Clones X Reader - Blog Posts

fights and hugs (crosshair's pov)

wildflower masterlist

relationship: twi'lek!jedi!reader x crosshair [gn, can be platonic or romantic]

summary: everyone thinks you're perfect but crosshair knows the truth - you're manipulative and annoying. so why does he get so protective when a creep harasses you?

word count: 1.8k

warnings: cross thinks kindness = emotional manipulation, jealousy, sexualization/verbal harassment, enslavement, creep gets punched, protective cross, clones not having rights/unfair justice system, separation anxiety, soft cross, he's like a feral cat that secretly wants to be a house cat

ryl translations: chi'kan- pervert, keela- darling

a/n: i think i wrote cross like wednesday addams lmao

Crosshair thinks you’re the most frustrating person he’s ever met. And he can’t even do anything about it. He might be a prickly bastard but he’s also a soldier and you’re his commanding officer. He can’t just pick a fight with you. Especially since you never take the fucking bait.

He gives you the bare minimum amount of respect required. He follows your orders on missions (they’re actually pretty smart but he’ll die before he admits that.) He calls you commander or sir. He doesn’t outright insult you. But he certainly doesn’t worship you like his brothers.

They think you’re an angel. What makes you so special? You make Wrecker laugh obnoxiously loud. You encourage Tech’s messy collecting hobby. You play with Hunter's hair until he’s purring like a tooka. It’s pathetic. You’re probably using jedi mind tricks on them. The truth is you’re a manipulative little shit and if it didn’t make Crosshair so angry he might be impressed.

What he really hates is that satisfied look on your face when he does what you want. Like when he plays a stupid dancing game just to prove to you that he can do it better than Wrecker. Or smiling at him proudly when he doesn’t shoot a reg.

Then you have the audacity to compliment him? Disgusting. So why does he crave it? Why does he get annoyed when you praise his brothers instead of him.

One day you give him a piece of dark fabric. “You wear it to block out light when you sleep,” you explain with a bright smile. The cool material is like his blacks but softer. He can’t help but run his fingers along it. He mutters a thanks and quickly leaves.

That night he uses the sleep mask and to his horror likes it. Now he’s in debt to you. But he doesn’t have any credits. Fucking great. Why do you have to make his life so difficult?

Luckily he finds a gift for you within the next few days. After a mission he notices a rock that got caught in an explosion. It’s been cracked in half, exposing the crystalized insides. Jedi like crystals right? He grabs it and drops it in his pack.

Of course you make a big fuss when he awkwardly gives it to you. You almost hug him but don’t, thank the force. He doesn’t feel dissapointed at all. You show the rock to his brothers proudly. His face burns when they send him questioning looks. “Easily impressed,” he scoffs dismissively. Although secretly he’s proud of himself.

He’s having a sleepless night on some forgettable outer rim planet when you knock on his cabin door. He knows it’s you because his brothers would have barged in. “Hey Crosshair, wanna get some snacks? I’m paying,” you offer. You shake a satchel draped across your body, making the credits inside clank together.

He wonders if Hunter (who’s currently on watch) put you up to this, why else would you seek out his company? It's obvious you prefer his brothers anyways. Not that he cares. The thought of you being coerced into this makes his hackles rise, he doesn't need your pity, but then he imagines telling Wrecker’s that you got him nat born food tomorrow. That will be entertaining. He sharply agrees and puts on his boots.

He glances down at his GAR issued loungewear. He doesn’t know if they’re appropriate for a nat born store or wherever you’re taking him but you’re wearing sleep clothes too so good enough. You're swaddled in an oversized robe to be exact. How childish. Not at all endearing

As you exit the ship your eyes reflect in the dark just like his. That’s another annoyance. Enhanced eyesight used to be his thing. You began humming a tune under your breath. Crosshair almost says something but the sound isn’t too horrible so he lets you continue.

Within a few minutes you're at the store. He's instantly overwhelmed by the bright lights and endless options, who needs so many flavors of the same thing? He doesn’t know what any of this is but he doesn’t want to admit that so he begins recon. He grabs a crinkly bag that appears to be some kind of a cracker to inspect it.

That’s when Crosshair notices a stumbling man leering at you. He’s caught off guard by the sudden flash of protective anger he feels. Why is he so concerned? If you can handle yourself on a battlefield, you can handle one pathetic human. Your body language is the opposite of your usual demanor when talking to civilians. You’re usually very open and engaging, easily forming a connection with them. Not now.

Crosshair has seen you face hoards of battle droids with a smile. He’s seen you meditate while being shot at. He’s seen you make fun of General Grievous while fending off four sabers. But now you look shaken. Your colorful skin has paled, eyes wide in a mix of shock and horror. You suddenly look so young and so frightened.

He's beside you in a second. He tries to ignore the relief in your eyes, the way you subtly lean closer to him. It makes his chest feel odd.

“You their master?”

He sneers. Does he look like a jedi master? You go completely rigid beside him. That catches the clone off guard. You know how to keep a straight face. You’re not only a stupidly brave fighter, you’re a damn good negotiator. What could have possibly upset – then it hits him. This man was referring to a different kind of master.

You quickly recover, slipping into an emotionless jedi facade you rarely use. Crosshair’s jaw clenches so hard his toothpick snaps in half. He spits the broken pieces towards the man’s feet. “I belong to no one. The galaxy is much bigger than your prejudices,” you state evenly but there’s a fire in your eyes. “My friend and I are leaving now.”

Then the creep, who’s either stupud or plain suicidal, scoffs angrily. “You think you’re better than me? Tail head whore.”

The sniper sees fucking red. How dare this piece of shit demean his jedi? His self sacrificing, too nice, pain in the ass jedi. Only Crosshair is allowed to make your life difficult. The way the stranger judges you reminds him of every kaminoan that looked down on his brothers and his free hand is swinging.

The drunk is sent staggering wildly. Before either man can recover your fingers wrap around the sniper's wrist to hold him in place as you bend down. “You want to go home and rethink your life choices," you instruct melodically, waving a hand in his face.

“I want to go home and rethink my life choices,” he repeats blankly.

You make quick work of charming the concerned worker, assuring that no police presence is necessary. Then you turn to the sniper and in that fake calm voice he hates suggests he get water for his chips. For once in his life he follows instructions without complaint, watching you closely as you pay for your snacks. Your moves are less graceful and much more droid-like than usual.

Once you get outside you shakily sigh. He holds back an eyeroll. He’s lived with Hunter long enough to know when he’s going to get scolded. “You shouldn’t have done that, Crosshair. I was about to mind trick him.”

He stares at the ground with a tight jaw. He doesn’t know why he defended you when you didn't need it. He saw a creep harassing the only nat born who’s ever been kind to him and he just snapped. He’s still angry, honestly. Why aren’t you? “He deserved it.”

“Perhaps. But clones don’t have rights, you can’t just go around assaulting civilians. Even if it’s self defense you’re going to be painted as the aggressor.”

But Crosshair is only half listening. He's more focused on your unsteady hands. “You're shaking."

“Are you even listening to me? This is serious.”

He suddenly seizes your free wrist, “so is this.”

You look like you want to argue for a moment then you slump in defeat. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Crosshair has experience with overwhelmed siblings. Hunter like space, Wrecker likes affection, Tech likes a listening ear. "What do you need?” He asks, surprisingly gentle.

This seems to be your boiling over point as you gesture wildly, swinging the bag in your hand. “I need sleep. I need to meditate. I need my master.” Your glowing eyes widen at your own outburst. The frustration morphs to sadness. “I guess I’m a little homesick. I thought spending time with you would be a good distraction but that chi’kan ruined it.”

This should be the point where he drops the subject. You already said what’s wrong and it’s not his responsibility to make you happy. But a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hunter points out that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t leave him to suffer.

He thinks back to the cadet days, when it was just him and his brothers against the world. He remembers the overwhelming anger when a reg hurt one of them. He was never good at comforting, he was good at revenge. But he can’t fight your emotions. And he already punched the chi’kan (he’ll have to find out what that means later.)

There’s only one option left. Out of his brothers you remind him of Wrecker the most and Wrecker likes physical reassurance when he’s upset. He awkwardly opens his arms and bites the blaster bolt. “Do you want a hug?”

“... What?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

Then you’re flying against him. Crosshair almost falls into the grass as you smash your face into his neck, fists balling into his sleep shirt. You’re warm and solid and your touch isn’t completely revolting. He slowly relaxes as he winds a long arm around you.

Crosshair will never admit it but he can understand your separation anxiety. As the sniper it’s his job to watch his brother’s backs. The instinct to protect is so engraved in Crosshair he needs to be near his siblings or know where they are at all times. Maybe that’s why he defended you tonight. He’s starting to accept you as part of the squad.

“Blossom?” He mutters, thumb absently stroking your lower back.

“Yeah, Cross?”

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll shoot you.”

You snort against the crook of his neck. "Whatever you say, keela."

fights and hugs (crosshair's pov)

wildflower masterlist

relationship: twi'lek!jedi!reader x crosshair [gn]

summary: everyone thinks you're perfect but crosshair knows the truth - you're manipulative and annoying. so why does he get so protective when a creep harasses you?

word count: 1.8k

warnings: can be platonic or romantic, cross thinks kindness = emotional manipulation, jealousy, sexualization/verbal harassment, enslavement, creep gets punched, protective cross, clones not having rights/unfair justice system, past bullying, mentioned nightmares/separation anxiety, soft cross, he's like a feral cat that secretly wants to be a house cat

ryl translations: chi'kan- pervert

a/n: i think i wrote cross like wednesday addams lmao

Crosshair thinks you’re the most frustrating person he’s ever met. And he can’t even do anything about it. He might be a prickly bastard but he’s also a soldier and you’re his commanding officer. He can’t just pick a fight with you. Especially since you never take the fucking bait.

He gives you the bare minimum amount of respect required. He follows your orders on missions (they’re actually pretty smart but he’ll die before he admits that.) He calls you commander or sir. He doesn’t outright insult you. But he certainly doesn’t worship you like his brothers.

They think you’re an angel. What makes you so special? You make Wrecker laugh obnoxiously loud. You encourage Tech’s messy collecting hobby. You play with Hunter's hair until he’s purring like a tooka. It’s pathetic. You’re probably using jedi mind tricks on them. The truth is you’re a manipulative little shit and if it didn’t make Crosshair so angry he might be impressed.

What he really hates is that satisfied look on your face when he does what you want. Like when he plays a stupid dancing game just to prove to you that he can do it better than Wrecker. Or smiling at him proudly when he doesn’t shoot a reg.

Then you have the audacity to compliment him? Disgusting. So why does he c no rave it? Why does he get annoyed when you praise his brothers instead of him.

One day you give him a piece of dark fabric. “It’s a sleep mask. You wear it to block out light when you sleep,” you explain with a bright smile. The cool material is like his blacks but softer. He can’t help but run his fingers along it. He mutters a thanks and quickly leaves.

That night he uses the sleep mask and to his horror likes it. Now he’s in debt to you. But he doesn’t have any credits. Fucking great. Why do you have to make his life so difficult?

Luckily he finds a gift for you within the next few days. After a mission he notices a rock that got caught in an explosion. It’s been cracked in half, exposing the crystalized insides. Jedi like crystals right? He grabs it and drops it in his pack.

Of course you make a big fuss when he awkwardly gives it to you. You almost hug him but don’t thank the force. He doesn’t feel dissapointed at all. You show the rock to his brothers proudly. His face burns when they send him questioning looks. “Easily impressed,” he scoffs dismissively. Although secretly he’s proud of himself.

He’s having a sleepless night on some forgettable outer rim planet when you knock on his cabin door. He knows it’s you because his brothers would have barged in. “Hey Crosshair, wanna get some snacks? I’m paying,” you offer. You shake a satchel draped across your body, making the credits inside clank together.

He wonders if Hunter (who’s currently on watch) put you up to this, why else would you seek out his company? It's obvious you prefer him anyways. Not that he cares. The thought makes his hackles rise but then he imagines telling Wrecker’s that you got him nat born food tomorrow. That will be entertaining. He sharply agrees and puts on his boots.

He glances down at his GAR issued loungewear. He doesn’t know if they’re appropriate for a nat born store or wherever you’re taking him but you’re wearing sleep clothes too so good enough. You're swaddled in an oversized robe to be exact. How childish. Not at all endearing

As you exit the ship your eyes reflect in the dark just like his. That’s another annoyance. Enhanced eyesight used to be his thing. You began humming a tune under your breath. Crosshair almost says something but the sound isn’t too horrible so he lets you continue.

Within a few minutes you're at the store. He's instantly overwhelmed by the bright lights and endless options, who needs so many flavors of the same thing? He doesn’t know what any of this is but he doesn’t want to admit that so he begins recon. He grabs a crinkly bag that appears to be some kind of a cracker to inspect it.

That’s when Crosshair notices a stumbling man leering at you. He’s caught off guard by the sudden flash of protective anger he feels. Why is he so concerned? If you can handle yourself on a battlefield, you can handle one pathetic human.

Your body language is the opposite of your usual demanor when talking to civilians. You’re usually very open and engaging, easily forming a connection with them. Not now.

Crosshair has seen you face hoards of battle droids with a smile. He’s seen you meditate while being shot at. He’s seen you make fun of General Grievous while fending off four sabers. But now you look shaken. Your colorful skin has paled, eyes wide in a mix of shock and horror. You suddenly look so young and so frightened.

He's beside you in a second. He tries to ignore the relief in your eyes, the way you subtly lean closer to him. It makes his chest feel odd.

“You their master?”

He sneers. Does he look like a jedi master? You go completely rigid beside him. That catches the clone off guard. You know how to keep a straight face. You’re not only a stupidly brave fighter, you’re a damn good negotiator. What could have possibly upset – then it hits him. This man was referring to a different kind of master.

You quickly recover, slipping into an emotionless jedi facade you rarely use. Crosshair’s jaw clenches so hard his toothpick snaps in half. He spits the broken pieces towards the man’s feet. “I belong to no one. The galaxy is much bigger than your prejudices,” you state evenly but there’s a fire in your eyes. “My friend and I are leaving now.”

Then the creep, who’s either stupud or plain suicidal, scoffs angrily. “You think you’re better than me? Tail head whore.”

The sniper sees fucking red. How dare this piece of shit demean his jedi? His self sacrificing, too nice, pain in the ass jedi. Only Crosshair is allowed to make your life difficult. The way the man judges you reminds him of every kaminoan that looked down on his brothers and his free hand is swinging.

The drunk man is sent staggering wildly. Before either man can recover your fingers wrap around the sniper's wrist to hold him in place as you bend down. “You want to go home and rethink your life choices," you instruct melodically, waving a hand in his face.

“I want to go home and rethink my life choices,” he repeats blankly.

You make quick work of charming the concerned worker, assuring that no police presence is necessary. Then you turn to the sniper and in that fake calm voice he hates suggests he get water for his chips. For once in his life he follows instructions without complaint, watching you closely as you pay for your snacks. Your moves are less graceful and more droid-like than usual.

Once you get outside you shakily sigh. He holds back an eyeroll. He’s lived with Hunter long enough to know when he’s going to get scolded. “You shouldn’t have done that, Crosshair. I was about to mind trick him.”

He stares at the ground with a tight jaw. He doesn’t know why he defended you when you didn't need it. He saw a creep harassing the only nat born who’s ever been kind to him and he just snapped. He’s still angry, honestly. Why aren’t you? “He deserved it.”

“Perhaps. But clones don’t have rights, you can’t just go around assaulting civilians. Even if it’s self defense you’re going to be painted as the aggressor.”

But he's more focused on your unsteady hands. “You're shaking."

“Are you even listening to me? This is serious.”

Crosshair suddenly seizes your free wrist, “so is this.”

You look like you want to argue for a moment then you slump in defeat. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Crosshair has experience with overwhelmed siblings. Hunter like space, Wrecker likes affection, Tech likes a listening ear. "What do you need?” He asks, surprisingly gentle.

This seems to be your boiling over point as you gesture wildly, swinging the bag in your hand. “I need sleep. I need to meditate. I need my master.” Your glowing eyes widen at your own outburst. The frustration morphs to sadness. “I guess I’m a little homesick. I thought spending time with you would be a good distraction but that chi’kan ruined it.”

This should be the point where he drops the subject. You already said what’s wrong and it’s not his responsibility to make you happy. But a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hunter points out that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t leave him to suffer.

He thinks back to the cadet days, when it was just him and his brothers against the world. He remembers the overwhelming anger when a reg hurt one of them. He was never good at comforting, he was good at revenge. But he can’t fight your emotions. And he already punched the chi’kan (he’ll have to find out what that means later.)

There’s only one option left. Out of his brothers you remind him of Wrecker the most and Wrecker likes affection when he’s upset. He awkwardly opens his arms and bites the blaster bolt. “Do you want a hug?”

“...What?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

Then you’re flying against him. Crosshair almost falls into the grass as you smash your face into his neck, fists balling into his sleep shirt. You’re warm and solid and your touch isn’t completely revolting. He slowly relaxes as he winds a long arm around you.

Crosshair will never admit it but can understand your separation anxiety. As the sniper it’s his job to watch his brother’s backs. The instinct to protect is so engraved in Crosshair he needs to be near his siblings or know where they are at all times. Maybe that’s why he defended you tonight. He’s starting to accept you as part of the squad.

“Blossom?”

“Yeah, Cross?”

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll shoot you.”

Commander Fox x Singer/PA Reader pt. 2

There was an unspoken tradition at the Coruscant Guard offices: the moment you showed up, coffee cups paused mid-air, datapads lowered, and someone inevitably muttered, "Oh look, she's still alive."

You strolled in two weeks late, absolutely glowing.

"Didn't know we were giving out extended vacations now," Trina said, her words clipped like a blaster bolt. "Maybe I should fake a spiritual awakening and disappear too."

You peeled off your sunglasses and smiled sweetly. "You should. Maybe they'll find your personality out there."

Snickers echoed through the hall.

Trina's eyes narrowed into twin black holes of corporate rage. "Commander Fox has been asking where you were."

That gave you the slightest pause. "Oh? Worried I was dead?"

She shrugged. "Or hoping."

You shot her a wink and breezed past, fully aware your hair looked too perfect for someone who just "found herself in nature."

---

Fox found you twenty minutes later, posted up at your desk with your boots on said desk, sipping caf and flipping through a holo-mag like someone who was not, in fact, two weeks behind on reports.

He stood silently at your side until you acknowledged him.

"Commander," you said brightly. "Miss me?"

"You disappeared. Again."

You looked up at him with the most innocent expression in the galaxy. "Went on a spiritual retreat."

He raised an eyebrow. "To where?"

"Kashyyyk. Hung out with some Wookiees. Meditated. Learned how to nap in trees."

Fox stared. You kept sipping your caf.

"They're big on inner peace," you added, deadpan. "Also, apparently I snore."

He didn't smile. But he also didn't press. Just that slow blink of his, the way his gaze lingered a little too long like he was cataloguing bruises or new scars.

"You weren't hurt?" he asked.

You softened. Just a little. "No, Commander. I wasn't hurt."

He nodded once and walked away.

*He cared.*

He'd never say it. But it was there.

---

Later that week, you returned from your mandatory ethics seminar—snoozefest—only to find your desk had been mysteriously moved... into the hallway.

Trina passed by with a smug little strut. "You missed a lot of meetings. We needed the space."

You leaned back in your new spot. "You know, if this is your way of flirting, I'm flattered."

"I'd rather kiss a Hutt."

You gasped. "Don't tempt me with a good time."

---

That night, you sang again at 79's. A slower set this time. Sadder. You weren't sure why—maybe something about Fox's voice that day still stuck with you.

And just like always... he was there.

Helmet off. Silent in the corner.

You sang to him without saying it. And when you left the club through the back again, this time you didn't get far before his voice stopped you.

"Wait."

You turned. "Following me again?"

He stepped closer. Not quite in your space. But close enough that you could see the faint tension in his jaw.

"I thought something happened," he said quietly.

You swallowed. "Fox—"

"Next time, just tell someone."

You blinked. "Why?"

A long pause.

"Because if something *did* happen," he said, "I'd want to know."

And then, like he couldn't bear to say more, he turned and walked into the night.

You watched him go, heart tight, a laugh threatening to rise in your throat just to cover the way your chest ached.

Aurra Sing had said you were valuable.

Fox... made you feel seen.

And somewhere in the distance, under the glow of Coruscant's neon skyline, a shadow watched.

Waiting.

---

The next morning, your desk was still in the hallway.

Trina had redecorated the spot where it used to be with a potted plant and a framed motivational poster that read "Discipline Defines You." You were considering setting it on fire.

"Morning, Sunshine," you chirped as you walked past her with your caf. "How's the tyrannical dictatorship going?"

Trina didn't even flinch. "At least I show up for work."

"Oh, please. If you were a droid, you'd overheat from micromanaging."

And there it was—that smirk from the other assistant.

Kess.

She leaned over her desk like she was watching a drama unfold in real time. "Okay, okay, play nice, girls. It's not even second caf yet."

Trina rolled her eyes. "Pick a side, Kess."

Kess grinned. "I like the view from the middle."

You narrowed your eyes. "You said Trina once threatened to replace your shampoo with grease trap water."

"She was joking," Kess said quickly.

"I was not," Trina snapped.

"I mean... still better than your perfume," you added under your breath.

Kess audibly choked on her tea.

---

Later that day, Commander Fox called you into his office.

The tension in the room dropped the moment you stepped inside, replaced by something electric and quiet. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at you like he was trying to decide if you were a puzzle or a headache.

"You vanished for two weeks," he finally said. "Now your overdue reports are two months overdue."

"I'll get to them," you said lightly, flopping into the chair opposite him. "Eventually."

Fox pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Also," you added, "Trina moved my desk into the hallway. Which I'm 80% sure is illegal."

"I'll talk to her."

You blinked. "You will?"

"She's not your superior."

A strange warmth bloomed in your chest. You masked it with sarcasm. "So chivalrous, Commander."

He gave you a look, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Just don't give me a reason to regret it."

---

That night at 79's the lights were low and your voice was velvet as you sang something slow and sultry. The bar was busy, but you spotted him—Fox, helmet off again, watching like he always did. Quiet. Unmoving. Yours, just for the length of a song.

You left through the back after your set, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself as the cool Coruscant air bit at your skin.

You didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late.

A hand slammed against the wall near your head, and a sharp voice coiled around you like a whip.

"Well, well. Songbirds off duty again."

Aurra Sing.

Her chalk-white skin shimmered in the streetlight, that deadly antenna gleaming above her forehead. She smiled without warmth.

"I've been watching you," she said. "You've got... potential."

You stepped back, heart hammering. "I'm not interested."

"No?" She clicked her tongue. "You work with the Guard. You're close with the Marshal Commander. You wander the galaxy without ever leaving a trace. I could use someone like that."

"I'm not a bounty hunter."

She leaned in closer, voice dropping. "Yet."

Your fingers twitched near your concealed weapon. Aurra's eyes flicked down and back, amused.

"Relax. I'm not here to kill you," she said. "Just... reminding you that people are watching. And not just me."

She melted back into the shadows before you could respond.

You stood alone in the alley, breath shaky, heart pounding.

You weren't scared.

But you were very, very awake.

---

The next morning, Trina took one look at you dragging yourself into work late with dark circles under your eyes and said, "Did the retreat monks kick you out for being annoying?"

Kess tried to stifle her laugh and failed.

You just smirked. "If you must know, I was nearly murdered by a galactic legend last night. What did *you* do, Trina? Color-code the caf pods again?"

Fox passed by just as you said it, pausing only to glance at you—an unreadable look in his eyes.

You gave him a half-smile.

He didn't return it.

But his hand twitched near his blaster.

He'd heard. And that meant he knew something was off.

You were starting to wonder if you were the one being watched… or the one being protected.

---

Title: Still Just a Rat in a Cage

Sev (Delta Squad) x Reader

He was covered in blood the first time you saw him.

Not his. Probably not even human. You weren’t sure. You were just a bartender on Ord Mantell, working a hole-in-the-wall bar tucked under the crumbling skeleton of an old shipping yard, where the lights flickered and the rain never really stopped.

The kind of place where soldiers came to disappear and drifters stopped pretending to care.

But Sev?

He didn’t disappear.

He stood out.

He ordered without hesitation. “Whiskey. Real if you’ve got it. Synthetic if you want me to break something.”

You gave him the real stuff. Poured it slow, hand steady, even though he looked like he’d just torn his way through a war zone.

“Rough night?” you asked.

Sev stared at the glass. “What night isn’t?”

Then he downed it and left.

That was six months ago.

Since then, Delta Squad had started showing up after ops in the sector. You figured they had something black ops going on nearby—classified runs, deep infiltration, the kind that turned good soldiers into ghosts.

Scorch always laughed too loud. Fixer looked like he’d short-circuit if someone tried to talk to him. Boss barely said a word unless someone needed shutting down.

But Sev?

He watched you.

Always from the shadows. Always with those eyes—like he was cataloguing your movements, weighing them against something dark he couldn’t explain.

Tonight, it was just him.

Rain pounded on the rooftop. Rust leaked down the walls. A dying holosign outside buzzed like it was gasping for breath. Sev sat at the bar, hunched forward, a smear of something red on the side of his gauntlet.

Armor scratched. Helmet off. Blood on his knuckles.

“Was it bad?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you. “They always scream. Doesn’t matter who they are.”

You paused, a bottle in hand. “You okay?”

He let out a dry laugh. “You always ask that like it’s a real question.”

You leaned forward. “And you always answer like you’re not human.”

That got his attention. He looked at you now—eyes sharp, dark. “You think I’m human?”

“I think you bleed like one,” you said. “And drink like one. And come back here like you’re looking for something.”

He stared at you. Hard. Like he was daring you to flinch. You didn’t.

Finally, he said, “I don’t know why I come back here.”

You leaned your arms on the bar. “Maybe you’re tired of being a weapon.”

His jaw flexed. That was too close to the bone.

“I was made to kill,” he muttered.

“But that’s not all you are.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it. None of you civvies do. You think we’re heroes. Soldiers. Whatever karking fairytale makes you sleep better at night. But out there? We’re rats in a cage. Dying for people who forget our names the second the war ends.”

You didn’t move.

Then softly, you said, “I don’t forget yours.”

Sev blinked. Slow. Like the words caught him off guard and hit something he didn’t realize was still bleeding.

You reached out, resting your hand lightly on his wrist. His arm was tense under the armor, coiled like a trap—but he didn’t pull away.

“You scare me,” you admitted.

He looked down at your hand. “Good. You should be scared of people like me.”

“But I’m not,” you whispered. “Not really.”

Silence.

Then Sev stood. Close. Too close. His breath was hot against your cheek. You could smell the blood, the dust, the war that never seemed to leave his skin.

“Why?” he asked, voice low and frayed. “Why the hell not?”

You met his eyes.

“Because even rats deserve to be free.”

He didn’t kiss you.

He just stared like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling rising in his chest. Like you’d opened a door he thought was welded shut.

Then he leaned in—just enough to rest his forehead against yours, rough and desperate—and for a second, he breathed.

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.

⸻

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 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

Material Lists 🩵

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

Star Wars

The Clone Wars

501st Material List🩵💙

212th Material List🧡

104th Material List🐺

Clone Force 99/The Bad Batch Material List❤️🖤

Delta Squad Material List 🧡💛💚❤️

Corrie Guard Material List ❤️

Other Clones/Characters

OC Works

“Crimson Huntress”

I accept request🩵🤍

Disclaimer!!!!!

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