeah. No surprise there”

There was no warmth in his words. Just steel. Just the ghost of a boy you tried to protect.

“Was that what you wanted? To become him?”

Boba stared at you for a long time. Then: “I didn’t have a choice. He left me everything… and nothing.”

You stepped closer, heart tight. “I tried, Boba. I tried to give you more than that.”

“I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

He walked past you. Didn’t look back.

As he disappeared into the dusk, all you could think of is how he turned out just like him. His boy was just like him.

Rebels Wolffe x Reader

Summary: Wolffe x Medic!Reader set post-Order 66 during the Rebels era. Listened to the song “somewhere only we know” by Keane and made me think of old man Wolffe.

⸻

The sky of Seelos burned orange as another sun dipped beneath the jagged horizon. The Ghost had landed hours ago, stirring the sand, dust, and old ghosts from their resting places.

You stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, scanning the ramshackle AT-TE turned-home ahead. Your breath caught when you saw him—helmet under one arm, same eye scar, same heavy gait. But time had added weight to his shoulders and silver to his hair.

Wolffe.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he had and just didn’t believe it. You smiled.

“Well, kark me,” you called, stepping forward, “either I’m dreaming or the years have not been kind to you, old man.”

He froze mid-step. His one eye widened, flickering with something too raw to be masked. His voice was gravel when he finally spoke.

“Medic?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Still calling me that after all this time? Not even a ‘hey, great to see you, thought you were dead’?”

He dropped his helmet, closing the distance in long, heavy steps. You didn’t realize you were trembling until he reached you—until his gloved hand gently took your arm like he wasn’t sure if you’d disappear.

“You left,” he said. Not accusing. Just fact.

“So did you,” you whispered. “War ended. Republic died. So many of us died with it.”

A moment passed where neither of you breathed. The wind whistled over cracked metal and dry earth. The sun dipped a little lower.

Wolffe’s eye searched your face like it had answers to questions he never dared to ask. “Why now?” he said. “Why here?”

You glanced back toward the Ghost, where Sabine and Zeb were offloading supplies, Hera and Kanan deep in discussion. “I’m with them now. The Ghost crew. Ezra brought us out here. Said there were… good men worth finding.”

Wolffe looked away. “Not sure that’s true anymore.”

You touched his cheek—scarred, weathered, familiar. “Still wearing your guilt like a second set of armor, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“I remember when you used to smile,” you murmured. “Used to fight like hell, patch your brothers up, then sit with me under stars on Ryloth like the war wasn’t chewing us to pieces.”

His silence was heavy, but he didn’t pull away. Just watched you with that quiet intensity he always had.

“I’ve thought about you,” you said. “Over the years. Wondered if you made it. Wondered if you found peace somewhere.”

“This is the closest I got,” he said, glancing back at the AT-TE. “It’s not much.”

“It’s something,” you offered. “Somewhere only we know.”

A tired smirk tugged at his lips. “Still quoting that old song you used to hum in the medbay?”

You shrugged. “Catchy. And depressing. Fit the vibe.”

He chuckled—actually chuckled. It was a rare sound, worn and dry but still alive. “You really haven’t changed.”

You leaned in, nudging his shoulder. “You have. More lines. More grump. Less hair.”

“I shaved it.”

“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.”

He shook his head, muttering a fond “damn smartass” under his breath.

The sun was nearly gone now, and the stars began to appear, faint and blinking like the ghosts of all you’d lost.

You stepped closer, chest brushing his armor. “You think we could find that peace again?” you asked, soft. “Maybe not like before, but… something close?”

He didn’t answer right away. But his hand found yours—calloused, warm, grounding.

“Stay a while,” he said. “Just… stay.”

You squeezed his hand.

“For now,” you said. “I’ll stay.”

And under a Seelos sky, two remnants of a broken galaxy found the smallest sliver of something whole. A memory made real. A place only you two remembered.

Somewhere only you knew.

⸻

Wolffe x Reader (79’s)

It was another night at 79’s, the bar where the clones and the occasional visitor came to unwind after a long day of battle. The flickering lights cast shadows on the grungy walls, but the lively chatter, laughter, and clinking of glasses created a comforting hum in the background. You leaned against the bar, swirling your drink, eyes scanning the room when your gaze landed on a familiar face.

Commander Wolffe, as always, had a commanding presence even when he was off-duty, but tonight he was uncharacteristically relaxed. His armor was discarded in favor of the usual clone-issue tank top and fatigues, his black-and-grey hair tousled in a way that made him look rugged, even more so than usual. You’d bumped into him here plenty of times, always with the same playful banter and flirtatious remarks that made you look forward to your time at 79’s.

Tonight, however, something was different. You weren’t alone.

A new face—a clone commander you didn’t recognize—was sitting at a nearby table, chatting you up with ease. His dark hair was shaved close, a subtle scar above his eyebrow, and his grin was disarming, though his overconfidence was starting to wear on your patience. You were just humoring him for the moment, enjoying the banter and not entirely bothered by the attention. After all, it was 79’s, and a little flirtation never hurt anyone.

It was harmless enough, or at least you thought so, until you noticed Wolffe watching the exchange from a distance.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been flirted with by clones here, but you could sense Wolffe’s usual relaxed demeanor had shifted. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable as he made his way over to you, standing a little too close, his presence commanding the room.

You flashed him a smile, unfazed by the tension that had suddenly thickened between them. “What’s up, Wolffe? You seem a little tense tonight.”

“Everything alright here?” Wolffe’s tone was sharp, his eyes flicking to Cody, who was now giving him a questioning look. He then turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening for a moment before he added, “Is this guy bothering you?”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin pulling at your lips. “No,” you teased, “we’re just having a drink.”

Wolffe’s jaw tightened as he turned to Cody, who hadn’t broken his cool demeanor. “Well, he’s bothering me,” Wolffe said, and before anyone could react, he delivered a quick, sharp punch to Cody’s jaw.

Cody staggered slightly, more out of surprise than anything, his usual calm expression barely cracking. He recovered quickly, though, smirking as he rubbed his shoulder. “Well, that’s one way to say hello, Wolffe,” Cody said, voice tinged with amusement.

“Just a friendly reminder,” Wolffe grumbled

The room fell silent for a brief moment before laughter erupted from the nearby tables, the other clones eyeing the two commanders like they were about to see something more entertaining than a training session. The bartender, however, wasn’t as amused.

“You three! Out!” The bartender called, waving a hand at the trio of you, his patience running thin.

Wolffe flashed Cody a final look, an unspoken challenge in his eyes, before he gave a half-smile in your direction. “Guess we’re kicked out,” he muttered, already stepping toward the door.

Outside, the cool night air hit you, the chaos of the bar quickly fading behind you as you all stood on the street. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Well, that was interesting,” you said, grinning. “Couldn’t help myself, you know? It’s hard to resist a little harmless flirtation with handsome clones.”

Wolffe smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re trouble,” he muttered, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes. “Next time, try not to get two clones in a punch-up over you.”

Cody, rubbing his jaw with a slight wince, chuckled. “I’ve had worse, Wolffe. But maybe you’ll want to keep that temper in check next time.”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’ll have to think about it. I mean, you’re both so handsome. It’s hard not to get a little distracted.”

Wolffe shot Cody another look, then glanced at you with a half-smile. “Well, I suppose it’s good to know where I stand,” he said dryly. “But just remember, no one’s going to flirt with you as much as I do. So maybe I’ll keep punching my way to your heart.”

Cody snorted, shaking his head. “Brotherly rivalry at its finest, huh?”

You laughed, amused by the two of them. “Yeah, looks like it.” You gave Wolffe a playful look. “But I have to admit, I like the way you fight for my attention.”

Wolffe grinned, his usual cool demeanor returning. “Good,” he said, voice low and steady. “Because I’m not going to let anyone else take it.”

The three of you shared a brief, comfortable silence, and though the situation had been far from ordinary, there was a sense of camaraderie that you wouldn’t have traded for anything. And even though it had been an unexpected turn of events, you couldn’t help but enjoy the playful rivalry—especially when it involved such intriguing company.

“You two are something else,” you said, shaking your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “But it looks like I’m going to have to pick a side, huh?”

Wolffe gave you a smirk that told you everything you needed to know. “I’m already on your side,” he said, his voice full of quiet confidence.

Cody chuckled, stepping away with a wink. “Don’t think I’ll let you forget this, Wolffe.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wolffe shot back with a grin. And with that, the three of you parted ways for the night, the bond of camaraderie—and the subtle, unspoken rivalry—lingering between you all.

TBB Echo x Senator!Reader

The Senate was silent—eerily so. Your voice echoed as you stood center-stage, the holocams rolling, senators holding their breath.

You stared up at the massive screen where Palpatine’s hologram flickered with dispassionate cruelty.

“You may rule through fear, Emperor. You may bend systems, strip rights, and silence voices. But the power you believe you wield is nothing more than mere arrogance, left unchecked for far too long. And every tyrant who’s mistaken fear for loyalty has eventually learned the same truth: fear fades. Resistance doesn’t.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber. One senator spilled their drink. Another ducked behind their chair like you’d just tossed a thermal detonator.

The Emperor said nothing. Just smiled.

You finished your speech, spine straight as a durasteel blade. And when you left the chamber, you knew your days were numbered.

~~~~~~

Stormtroopers swarmed the upper districts now. Rumors had spread fast. A senator going rogue? Publicly? That kind of dissent couldn’t go unpunished.

So you went to the one person you hoped still remembered how to keep people off the radar: Cid.

She responded with a single message:

“You’re lucky I owe you. Got a crew incoming. Don’t get dead before they get there.”

~~~~~~

Blasterfire lit up the alley as a squad of troopers chased you through the lower levels. One shot narrowly missed your shoulder as you turned a corner, lungs burning. You weren’t trained for this. Your boots slipped on the slick metal flooring—and you stumbled, crashing against a wall.

A trooper raised his blaster, finger tightening on the trigger—

Then a blue bolt slammed into his helmet.

You blinked. He crumpled. And standing just behind him, face tight with focus and eyes locked on you, was Echo.

“Senator,” he said calmly, extending his arm, “Time to go.”

You grabbed his hand, letting him haul you up.

“Am I glad to see you,” you breathed.

“I know,” he said, smirking slightly. “You’re welcome.”

More troopers rounded the corner, and Echo pulled you behind cover, activating his comm.

“Now would be a great time, Hunter.”

“Exit’s two blocks south. Wrecker’s waiting with the ship. Move fast.”

“Copy that.” Echo glanced at you. “Can you run?”

“I’m a senator, not a senator’s aide,” you snapped, brushing off your robes. “I’ll manage.”

“Then keep up.”

~~~~~~

Wrecker was waving them in, Omega already at the ship’s edge, hair windblown and face alight with curiosity.

“Is that her?” she asked loudly. “The senator who told the Emperor off to his face?”

“Yep,” Tech said, not looking up from his datapad. “I analyzed her speech. Statistically, she’s either incredibly brave or terminally reckless.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Echo muttered.

You darted up the ramp beside him, chest heaving.

Omega grinned. “You’ve got guts.”

You gave her a breathless smile. “And you’ve got a very large clone glaring at me. Should I be worried?”

Wrecker beamed. “That’s my welcome face!”

Hunter approached, giving you a once-over. “You’re lucky Echo was close. Another second and you’d be space dust.”

You turned to Echo, heartbeat still thundering. “You saved my life.”

“Let’s make a habit of not needing that,” he replied, voice softer now. “But… yeah. I did.”

The ship lifted, and you finally allowed yourself to sink into the bench beside him, the weight of your speech, your betrayal of the Empire, and the sudden turn your life had taken crashing down on you.

“You’re not safe anymore,” Echo said after a beat. “They’ll hunt you.”

You met his gaze. “Then I’m in the right company, aren’t I?”

He nodded, his hand resting lightly on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

From across the ship, Omega whispered loudly to Wrecker: “Told you they’d be into each other.”

Wrecker: “Do I owe you credits again?!”

~~~~~~

The Marauder rumbled to a halt just outside Cid’s bar. It still smelled like sweat, spilled ale, and wet carpet. You wrinkled your nose as you stepped off the ship, scanning the place like a senator inspecting a back-alley establishment—which, to be fair, was exactly what this was.

“You sure this is the right place?” you muttered to Echo under your breath.

“Unfortunately,” he replied, offering a small smirk. “Welcome to the galaxy’s finest example of poor life choices and questionable hygiene.”

Cid looked up from behind the bar, munching on what looked like a pickled frog. “You made it. And with all your limbs. That’s new.”

You gave her a tight nod. “We need to talk.”

She waved her stubby fingers toward her office. “Go on then. Let’s discuss what this little favor is gonna cost you.”

As you disappeared behind the door, the Batch headed for a corner booth.

Wrecker slid in first, already eyeing the snacks Cid had laid out. “So…” he said around a mouthful of something crunchy, “Echo’s got a thing for the senator.”

Echo’s head snapped toward him. “What?!”

Tech adjusted his goggles without even glancing up. “Your heartrate elevated approximately twelve percent every time she spoke to you. Statistically speaking, that suggests attraction. Possibly infatuation.”

“I do not have a thing,” Echo muttered, looking around like someone might hear—besides the four people very obviously hearing.

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “You did dive in front of a blaster for her.”

“I would’ve done that for anyone.”

Wrecker grinned. “Yeah, but you didn’t look that heroic when you saved me last week.”

“That’s because you dropped an entire crate of detonators on your own foot.”

Omega slid into the seat beside Echo, kicking her legs casually. “She is really pretty.”

Echo stiffened. “Omega…”

“I saw the way you looked at her,” she said with that knowing look that made even Hunter flinch sometimes. “Like she was a sunset and you hadn’t seen one in a long time.”

Wrecker blinked. “Wow. That was poetic.”

Echo scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t—look, she’s a senator. I’m—”

“A clone with a heart,” Omega finished for him. “She saw it, too. The way she smiled at you? She likes you back.”

Echo opened his mouth, then shut it. Then sighed.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“I love it,” Omega chirped. “You should tell her.”

“I just saved her life. I’m not gonna flirt with her right after that.”

Hunter leaned back. “Might be the perfect time, actually. Emotions are high. Could work.”

Tech blinked. “Are we… encouraging romantic entanglements mid-fugitive status?”

Omega grinned. “Yes.”

Echo shook his head, cheeks tinged with color. “You’re all impossible.”

From behind them, the door to Cid’s office creaked open. You stepped out, looking just as poised and stubborn as you did in the Senate—but your eyes immediately found Echo’s across the cantina.

You offered a small, grateful smile. “Still alive, thanks to you.”

Echo stood, clearing his throat. “Anytime.”

Omega elbowed him hard as you approached.

“Ask her about sunsets!” she whispered.

As you made your way back to the booth, you caught the tail end of Omega’s whispering to Echo, her grin too wide and mischievous.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Sunsets?” you asked, stepping closer. “What about sunsets?”

Echo stiffened, clearly scrambling for an explanation. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, only for Omega to literally jump into the conversation.

“Echo wanted to show you the sunset!” she blurted out, her eyes sparkling with that cheeky mischief only she could get away with. “He said they’re beautiful on the outer rim. He even said you might like them.”

Echo turned bright red, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment as his brain tried to catch up to Omega’s open confession. “I—wait, I—no… That’s not what I said—”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips at his obvious discomfort. “Sunsets, huh?” You cocked an eyebrow, leaning on the edge of the table. “That’s a pretty romantic gesture for a soldier.”

Echo quickly waved his hands, as though trying to physically push the words back into his mouth. “It’s not like that. I—I just—Omega, you—you…!”

Omega leaned back in her seat, arms folded with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew exactly what they’d just done. “You should definitely go watch a sunset with her,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s perfect. You’re both already really good at staring at the sky.”

You gave Echo a playful look. “Well, I don’t mind the idea of a sunset. It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen one.”

Echo exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping to the table, clearly overwhelmed by the situation. His usual calm and composed demeanor was nowhere to be found.

“I—uh—I—” He paused, his hand running over his short-cropped hair in frustration. “I mean… if you want to, I could show you one. I’ve got some good spots, but I really don’t—uh—expect you to—”

Wrecker, always the instigator, leaned forward from the opposite booth. “You wanted to show her a sunset, Echo. Sounds like a date to me.”

“Wrecker!” Echo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m not asking her out—!”

“Well, someone should,” Wrecker grinned. “It’s a good idea. A beautiful sunset and all that. You know, romantic-like.”

Omega crossed her arms and gave Echo an exaggerated side-eye. “You’re really bad at this.”

You watched the whole exchange with a lighthearted smile, clearly amused by how Echo was fidgeting like he was trying to dig his way out of a hole he’d accidentally fallen into. Finally, you leaned in, lowering your voice to something playful and teasing.

“If you’re really offering to show me a sunset, Echo, I’ll take you up on it,” you said, smirking as you watched his eyes widen in disbelief. “But I’m not making any promises about it being romantic.”

Echo blinked, clearly struggling to hide his relief. “Good. Yeah, good. I can do that. I mean—I can show you the sunset. That’s… normal, right?”

Omega gave him a thumbs up from across the table. “Normal! Totally normal.”

Hunter chuckled from the booth. “I don’t think it’s ever been normal with you, Echo.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Echo muttered, shooting Omega a glare that barely had any heat behind it. “You’re lucky I like you, kid.”

“You’re welcome,” Omega chirped, her eyes glimmering with the kind of satisfaction only a matchmaker could feel.

~~~~~~~

You followed Echo out of the cantina and into the wilds of the Outer Rim, the two of you walking side by side in the fading light. It wasn’t a long journey, but Echo was unusually quiet, his usual confident stride now hesitant. You glanced over at him, trying to gauge whether he was just as nervous as he seemed.

“So,” you began, attempting to break the silence, “this sunset better be worth all the buildup.”

Echo glanced at you, his face turning slightly pink as he looked away quickly. “I mean, yeah, it’s a good spot,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s peaceful. Not a lot of people know about it.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You smiled softly. “You must really like this place. It’s hard to believe a soldier like you would be into something so… serene.”

“Hey, even soldiers need some quiet,” Echo replied, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “I’ve seen enough battlefields to last a lifetime. This? This is… different.”

As you reached a ridge overlooking a vast expanse of orange and purple sky, you stopped. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows and bathing everything in golden light. The view was incredible. You couldn’t deny that Echo had chosen well.

“This… is beautiful,” you said quietly, letting the moment settle around you.

Echo stood a few feet away, glancing at the sky, but you could tell he wasn’t really focused on it. He fidgeted with his hands, his posture stiff, as though unsure of what to do with himself.

“Yeah. It is,” he said softly, though he didn’t seem to be looking at the sunset himself. His eyes kept darting back to you, and he swallowed hard.

A beat passed, then another, the two of you standing there in the stillness of the moment.

“So,” you began again, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “Omega told me you’ve been staring at me like I’m the sunset or something. I’m starting to think she might’ve been onto something.”

Echo let out a strangled sound, something between a cough and a nervous laugh, and quickly turned away, his scomp fumbling with the edge of his armor. “I—look, I didn’t mean for her to—Omega… she has a way of—”

You laughed, your voice light and airy. “It’s fine, Echo. I’m just teasing.”

“Right,” he muttered, scratching his head. “You… you’re teasing. Yeah.”

The silence between you both grew, but now it was different—quieter, more relaxed, despite the awkward tension that had settled in. You couldn’t help but enjoy the strange warmth in the air.

Finally, Echo broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. “I’m really bad at this.”

“Bad at what?”

“At… this,” he gestured vaguely, not looking at you. “At not being awkward. You know, with people. I mean, I spent most of my life with clones, and—well, we didn’t exactly do sunsets.”

“Yeah, I imagine that would be difficult,” you said, your voice softer now. You could see how much this mattered to him, how much he was trying to make the moment right.

“You probably think I’m an idiot,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“No,” you said quickly, walking closer to him. “Not at all. You’re just… not used to doing this.”

Echo didn’t meet your eyes. “And I’m not great at… not being awkward around someone I think is way out of my league.”

That stopped you cold. You blinked, processing the words. “Out of your league?”

Echo shrugged, pulling at his sleeve nervously. “You’re a senator. You could have anyone you want. And I’m just—well, I’m just me. A soldier.”

You took a small step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “Echo,” you said gently, your voice soft but firm. “I’m here because I want to be here. Because I trust you.”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching your face as though looking for any sign that you were just being kind. But what he found was sincerity. You meant it.

The sun dipped lower, the sky ablaze with colors, and Echo took a deep breath, finally meeting your gaze. “I’m really bad at this… but I’m glad you came anyway.”

You smiled and stepped forward, your hand brushing against his—just enough for him to notice. “Me too, Echo. Me too.”

You and Echo walked back in silence, though the tension between you was different now—softer, less painful. The cantina was as busy as before, the dim lights casting long shadows across the floor. The rest of the Batch was already there, and as soon as you and Echo entered, the teasing began.

Wrecker was the first to speak. “So,” he began with a huge grin, “how was the sunset?”

Echo shot him a glare. “I didn’t—we didn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wrecker laughed. “You two were just looking at the sky, right?”

You gave him a playful side-eye. “Why don’t you ask Omega? She’s the one who knows all about sunsets.”

Omega was sitting at the booth, her feet kicked up, looking entirely too smug for someone her age. “I told you it would be perfect,” she said, glancing at Echo with a knowing look.

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “So, Echo, what happened with the sunset? You get all the way out there just to not—”

Echo groaned and covered his face with his hand. “I’m not answering any of you.”

Tech, ever the neutral party, smiled faintly. “I believe this is the point where you’re supposed to express how much you enjoyed the company of your… companion.”

“Shut up, Tech,” Echo grumbled.

Omega leaned in, looking at you, then at Echo, her grin impossibly wide. “Did you kiss her, Echo?”

Echo nearly choked on his drink. “What? No! We—we—”

“I’m just saying,” Omega continued innocently, “there was some serious chemistry, and I don’t think you’ll be able to ignore it for much longer.”

“Omega,” Echo hissed, looking at her like she’d just dropped a thermal detonator at his feet.

But you just laughed, the tension from earlier melting away. “She’s not wrong, Echo. You’re pretty easy to read.”

Echo could only groan in response, his face as red as the setting sun.

A/N

I kinda hate this tbh, but I had an idea but then I had like a million other ideas while writing this and I feel like it’s kinda mix matched.

Hardcase x Medic Reader

⸻

The soft beep of monitors and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the dimly lit medbay. Most of the beds were empty tonight—except for one, where Hardcase was half-sitting, half-lurking like a bored animal ready to bolt.

You entered with a tablet in hand, already sighing. “If I find you trying to ‘stretch your legs’ one more time, I swear I’ll sedate you.”

Hardcase gave you an innocent grin, all teeth and mischief. “Come on, doc, I was just doing a lap. For circulation. You wouldn’t want my muscles to atrophy, would you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hardcase, you have three broken ribs and a hairline fracture in your leg. Sit. Down.”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender and flopped back dramatically onto the cot, letting out an exaggerated groan. “You wound me more than the blaster bolt did.”

“You’re lucky I was there to drag your sorry shebs off the field,” you muttered, scrolling through his vitals. “Next time, maybe don’t charge a tank on foot.”

“I had a plan.”

“You yelled ‘I’ve got this!’ and ran straight at it.”

“…Exactly.”

You looked up, lips twitching. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. Checking on me. Again.” He tilted his head, gaze softening. “You always come back, don’t you?”

That gave you pause. The playful tone slipped, just for a second. “That’s the job.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But not everyone does it like you.”

Silence settled between you, not heavy—but charged. Tense in a different way.

You set the tablet down and approached the side of his bed. “You’re a good soldier, Hardcase. But you don’t have to be the loudest in the room to matter. You don’t have to hide behind all that energy.”

He looked at you, blinking. “You see that?”

“I patch up your bones. I hear what your heart’s doing, too.”

He let out a slow breath, the grin slipping into something smaller, more genuine. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

You leaned in, crossing your arms. “And you’re kind of an idiot.”

Suddenly, his arm shot out—gently—and pulled you forward by your wrist, just enough that you stumbled and caught yourself on the edge of his bed.

“If you wanted me in your bed, cyare,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “you could’ve just asked.”

You glared down at him, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a curse. “You’re lucky you’re injured, clone.”

He smirked. “What happens when I’m not?”

Your hand lingered on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath it. “Guess we’ll find out.”

His grin faded into something warmer. “I hope we do.”

⸻

Hunter x Pabu Reader

⸻

Pabu Festival Night

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden light over the sea as the village of Pabu came alive with lanterns, laughter, and the mouthwatering scent of street food. Strings of glowing paper lights swayed between buildings, and music floated through the air—something old, joyous, and deeply local.

You were elbow-deep in flour and slightly burnt noodles at a stall near the center square, laughing as a group of children tried to help and made an absolute mess of everything. Your hair stuck to your face, there was something sticky on your pants, and your smile had never been wider.

Hunter leaned against a post nearby, arms crossed, eyes locked on you like you were the only person on the planet. His squad hovered beside him, all wearing variations of amused smirks—except Tech, who was deeply invested in analyzing the music’s rhythm pattern with furrowed brows.

“Stars, he’s doing it again,” Echo said, nudging Hunter’s side with his elbow.

“Doing what?” Hunter muttered, not looking away.

“Staring at her like she’s a dessert he’s too afraid to order,” Wrecker said with a laugh. “Come on, Sarge, just tell her she looks pretty with noodles in her hair.”

“She does,” Hunter said under his breath, then quickly shook his head. “Shut up.”

“She’s going to think you’re broken,” Tech added dryly. “Most humans engage in verbal communication when expressing attraction.”

“You’re all insufferable,” Hunter growled.

“Hey, Hunter!” Omega’s voice chirped brightly, cutting through the banter as she skipped over, cheeks pink with excitement. “Did you ask her yet?”

Wrecker snorted. “Maker, Omega, we’ve talked about subtlety.”

“Oh! Right,” Omega grinned, then leaned up conspiratorially, stage-whispering way too loudly, “You should ask her though. She wants you to. I asked.”

Hunter stared at her, stunned. “You what?”

“Matchmaking,” she said proudly. “Crosshair said you’d drag your feet forever so I thought I’d help.”

“Crosshair’s not even here.”

“Exactly. I’m doing his part too.”

Before Hunter could come up with a coherent response, you turned and spotted them. Your smile brightened when your eyes landed on him.

“Hey! You guys just gonna lurk or actually join the party?”

Hunter stood straighter, clearing his throat. “We’re—uh—considering our options.”

“I’m voting for food and dancing!” Omega beamed, grabbing Hunter’s hand and dragging him forward. “Come on, she saved us noodles.”

⸻

Later, By the Dancing Lanterns

You swayed barefoot on the warm stone path, clutching a sweet drink in one hand and laughing as locals pulled strangers into their dancing circles. The music had picked up, and lights flickered off the sea like tiny stars had dropped into the water.

You spotted Hunter hanging at the edge of it all, looking like a soldier at the edge of a battlefield he didn’t quite understand.

You approached him slowly, grinning up at him as you offered your hand. “Dance with me?”

He blinked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’ve got enhanced reflexes and perfect rhythm,” you said, teasing. “You’ll be fine. I’ll even go easy on you.”

A beat passed. His eyes searched yours, and then—to the shock of everyone within fifty feet—he took your hand.

The music wrapped around you like warmth as he followed you into the circle, stiff at first, focused too hard on every step.

“You’re thinking about it too much,” you whispered, drawing closer. “Let go. It’s just you and me.”

His hand slid to your waist, a bit hesitant, a bit bold. “Easier said than done.”

“Well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers along his chest, “if it helps… I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a long time.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s focus.”

“I have excellent timing.”

He finally smiled—small, crooked, but real. “You do.”

You moved together, slower now, drifting into your own little orbit as the circle of dancers spun around you. The music faded into the background, and all that remained was the warmth of his hands, the steadiness of his breath, and the unspoken pull that had been building for months.

⸻

The festival had died down, lanterns bobbing on the sea, distant laughter echoing through the trees. You and Hunter sat by the water, his arm loosely around your shoulders, your head resting against him.

“Didn’t think I’d ever have this,” he said quietly.

You turned toward him. “What?”

“This kind of life. Something soft. Someone like you.”

Your heart twisted. “You deserve this. All of it.”

His fingers brushed against yours, then threaded together slowly. “I used to think needing someone made me weak.”

“And now?”

He looked at you, voice low. “Now I think it makes me human.”

You leaned in, letting your lips brush against his. “Took you long enough.”

From somewhere up the hill, Wrecker’s voice bellowed: “Pay up! I told you they’d kiss before midnight!”

Omega cheered. “You’re welcome!”

Hunter groaned and buried his face in your shoulder. “They’re never letting this go.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Neither am I.”

⸻

Commander Fox x caf shop owner

⸻

You opened the caf stand before the sun even touched the Senate dome.

It wasn't glamorous—just a small stall tucked between the barracks and the speeder lot, wedged beneath a half-broken overhang and decorated with hand-drawn signs and an ancient droid who beeped exactly once every hour. But it was yours. And more importantly, it was theirs. The clones. You made sure the caf was always hot, the chairs weren't falling apart, and that no one left without at least a bad pun or two.

Most troopers came and went in a rush, trading credits and comm chatter like it was a race. But he—he was different.

Commander Fox.

He never rushed. He never lingered either. Just strolled up every morning with the same unrelenting scowl and said, "Two shots. No sugar." Every time.

You gave him his usual. Every time.

And you always tried to get a rise out of him.

"Careful, Commander," you said one morning, handing him his cup. "Any more caf and you'll start running faster than a speeder on payday."

He stared at you. Deadpan. Sipped.

"That's not how physics works."

You grinned. "It is when you believe."

He didn't laugh, not even close. But the next day, he brought his own cup. It had a cartoon speeder drawn on it. You didn't say a word. Just smiled.

That's how it went.

You told jokes. He tolerated them. You talked about your broken chair, and he fixed it the next morning without a word. You mentioned you hadn't eaten, and a ration bar mysteriously showed up on the counter the next day. He never gave compliments. But he always came back.

And that said more than enough.

⸻

One quiet evening, long after shift change, you were wiping down the counter when heavy footsteps approached.

You turned, surprised. "Commander? You're off-duty."

Fox crossed his arms. "You're still working."

"I run this place. I don't really clock out."

"Still shouldn't be alone out here this late."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you worried about me, Fox?"

He looked away. "Coruscant's not always safe."

You bit back a smile. "No one's gonna mug the caf girl."

"I'm not worried about the girl," he muttered. "I'm worried about the idiot who tries it."

That one caught you off guard.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, suddenly self-conscious, you busied your hands. "Want a cup?"

He hesitated. "Yeah."

You made it exactly the way he liked—two shots, no sugar—but you handed it over with a napkin this time. Scribbled on it, in your awful handwriting, was a cartoon of Fox with steam rising off his helmet and the words: "Too hot to handle."

He stared at it.

You braced yourself for a groan. A sigh. A disappointed head shake.

Instead, he folded the napkin neatly. Tucked it inside his chest plate. Like it mattered.

"You're ridiculous," he said.

"And you're still here."

He looked at you then—really looked. Like he was seeing you for the first time.

"I like the quiet," he said softly. "And the company."

Your breath hitched. The air between you shifted, warm and buzzing with something fragile.

You broke the moment with a smile. "Well, Commander. You keep showing up, and I might start thinking you like me."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

That shut you up.

He took a sip. Nodded.

Then, as he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder.

"Lock up early tonight."

You watched him disappear into the Coruscant haze, heart hammering.

And the next morning?

He came back.

Same time. Same cup.

But this time... he smiled.

Just barely.

But it was enough.

⸻

It started like any other morning.

The usual rush of troopers streamed past, grabbing caf like their lives depended on it—which, for some of them, might've been true. You moved with practiced ease, slinging caf, dodging jokes, and laughing at war stories with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

Fox hadn't shown up yet.

Which was fine. Totally fine. You weren't waiting or anything. Definitely not.

So when a shiny walked up—fresh armor, no markings, bright eyes and all swagger—you smiled automatically.

"Hey there, trooper. What'll it be?"

He leaned on the counter a little too smoothly. "Whatever you recommend. You've got great taste, right?"

You raised an eyebrow. "In caf or in people?"

He grinned. "Hopefully both."

You laughed—not because it was funny, but because it was so bold. He looked about fifteen seconds out of Kamino, full of confidence and charm. The kind of guy who still thought he was invincible.

You liked his energy. Not like-liked, but it was... cute.

So you poured him something with a little extra foam art—because why not? You were allowed to flirt sometimes. Fox certainly wasn't yours.

And then—just as the shiny said, "If I'd known caf girls were this gorgeous, I'd have transferred sooner"—you felt it.

The shift.

A chill ran up your spine. The air got... heavier.

"Trooper."

The voice was unmistakable. Dry, clipped, and sharp enough to slice through steel.

You turned. And there he was.

Commander Fox. Full armor. Full glare. Standing two paces behind the shiny like a thunderstorm in red.

The rookie flinched. "Sir!"

Fox didn't even look at you—just stared the kid down.

"You're holding up the line."

"I—I was just—"

"She's not your mission," Fox said flatly. "Move."

The shiny didn't need telling twice. He grabbed his caf like it was a thermal detonator and bolted.

You blinked, stunned. "Fox..."

He walked up slowly, that same permanent scowl on his face—but his eyes? They were blazing.

"Didn't realize we were flirting with rookies now."

You snorted. "We? I was being nice."

"He was drooling."

"Maybe I'm charming."

He stared. "You're mine."

Your heart skipped. "Excuse me?"

He froze, like the words had jumped out before he could stop them. Then he looked away, jaw tightening.

"I mean... this is your caf stand. Yours. Not for flirting. Not for—" he sighed, cutting himself off. "He's not good enough."

You tilted your head, stepping closer across the counter. "And who is?"

He didn't answer.

So you leaned in a little more, voice soft. "Was that jealousy, Commander?"

He met your gaze finally, and this time, his voice was quiet.

"Yeah."

You stared at him, your heart doing somersaults.

"You could've just said you like me."

"I thought I was being obvious."

You grinned. "You glared a child into submission."

He shrugged. "He had it coming."

You reached across the counter, brushing his hand. "Well, for the record... I'm not into shinies."

His brows lifted slightly. "No?"

"Nope." You handed him his usual. "I've got a thing for grumpy commanders in red armor."

For the first time in weeks, he smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a twitch.

A real one.

Small. Rare.

Perfect.

Captain Rex x Villager Reader

⸻

The mission went sideways—like most things involving General Skywalker.

The Republic cruiser got hit mid-orbit, forcing the 501st into a crash-landing they barely walked away from. Engines fried. Comms fried. Morale? Hanging on by a few snide remarks from Jesse and a sarcastic comment from Kix.

They hiked miles through jungle and shoreline until they stumbled across it: a sleepy little village tucked in a crescent of cliffs and coral. Sun-bleached stone homes. Palm trees bending in the breeze. Children with wide eyes and old souls.

And then... her.

The village welcomed them with food, drink, and curious smiles. The chief offered shelter. But Rex? Rex couldn't stop staring at the figure twirling barefoot on the sand.

You.

Clothes soaked to the knees, hair tangled with shells, a song on your lips and hands raised to the sky like you were conducting the clouds.

"Who's that?" Jesse muttered, nudging Rex.

One of the villagers chuckled. "That's her. Our ocean spirit. The crazy one."

"She always like this?" Kix asked.

"Always. She talks to the stars. Dances with the tide. Claims the Force whispers in her dreams."

"Right," Rex said flatly, trying very hard not to watch you pirouette through the foam.

⸻

You noticed him the second he stepped into the village.

Not because of the armor—everyone else had that.

But because of the weight on his shoulders. The silence behind his eyes.

He was loud in his stillness. Something broken beneath all that discipline. And you... well, you liked broken things. They had better stories.

So naturally, you made it your mission to get under his skin.

The first time, you startled him by hanging upside down from a tree branch as he walked by. "You're a soldier, but you move like someone who wants peace," you said, grinning. "What a strange contradiction."

He blinked up at you. "What?"

You dropped beside him, barefoot and beaming. "You've got stars in your chest, Captain. Ever let 'em out?"

He stared.

Then turned to Jesse and muttered, "She's weirder up close."

⸻

You danced along the edges of his days.

Offered him woven seashell charms ("For luck."). Sang to him in the mornings ("For clarity."). Told him stories about planets that didn't exist, and beasts made of shadow and seafoam.

At first, he humored you. Called you "eccentric." Maybe a little unhinged.

But over time, when the others laughed—when Anakin smirked and Jesse nudged him—Rex stopped joining in. He started listening. Watching.

You'd talk to the ocean and hum lullabies to fish. You'd draw in the sand and claim it was from a vision. You'd call him "Captain Sunshine" and pretend not to notice how his lips twitched every time.

But the turning point?

It came the night you found him staring at the stars, quiet and heavy.

You sat beside him without asking.

"There's something about you," you said softly. "Like the Force wrapped a storm in armor."

Rex didn't speak. But his hand was still when you placed yours over it.

"You think I'm mad," you whispered, "but the truth is—I've just seen too much. And maybe... maybe I see you too."

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And for the first time, he didn't see "the village crazy."

He saw you.

⸻

From then on, he started lingering.

He'd listen to your stories.

He'd walk with you on the shore.

He'd steal glances when you danced in the moonlight—shirt soaked, hair wild, joy uncontained.

His men noticed.

So did Skywalker.

"You know she's probably kissed a krayt dragon or something, right?" Anakin teased one evening.

"She said it kissed her," Jesse corrected.

Rex only grunted. But later that night, when you sat beside him by the fire and handed him a shell—"It's for courage," you said—he didn't laugh.

He kept it.

Right there, tucked beneath his chest plate, next to his heart.

⸻

The moonlight filtered through the palm trees, casting silver streaks across the soft sand. The air was warm, a gentle breeze ruffling your hair as you sat with Rex on the quiet beach. His armor, normally so rigid and sharp, lay discarded in a pile beside him. His shoulders were relaxed—more than they had been in days.

For the first time, there was no mission. No enemy. Just the two of you, the waves, and the stars.

You were humming a tune that had no words—just the melody carried by the wind. You always sang when you felt alive. And tonight, you felt alive. There was something in the air, something that shifted between the two of you.

You glanced over at Rex, who had his gaze fixed on the horizon, his arms resting loosely on his knees.

"You know," you began, your voice quieter than usual, "I've been thinking."

He turned his head slightly to look at you, but didn't say anything. You could feel the weight of his attention on you, even without him speaking.

"You're always so serious," you continued, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "I think it's time I gave you a new name. Something that suits you better than 'Captain Sunshine.'"

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I told you to stop calling me that."

You grinned, leaning your head on your knees. "But it fits! You're always so bright, even when you try to be grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy," he muttered.

"Sure you're not," you teased. "How about 'Captain Gloomy' then?"

He laughed, a rare, deep sound that made your heart skip. But it was only for a moment before he grew quiet again.

"You know, I don't mind the nickname," Rex said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than usual. "I just..." He cleared his throat, then looked at you, his blue eyes soft under the moonlight. "I don't want you thinking I'm some sort of walking joke."

Your smile faded, replaced with a warmth that bubbled in your chest. You reached over and took his hand, resting it in your own.

"Rex," you said, your voice low and sincere. "I don't think you're a joke. And I don't call you 'Captain Sunshine' to make fun of you. It's because you shine, even when you don't know it. You've been through so much, but you still manage to have a light in you. It's... rare."

For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken. Something neither of you were ready to say yet.

But for the first time in weeks, Rex didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he leaned in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence.

"Stop calling me 'Captain Sunshine,'" he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place. "Call me Rex."

You blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of it. Rex. He wanted you to call him by his name. Not by rank. Not by some distant title. Just Rex.

And you smiled.

"Okay... Rex."

⸻

The next morning, the peaceful rhythm of village life was shattered.

You were on the shore, as usual—your feet in the water, your hands lifting to the sky as you hummed to the wind. But something was different today. The ocean felt... wrong. The waves rolled with a strange intensity, crashing against the rocks with too much force.

You stood still, listening to the sound of the water. The whispers came to you, as they often did. But this time, they were louder. Urgent.

Something's coming. Something dark.

A chill ran down your spine. You felt it deep in your bones. It wasn't the Force, not really. You couldn't wield it the way the Jedi could. But you felt it—this impending darkness. The kind of thing that stirred in your gut and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You rushed into the village, seeking out the chief. You found him in the square, talking to some of the villagers.

"Chief!" You grabbed his arm, your breath quickening. "The ocean is angry. Something is coming. You need to prepare."

The chief looked at you, brow furrowed. "You're rambling again. The ocean is just the ocean."

"But the water—" you began, your hands trembling. "The waves—there's something wrong! It's not just the ocean. It's everything."

He shook his head. "You've always been a little... eccentric. The villagers are afraid of you, but we've never had a problem. Don't stir up fear."

Your chest tightened. No one believed you. Again.

You turned away from him, running towards Rex, Skywalker, and the others, desperate to make them understand.

But even as you spoke to Rex, the worry clear in your voice, he shook his head, not fully understanding. "You're being cryptic again, [Y/N]. We can't just go around acting on every... feeling you have. We need to focus on finding a way off this planet."

"You don't understand," you said, grabbing his arm. "You have to listen to me, Rex. The Force... something's coming. I can feel it. We're not safe here."

Rex's gaze softened for a moment, but there was a stubbornness in him that wouldn't let go. "You're not crazy, but we can't just assume the worst. We're in a safe place."

As if on cue, the first explosion rocked the village.

⸻

The Separatists came from the cliffs, their droid army descending in waves.

The village, so peaceful just hours before, was now a battlefield. The village chief scrambled to rally the villagers, but it was clear they weren't prepared for what was happening. Panic spread like wildfire. Children screamed. Elders tried to hide.

Rex and the 501st were quick to action, weapons drawn, taking position around the village. But the fight was chaotic. Too chaotic. And despite his skill, Rex couldn't shake the feeling that you had been right.

That something was wrong. That something was coming.

And when he looked back to find you, his heart dropped. You weren't by the water anymore. You were in the center of it all—trying to calm the villagers, trying to do something, but you were alone.

You weren't a Jedi, but your connection to the planet and the Force—it had always been there. But now, it was stronger than ever.

But the village was under attack, and Rex—he would do anything to keep you safe. Anything.

⸻

The ground trembled beneath your feet as the first explosion reverberated across the beach, sending the villagers scattering in panic. You had felt it before, but now it was undeniable—the feeling that something was horribly wrong. The droid army had descended without warning, their cold, mechanical clanking filling the air as they stormed through the village.

Rex's sharp voice cut through the chaos. "Form up! Secure the perimeter!" His orders were precise, but even he couldn't ignore the panic that was building. The Separatists had come out of nowhere—this was no mere skirmish. This was an invasion.

You were in the thick of it, dodging through the scrambling villagers, trying to usher the children into the village huts. Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct telling you to run—run far away—but you couldn't. Not when you felt the waves of darkness closing in.

The Force was alive in you now—alive and screaming. You had never experienced anything like this before. There was something wrong about the way the droids moved. It was as if they had a plan—a deeper purpose. And in the center of it all, you could feel a dark presence, one that made your chest tighten with fear.

You tried to keep your cool, but it was hard. It was hard when you saw Rex, the man you had come to care for, pushing through the village with his brothers, cutting down droids left and right. You wanted to warn him, to tell him to stop, to listen to the warning bells ringing in your soul.

But you were just the village "crazy." What could you say? Who would listen?

⸻

Rex was fighting alongside the rest of the 501st, but his eyes never strayed far from you. He knew you weren't helpless—he knew that. But seeing you caught in the middle of the battle, guiding the villagers to safety, made his heart race in a way he couldn't explain. His usual stoic focus slipped, his movements sharper, more desperate as the battle intensified.

"[Y/N]!" he called out, pushing through a group of battle droids to reach you. "Get to cover!"

You didn't move, your eyes scanning the battlefield, your hands raised as if trying to push the tides themselves back. Your breath was shallow, your mind working overtime to sense the next wave of danger. You felt the air shift—they were coming. But they weren't the droids.

A blinding flash of blaster fire exploded nearby, and Rex's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind a nearby hut for cover.

"Stay down!" he shouted, crouching beside you, his voice fierce, desperate. He was holding onto you tightly—too tightly, almost as if he thought letting go would mean losing you.

You caught your breath, staring at him, your hand still on his arm as if grounding yourself. The connection was stronger than ever, but there was nothing you could do but feel.

"I—Rex..." You struggled to find words. "There's something else. Not just droids. Something darker."

He shook his head, his face set with determination. "You're not going through this alone. We're getting you out of here."

But it was too late.

The battle intensified. More droids came flooding into the village, backed by a squad of heavily armored battle droids. You felt it—the pull of the darkness, tightening its grip around your chest. The very air seemed to grow thick with danger.

The droids were growing stronger by the minute. The battle outside was escalating, and the villagers had nowhere to run. You felt the heavy presence of Skywalker's power drawing closer, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Rex had his orders. He was focused on defending the villagers, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew—if something wasn't done, this battle would turn into something much worse.

But then, everything stopped.

The unmistakable sound of blaster fire and screeching engines tore through the air. Anakin Skywalker.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, Rex!" Skywalker's voice crackled through the comms. The roar of his ship's engines echoed as he barreled through the droid lines, his starfighter tearing through the air, blasting droids out of the sky with precision.

"I knew you'd show up," Rex muttered, a grin creeping onto his face despite the chaos. "Where have you been?"

"Just finishing off a few stragglers!" Skywalker's voice came back with a mischievous chuckle, as his ship soared overhead, dropping bombs and causing explosions in its wake. He was pulling the droid forces back.

The Separatists were retreating, forced to deal with the new wave of attacks from the air and ground.

Rex glanced back at you, his blue eyes full of concern. "We need to move now. They're still coming."

With Skywalker's timely intervention, the tide of battle had shifted. The 501st took advantage of the confusion caused by Skywalker's precision strikes, their assault growing fiercer. It wasn't just the droids that were retreating—Skywalker's presence had thrown them off balance, leaving the droid army scrambling for cover.

The villagers, assisted by the 501st, rallied together to get the wounded to safety. The battle raged on, but the droids were systematically wiped out. It wasn't a clean victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Finally, after the dust settled, you stood on the beach, your eyes still searching the horizon. You could feel the last traces of Skywalker's energy dissipating, his presence fading from the air. The village was safe—for now—but the cost had been heavy.

The 501st was preparing to leave. Skywalker had repaired his starfighter—patched up and fueled as best as he could with what limited resources the village had. His unorthodox heroics had cleared the sky, and now, it was time to go.

Rex stood beside you, silent for a moment, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster. "We've got to go," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your heart heavy. You knew this was coming—the goodbye.

You looked up at him, trying to find the words. But there was only one thing you could say.

"You're going back to the fight," you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

Rex nodded, his gaze shifting downward for a moment before meeting yours again. "It's my job. It's what I'm good at."

You smiled softly, even though it hurt. "I know." Your fingers brushed his, and for a fleeting moment, the world stood still between you two.

Rex hesitated. There was something in his eyes now, something deeper than the soldier he had always been. He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "Come with us. There's always a place for you with the 501st."

You shook your head gently, your heart aching with the decision. "No, Rex. You belong out there, with them. This is where I need to be. This is my home."

He looked at you for a long time, his gaze tender and filled with an unspoken understanding. "I'll never forget you, [Y/N]."

"I know," you whispered.

You pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Goodbye, Rex."

And as he turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel that your connection—this strange, beautiful bond between you—would remain. Even across the stars.

Rex glanced back one last time, his helmet under his arm, his eyes full of regret and something else—something you couldn't name. But then he was gone, heading to the shuttle with his brothers, disappearing into the sky.

And you stood on the shore, watching the stars shimmer in the distance, knowing that, just maybe, you would always feel that pull toward him. Across time, across galaxies, and even the darkness that threatened to divide them.

The Force, it seemed, had a way of bringing souls together—if only for a little while.

Commander Cody x Queen Reader

The scent of smoke and metal still clung to the air as your heels echoed down the marbled hallway of your battered palace. The ornate glass windows had been blasted out, replaced with ragged holes and jagged edges. Sunlight streamed through in fractured patterns, landing across the gold embroidery of your gown and the heavy sapphires around your neck. The dress was too fine for war, too stiff for practicality—but you wore it anyway.

You were Queen.

And queens did not cower in simple cloth.

You now stood unmoving at the top of the grand staircase, the full weight of your crown pressing into your brow. You wore gold today. Not out of vanity, but strategy. A queen in splendor inspires hope. Even in ruin.

"Your Majesty," came the low voice of your advisor, hurrying behind you, "the Republic forces have landed. General Kenobi himself leads them, along with the 212th."

You nodded once, expression like carved obsidian. "Take me to them."

_ _ _

Obi-Wan Kenobi looked every bit the seasoned general, robes dusty from landing, beard trimmed despite the chaos. At his side stood a clone in white and orange armor, helmet tucked under one arm. He stood straight-backed and still, as if carved from the same stone as your palace columns.

You descended the steps slowly, every movement deliberate. You knew how to command a room. You knew how to wield silence as a weapon.

"General Kenobi," you greeted coolly.

He bowed. "Your Majesty. We regret the delay. The 212th is ready to assist."

Your gaze drifted to the commander. Younger than the general. Sharper somehow. His dark eyes met yours, unreadable.

"And who are you?"

"Commander Cody, ma'am," he said, voice clipped and precise. "At your service."

You took a moment, letting your silence test him. He didn't shift. He didn't waver. Good.

"I'm not interested in pleasantries, Commander. The Separatists hold my people hostage in the east quarter. If you're here to help, do it. If not, get out of my city."

Cody inclined his head, neither offended nor intimidated. "Understood, Your Majesty."

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, clearly amused. "I believe you'll find Commander Cody is quite... efficient."

You turned, the gems on your gown glittering with every step. "Then I expect results."

_ _ _

You watched the battle unfold from a tower overlooking the eastern district, eyes tracking orange and white armor sweeping through the rubble like fire. Commander Cody moved like he was born for it—blaster ready, tactics sharp, calm under fire.

You found yourself watching him more than the battlefield.

It wasn't just attraction. No, you'd been courted before. Dignitaries. Princes. Senators. But none of them understood war. None of them had bled for something greater. None of them had stood unmoved when you raised your voice.

He had.

Later, he found you in the ruined throne room, maps and war reports strewn across a cracked obsidian table. You didn't look up as he entered, but you felt him pause. Watching you.

"You're not what I expected," he said.

You arched a brow. "Because I'm young?"

"Because you're beautiful," he said bluntly. "And still more terrifying than most warlords I've met."

A slow, dangerous smile touched your lips. "Careful, Commander. That sounded almost like admiration."

He stepped closer. "It was."

"We leave at dawn," he said quietly.

You nodded. "You've done well."

He gave a faint smile. "So have you."

There was silence, the kind that hangs just before a storm—or a kiss. You stood close. Closer than duty allowed. Your hand brushed against his arm as you passed him, deliberately slow.

"I'm not the type to wait around, Commander," you said softly. "But I remember loyalty."

And with that, you left him standing in the ruins of a palace he helped save—his heart torn between orders and the ghost of your perfume.

_ _ _

Night blanketed the capital in quiet shades of blue and silver. The fires had died down. The people slept. The palace—scarred but standing—breathed silence through its stone corridors.

You stood alone on the balcony of your private quarters, the city below wrapped in darkness. A wind brushed through your hair, catching on the delicate sapphire pins at your temples. You weren't in ceremonial silk tonight—just a velvet robe, deep indigo, soft against your skin. Lighter. Easier to breathe in.

"You should be resting," came his voice behind you, low and steady.

You didn't turn. "So should you."

Cody stepped forward, stopping beside you, eyes scanning the skyline. He looked out of place here—so sharp and war-worn against the softness of your world—but somehow, he belonged.

"They'll be fine without me for a few hours," he said.

You let the silence stretch. Then: "It wasn't just my people they came for. The Separatists wanted to break me. Make an example of this world. Of me."

Cody glanced at you, surprised by the honesty in your voice. Your chin was still high, your spine still regal—but your voice was softer now. Human.

"I've never been this close to losing everything," you murmured.

He didn't offer pity. He didn't rush in with hollow reassurances. He just stood beside you, letting your words exist without judgment.

"You didn't lose," he said finally.

You turned to look at him, his face half-lit by moonlight. You studied him—creased brow, quiet strength, the scar at his temple. Not beautiful, not polished. But real.

"You leave at dawn," you said.

He nodded. "We've been reassigned. New system. New war."

You looked down, then away. "Will I see you again?"

The question slipped out before you could cage it. A raw thread of vulnerability woven into your otherwise unshakable voice.

Cody didn't hesitate. "If there's a path back here, I'll take it."

You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of his skin through his blacks.

"Then go with honor," you whispered. "And come back with your heart still yours."

He tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing. "Why mine?"

"Because..." You hesitated, just for a breath. "You're the first man who's ever looked at me and didn't see just a crown."

His jaw tightened, barely. His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then, slowly—carefully—he reached up, cupping your face with a gloved hand.

"Then I hope when I come back..." he murmured, voice low, "you'll still be wearing it."

You leaned in before you could think twice. Your lips met his—soft, sure, but brief. A kiss meant to linger.

It wasn't passion. It wasn't fire.

It was a promise.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his for just a moment longer.

"Until next time, Commander," you whispered.

"Until next time... Your Majesty."

And then he was gone, swallowed by the quiet night, the war, and the stars.

Arc Trooper Echo x Old Republic Jedi Reader

Before the War, Before the Fall...

You were never supposed to be here.

Once, long before the clone army ever existed, you were a Jedi Knight of the Old Republic. A warrior of the High Order, trained in the arts of peace and battle alike. Your robes were stitched from tradition, your saber forged in a time when the galaxy still believed in balance. You fought in the Mandalorian conflicts, aided in the fallout of Sith uprisings, and stood beside legends long turned to dust.

And then, during a critical mission—classified even by High Council standards—you were frozen in carbonite for protection, hidden away on an unmarked moon. Preserved in silence. Time passed. Empires fell. Republics reformed.

You were forgotten.

Until General Skywalker found you.

Woken from carbon stasis nearly a thousand years later, you emerged into a war-torn galaxy so alien, it barely recognized you as Jedi. The robes were the same. The Code had survived in pieces. But the people... *they* were different.

Especially the clones.

You had never seen soldiers bred for war. The first time you met the 501st, they moved as one—disciplined, deadly, proud. But each man had a spark of something unique. Echo's spark shone brightest to you.

ARC Trooper Echo, all calm focus and sharp wit. Loyal to a fault. Quietly brave. There was a warmth beneath his helmet that reminded you of someone you lost long ago.

And over time, in the stolen spaces between battles and strategy briefings, you found yourself seeking him out. And he—hesitantly, almost shyly—did the same.

You shared jokes, glances, meditations by moonlight. Nothing official. Not even a kiss. Just the ache of something growing where no roots should've taken hold.

---

**Now...**

The hangar echoed with the sound of carbon-freeze generators.

You stood near the chamber platform, arms folded, watching the 501st prepare for the Citadel mission. An infiltration like no other. High risk. No guarantee of return.

Your heart beat in time with the distant hiss of steam. You'd been in carbonite before. You wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"You really want to go through with this?" you asked as Echo approached, helmet tucked under his arm.

He smirked. "I've seen worse."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really? *Worse* than being flash-frozen and dropped into a fortress built to kill Jedi?"

He shrugged with a boyish tilt of his head. "When you put it like that..."

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. "I don't like this mission. Something feels... off."

Echo's smile faded just slightly. "I know. But we follow orders."

You stared at him a long moment, eyes locking with his.

"I've had my fair share of carbon-freeze," you said softly, a wry smile tugging at your lips. "Trust me—it's overrated. Don't make it a habit."

Echo chuckled, but there was something in his expression—hesitation, maybe. Or hope. His fingers brushed yours briefly.

"If I don't make it back—"

"You *will*," you cut in.

He held your gaze. "Still. If I don't... I'm glad it was you."

The words hung in the air like an unsent message. You swallowed the ache in your throat.

"I'll be waiting," you whispered.

Then the chamber hissed open, and Echo stepped inside. You watched as he was encased in freezing mist—familiar, haunting. And then he was still.

---

They returned.

Most of them.

But not him.

You heard the news with numb detachment. "Echo didn't make it." Skywalker didn't meet your eyes when he said it. Fives couldn't speak at all.

You were handed Echo's pauldron. Burnt. Cracked.

But the Force...

The Force *whispered* something else.

In meditation, beneath the endless hum of the ship, you reached for that flicker—the warm, stubborn light of him. It was faint. Weak. But not extinguished.

You pressed your hand to your heart and said nothing.

Because you knew.

*Echo was still alive.*

And whatever the cost... you'd find him.

---

You couldn't let it go.

No matter how much time passed, or how many battles you fought alongside the 501st, there was something you couldn't shake—a gnawing feeling deep in your soul. Echo was out there. You knew it. The Force whispered it to you every time you closed your eyes.

You felt him.

The report had come through the 501st's channels—Echo was alive, but he was a prisoner. He had been taken to Skako Minor and reprogrammed, twisted into something... else. A broken version of the man he had once been. But you didn't care. You would bring him back. You would save him, no matter the cost.

Rex was right beside you, his unwavering loyalty to Echo just as strong as your own. The two of you, separated by a galaxy of uncertainty and destruction, had always understood each other in ways the others couldn't. Rex had never let go of his brother, and neither had you.

And now, you couldn't help but feel the heavy weight of the decision as you prepared for the mission. You weren't just doing this for Echo anymore. You were doing it for both of you—him and you. For the love of a comrade, a soldier, a friend, and perhaps, deep down, someone more.

"I won't rest until we find him," you whispered to Rex before the mission began.

Rex gave you a stern nod, though his eyes were soft with the same grief you carried. "We're not stopping until we bring him home."

You shared a glance with him—a silent understanding of what this meant. Echo had always been there, in the trenches with them, in the hardest of battles. But now, it was different. The question of who he was had morphed into something unrecognizable. Would the man you both knew still be the same when you found him?

---

The mission was critical, and time was running out.

You, along with Rex, Anakin Skywalker, and the Bad Batch, had infiltrated the outpost on Skako Minor. The Separatists had taken Echo—one of the finest ARC Troopers—and turned him into a prisoner, forced to serve their twisted agenda. You, however, weren't going to let that happen. Not if you could help it.

Echo was still alive. He had to be. You could feel it.

The journey to the outpost had been a long and difficult one, but now, standing on the precipice of their base, you knew what needed to be done. You had trained with Echo, fought beside him. He was family, and you weren't about to lose him to the war.

The place was cold, mechanical, and sterile—almost too quiet for comfort. It felt like a graveyard. But the faintest sound of movement ahead cut through the silence.

You turned, locking eyes with Rex. His jaw was set, his gaze firm. Beside him, Anakin stood, ready for anything. And then, there was Echo.

But he wasn't the same.

There he was—strapped into an array of machines, wires trailing from his body, his face emotionless. The pain of seeing him like this nearly broke you in that moment, but you knew it wasn't over. He was still Echo.

"Echo," Rex called softly, stepping forward. "We've got you, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of machines and the silence of the outpost. Then, a flicker of movement. Echo's head turned slowly, his eyes blank, as if the man you once knew was buried deep inside somewhere, and this was just the shell.

You stepped forward, your heart racing in your chest. "Echo? Can you hear me?" Your voice was calm, but it cracked with the emotion you could no longer contain. You were here. You had found him.

Slowly, Echo's lips curled into a small, dry smile—familiar, but tinged with something distant.

"You know, I was starting to get used to this place," Echo's voice was robotic, distant. "It's better than the barracks, but I think I could've done without the wires."

You laughed softly, despite the ache in your chest. "You always did have a way with words. Still, this is no place for you. We're taking you back, Echo. You belong with us."

Echo's gaze flickered toward you briefly, his eyes dull but still alive with some trace of recognition. "You... came for me," he muttered, as though trying to process the reality of it.

"You know we would," you said, your voice firm, yet gentle. "You're one of us, Echo. You don't leave your squad behind."

But Echo's face darkened, his expression turning pained. "I'm not the same anymore," he said quietly, almost regretfully. "They've done something to me. I don't know if I can go back to being who I was."

The words hit you hard. But you refused to back down. "That doesn't matter. You're still the same person, Echo. You've always been there for us. We are still here for you."

Echo shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the floor. "I don't know... I don't think I can go back to being that soldier. I've changed."

Rex stepped forward, his voice low but commanding. "You're more than what they've made you, Echo. You've always been more than that

For a moment, Echo seemed to consider this, his eyes moving between you and Rex. But then, he shook his head slowly.

"I don't know if I can go back to who I was," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

Rex's hand clenched into a fist. "You don't have to go back. We're here for you, Echo. We'll fight for you."

Anakin stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "We'll help you, Echo. We're not leaving anyone behind."

Echo's expression remained stoic, but you could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Maybe... maybe I'm not the man you want me to be," he whispered. "Maybe I'm not that soldier anymore."

The pain in Rex's eyes was palpable, but his voice was resolute. "You're not alone, Echo. You never were. And we're not leaving without you."

The escape was chaotic.

Once Echo was freed from the machine bindings, the alarms blared throughout the facility. There was no time to waste. You, Rex, Anakin, and the Bad Batch fought your way out, blasters blazing, all while Echo struggled to regain his bearings. His movements were stiff, his mind clouded from the reprogramming, but with every passing moment, you could see him coming back to himself—albeit slowly.

It was Anakin who led the charge through the outpost's corridors, his strategic mind piecing together their escape route even as enemy fire rained down on them. Rex covered you, his blaster raised and steady, while you kept your focus on Echo, guiding him through the madness.

"You're with us, Echo. We'll get you out of here," you said, trying to keep him calm. He didn't respond, but the faintest nod was all you needed.

When you reached the hangar, the Bad Batch took their positions, covering the exits and keeping the Separatists at bay. Echo was stumbling, but he kept moving forward, a faint glimmer of the soldier he once was starting to re-emerge. You didn't know if he would ever be the same again, but for now, he was with you—and that was all that mattered.

"Keep moving, Echo," you said as you pushed him toward the ship.

"I'm with you," he muttered, his voice rough but steady. "I'll never leave you behind."

Finally, after what felt like hours of intense combat, you made it to the ship. The engines roared to life, and the transport shot off into the atmosphere, away from the chaos of Skako Minor.

As you all settled into your seats, the adrenaline of the escape began to wear off, and the weight of what you'd just witnessed settled in. Echo was alive, but he was still so far from being the man you remembered. The wires, the reprogramming, the suffering—it was all etched into him in ways you couldn't yet fully understand.

But you were determined to help him heal. You didn't care what it took— and you wouldn't leave him behind again.

- - -

The chaos of the mission on Skako Minor had finally settled, leaving an overwhelming sense of relief in its wake. The Marauder, the ship piloted by the Bad Batch, now cut through the stars as it headed towards the Republic fleet. It was a rough ride—no surprise there, considering the crew—but it was a comforting one. There was a sense of familiarity with the Bad Batch's eccentricities, their usual banter filling the air around you. However, the most comforting part of all was Echo, sitting across from you.

It had been a long and arduous rescue, but Echo was finally free—physically, at least. The mental scars of his time with the Separatists would take longer to heal.

Echo was seated across from you, leaning back slightly in his seat, his expression distant. His posture was less rigid than usual, but you could see the storm behind his eyes. The escape had been harrowing, and he was still processing everything.

Wrecker, the ever-vibrant and boisterous member of the Bad Batch, was rummaging around in the back, most likely looking for snacks. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say we were all a little too quiet today," he said with his signature grin, tossing a bag of chips to Tech, who caught it with precision.

Tech raised an eyebrow but accepted the snack. "We've just been through a rather intense operation, Wrecker. A little silence isn't a bad thing."

Meanwhile, Hunter leaned against the wall near the cockpit, his piercing eyes scanning the ship's systems, though his attention occasionally drifted toward you and Echo. You knew he respected Echo's capabilities, but you also suspected that he had noticed the bond growing between the two of you.

Rex, too, had been quietly observing, but it was clear from his relaxed posture that he was relieved. Everyone had come out of the mission alive, but the tension was far from gone.

You turned your attention back to Echo, noticing how his eyes occasionally flickered toward the viewport. The stars outside were nothing compared to the turmoil inside him, and it hurt you to see him struggling.

You shifted in your seat and, without thinking, reached across the aisle to gently nudge his arm. "You know, I've had my fair share of carbon freezing," you joked softly, trying to lighten the mood. "So I can't say I'm jealous of you getting to do it again."

Echo blinked, looking at you as a quiet smile tugged at his lips. "I think I've had enough of it for a lifetime," he said with a soft chuckle. "That last time wasn't exactly a vacation."

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, the way the tension in his shoulders relaxed. You shared a brief moment of eye contact before he looked back at the stars, and you took the opportunity to close the distance just slightly, your hand brushing against his. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes in that quiet moment.

The Marauder continued its journey through the void, the hum of the ship's engines filling the air. But it wasn't just the ship that seemed to hum now—it was the quiet connection between you and Echo, something that had always been there, unspoken. The bond between the two of you felt more tangible now, as if the events of the mission had brought you even closer together.

Wrecker, still in the back, called out over his shoulder, "Hey, you two going to just stare at each other the whole ride, or are we finally going to get a real conversation out of you?"

Echo let out a quiet laugh, his eyes flicking to you with a playful, almost sheepish expression. "I think we're getting there."

You couldn't help but grin at the playful teasing, but your heart was racing. A brief glance passed between you, and for just a moment, you felt like the weight of everything—the war, the danger, the mission—faded into the background. It was just you and him, the connection between you two solidifying in that quiet space.

Echo's voice was lower now, more intimate as he leaned slightly closer. "I don't know how to say this, but... I'm glad you were here. I don't think I could have made it through this without you."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say. The words were too big to express, but the warmth in your chest was enough to convey everything.

"You don't have to say anything," you replied quietly, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm just... happy you're safe."

Echo gave a small smile before his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, sending a flutter through your stomach. "Safe, but not unscathed."

The words lingered between you, but this time, it didn't feel like an obstacle. It felt like a truth you were both starting to accept. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Echo wasn't just a soldier you fought beside. He was something more. Someone more.

- - -

When the Marauder finally docked with the Republic fleet, the hangar bay was filled with the usual bustle of activity. You all disembarked, the quiet tension of the mission still hanging in the air. Everyone's expressions were marked by the weight of what had just happened.

Echo, though physically alive and well, still seemed lost in his thoughts. The Bad Batch, as usual, carried on with their typical behavior, but there was a more subdued air about them. Hunter gave a curt nod of approval as you all made your way toward the command center.

As you walked together, Echo's hand brushed against yours again, a simple, tender touch that made your heart skip. You looked at him, your breath catching in your throat.

"Well, I guess we're back," you said with a light smile. "Not exactly how I imagined the rescue would go."

Echo smirked, his fingers lingering on yours.

Your heart swelled at the softness in his eyes as he looked down at you. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face, the affection clear in your gaze.

Before either of you could speak again, Rex came up beside you, giving you a teasing look. "Hey, I don't know what's going on between you two, but I'm pretty sure you're both walking into a warzone if you don't get it together soon."

Echo chuckled, his face reddening just a little. "Rex is right, you know. Maybe we should take some time to... figure things out."

You nodded, your heart racing. "I think that's a good idea."

Wrecker, who had been trailing behind, chimed in from a distance. "Oh great! Another love story brewing on this ship. I hope it's not as dramatic as the last one!"

You and Echo exchanged a playful glance, both of you rolling your eyes at Wrecker. Amused but not wanting to pry on the Batch's secret love lives.

With your hand still in his, Echo leaned in slightly, his voice soft. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

You smiled, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace settle over you. "Good. Because I don't think I could do this without you."

The two of you walked side by side toward the command center, the quiet between you now a comfortable one. You had no idea what the future held, but in that moment, you knew one thing for sure—you and Echo had finally found something worth holding onto.

_______

Part 2

Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader

The hangar ramp hissed open, and your boots hit the deck like you owned it. Technically, you didn't—but you were Plo Koon's former Padawan, still carrying his signature balance of unshakable calm and cutting sarcasm.

You tugged your hood down and grinned as you spotted two familiar figures on the bridge: Plo Koon, standing with serene patience, and Commander Wolffe beside him, looking like someone had just asked him to smile. Again.

"Master," you greeted with a playful bow. "Commander."

Without turning, Plo said, "You're late... again."

You smirked. "As long as I'm not late to my own funeral. You must know by now I consider this punctual."

Wolffe crossed his arms. "With your timing? It's a miracle you've not already had one."

You gave him a slow once-over. "Still charming as ever, I see. The scowl really brings out the war-torn veteran vibes. Very scarred and emotionally unavailable of you."

Wolffe didn't even flinch. "And you're still running your mouth like we've got time for it."

Before you could reply, Boost and Sinker passed behind him, lugging crates and throwing looks.

"Someone's in love," Boost sang under his breath.

"Poor Commander," Sinker added, "didn't stand a chance."

Wolffe didn't even turn around. "I can still reassign both of you to sewage detail."

You held back a laugh—barely.

"Are all your men like this now?" you asked your old Master.

Plo Koon gave a low hum. "Sassy. Grumpy. Aggressively loyal."

"So you picked them to remind you of me."

"I missed you," he said without missing a beat.

Your heart actually squeezed at that, but you covered it with, "Well, I hope you're ready, because if Commander Growl here is leading the op, I might die from sarcasm before I die from blaster fire."

Wolffe raised an eyebrow. "I don't babysit Jedi."

You stepped closer. "Good. I don't need a babysitter. I need someone who won't cry when I outrank him in sass."

He stared at you, deadpan. "You won't."

You stared back. "You sure?"

Pause.

"Unfortunately."

Plo Koon interrupted before one of you ended up biting the other. "We deploy in two hours. I expect both of you to survive long enough to get along."

You and Wolffe answered at the same time.

"No promises."

---

The landing zone was chaos.

Blaster fire lit the sky, droids rained from drop ships, and the ground was already smoking. You and Wolffe hit dirt side by side, crouched behind the smoldering wreckage of what used to be a tactical transport.

"Well," you said, deflecting a bolt with your saber, "this is cozy."

"You call this cozy?" Wolffe growled, firing a shot so clean it sent a super battle droid straight to the scrap heap.

You smirked. "I've had worse first dates."

He didn't look at you, just reloaded. "You're bleeding."

You glanced at your shoulder. Blaster graze. "A little paint off the speeder. I'm fine."

"You should patch it."

"Are you worried about me, Commander?"

"No. I just don't want to carry your dramatic ass off the battlefield."

"You mean you can't carry me."

"Try me."

Before you could sass him again, Boost's voice crackled through comms.

"Commanderrr, she's making that face again."

"You mean the one that says 'I flirt by mocking your trauma'?"

Sinker's voice joined in, deadpan: > "So... her default face."

"Copy that, shutting off comms now," Wolffe said dryly—and actually turned his comm off.

"Coward," you muttered, slashing through another droid.

But underneath all the banter, you were moving in sync. You ducked when he fired. He stepped when you struck. Like muscle memory. Like old training and shared violence. Like maybe, somehow, this shouldn't feel so... natural.

_ _ _

The op was a win. Barely.

You were bruised, bleeding, and parked on a cold medbay cot with a bandage wrapped around your shoulder. Wolffe was sitting across from you, helmet off, that glorious scar catching the sterile light.

You stared at it. Again.

"I can feel you looking at it," he grumbled, arms crossed.

"Can't help it. It's criminally hot."

He blinked. "It's a war wound."

"Exactly."

He shook his head. "You're weird."

"You're pretty," you shot back—mostly to see him flinch.

And oh, he flinched. Glared like you'd punched him in the stomach.

"I—what—don't—" he sputtered. "You can't just say things like that."

"You mean compliments?"

He looked genuinely appalled. "You take one like it's a threat!"

"Because they usually are! Last guy who called me beautiful tried to shoot me two hours later."

Wolffe rubbed his face. "We are so emotionally damaged."

You grinned. "You like it."

He muttered something about Jedi being a menace, and you stepped closer. Right into his space. Close enough to see the tension in his jaw—and the way he didn't move away.

"Wolffe," you said quietly. "You're allowed to like me. Even if I'm mouthy. Even if I scare you a little."

"You don't scare me."

You leaned in.

"Good."

Then you kissed him. And stars, he kissed you back.

It wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle. It was the kind of kiss you gave a person when you both knew tomorrow might not come. Hard, real, desperate in that quiet, aching way soldiers kiss—the kind that says I know we're doomed, but just for tonight, pretend we're not.

When you finally pulled back, he was breathing a little heavier.

"...You're exhausting," he whispered.

"You love it."

"...Unfortunately."

From the next room, Boost called, "If you're done making out, the rest of us are bleeding."

Sinker added, "Bleeding and emotionally neglected."

Wolffe let his head thunk against your shoulder.

You just smiled. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Maker help me," he muttered.

But he didn't say no.

Commander Wolffe x “Village Crazy” Reader

⸻

The mission was simple: a supply drop to a small village that had been hit hard by the Separatists a few weeks ago. The 104th were tasked with delivering medicine, food, and supplies, and Master Plo had insisted on accompanying them—his calm presence often a welcome relief in tense situations. It was a peaceful village now, recovering from the wreckage, though it had its oddities.

And one of those oddities stood waiting on the village outskirts as the shuttle carrying the 104th came in to land.

You were a local, though you didn’t seem to fit the mold of the average villager. You were known as the “village crazy,” a title you wore with pride. You were eccentric, a little wild, and, to put it bluntly, you were unlike anyone the soldiers had ever met. You spent most of your days wandering the village, dancing on the shoreline, speaking in riddles, and telling stories—stories that were elaborate, nonsensical, and always different from the last. You had a gift for spinning tales that no one could follow, and you never told the same story twice. There was always something new, something unexpected, and most importantly, you never left anyone with the same sense of reality.

The shuttle doors opened, and Commander Wolffe was the first to step off, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. He scanned the area, taking in the sight of the quiet village, a few villagers waving at him and his men. The 104th were used to these kinds of missions—helping out the people who needed it, always the soldier’s duty.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, standing in the middle of the village with your arms raised to the sky, spinning in slow circles, he stopped.

“Well, this is going to be… interesting,” Warthog muttered from behind him, a grin creeping up on his face as he watched you twirl, completely oblivious to the soldiers’ presence.

“You sure she’s not a droid in disguise?” Boost asked, his brow raised as he adjusted his rifle.

Wolffe only sighed. “She’s definitely not a droid.”

At that moment, you caught sight of Master Plo, and your face lit up with an expression of delight. You skipped over to him, arms wide, your bare feet brushing the ground as you moved with a fluid grace that felt otherworldly. “Master Plo! The sky told me you would be here today! The wind, the ocean—it all speaks when it’s time.”

Master Plo gave you a serene smile, ever the diplomat. “I’m glad to see you, [Y/N]. What news do the stars share with you today?”

“The stars are confused,” you replied cryptically, your voice playful yet serious. “They’ve lost their way, Master Jedi. The moons are turning, but the tides are still.”

Wolffe, standing a few paces back, exchanged a glance with Warthog. His brow furrowed, and he couldn’t suppress a mutter under his breath. “This is going to be a long mission.”

You, however, took no notice of his cynicism. You had already moved to the next subject, dancing in circles as you spoke. “I once saw a giant fish the size of a mountain! It came out of the sea and roared at the sun! It was blue, but it wore a cape made of clouds—like a king of the waves!”

Wooly snorted. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “A fish that wears a cape?”

“I’m telling you, Wooly,” you replied with a wink, “I’m never wrong. You’ve just never looked at the ocean the way I do.”

“And how’s that?” Boost asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a sly smile, you leaned in closer to him, speaking in a lowered voice. “With the eyes of a mermaid, of course. You can see everything—beneath the waves, beneath the stories, beneath the stars. You just have to listen.”

Wolffe, arms crossed, watched the exchange with growing confusion. “Right,” he muttered, glancing over to Master Plo. “Is she always like this?”

Plo chuckled softly, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Yes, but there’s wisdom in her madness. [Y/N] sees the world in a way that few of us can. Sometimes, we just have to let the river flow.”

“River…?” Wolffe raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. He’d seen his fair share of strange characters, but none quite like this one. You were certainly different.

Master Plo turned back to you with a smile. “And how have you been, [Y/N]? The village looks well, I see.”

You spun once more, eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and mystery. “I’m good! But… oh, the tide’s about to turn again, Master Jedi. I can feel it! I can hear the whales calling from the mountains, and the ground feels restless. Something’s stirring.” You leaned in toward him conspiratorially, whispering as though sharing a great secret, “The sky’s eyes are looking this way, and I think… I think it’s about time for a visit from the stars.”

Wolffe watched, unimpressed but intrigued nonetheless. “Great, more riddles.” He muttered under his breath, but Plo only chuckled.

“There’s more to her words than you think, Commander,” Plo said gently. “She is… connected to the Force in ways that don’t always make sense to us.”

You, still twirling, suddenly stopped and looked directly at Wolffe, catching him off guard. “The moon is rising, Commander. The shadows are long, and the stories are ready to be told. But be careful—there are wolves in the woods that sing songs of fire.”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow. “Wolves in the woods?”

You nodded, as though everything you said made perfect sense. “The kind that howl with the wind. But no need to worry; they only come when the stars fall.”

He gave you a half-hearted smile, his skepticism never wavering. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You grinned widely. “Good, Commander. You must always listen to the stars and the wolves. They know things we cannot.”

As the day wore on, Wolffe, Boost, Warthog, and Wooly found themselves working alongside the villagers, setting up the relief supplies and ensuring that everything was distributed properly. You flitted around the camp, speaking to anyone who would listen with your wild stories and cryptic observations.

At one point, you approached Wolffe again, who was overseeing the unloading of medical supplies.

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in the boxes, Commander,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

He glanced at the crates and then back at you, a little bemused. “And what exactly am I looking for, [Y/N]?”

“The truth,” you answered with a knowing smile, your voice soft and almost tender. “But it’s hiding behind the moon. It always is.”

Wolffe blinked, processing the strange words. For a moment, he wanted to laugh it off, to brush you aside as just another eccentric villager. But something in the way you spoke—so sure, so confident in your own world—made him pause.

Maybe, just maybe, there was more to you than the others saw. And maybe, just maybe, your wild stories held a grain of truth.

⸻

The days passed in a haze of strange encounters and stories as the 104th continued their relief mission in the village. Commander Wolffe found himself oddly drawn to the “village crazy,” as she was affectionately known. You were an enigma—one moment spinning wild tales about stars, the next, dancing barefoot along the shore or chatting to animals as though they were old friends. It was baffling, and Wolffe couldn’t help but find a strange charm in your unpredictability.

He would catch glimpses of you wandering around the camp, your eyes gleaming with excitement as you spoke to the sky, or weaving through the villagers as though you were part of something larger than what any of them could comprehend. There was an air of serenity about you, a sense of knowing that Wolffe couldn’t quite place. You were unpredictable, yes, but there was a peacefulness in your madness that was strangely… grounding.

The oddest part? Master Plo seemed to have no issue with it. He’d often smile as he watched you interact with the world around you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I think, Commander,” Master Plo had said one evening as they watched you from a distance, “there is wisdom in her madness. She sees the world through a different lens, but that lens allows her to glimpse truths we might miss.”

Wolffe gave him a skeptical look. “She’s a little… strange.”

Master Plo chuckled softly. “We all are in our own way, Commander. Sometimes, it’s not the surface that matters, but what lies beneath. [Y/N] may have more to offer than she lets on.”

Wolffe didn’t respond, instead just watching you as you twirled across the village square, talking animatedly to an empty chair as though it was a long-lost friend. He couldn’t deny that there was something captivating about you—something that made him want to learn more, despite himself.

Meanwhile, the rest of the 104th had their own thoughts on the matter. Sinker and Boost in particular weren’t quite as enchanted by your eccentricities. They had grown used to following orders, taking things seriously. And the constant stream of bizarre stories you told and your odd behavior didn’t sit well with them.

“You know, I’m starting to think we’re all in the middle of some bizarre dream,” Sinker grumbled as he leaned against a crate, watching you dance in the distance. “She’s like a walking, talking riddle.”

“She’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a headache,” Boost added with a smirk, crossing his arms as he watched you spin around.

You had been telling tales about the stars and the oceans again when they spotted you—this time, however, you weren’t just dancing by the shore. You were out in the water, waist-deep, moving gracefully around a strange creature—a sort of aquatic alien, with shimmering scales and bioluminescent markings that flickered like the stars themselves. It was an oddity they had never seen before.

“What in the galaxy is that?” Sinker asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“It looks like some kind of alien fish… thing,” Boost said with a chuckle. “That’s one way to make a splash.”

You didn’t seem to care that they were watching. You danced with the creature, laughing and singing softly to it in a language none of them recognized. Your voice blended with the sound of the waves as you seemed to communicate with the animal, a soft bond of mutual understanding between you and the strange creature.

Wolffe had joined the two clones at the edge of the village, having finished his patrol. He looked over at the scene in the distance, his brow furrowing slightly as he saw you in the water, laughing with the alien. His first instinct was to protect you, but the sight was strangely calming. You were unbothered by their stares, completely immersed in the moment.

“She’s definitely got some screws loose,” Sinker muttered under his breath, watching you from a distance.

Boost snorted. “I don’t know, Sinker. Maybe she’s onto something. Who else do we know who can communicate with random sea creatures?”

“She’s not communicating with it, Boost,” Wolffe said, his voice surprisingly soft. “It’s… just a connection. You can’t understand it unless you’ve seen it for yourself.”

Sinker and Boost exchanged looks before Sinker laughed. “You’re starting to sound like her, Wolffe. Watch out, you might start dancing with fish too.”

Wolffe didn’t respond. He just watched you, a flicker of something uncertain passing through his mind. He was… intrigued. Fascinated, even. The way you seemed to fit into the world so effortlessly, the way you didn’t care what anyone thought. It was a sharp contrast to the rigid, regimented life of a clone trooper.

⸻

The relief mission was drawing to a close, and the 104th were preparing to leave. The shuttle would be ready for takeoff within the hour. Supplies had been delivered, the villagers were starting to rebuild, and the atmosphere of quiet recovery settled over the village. It was a peaceful ending to a mission that had, in its own strange way, been one of the more memorable ones.

The 104th had gathered near the shuttle, preparing to board, when Wolffe found himself standing a little further back from the others. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and he was quietly observing the bustling village one last time. His thoughts, however, were far from the mission. His mind kept wandering back to you—the village “crazy.” You were unlike anyone he had ever met, and even now, as he watched the villagers wave goodbye to the clones, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you had somehow made your way into his thoughts.

You weren’t far off. As always, you had a way of slipping into the edges of their world without anyone noticing—until it was too late.

Wolffe’s eyes caught sight of you as you wandered over to him, your bare feet making no sound against the dirt path. You were humming a tune that didn’t seem to belong to any world the clones knew, a soft, almost haunting melody that drifted in the warm air.

“Commander Wolffe!” you called out, your voice light and filled with the same mystery that seemed to surround you. “I have something for you.”

He turned to face you, raising an eyebrow as you approached. “Something for me?” he asked, his tone flat, though his interest was piqued. “What’s that?”

You stopped just in front of him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and held out your hand. In it was a small, smooth rock—nothing extraordinary, but there was something special about the way you presented it. It glinted in the sun, and the edges were rounded, worn down by time, smooth like a river stone.

“This is a gift from the stars,” you said cryptically, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll need it where you’re going. It will remind you to listen to the waves, the winds, the stars… and to yourself.”

Wolffe hesitated for a moment, eyeing the rock in your hand. “I don’t need reminders, [Y/N],” he said, though his voice softened at the end. “I’m not the kind of man who needs… stars.”

You smiled wider, a knowing look in your eyes. “That’s why you’ll need it,” you replied with a wink. “When the time comes, you’ll hear them. I promise.”

For a long moment, Wolffe simply stared at you, unsure of how to respond. Your words, as always, felt like a riddle wrapped in a mystery, but there was a sincerity to them that made him want to believe you. He could hear the faint whisper of the wind through the trees, the faint sound of the ocean nearby. Maybe… just maybe, there was truth to what you were saying. And maybe, you were right.

“Alright,” he muttered after a moment, taking the rock from your hand. “I’ll keep it. But don’t expect me to start listening to the waves.”

You smiled brightly, as if you’d won a great victory. “It’s not the waves you need to listen to, Commander,” you said softly. “It’s the silence between them.”

There was a brief silence between you two, neither of you moving. Wolffe felt something shift in the air—a quiet, inexplicable connection that, despite his reservations, had grown over the past few days. You had a way of making him feel… less like a soldier and more like a man, someone capable of hearing the things he normally ignored. Even if it didn’t make sense, it didn’t feel wrong.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of Warthog shouting from the shuttle, his voice carrying over the wind. “Commander! Get over here! We’re ready to leave!”

Wolffe’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t immediately turn away. Instead, he glanced back at you. Your eyes were filled with that quiet understanding again—like you could see right through him.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you said softly, spinning the rock in your fingers like a talisman. “Don’t forget to listen.”

“I won’t forget,” Wolffe said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “But I might not listen, either.”

You chuckled, a sound that seemed to carry across the entire village. “You never know when the stars will choose to speak to you, Commander.”

With that, you stepped back, giving him space to go. But just before he turned away, you added one final word. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to listen.”

Wolffe stood there for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of confusion and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. You were so strange, so utterly different from anyone he had ever met. And yet… there was something comforting in your oddity. Something that made him feel less alone in a world that often felt too rigid, too predictable.

He finally gave you a small nod, almost imperceptible. “Take care of yourself, [Y/N].”

And then, with a final glance over his shoulder, Wolffe walked toward the shuttle, leaving you standing there at the edge of the village, your figure bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

⸻

As the shuttle lifted off, Wolffe leaned against the side of the ship, looking down at the small rock in his hand. He had no idea what it would mean, or why it felt like the weight of the universe was pressing against it. But somehow, he didn’t mind. There was something about that village, something about you, that had made him believe—if only for a moment—that there was more to life than just the orders he followed.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what the stars were trying to tell him.

Commander Fox x singer/PA Reader pt. 1

Summary: By day, she’s a chaotic assistant in the Coruscant Guard; by night, a smoky-voiced singer who captivates even the most disciplined clones—especially Commander Fox. But when a botched assignment, a bounty hunter’s warning, she realizes the spotlight might just get her killed.

_ _ _ _

The lights of Coruscant were always loud. Flashing neon signs, sirens echoing through levels, speeders zipping like angry wasps. But nothing ever drowned out the voice of the girl at the mic.

She leaned into it like she was born there, bathed in deep blue and violet lights at 99's bar, voice smoky and honey-sweet. She didn't sing like someone performing—she sang like she was telling secrets. And every clone in the place leaned in to hear them.

Fox never stayed for the full set. Not really. He'd linger just outside the threshold long enough to catch the tail end of her voice wrapping around the words of a love song or a low bluesy rebellion tune before disappearing into the shadows, unreadable as ever.

He knew her name.

He knew too much, if he was honest with himself.

---

By some minor miracle of cosmic misalignment, she showed up to work the next day.

Coruscant Guard HQ was sterile and sharp—exactly the opposite of her. The moment she stepped through the entrance, dragging a caf that was more sugar than stimulant, every other assistant looked up like they were seeing a ghost they didn't like.

"She lives," one of them muttered under their breath.

She gave a mock-curtsy, her usual smirk tugging at her lips. "I aim to disappoint."

Her desk was dusty. Her holopad had messages backed up from a week ago. And Fox's office door was—blessedly—closed.

She plopped into her chair, kicking off her boots and spinning once in her chair before sipping her caf and pretending to care about her job.

Unfortunately, today was not going to let her coast.

One of the other assistants—a tight-bunned brunette with a permanently clenched jaw—strolled over, datapad in hand and an expression that said *we're about to screw you over and enjoy it.*

"You're up," the woman said. "Cad Bane's in holding. He needs to be walked through his rights, legal rep options, the whole thing."

The reader blinked. "You want *me* to go talk to *Cad Bane?* The bounty hunter with the murder-happy fingers and sexy lizard eyes?"

"Commander Fox signed off on it."

*Bullshit,* she thought. But aloud, she said, "Well, at least it won't be boring."

---

Security in the lower levels of Guard HQ was tight, and the guards scanned her badge twice—partly because she never came down here, partly because nobody believed she had clearance.

"Try not to get killed," one said dryly as he buzzed her into the cell block.

"Aw, you do care," she winked.

The room was cold. Lit only by flickering fluorescents, with reinforced transparisteel separating her from the infamous Duros bounty hunter. He sat, cuffs in place, slouched like he owned the room even in chains.

"Well, well," Cad Bane drawled, red eyes narrowing with amusement. "Don't recognize you. They finally lettin' in pretty faces to read us our bedtime stories?"

She ignored the spike of fear in her chest and sat across from him, activating the datapad. "Cad Bane. You are being held by the Coruscant Guard for multiple counts of—well, a lot. I'm supposed to inform you of your legal rights and representation—"

"Save it," he said, voice low. "You're not just an assistant."

Her brow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You smell like city smoke and spice trails. Not paper. Not politics. I've seen girls like you in cantinas two moons from Coruscant, drinkin' with outlaws and singin' like heartbreak's a language." His smile widened. "And I've seen that face. You got a past. And it's catchin' up."

She stood, blood running colder than the cell. "We're done here."

"Hope the Commander's watchin'," Cad added lazily. "He's got eyes on you. Like you're his favorite secret."

She turned and walked—*fast*.

---

Fox was waiting at the end of the hallway when she emerged, helm on, arms crossed, motionless like a statue.

"Commander," she said, voice trying to stay casual even as adrenaline buzzed in her fingers. "Didn't think I rated high enough for personal escorts."

"Why were you down there alone?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

"You signed off on it."

"I didn't."

Her stomach sank. The air between them thickened, tension clicking into place like a blaster being loaded.

"I'll speak to the others," Fox said, stepping closer. "But next time you walk into a room with someone like Cad Bane, you *tell me* first."

She raised a brow. "Since when do you care what I do?"

"I don't," he said too fast.

But she caught it—*the tiny flicker of something human beneath the armor.*

She tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips again. "If you're going to keep me alive, Commander, I'm going to need to see you at the next open mic night."

Fox turned away.

"I don't attend bars," he said over his shoulder.

"Good," she called back. "Because I'm not singing for the others."

He paused. Just once. Barely. Then he walked on.

She didn't need to see his face to know he was smiling.

---

She walked back into the offices wearing oversized shades, yesterday's eyeliner, and the confidence of someone who refused to admit she probably shouldn't have tequila before 4 a.m.

The moment she crossed the threshold, tight-bun Trina zeroed in.

"Hope you enjoyed your field trip," Trina said, arms folded, sarcasm sharp enough to cut durasteel.

"I did, actually. Made a new friend. His hobbies include threats and murder. You'd get along great," the reader shot back, grabbing her caf and sipping without breaking eye contact.

Trina sneered. "You weren't supposed to go alone. But I guess you're just reckless enough to survive it."

The reader stepped closer, voice dropping. "You sent me because you thought I'd panic. You wanted a show."

"Well, if Commander Fox cares so much, maybe he should stop playing bodyguard and just transfer you to front-line entertainment," Trina snapped.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you."

"It's not jealousy. It's resentment. You don't work, you vanish for days, and yet he always clears your screw-ups."

She leaned in. "Maybe he just likes me better."

Trina's jaw clenched, "Since you're suddenly here, again, congratulations—you're finishing the Cad Bane intake. Legal processing. Standard rights. You can handle reading, yeah?"

The reader smiled sweetly. "Absolutely. Hooked on Phonics."

---

Two security scans and a passive-aggressive threat from a sergeant later, she was back in the lower cells, now much more aware of just how many surveillance cams were watching her.

Cad Bane looked even more smug than before.

"Well, ain't this a pleasant surprise," he drawled, shackles clicking as he shifted in his seat. "You just can't stay away from me, huh?"

She dropped into the chair across from him, datapad in hand, face expressionless.

"Cad Bane," she began, voice clipped and professional, "you are currently being held under charges of murder, kidnapping, sabotage, resisting arrest, impersonating a Jedi, and approximately thirty-seven other counts I don't have time to read. I am required by Republic protocol to inform you of the following."

He tilted his head, red eyes watching her like a predator amused by a small animal reading from a script.

"You have the right to remain silent," she continued. "You are entitled to legal representation. If you do not have a representative of your own, the Republic will provide you with one."

Bane snorted. "You mean one of those clean little lawyer droids with sticks up their circuits? Pass."

She didn't blink. "Do you currently have your own legal representation?"

"I'll let you know when I feel like cooperating."

She tapped on the datapad, noting his response.

"Further information about the trial process and detention terms will be provided at your next hearing."

"You're not very warm," he mused.

"I'm not here to be."

"Pity. I liked earliers sass."

She stood up. "Try not to escape before sentencing."

"Tell your Commander I said hello."

That stopped her. Just for a second.

Bane smiled wider. "What? You thought no one noticed?"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. She left with her heart thudding harder than she wanted to admit.

That night, 79's was packed wall to wall with off-duty clones, local droids trying to dance, and smugglers pretending not to be smugglers. She stood under the lights, voice curling around a jazz-infused battle hymn she'd rewritten to sound like a love song.

And there, in the shadows by the bar, armor glinting like red wine under lights—

Commander Fox.

She didn't falter. Not when her eyes met his. Not when her voice dipped into a sultry bridge, not when he didn't look away once.

After the show, she took the back exit—like always. And like always, she sensed the wrongness first.

A chill up her spine. A presence behind her, too quiet, too deliberate.

She spun. "You're not a fan, are you?"

The woman stepped out of the shadows with a predator's grace.

Aurra Sing.

"You're more interesting than I expected," she said. "Tied to the Guard. Friendly with a Commander. Eyes and ears on all the right rooms."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Aurra's lip curled. "Doesn't matter. You're on my radar now."

And she vanished.

Back in her apartment, she barely kicked off her boots when there was a knock at the door. She checked the screen.

Fox.

Still in full armor. Still unreadable.

"I saw her," he said before she could speak. "Aurra Sing. She was following you."

"I noticed," she said, trying to sound casual. "What, did you tail me all the way from 79's?"

"I don't trust bounty hunters."

"Not even the ones who sing?"

He didn't answer. Either he didn't get the joke, or he was to concerned to laugh.

"You came to my show," she said softly. "Why?"

"I was off-duty."

"Sure. That's why you were in full armor. Just blending in."

A beat passed. Then he said, "You were good."

"I'm always good."

Another silence stretched between them. Less awkward, more charged.

"You're not safe," Fox said finally. "You shouldn't be alone."

"Yeah? You offering to babysit me?"

He almost smiled. Almost. Then, wordless, he stepped back into the corridor.

The door closed.

But for a moment longer, she stood there, heartbeat loud, his words echoing in her mind.

You're not safe.

And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

———

Part 2

Commander Cody x Twi’lek Reader

The battle for Ryloth raged on, the skies above choked with smoke and the echoes of blaster fire. The clones fought valiantly, as they always did, but in the midst of the war, it was the civilians who suffered most. The Twi'leks were caught between the Separatists' relentless assault and the Republic's effort to free them.

Commander Cody, his distinctive armor marked with the colors of the 212th Attack Battalion, was in the thick of it, leading his troops through the war-torn streets. The noise of the battle was deafening, but he focused, always focused, as he barked orders and ensured his men stayed on task.

Then, in the midst of the chaos, he saw her.

A Twi'lek woman, her emerald skin marked with the familiar patterns of her people, stumbled in the open, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her lekku twitched nervously. She was no soldier—just a civilian, caught in the crossfire.

Without thinking, Cody sprinted toward her, grabbing her arm and pulling her to safety just as another volley of blaster fire whizzed past them. They ducked into the shadow of a nearby building, the sound of the battle muffled by the walls around them.

"Stay down," Cody ordered, his voice calm despite the chaos. His heart was racing, adrenaline flooding his veins, but his instincts were razor-sharp. "I'll make sure you're safe."

She nodded, her wide eyes still full of fear. She was clearly shaken, but her strength was evident. She wanted to run, to fight, but she knew she had no place in this war. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of blaster fire. "I—I don't know what I would've done without you."

Cody looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. There was something about her, something that tugged at him, but he didn't have time to think about it. There was a war to fight, and civilians needed to be protected.

He turned back toward his men, ensuring the area was clear before giving her a nod. "Stay close. I'll get you out of here."

But just as he stepped toward the street to lead her to safety, a distant explosion rocked the ground beneath them. Cody stumbled, pain shooting up his side as he fell to one knee, his vision swimming. He reached out, steadying himself, but the pain was too much.

"Commander!" she gasped, rushing to his side.

"I'm fine," he gritted through clenched teeth, but his body betrayed him, and he crumpled against the wall. Blood seeped through the cracks in his armor, a clear sign that he had been injured more seriously than he realized.

"No, you're not," she insisted, kneeling beside him. "Let me help you. Please."

Her eyes were full of concern, and something deeper—something warmer—flashed between them. It was a connection neither of them had expected but couldn't ignore. In the middle of the battle, amidst the destruction and death, there was only the two of them in this small corner of the world.

She pulled a medical kit from the pack she had slung over her shoulder, her hands steady as she worked to clean his wounds. Cody winced, but he remained quiet, letting her do what she could.

"You're a medic?" he asked, his voice strained but appreciative.

"No," she replied softly, applying pressure to his side. "Just someone who knows a little bit about surviving. I've had to learn." Her words were matter-of-fact, but there was something raw in her tone that made Cody's heart tighten.

Her hands were gentle, moving with care, as if she could heal not just his body but the war-torn world around them. It was a kindness, a rare gift in a universe filled with conflict, and Cody found himself entranced by the sincerity in her touch.

Once the worst of the bleeding had been stopped, she sat back, wiping the sweat from her brow. Cody caught his breath, the pain dulling but not entirely gone.

"You're a good woman," he said softly, his voice low, a hint of admiration in his words.

She smiled at him, though her eyes were full of uncertainty. "I'm just doing what needs to be done. It's the only way I can survive."

Cody's eyes softened as he gazed at her. He had been trained to fight, to lead, to be the soldier the Republic needed, but in this moment, all he wanted was to stay. To stay here with her, away from the war, even if only for a little while.

But duty called. And as the sounds of battle drew closer, Cody knew he had to go. He stood slowly, wincing at the pain in his side but determined.

"You need to get to safety," he said, his voice resolute. "It's not safe here."

She stood as well, her eyes sad but understanding. "I know. But... what about you? What happens to you?"

Cody gave a half-smile, despite the pain. "I'll be fine. I'll be with my men again soon enough."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. Instead, she stepped closer, looking up at him with a mixture of gratitude and something else. Something deeper.

Cody hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. In the midst of the war, in the middle of a planet torn apart by conflict, they were two people, bound by something greater than the galaxy around them.

Without thinking, he reached out and cupped her cheek gently. Her eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. In that brief moment, time seemed to stand still.

And then, without a word, he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against hers. It was a kiss filled with everything they both couldn't say, everything that had built up between them in their short time together. It was tender, lingering, and full of all the things they couldn't share—*but* they did, in that fleeting moment.

When they pulled away, Cody's breath was unsteady, his heart racing, but he forced a smile. "Goodbye," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And thank you. For everything."

She smiled softly, a sad yet knowing expression crossing her face. "Goodbye, Commander," she replied, her voice steady. "Stay safe out there."

With one last glance, Cody turned and began to walk away, the pull of duty stronger than anything else. But as he disappeared into the distance, he couldn't shake the memory of her—her touch, her kiss, and the warmth in her eyes.

He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know if they would ever meet again. But for a brief moment, amidst the chaos of war, he had found something that felt worth fighting for.

And that was enough.

---

Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader (order 66)

*warnings* - death

And then, there was Wolffe.

Commander Wolffe—one of the few clones who had earned your trust completely—stood in the corner, his helmet in hand, his broad shoulders relaxing for the first time today. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, content simply to share the quiet that filled the space between you.

Despite the war and the strict boundaries of your roles, you had always felt something more for him. It started as camaraderie—two soldiers who understood the price of duty—but over time, the bond deepened into something more complicated, something you could never speak of aloud.

"How are the men?" you finally asked, your voice breaking the silence.

Wolffe's lips curved into a half-smile, though there was a sadness behind his eyes. "They're good. Holding steady. As long as I'm around, they know what's expected." His gaze softened, but there was something unreadable about his expression. "What about you, Jedi? Are you holding steady?"

Your heart fluttered slightly at the sound of your title—Jedi. It still felt strange to hear it from him. You were no longer the young Padawan of Master Plo Koon, his silent guidance ever-present, but now you were a Jedi Knight, responsible for countless lives. But it didn't make the distance between you and Wolffe any easier to bear.

You didn't know how to answer him, how to explain that, while you were a Knight of the Order, part of you was constantly torn between duty and the feelings you had for him. It was forbidden—Jedi and soldiers were not meant to share such attachments—but those lines had blurred long ago.

"I'm..." You paused, searching for the right words. "I'm here, Wolffe. Just trying to keep us all alive."

His gaze never wavered from yours, and the weight of his look made your pulse quicken. There was a silent understanding between you, a quiet admission that neither of you could ever truly voice aloud. You wanted to be close to him, to be more than comrades, but the Jedi Code—your duty—kept you at arm's length.

He stepped closer, the usual tension in his posture relaxing just a fraction. "I know what you want, Jedi," he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "But I can't have you distracted. We've been through too much for that."

You swallowed, the knot in your throat tightening. "And I can't ignore what I feel," you replied quietly. "But I won't let it affect my duty, Wolffe. Not now."

He chuckled softly, but it lacked its usual humor. "The war's not kind to people like us."

The silence hung between you for a long moment, both of you standing there, unsure of what to say next. But the unspoken truth between you lingered, undeniable, even in the midst of the endless war.

Then, you both heard the sharp hiss of the door opening, and you quickly broke your gaze, stepping back as though the moment had never happened. Wolffe returned to his usual stoic demeanor, but there was still a flicker in his eyes.

It was always like this—moments stolen in between the chaos, stolen moments that both of you knew couldn't last.

The mission had been successful, the Separatist threat neutralized. Yet, a strange heaviness filled the air as you returned to the cruiser. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change—something was coming, something that neither you nor Wolffe could stop.

As the day wore on, you found yourself drawn to the Jedi temple for brief meditation. But then, the unmistakable buzzing of your commlink interrupted the rare moment of peace.

Before you could even comprehend it, the cold realization hit like a tidal wave. The clones, your brothers, the soldiers who fought beside you—they were ordered to execute all Jedi. Including you.

You didn't hesitate. Your instincts kicked in, and you sprinted through the hallways, hoping against hope that somehow, the clones wouldn't be able to carry out the order. Wolffe, however, was waiting in the shadows, and the moment you laid eyes on him, your breath caught in your throat.

"Wolffe," you called, voice trembling but determined. "You have to listen to me—this isn't you."

His eyes flickered for a moment, uncertainty clouding his usually steadfast gaze. "I have no choice, Jedi," he said, his voice a hollow echo.

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, but you refused to back down. "Wolffe, please—this isn't you. This is an order, an order you can't control. You're not just a soldier. You're more than this."

His helmeted face was a mask, but you could see the hesitation in his stance, the way his hands shook as they held his weapon. For a split second, you thought he might break free from the mind control, might step away and abandon the mission to kill you. But that hesitation was fleeting.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, voice strained as though the words themselves were foreign to him. "I'm sorry... but I have to do this."

Your lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, and you tried to reach him, tried to make him understand, but the clones—your brothers—were already moving in, following the orders they were given, following the programming they couldn't fight.

Wolffe fired, the blaster bolt striking you square in the chest. You barely had time to react, your body forced into the unforgiving cold of the ship's hull.

You gasped, your vision blurring as the world tilted, everything fading into darkness. Your last thought was of Wolffe—of the man who had meant so much to you, the man you loved, and the man you knew would never have the chance to love you back. You reached out with your hand, trying to call out to him, but no words came.

Wolffe stood frozen in place, his heart shattering as he watched you fall, the weight of the blaster's shot sinking deep into his soul. He had never wanted this. Never wanted to hurt you. But the order... the order had been too strong, too powerful.

As the last of the life left your eyes, Wolffe's knees buckled, his helmet clattering to the floor as he collapsed beside your body. His hands trembled as they hovered over you, unable to fix the damage, unable to undo the pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, the guilt crushing him from within.

But the war, the Order—nothing could undo what had been done. And Wolffe was left alone, stricken with guilt and a heart full of love he could never express. His final regret was that he'd never told you how much you meant to him before it was too late.

Captain Rex x Jedi Reader

Summary: After a blast on Umbara, Rex saves you and you are forced to remain in a bacta tank the rest of the campaign. You try to reach out to Rex through the force and he hears your warnings about Krell’s betrayal. When the truth comes out, Rex is consumed with guilt.

The skies over Umbara were poison.

Choked in mist and war.

And somewhere beneath it all, you bled into the dirt.

The blast had taken you hard—chest scorched, body broken. Rex had been the first to reach you, his voice cutting through the chaos, calling your name like it meant something more than rank or Jedi title. He held you as the medics arrived, armor slick with mud and grief.

He didn’t let anyone else carry you.

Not even Fives.

Not even when General Krell barked at him to return to the line.

Once the 501st finally breached the airbase, Rex made sure you were stabilized in the nearest field medcenter. They submerged you into a bacta tank, pale and silent, your saber charred and clipped to Rex’s belt instead of your own.

He stood watch over you every night when he could—alone, visor off, hands balled into fists. Fives had noticed. Hardcase had joked about it once.

He never joked about it again.

_ _ _ _

The First Warning

It came while Rex was reviewing troop formations alone.

A sudden pressure behind his eyes, like a gust of wind had blown through his skull.

“Rex…”

Your voice, faint—like a ripple across still water.

He froze, datapad slipping from his hands.

“General?”

No answer. Just the distant hum of machinery and the low buzz of the bacta tank nearby. He turned toward it. You floated within, unconscious, brow furrowed like you were fighting something that didn’t live in the waking world.

Then—again.

“He is not what he seems…”

Rex’s heart skipped. “General? What—what does that mean?”

But the connection faded, leaving only silence and misty breath against the tank’s glass.

The Second Warning

Rex didn’t sleep that night. Or the next.

Krell was pushing them too hard. The losses were piling. Something was off.

And then it happened again.

He was armoring up when he felt it—a cold sliver down his spine.

“They are not your enemy…”

“He is.”

Rex’s blood ran cold.

“Who?” he whispered into the dark. “Krell? You mean Krell?”

But again, the connection blinked out like a dying star.

He ran his gloved hands through his hair, helmet dangling from his side.

It made no sense.

Krell was a Jedi. Brutal, sure—but wasn’t war brutal by nature? Could he really be turning against them?

_ _ _ _

The Betrayal

And then they were deployed. Told the enemy had stolen clone armor. Told to open fire.

The forest exploded with blasterfire and screams.

And then—

"Cease fire!" Rex’s voice tore through the chaos. “Cease fire!”

It was too late. Bodies littered the jungle floor.

Clones.

Not Umbarans.

His own brothers.

He fell to his knees, helmet slipping from his fingers, the sound of battle replaced by the echo of your voice—

“They are not your enemy. He is.”

He finally understood.

Krell.

He had known. You’d tried to tell him. From inside that tank. From wherever your mind had drifted in the Force, tangled in pain and bacta and fear for the men you both loved.

He felt sick.

Krell needed to pay for this.

_ _ _ _

After Krell’s capture—after the rage, the betrayal, the ghostly silence of the men—

Rex stood outside the medcenter again. Watching you.

You were healing, slowly. Still submerged. Still fighting to wake.

He placed a gloved hand against the glass.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You tried to tell me. I didn’t listen. I should’ve—”

He swallowed hard, guilt a coiled wire around his throat.

“I’m not losing you too.”

And somewhere inside the Force, you stirred.

_ _ _ _

The Force shifted.

Like a breath held too long, finally exhaled.

A weight lifted.

A darkness lifted.

You surged back into consciousness before your eyes even opened—gasping silently in the thick blue haze of bacta, heart racing, the phantom echo of betrayal still ringing through your veins.

He was dead.

Executed.

Dogma.

You felt it.

The weight of his blaster in his hands. The fury. The confusion. The pain.

It is done, the Force whispered.

The war on Umbara was over.

But the ghosts would linger.

You woke gasping, dragging in breath like it hurt. The medical droid flinched back with a startled beep. Your lungs ached. Every inch of you was stiff and raw from mending bones and torn flesh. But you were awake.

And more importantly—alive.

“Captain!” someone called outside. “She’s waking up!”

You barely had time to get out of the tank before boots pounded toward you. Rex stormed in, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes wide and wild and disbelieving. You gave him a weak smile.

“Took you long enough,” you rasped.

He stopped cold. A dozen emotions flickered across his face. Disbelief. Relief. Guilt.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly.

You leaned back against the pillows, wincing. “You didn’t.”

He stepped closer, slowly, like he couldn’t quite trust the sight of you.

“But I lost them,” he said, voice low. “And I didn’t stop it.”

Your heart cracked open.

“I tried to warn you,” you whispered, reaching out. He took your hand instantly, holding it like a lifeline.

“I know,” he said. “I heard you. In my head. I thought I was losing it.”

You gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You weren’t. I was with you. As much as I could be.”

Rex’s shoulders dropped. The weight of war carved deep into his bones. For a moment, he looked every bit the tired, worn man behind the armor. And you loved him more for it.

_ _ _ _

The medcenter was quiet. Clones moved like shadows—silent, grieving, stunned. You sat upright now, draped in a simple robe, IV lines gone. Still sore. Still healing. But awake.

Rex lingered by your bedside long after the others had gone. He hadn’t spoken in minutes.

Finally, he said:

“They were mine.”

You looked up.

“My brothers. And I shot at them. I followed orders. I didn't question it. Not until it was too late.”

He was shaking. Just slightly. But it was there.

You moved closer, taking his hands again.

“You trusted Krell because he wore the robes. Because that’s what they trained you to do,” you said gently. “You weren’t wrong for trusting him, Rex. He was wrong for abusing it.”

His jaw clenched.

“I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve—”

“Stop.” You reached up, brushing a hand against his cheek, the first real touch you’d shared in weeks. “You did what you could with what you had. And when it mattered—you stopped him. You saved who you could. And you survived.”

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

“I don't feel like I did.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft, chaste kiss against his forehead. The kind only you were allowed to give him. The kind no one else could ever see.

“You did,” you murmured. “And you’re not alone.”

Rex didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in your warmth.

The battle was over. But the war, within and without, would go on.

Material Lists 🩵

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

Star Wars

The Clone Wars

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I personally prefer not to write smut, however if requested I am happy to do so. depending on what you have requested.

Arc Trooper Fives x Bounty Hunter Reader pt.2

Some battles hit close to home—others hit the home itself.

Kamino—the birthplace of the Grand Army—was once considered untouchable. But the Separatists didn't care about sentiment or sacred ground. They wanted to strike at the heart, where the Republic bled.

A scrambled transmission had come through less than forty-eight hours ago: Kamino was next.

The birthplace of the clones. The very artery of the Republic war machine. If Kamino fell, so did everything they fought for.

Every hand was called back to defend it—including Echo and Fives.

"Feels weird being back," Echo said, eyes flicking up toward the grey Kaminoan ceiling.

"Yeah," Fives replied. "It's like coming back to visit an ex who once shot you in the face for blinking too loud."

"...You sure we're talking about Kamino and not her?"

Fives smirked, but didn't answer.

Fives was the first to notice her.

He'd just made some smartass comment to Echo about how all the regs still walked like they had sticks up their shebs when something made him stop mid-step.

A voice. That voice.

Playful. Sharp-edged. Familiar.

He turned—and there she was.

Sitting on a bunk with a cadet. Helmet off, body relaxed, back propped against the wall like she owned the place. Her fingers flicked lazily at a datapad while the cadet beside her looked one cough away from combusting.

Her laugh rang out, low and smug. "You zap a training droid like that again and the I'm gonna use your head for target practice."

The cadet groaned. "You said it was fine!"

"I said try it, not fry it. There's a difference, sunshine."

Echo stopped beside Fives, following his line of sight. His expression flattened.

"She hasn't changed."

"She got hotter," Fives said, then winced as Echo elbowed him. "Kidding. Kidding."

They watched a moment longer. She hadn't noticed them yet, too busy teasing the poor kid who looked like he might pass out from either embarrassment or adoration.

Fives smirked. "Place just got a hell of a lot more interesting."

Fives and Echo didn't move. Just watched. Like spectators waiting for a grenade to go off.

Another cadet on the adjacent bunk stood up, then jumped onto the mattress, trying to show off—springing up and down with dramatic, exaggerated bounces. The bedframe groaned beneath his boots, plastoid rattling.

"Cadet!" she snapped, not even looking up from her datapad. "Quit jumping on the bed!"

The cadet didn't listen.

Of course he didn't.

He landed with a loud creak, then flung his arms out theatrically. "C'mon, you're not as scary as everyone says you are."

Fives winced.

Echo muttered under his breath. "Dead man walking."

Still leaning back against the wall, she finally lifted her eyes to the bouncing cadet. Calm. Lazy. Almost bored.

"You sure about that?" she asked.

The kid gave a half-laugh. "What're you gonna do? Glare me into submission?"

Without breaking eye contact, she reached into her belt, pulled her blaster, flicked it to stun—and fired. One clean shot.

The cadet seized midair like he hit an invisible wall. Then he collapsed, limp and unconscious, mid-jump.

Chaos erupted. The other cadets scrambled to catch him before he crashed to the floor. They caught him by the chestplate, barely avoiding a loud thud. His head lolled, tongue out, stunned to the void and back.

She holstered her blaster like it was just another Tuesday.

"That'll teach you to bounce around when I'm trying to teach someone how not to get shot."

From across the room, Fives cupped both hands around his mouth. "You stunning cadets again?" he shouted. "That's bringing back some real traumatic memories, sweetheart!"

Her head whipped around.

The casual posture straightened. That lazy look sharpened into something a little more dangerous, a little more feral.

Then she smirked. "Fives."

"Missed me?"

She jumped down and stepped over the still-unconscious cadet like he was nothing more than an inconvenient floor lamp. The others made space quick—none of them made eye contact.

Fives and Echo were already waiting for her near the bunks. Fives leaned against the wall, arms folded, helmet clipped to his belt. Smirking like he hadn't aged a day. Like seeing her again didn't just punch the air out of his lungs.

She stopped in front of them, one brow arched.

"Didn't expect to see you two," she said, voice smooth but edged. "Last I heard, you were off doing very classified things in very important places."

Fives gave a mock shrug. "Separatists don't care much for my schedule. Thought I'd swing by, relive some trauma, and see if you were still casually beating up cadets for fun in your free time."

She smiled—too sharp to be sweet.

"They bounce on my bed, they get stunned. Rules haven't changed."

Fives tilted his head, grin widening. "I missed your charming hospitality."

She stepped a little closer, just inside his space. "You missed a lot of things."

"Oh?" His eyes flicked over her, slow, searching. "Anything worth catching up on?"

She looked him up and down, then tapped his chestplate lightly with two fingers. "You still talk too much."

He caught her hand before she could drop it. Held it there for half a second longer than necessary.

"And you still shoot first."

She leaned in, just a little. "That's why I'm still alive."

Echo cleared his throat behind them—pointedly.

They both turned.

"What?" she said.

Echo just gave a dry look. "Should I leave you two to flirt or are we going to address the fact that the outer perimeter is about to be hit in less than 24 hours?"

She blinked, then sighed. "Right. That."

Fives leaned a little closer to her ear, voice lower now. "Raincheck on the verbal sparring?"

She smirked. "You'd better survive the next 24 hours, then."

He winked. "For you? I'll try."

__ __ __ __

The war room was tense. Holograms flickered with incoming scans of Separatist movement, ships breaching the upper atmosphere, debris fields thickening around Kamino like a noose. The reader stood beside General Skywalker, arms folded, gaze narrowed.

"You'll be assisting General Skywalker during the space assault," Master Shaak Ti said, her calm voice cutting through the static hum of the tactical map. "The Separatists are attempting a full-scale assault."

"Finally," the reader muttered, strapping her gloves tighter.

Skywalker cracked a grin. "You just want an excuse to blow something up."

She smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Skywalker glanced at the reader, a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. "You good with a starfighter, or am I going to have to babysit?"

She smirked. "I'll race you up there"

They launched fast—fighter squadrons tearing up through the storm clouds. Kamino's airspace was a firestorm of blaster bolts and explosions, enemy ships descending in coordinated waves. She and Skywalker split off, weaving through Vultures and skimming the wreckage fields that circled the planet.

"That's a lot of debris..." she muttered, eyes narrowing. "Not bad," she murmured, spinning her fighter between the smoking hulls of fallen debris. "We might actually win this one."

"You sound disappointed," Anakin said over comms, grinning through the channel.

Kenobi's voice cut through the comms, sharp and strained: "They're using the debris."

The channel went silent for a second.

"What?" She asked.

"They're using the debris fields to disguise troop transports," Kenobi repeated, irritation rising.

"He's just being dramatic," she muttered.

"Probably jealous we've been mopping them up faster than he has." Anakin added.

But then another "chunk" of floating debris broke open right in front of her, revealing a fully operational droid deployment pod. Her sensors screamed. The pod fired its boosters and shot down toward the city.

"Okay, that's new."

"Kenobi's right," Anakin growled. "They're already inside the city."

The reader gritted her teeth, flipped her ship into a steep dive, and kicked the throttle.

"Tipoca's about to get very crowded."

__ _ _ __

The city shook as another pod hit the platform. Rain pelted the metal walkways as she leapt out of her fighter and sprinted through the Kaminoan halls, Anakin just ahead. Sirens wailed. Clones and droids clashed at every turn. She ducked under blasterfire, slid around a corner—only to skid to a halt.

General Grievous stood just down the corridor, his cloak billowing, metal feet clanking on the floor. He turned his head toward her with that bone-white grin and a low, guttural laugh.

"Well, well..." he rasped, stepping into the light. "Who do we have here?"

Her blaster was up before he finished the sentence. The first few shots sparked off his plating, and then his sabers ignited—four in a blur of green and blue light. He charged.

She dove sideways, rolling under his sweeping strikes. One saber missed her by inches, slashing the wall and sending sparks flying. She came up low and kicked at his leg, only to get thrown back into a wall by one of his secondary arms.

Pain cracked through her ribs. She coughed and spat blood—but she was grinning.

She waited for the swing—and then moved. A twist, a duck, a slam of her vambrace against his wrist. Sparks flew, and one of his sabers dropped. She kicked it away before flipping up, landing a punch straight into his chest plate.

Another saber fell. His remaining blades whirled around her, but she was too fast, too close. Grievous lunged, but she met him head-on. Her forearm armor hissed—and from the sides of her gauntlets, twin knives slid out with a sharp metallic snap.

Her next punch drove the blade into one of his arms. His screech was guttural, inhuman. She ducked under a swing, came up behind him, and drove both blades into his back, carving a sharp X before twisting away again.

"Do you bleed, General," she breathed.

"You will," he spat.

—and then a blaster bolt cracked through the air, slamming into the floor between them.

Kenobi launched himself into the corridor, saber blazing.

"Get out of here!" he shouted.

She hesitated, still breathing hard, soaked in rain and blood and satisfaction.

Grievous roared and charged Kenobi. Their blades collided in a thunderous crash of energy. She turned and ran—dodging blasterfire, sliding through smoke-filled hallways.

She rounded another corner and practically crashed into Echo and Fives, weapons drawn, flanked by Cody and Rex.

"Hey!" Fives barked. "You alive?"

"Barely," she panted, smirking. "You miss me?"

"Always," Fives grinned, even as he loaded another power pack. "You bringing all the drama or just some of it?"

She rolled her shoulder, blood dripping from a cut at her temple.

"Grievous is back there. Kenobi's dancing with him."

Rex cursed under his breath. Cody looked grim.

_ _ _ _

Blaster bolts flew past in every direction, lighting the darkened barracks in flashes of red and blue. Cadets, barely out of training, were taking cover behind flipped bunks, returning fire with borrowed rifles. They were tired, scorched, but holding.

Fives and Echo moved through the smoke-filled corridor, flanking Captain Rex and Commander Cody. The reader was with them, blaster still hot from earlier skirmishes, armor scorched and dented. She was limping slightly, but there was a grin on her face.

"Clear that hall!" Rex ordered.

Blaster bolts seared the air as B1s and B2s advanced through the shattered entry.

One cadet ducked to reload, glanced over at the reader.

"General Grievous. You just fought him, didn't you?"

She exhaled, still crouched. "Yeah."

"You didn't even have a saber."

"Didn't need one."

"You survived?"

She cocked her head mid-firefight, casually. "There's a reason they had me training commandos."

A B2 burst into the doorway—she spun and hit it point blank with a bolt that sent it sparking back through the frame.

Echo ducked behind cover beside her. "How'd it go?"

"Hand-to-hand," she said between shots.

Fives peeked out from behind a flipped bunk. "You punched Grievous?"

"With knives."

"Where the hell did the knives come from?" Echo asked.

"Forearm compartment," she said casually. "He didn't seem to like it."

"You're insane," Fives muttered, watching her with a crooked smile. "Kind of hot, not gonna lie."

"Don't flirt in front of the cadets," she replied dryly, but her tone was lighter now.

"Probably didn't even break a sweat."Fives said, shooting her a lopsided grin.

She flashed a crooked smile back at him. "Wouldn't want to make the general feel bad."

"He still breathing?" one of the cadets asked, checking his ammo.

"For now," she said. "Kenobi stepped in before I could finish it."

"Of course he did," Cody muttered.

Another wave of droids pushed through—cadets and troopers moved as one.

"Let 'em come!" Fives shouted. "This is what we trained for!"

"You're training them now?" she teased, ducking beside him to fire.

"Only the ones that survive."

"Then you better hope I don't shoot you first."

Echo groaned behind them. "Are we seriously doing this now?"

They all ducked as an explosion shook the barracks, smoke flooding through the corridor. Screams, fire, more blaster fire. Cadets held tight, not a single one backing down.

Through the chaos, 99 appeared, hauling ammo crates toward the front lines, barely flinching as a bolt slammed into the wall beside him.

"Here!" 99 called, setting another crate down with a grunt. "Take these—don't let up!"

The reader ducked behind the cover of a half-melted support beam, reloading as she shouted, "You've done enough, 99! Get to safety!"

But he didn't stop. He never did.

Fives broke cover to grab more ammo, dragging the crate back toward the cadets. "We're low! Keep moving!"

"99!" Echo called, "Fall back!"

A B2 unit turned the corner—heavy cannon glowing.

It fired.

The shot slammed into the wall behind 99. He staggered, then dropped to one knee. Another blast hit nearby, sending shrapnel into his chest.

"No!" Fives shouted, blasting the B2 down. Echo and the reader rushed to 99's side.

She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulder gently. His breathing was shallow.

"You're gonna be alright, 99," Echo said, voice tight.

Fives crouched beside them, eyes locked on the old clone's face. "You did good. You did real good, soldier."

99 gave a weak smile. "I... I was trying to help..."

"You did help," the reader said softly. "You saved lives today."

"W-was... I a good soldier?" 99 rasped, blinking slowly.

"The best," Fives whispered. "You were one of us."

His hand fell limp. The light in his eyes faded.

The hallway quieted. Even the cadets paused—every one of them frozen in respect.

No one spoke. The only sound was the fading echo of distant blaster fire.

Rex approached slowly, helmet in hand, eyes lowered. "He didn't have to go out like this."

"But he chose to," Cody said. "He chose to stand."

The reader stood, jaw tight, fists clenched. "Let's make sure his death means something."

Fives looked up at her. "We will."

Then the comm crackled. Anakin's voice filtered through. "Commanders—we need reinforcements near the south platform. We're being overrun."

Cody clicked on his receiver. "Copy that. Moving now."

The group turned to move out. But for one moment longer, they looked back at 99—at the clone who had no number, no war name, but all the heart in the world.

Then they left the hall, blasters drawn, ready to fight in his honor.

_ _ _ _

The ceremony was simple, but it held so much weight. The clones stood in formation, their pristine armor gleaming under the lights of the command center. The air was charged with pride and anticipation as the two cadets who had proven themselves time and time again were about to be promoted to ARC Troopers.

Fives and Echo stood at attention, looking sharp as ever, despite the weight of their past battles. The reader stood off to the side, arms crossed and her eyes scanning the room, though she was focused mostly on Fives. Her lips twitched into a smile as she watched him stand there—so confident now, but she knew the struggle it had taken for him to get here.

Rex stood before them, his voice strong as he spoke to the gathered men.

"Today, we promote two of the finest soldiers I've ever had the honor to serve with. Echo and Fives, you've proven yourselves time and time again. You've earned this. And from now on, you will lead with us, shoulder to shoulder."

He paused, nodding at each of them. "Congratulations, gentlemen. You are both now ARC Troopers"

Fives and Echo exchanged glances, a look of both disbelief and excitement crossing their faces. Then, they stood tall as Rex handed them the ARC Trooper insignias.

The two men saluted, their chests swelling with pride. The rest of the clones clapped, the sound echoing in the hall.

The reader stepped forward, a smirk curling on her lips. She reached out to give Fives a solid clap on the shoulder, her voice low enough only for him to hear.

"Nice work, Fives. You didn't screw it up after all," she teased.

He shot her a grin, leaning in closer. "I told you I'd make it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to make it with your head still attached to your shoulders," she shot back, her smile playful. "Guess that's worth a reward."

The rest of the clones dispersed, leaving Fives and the reader standing near the edge of the room. Echo had already disappeared into the crowd, no doubt celebrating with the others. But Fives stayed close to the reader, a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Fives replied

"You're getting dangerously confident now, huh?"

"Maybe," Fives said with a grin.

The reader leaned in, and with a playful gleam in her eyes, she brushed a hand against his cheek, before kissing him quickly on the lips. It was brief, but the lingering heat between them made it clear they both felt the weight of that moment.

Pulling away just slightly, the reader met his eyes, her voice soft and teasing. "Don't let it go to your head. I might just have to knock you down a peg again."

Fives's grin widened, though there was a spark of something serious in his expression now. "I'll be careful. I'll be back before you know it."

"Better be," she replied, her tone playful, but her eyes holding a trace of something more sincere.

Fives nodded, stepping back with his usual swagger. "I'll hold you to that."

He turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her one last look. The reader watched him disappear into the crowd, a part of her wishing she could hold onto that moment a little longer, but knowing that it was only the beginning of something bigger.

_ _ _ _

Part 1

Commander Doom x Jedi Reader

Summary: Reader and Commander Doom form a quiet bond during the Clone Wars. After a successful mission, they share a brief but meaningful connection amidst the chaos of war.

Smoke curled through the broken remains of the building as you crouched beside Commander Doom. The twin Jedi Masters and the rest of the squad were a few blocks ahead, sweeping the south sector. You and Doom had been tasked with clearing out this sector—a quieter street, bombed out and ghostly silent.

"You always this calm before a fight?" you asked, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Doom didn't turn to look at you. His blaster stayed aimed at the alley ahead, but his voice carried that easy drawl of someone unshaken by chaos.

"Calm's better than nervous. Panic gets you shot. Calm gets you home."

Then, with a crooked smirk you *couldn't* see under his helmet, "Besides, I've got a Jedi watching my back. I'd be stupid *not* to feel calm."

You smiled despite yourself, adjusting your grip on your lightsaber. "And here I thought clones were trained not to trust emotion."

"We are," Doom said, slowly rising to his feet, his tone light but his stance shifting into readiness. "Doesn't mean we don't *feel* it. And trust me—if I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have let you take point."

You blinked. "You let me take point?"

He gave a low chuckle, finally glancing at you. "Don't tell General Tiplar I said that."

The air changed. That subtle, pressing *something* that always whispered right before an ambush.

You both felt it.

No words were needed—Doom raised his fist, signaling a halt. You stepped back to back, instinct and training melding into one fluid motion.

Then came the blaster fire.

Four droids dropped from the rooftop above. Doom was already firing, smooth and precise. You ignited your saber, spinning low and cutting through two before they hit the ground.

The brief firefight was over in seconds. Doom kicked aside a still-sparking arm and looked over at you. "Nice form."

You shrugged. "You're not so bad yourself."

He stepped a little closer, his voice low now, more intimate beneath the helmet modulator. "Not often I get a mission like this. Usually, it's orders, droids, chaos. But right now, it's just you and me. Kind of... peaceful. You know?"

You met his gaze—well, the visor of his helmet—and tilted your head. "You finding peace in the middle of a battlefield, Commander?"

"Maybe," Doom said. "Maybe I just like the company."

Your chest fluttered before you could stop it.

The comm crackled: Tiplar calling for a regroup. The moment passed.

Doom rolled his shoulders, relaxed as ever. "Duty calls, General."

You nodded, but as you turned, he added, quietly, "Let's not wait for another mission to get a moment like that."

And Force help you, you kind of hoped the same.

---

The group reconvened outside a crumbling warehouse, the air thick with heat and the sharp scent of blaster residue. Doom gave you a short nod as you joined up with the others, slipping seamlessly back into his role as calm, capable commander. You did the same—lightsaber clipped to your belt, posture controlled, gaze forward.

But the warmth of that moment lingered like a fingerprint on your skin.

Tiplar stood ahead, arms crossed, her sharp eyes watching the regroup. Tiplee was further off, coordinating with a pair of troopers over comms. The twin Masters had always been in sync, but Tiplar—calculated and observant—noticed *everything*.

She stepped closer as you approached, her gaze flicking between you and Doom.

"You two took longer than expected," she said coolly, eyes narrowing just a little.

"Cleared the sector, no resistance after the ambush," Doom replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "Had to be thorough."

"Hm," Tiplar hummed, then turned to you, tilting her head.

"Strange. For someone so thorough, you were walking awfully close."

Your breath caught for a second—not enough for anyone but a Jedi Master to notice.

"I go where the danger is," you replied, lifting your chin slightly. "That's my job."

Tiplar didn't smile. "Danger comes in many forms."

There was a pause. Doom glanced your way, unreadable behind the visor. You could almost *feel* the amused tension in him. Like he knew exactly what Tiplar was implying—and liked it.

But Tiplar wasn't done.

"You may think you're being subtle," she said, quiet now, only for your ears. "But attachment has a way of showing itself in battle. Don't mistake chemistry for connection."

You wanted to defend yourself. To say it was nothing. But you didn't. Because a small, traitorous part of you *wanted* there to be something there. Something real. Something worth hiding.

She stepped back, expression unreadable.

"Let's move. War waits for no one."

As the squad moved out, Doom fell in beside you again, keeping a careful distance this time.

"She said something, didn't she?" he murmured under his breath, voice pitched low.

You exhaled through your nose. "Just Jedi things."

A beat. Then his voice, dry and quietly amused:

"So... should I stop walking so close, or is that part of the Jedi code you're willing to bend?"

You didn't look at him. But your lips curved into a small, dangerous smile.

"Careful, Commander. You keep talking like that, I *will* start walking closer."

He chuckled. "Noted, General."

And with that, you disappeared into the haze of war once more—together, but not quite allowed to be.

---

The mission was a success. Mostly.

The city had been secured, the Separatist hold broken. Casualties were minimal—by war standards. Commander Doom's squadron had fought with unshakable precision, and you... you had done your duty.

Still, something in the air had shifted. Not in the battlefield, but between you and the Jedi Generals.

They called you to a private meeting the evening before departure, just after sundown. The makeshift command center was quiet, walls humming softly with power, light from the twin moons spilling through the cracks in the tarp-covered window.

Tiplar stood with her arms folded, stern, unreadable. Tiplee offered a small nod in greeting, but her expression was tinged with something softer. Regret, maybe.

"You know why you're here," Tiplar began without preamble.

You said nothing. There was no point pretending. You straightened, hands behind your back like a soldier awaiting reprimand.

"Your connection with Commander Doom," Tiplar said, "has not gone unnoticed. Nor has it gone unspoken."

Your throat tightened, but still, you remained silent.

"We are not unfeeling," Tiplee said gently, stepping closer. "We know the bond between comrades in war. But what we saw—what we *felt*—was something more."

"She's right," Tiplar cut in. "We saw it. And so did your squad. It's not just a bond forged in battle. It's attachment. Emotional compromise. And it's a direct violation of the Jedi Code."

You swallowed hard. "Nothing happened."

"It doesn't need to," Tiplar said. "You should know better. The potential alone is enough. You cannot serve two masters—your duty and your heart."

Tiplee stepped in again, her voice softer. "We believe in your strength. In your discipline. This doesn't make you weak, but it does make your path... complicated."

Silence fell between the three of you. Heavy. Inevitable.

Tiplar spoke last.

"This will be the last and only time you reinforce Doom Squadron under our command. You'll return to your assigned sector tomorrow. No formal reprimand will be filed. But this ends here."

You nodded once, jaw tight. "Understood, Master."

As you turned to leave, Tiplee reached out, gently touching your arm.

"You care for him," she said, not as an accusation, but as truth. "And he cares for you. I hope, in another life—one without war, without codes—you both find peace."

You didn't trust your voice, so you nodded.

---

You found Doom later, standing watch at the edge of the encampment. Moonlight painted his armor silver, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"They talked to you," he said. Not a question.

You looked at him, memorizing every line of his face in the dim light. "Yeah."

He nodded, jaw ticking. "I figured. The way Tiplar looked at me during debrief? I've seen droids with more warmth."

You gave a breath of laughter. But it didn't reach your eyes.

"This is the last time," you said. "I won't be reassigned to your missions again."

He was quiet for a long moment. "Orders?"

You nodded. "The Code."

Doom sighed, running a gloved hand over his buzzed hair. "Can't say I'm surprised. Can't say I like it either."

You stepped closer, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of him.

"I meant what I said," he murmured. "Back when it was just us. I liked the company."

Your voice was barely a whisper. "So did I."

For a moment, the war vanished. The Code. The ranks. The weight.

It was just two souls caught in the space between duty and desire.

And then you stepped back.

No kiss. No promise. Just understanding.

"Goodbye, Commander."

He gave you a crooked, sad smile—the same one he wore before a mission that might go south.

"Until the next war, General."

You didn't look back.

Because if you did, you might not leave.

And the Jedi weren't allowed to stay where their heart was.

---

*Post - Order 66*

The Outer Rim had gone silent.

Not just from war, but from *everything*.

The Jedi were gone. Hunted. Betrayed. Burned out of history by the very men who once followed them into battle.

But not all of them.

And not *him*.

Commander Doom stood alone in the shade of a half-collapsed homestead, a blaster slung low at his hip, no armor, just worn fatigues and a heavy coat that flapped in the wind. The land was dry and dead, forgotten by the Empire. Which made it perfect for hiding someone who used to be a Jedi.

He'd been waiting for hours, unsure if the coordinates he'd been given were real, or a ghost. Maybe that was all that was left of you now—an echo.

But then, across the cracked dirt, you appeared.

Your robes were shredded, your face gaunt and bruised, a long scar cutting across your cheek and jaw. You limped. You looked... wrecked. Like survival had cost you more than life itself.

But your eyes were still yours.

Doom stared for a long time. Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

"I didn't follow it," he said softly. "The chip. I tore it out before the purge. I—felt something. Something was wrong. I didn't shoot. I *couldn't*."

You blinked, like you were still seeing a dream.

"They all turned on us," you said, your voice hollow. "I watched them kill. Everyone. My friends. My old master. My Padawan..."

Doom's throat worked. He reached out, slow, careful. "I didn't know. I didn't know you had a Padawan."

"I didn't, for long." You looked down. "They never had a chance."

A pause.

"I should've stayed away from you," you added bitterly. "Maybe then... maybe I would've kept the Code. Maybe I wouldn't feel so *ruined*."

Doom stepped closer until he was right in front of you. His voice was low, rough. "The Code didn't save you."

You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

"The Jedi Code is dead," he continued. "So are the Generals. The Republic. The Order. But we're not. You're not."

You looked like you wanted to believe him.

"I've got land," he said. "Not much. But it's quiet. Safe. I've been building. A place that doesn't need war, or orders, or Codes. Just... life. Peace."

He paused, his voice thick. "It's yours too, if you want it."

You stared at him. For a long time. Then longer still.

And then your shoulders crumpled—like years of weight finally gave way. Doom caught you as you stumbled forward, arms wrapping around you without hesitation.

You didn't speak. You didn't cry. You just *breathed*—his scent, his warmth, the impossible relief of *not being alone*.

And that was enough.o

---

Later, he brought you tea in mismatched mugs. You sat together on the porch of a half-built home, watching the wind move through the dead trees. You didn't speak of the war. Or the dead. Or what came next.

You just sat beside each other, two broken things daring to imagine healing.

---

Arc Trooper Fives x Bounty Hunter Reader

Summary: Domino Squad is a disaster, and you're the trainer stuck trying to fix them. They're cocky, chaotic, and hanging by a thread—especially Fives. But somewhere between the bruises, barking orders, and late-night drills, something starts to change. Maybe even you.

———

Kamino always smelled like wet metal and too much polish. The kind of place that made your trigger finger itch just to remind yourself you were still alive.

You stood alone in the empty training room, arms crossed, helmet hooked on your hip, waiting.

Fifteen minutes. You weren't used to waiting. Especially not for kids.

Domino Squad. Shak Ti's special case. Her voice still echoed in your ear from the briefing: "They have potential... but they lack unity. I believe a different kind of instructor might help."

You weren't sure if she meant your experience training commandos... or the fact that you had the patience of a womp rat with a blaster wound.

The door finally hissed open, and five clone cadets filtered in—already mid-argument.

"I told you she'd be here," one snapped.

"No, you said hangar, genius."

"I said rec room, actually."

You turned slowly to face them, expression unreadable.

"You're late."

They froze like kids caught slicing into a security terminal.

One of them—broad-shouldered, short hair, an attitude problem already radiating off him—stepped forward. "Ma'am, we were told to meet you in the hangar."

You stared him down. "Why the hell would I meet you in the hangar for live combat drills? That's where people go to leave. Not get their shebs handed to them."

Another chimed in, confused. "CT-782 told us the mess hall."

The tall one groaned. "I never said that!"

"Did too!"

"I said we should check the mess hall—"

"Why would she train us in a cafeteria?!"

They were full-on bickering now. Voices overlapping, fingers pointing, logic disappearing with every word.

You just stared. Shak Ti hadn't been exaggerating.

These kids were a walking tactical disaster.

You let them go another three seconds before barking, "Enough!"

Silence.

You stepped forward, boots echoing against the durasteel floor.

"You think this is funny? Cute? You think this is how squads survive out there in the field? Getting your coordinates mixed and your shebs blown off because nobody can get their story straight?"

They said nothing. At least they had the sense to look guilty.

You exhaled through your nose, less angry now. More tired.

"Alright. Names. One by one. And don't kriffing lie."

The one who'd spoken first crossed his arms. "CT-782. Hevy."

You gave him a look. Accurate. He was the one with the mess hall theory.

The next was shorter, more nervous. "CT-4040. Cutup."

You nodded once.

Then came a cadet with a perpetually sour expression. "CT-00-2010. Droidbait."

"Unfortunate name," you muttered.

He shrugged. "I didn't pick it."

Then came the silent one—stiff posture, emotion locked down like a vault. "CT-1409. Echo."

You raised a brow. "Because you repeat yourself?"

"Because I follow orders," he replied, a little too sharp.

You liked him already.

And finally... the fifth cadet. His armor was slightly looser, hair a little unruly, grin already forming.

"CT-5555. Fives."

You blinked. "Seriously?"

He gave you a cheeky salute. "I take training very seriously, ma'am."

You folded your arms. "And yet you still ended up fifteen minutes late to a scheduled ass-kicking."

His grin widened. "Better late than dead."

Force help me, you thought. This one's going to be a handful.

But as the squad fell into a loose formation, shoulders brushing, complaints subsiding—you saw it. The spark. They were disorganized, sure. Rough around the edges. But there was something under all that chaos.

Especially with that one.

Fives.

You didn't smile.

Not yet.

But you already knew you'd have your eye on him.

---

The simulation room smelled like ozone and bruised pride.

Smoke curled from a spent training turret. The floor was littered with foam stun bolts. And Domino Squad? Lying in a tangled heap of limbs, groaning and stunned after getting their collective asses handed to them. Again.

You stood over them, blaster still warm in your hand, utterly unimpressed.

"You know," you said, holstering your weapon, "the point of the exercise was *not* to see how many of you could trip over each other while a single assailant takes you all out in under two minutes."

Cutup coughed. "It was under two minutes?"

"I'm generous. It was forty-two seconds."

Hevy swore softly.

Fives pushed himself up onto one elbow, panting. "Okay, so—hear me out—we *let* you win. Morale-boosting strategy."

You turned slowly. "You let me what?"

He gave you that same lopsided grin from yesterday, hair mussed, lip split. "Had to make sure your ego was intact. Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Oh," you said sweetly. "Is that what this is? You playing nice?"

Fives dragged himself to his feet, still grinning. "Wouldn't want to upset someone who looks that good while kicking my ass."

There it was. The line.

The others groaned behind him.

Echo muttered, "Maker, Fives, not again."

You stepped into his space. Fives barely flinched, even with you nose to nose.

"You know what's funny?" you said, eyes locked on his.

"Me, I'm hilarious," he offered.

You slammed the butt of your blaster into the back of his knee. He dropped like a sack of supplies, flat on his back with a surprised grunt.

You knelt beside him, elbow resting on your knee, casual. "Commandos don't flirt during training."

He blinked up at you. "Maybe they should."

You bit back a laugh.

It was infuriating. It was charming. It was a problem.

You stood, stepping over him to address the squad.

"You've got potential," you said flatly. "But potential doesn't mean anything if you can't get your heads out of your own shebs long enough to function like a unit. Commandos are sharp. Focused. They move like a single weapon."

Droidbait raised a hand from the floor. "So... we're more like a broken vibroblade?"

You stared down at him. "Right now? You're a butter knife."

A few of them snorted.

You rolled your shoulders, then hit the reset on the simulation. The room flickered. Walls shifted. Obstacles reformed.

"Again."

"Now?" Echo asked, winded.

"Yes, now. You think clankers are gonna give you a breather 'cause you're winded? Again."

The lights flickered red, and the first wave of simulated droids poured in.

---

The squad filed out of the training room, grumbling and limping, drenched in sweat and ego damage. You stayed behind, checking the scoring logs. You didn't look up when footsteps returned behind you.

"Back for round four?" you asked.

Fives leaned against the doorway, arms folded, nursing a fresh bruise on his jaw.

"Thought you might want some company while you reviewed our failure."

You arched a brow. "That's sweet. But I prefer my pity parties without commentary."

He grinned. "Not pity. Just... curiosity."

You turned toward him fully, arms crossed now. "About what?"

He shrugged. "Why you took this assignment. You're a bounty hunter. You train clone commandos. So what are you doing babysitting a bunch of squad rejects?"

You stared at him for a long beat.

"I don't babysit," you said finally. "I break bad habits. Yours just happen to be louder and dumber than most."

His grin faltered—just for a second.

But then he stepped closer. Not quite in your space, but almost.

"You think we've got no shot, huh?"

"I think you've got no discipline. No unity. No idea how to shut up and listen. You've got heart, sure. Fire. But fire without direction burns out fast."

Fives looked at you differently then. The grin softened. The smartass faded, just a little.

"And me?" he asked, quieter.

You blinked.

"What about you?"

He shrugged again, casual and reckless. "Where do *I* fall on your little critique list?"

You stepped closer, leaned in with a smirk of your own.

"You? You're the most dangerous one of all."

His eyebrows lifted. "Oh yeah?"

"Because you've got the spark. But you'd throw your life away in a second for someone who doesn't even like you yet."

Fives opened his mouth to reply, but you were already walking out past him.

"Be better tomorrow, cadet," you called.

He turned to watch you go, smirking despite himself.

"Oh, I will."

---

The lights were low in the training dome. It was well past curfew. The Kaminoan facility echoed with rain and distant alarms. Most cadets were asleep—except Domino Squad.

And you.

The moment you'd walked into the barracks and barked, *"Up. Now. You've got five minutes,"* they knew better than to ask questions.

Cutup groaned as he jogged alongside you toward the dome. "You realize some of us like sleeping, right?"

"You can sleep when you're competent," you shot back.

"Guess I'll be dead first," Droidbait muttered.

Fives, ever the golden retriever with a blaster, nudged Hevy. "Come on. This'll be good."

"You say that every time," Echo said, deadpan. "And every time, you eat dirt."

"Yeah," Fives grinned. "But at least I look good doing it."

You rolled your eyes but hid the smile tugging at your mouth as you keyed in the sim code. The floor shifted. A close-quarters layout, reduced visibility, enemy droids loaded for full-speed pursuit. No stuns. They had to think. Move fast. Adapt.

"Alright," you said. "You've improved. Slightly. So now we make it harder."

Droidbait groaned. "I liked it better when you just yelled at us."

"You're welcome."

You turned to Fives as he checked his blaster, already flashing you that boyish, too-easy smile. "So what's the challenge this time, boss? Try not to fall in love with you mid-firefight?"

You tilted your head. "That happen to you often, cadet?"

He winked. "Only with the deadly ones."

Your smirk was slow and wicked. "Careful, pretty boy. That flirting'll get you shot."

"Oh, I'm into danger."

"Good," you purred. "I'll make it hurt."

That got a low *ooooh* from the squad.

Fives faltered—just for a second. It was enough.

The droid in the corner of the sim fired. Fives barely turned in time before the stun bolt caught him square in the chest and sent him sprawling to the floor with a *thud.*

You crossed your arms, standing over him with a grin. "Lesson number one: distractions on the battlefield get you *killed.*"

Cutup leaned over him. "Damn, man. She really *floored* you."

"Shut up," Fives wheezed.

You turned back to the rest of them. "Get up. Formation. Now."

As they fell into line, Echo muttered under his breath, "This feels like bullying."

"You all volunteered to be here," you called over your shoulder. "This is mercy."

Fives finally staggered upright, cheeks flushed—maybe from the stun, maybe not.

He jogged to catch up, falling in step beside you.

"I'm still your favorite," he said under his breath.

"You're on a very long list, cadet."

He grinned. "But I'm climbing."

You just smirked and let him believe it.

---

The squad had been dismissed and were off licking their wounds (and egos). But you were still in the dome, reviewing footage, adjusting the next sim's layout.

You didn't look up when the door hissed open.

"You don't sleep either, huh?"

Fives.

He walked in slow, still in training gear, bruised, towel slung around his neck like some cocky prizefighter.

"Couldn't sleep," he said. "Thought I'd come get a private lesson."

You raised a brow. "Need help falling on your face again?"

"Thought I'd try doing it *on purpose* this time," he shot back, stepping up beside you.

You shook your head, amused despite yourself.

The silence stretched for a moment—comfortable. Weirdly so.

Then he asked, quieter, "Do you think we're gonna make it?"

You looked over at him, surprised.

He wasn't grinning anymore. Not really.

"I mean," he added, "Domino Squad. We screw everything up. Shak Ti thinks we're hopeless. Our last trainer quit after two weeks. You're the only one who hasn't given up on us yet."

You watched him for a beat.

"You want the honest answer?"

He nodded.

"You will. But not because of some miracle. Not because someone fixes you. You'll make it because you stop trying to be five separate heroes and start fighting like one team."

He looked at you like you'd said something *important.*

Then, because it was Fives: "Also probably because I look so good in armor."

You rolled your eyes. "And you were *so* close to having a character moment."

He chuckled, easy and low. "I like you."

You turned back to the screen, not smiling, but not not-smiling either.

"I know."

---

You stood with arms crossed in the control room above the Citadel, staring down at the training ground. The room was cold, sterile—just like the expressions on the two bounty hunter instructors beside you.

Bric scowled. "They're not ready."

El-Les sighed, gentler, but still resigned. "Too fractured. They'll fall apart under pressure."

You clenched your jaw. "They've improved."

"Not enough."

Down below, Domino Squad prepped for the exam. They looked... okay. Not perfect. Not polished. But their footing was better. Their eyes sharper. Even Hevy wasn't muttering complaints under his breath. You'd drilled them to exhaustion over the past week.

They had heart.

But heart only got you so far.

---

It started strong.

Tight formation, decent communication. Droid targets were taken down efficiently, if a bit loud. But then the turret fired.

Hevy went off plan.

Droidbait hesitated.

Cutup tripped.

Echo tried to rally them—but it was too late.

Fives shouted over the chaos. "Fall back, *together!*" but no one was listening anymore.

The blast sent them sprawling. Timer hit red.

"Simulation failed," the droid voice droned.

Silence.

You looked down at them through the glass, jaw clenched.

Below, the boys didn't even argue. They just stood there, stunned.

Disappointed.

Shak Ti's voice was calm, as always, from beside you. "They're not without merit."

Bric scoffed. "They're without skill."

You bristled. "They're not without *potential.*"

But it didn't matter. The test was failed. Domino Squad walked off the field with heavy steps and heavier hearts.

---

You found them later, back in their barracks, silent for once.

"I've seen worse squads," you said, leaning against the wall.

Echo didn't look up. "You've trained worse squads?"

"No," you admitted. "But I've seen them. You want pity, or you want another shot?"

Fives finally looked at you. "They're not gonna let us retake it."

You tossed a datapad onto the table. "Shak Ti overruled Bric. Said you were worth the gamble."

They all stared.

Hevy slowly blinked. "...You serious?"

You gave him a sharp nod. "Final shot. Pass, and you graduate. Fail, and I'm not gonna waste my time making your funerals look nice."

Fives grinned, eyes gleaming. "You do care."

You shoved a practice baton into his chest. "I care about not wasting good talent. Let's go, squad. Again."

---

You watched from the same control room, this time with arms folded, jaw tense, heart stubbornly in your throat.

Domino Squad hit the field. Silent. Steady.

They moved like a unit.

When Hevy took the high ground, Echo and Cutup covered the flank. Fives ran point, calling out shots, focused, fast, precise.

When the turrets came, no one panicked. When Droidbait hesitated, Fives yanked him out of the way without missing a beat.

They didn't fall apart.

They didn't fall at all.

The simulation ended with the squad fully intact, the objective secured, and the droid voice confirming: "Simulation complete. Pass."

Bric said nothing. El-Les smiled.

You? You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

---

You met them outside the dome, arms crossed again—but this time your eyes betrayed you.

Pride. Real pride.

They were grinning, sweaty, bruised, but *standing taller* than they ever had.

"Well?" you said. "You gonna thank me, or what?"

Cutup smirked. "Thank you for the emotional trauma?"

Hevy laughed. "Wouldn't be the same without it."

You looked at Fives. He looked back, eyes softer than you'd ever seen them.

And then, without thinking, you stepped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

A beat.

Then two.

The entire squad: *"OOOOHHHHHHH—"*

Fives flushed crimson, frozen in place. "Did—Did anyone else feel the room spin or—?"

You smirked, stepping back. "Don't let it go to your head, pretty boy. You're still just a cadet."

He blinked. "A cadet who *just graduated.*"

You held his gaze a moment longer, something unsaid between you.

Then you turned. "Until we meet again."

"Wait—" he called after you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

He smiled, still a little dazed. "You're gonna miss me."

You grinned. "I already do."

And then you were gone, leaving Domino Squad behind to bask in their victory.

And Fives?

Well, he touched his cheek for a suspiciously long time that day.

———

Part 2

A/N

For more clones please check out my Wattpad account or my material list

Decided to try writing fan fiction again, let’s see how long it last this time ahaha