Happy May The 4th Be With You!

stop asking “is this good?” and start asking “did it cause emotional damage?” that’s how you know.

“War on Two Fronts” pt.6

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

⸻

The Coruscant skyline blurred outside the high-rise window, but she wasn’t really looking at it.

Lights moved. Ships passed. Life carried on.

And yet, she sat still—perched on the edge of the cot in the temporary quarters she’d been granted for this brief return. Her armor was half-off, discarded in pieces across the room. Her saber lay untouched on the table beside her. Fingers twisted the edge of her undersleeve, tugging it, letting go, tugging again.

Her breathing had finally steadied.

But the storm inside hadn’t.

That training room scene played again and again behind her eyes—the shouting, the aggression, the way they’d both stood there like she was some sort of prize. Like her heart was something to be won, not understood.

And for a moment, she hated them both.

Not just for what they did.

But for making her feel small.

For making her doubt herself.

She closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees. Stars, how had it come to this? She’d survived battles. Held diplomatic ground under fire. She’d stood toe-to-toe with Council members. And yet the moment her heart became involved—she unraveled.

She thought of Bacara first. Of the kiss. The rawness of it. How he touched her like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again.

And yet—he barely said anything. He kept her at a distance until the moment emotion exploded out of him like blaster fire.

Then Rex. Steady. Soft. Listening. But no less possessive when pushed. He was a better man, she thought. A better soldier. But still… a soldier. Still bound by something that meant she’d always be second to the cause.

Were either of them truly what she wanted?

Or had she been so starved for something that felt real in the chaos of war, that she clung to anything that looked like affection?

She stood and crossed the room, pacing, trying to shake the ache out of her bones. Her hand brushed the window frame.

And quietly, bitterly, she whispered to herself—

“Maybe I don’t want either of them.”

Maybe she wanted peace.

Maybe she wanted clarity.

Maybe she wanted herself back.

A knock startled her—sharp and fast.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet.

The knock came again—measured, firm, but not forceful.

She sighed, rolling her eyes with a groan. “If either of you came back to apologize, you’ve got ten seconds before I throw something heavy.”

“No need for theatrics,” came the unmistakable voice from the other side. “It’s just me.”

Her spine straightened like a snapped cord. “Master?”

“I’m coming in,” he said plainly.

The door hissed open before she could answer. Mace Windu stepped in, his presence as steady as the Force itself, robes still crisp despite the lateness of the hour, a subtle frown pressing between his brows as he regarded her. There was no lecture, no judgment, not yet. Only concern veiled beneath the usual stone exterior.

“You don’t look like someone who’s meditating,” he observed.

“I wasn’t,” she replied dryly, arms folded.

“I figured.” He stepped farther inside, his eyes scanning the scattered armor pieces, the half-torn undersleeve she hadn’t realized she was still tugging at. “You look like someone unraveling.”

“I’m not.” Her voice was too quick.

He said nothing.

She sighed, letting the breath shudder out of her as she dropped heavily back onto the edge of the cot.

“I didn’t call for advice,” she muttered.

“I didn’t say you did,” Mace replied simply. He stepped over to the small chair across from her and sat, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robe. “But I heard enough to know something’s shifted.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty by now.”

“I’m not here as a Council member.” His tone was different now—quieter, gentler. “I’m here because you’re my Padawan. No title changes that.”

Something in her broke at that. Just a crack.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Master.”

“I think you do. I just think you’re afraid to do it.”

She looked at him, eyes sharp. “You think I’m afraid to choose?”

“No,” he said, and it was immediate. “I think you’re afraid to not choose. To walk away. To be alone.”

That struck something deep.

She stared at the floor.

“I don’t want them fighting over me. Like I’m some kind of… prize. And I definitely don’t want to be part of some toxic love triangle during a war.”

“You’ve always led with your heart,” Mace said. “And your heart’s always been too big for the battlefield.”

She blinked, stunned by the softness of it. Mace Windu, the most unshakeable Jedi on the Council, calling her heart too big.

“Doesn’t feel like a strength right now.”

“It is. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You’ll figure this out. But don’t let them decide who you are. And don’t let anyone take your peace—not even someone who loves you.”

Her eyes burned now, but she blinked fast to keep them dry.

“Thanks… Master”

He smiled then. A small one. Barely a twitch of his lips—but she saw it.

“I’ll be in the Temple tomorrow. If you need to talk again—just talk—you know where to find me.”

He stood, gave her one last look, then left as quietly as he’d come.

And this time, the silence in the room felt a little less loud.

⸻

The city outside her window glowed in shifting hues of speeders and skyline, lights tracing invisible lines like veins in durasteel. She hadn’t moved much since Mace left—too exhausted to think, too unsettled to sleep. Her mind was loud. Still hurt. Still confused. Still… waiting.

And then came the knock.

Not sharp. Not gentle. Just… steady.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have the strength to.

The door opened anyway. The audacity made her want to hurl something again—but when she looked up, it wasn’t who she expected.

Bacara stepped inside, helmet tucked under one arm, armor scuffed from some earlier skirmish. His expression was unreadable as always—eyes too sharp, jaw too tense—but there was something in his stance. Hesitation.

She scoffed and turned back toward the window. “You know, I figured you’d be the last one to come knocking.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just stood there, watching her like she was a particularly complex tactical situation. Finally, he set his helmet down on the small table and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps.

“You didn’t deserve what happened earlier.”

The silence that followed was thick.

“You mean the shouting? The posturing? The way you and Rex acted like I was some kind of prize to be won in a sparring match?” Her voice was calm now, but it carried an edge. “You both embarrassed yourselves. And me.”

“I know,” he said plainly. “That’s why I’m here.”

She turned to face him, arms crossed.

“You don’t do apologies, Bacara.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I can try.”

That stunned her into stillness. He wasn’t joking. Not hiding behind orders or ranks or deflections. There was no sharp military snap to his tone, no bark. Just gravel and honesty.

“I’ve spent most of my life cutting off emotions that slow a man down,” he said. “Guilt. Regret. Affection. All of it. I had to. Mundi—he doesn’t train his men to be… soft.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she muttered. “He trains them to be machines.”

Bacara looked away. “I followed that lead for a long time. It made me strong. It made me efficient. But it also made me a stranger to myself.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “And what am I in this equation?”

“The reminder that I’m still human.” His voice was quieter now. “That I feel more around you than I’ve felt since Kamino.”

That cracked something in her. Something she’d been gripping tight since the moment things started spiraling.

She swallowed. “You were horrible to me. Not just today. Since the beginning.”

“I know,” he said again. “But I never hated you.”

Her breath hitched.

“I was listening, that night with Windu. I heard everything.” He met her eyes now. “I didn’t come here to beg. And I didn’t come here to fight. I just needed you to know—I don’t want to be the man who makes you doubt your worth. I don’t want to be that Commander. Not with you.”

Her heart was thudding against her ribs. She hated how much he still had that effect on her. Hated that his voice, his damn sincerity, could crack through months of cold.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he replied. “But I’m still here.”

He stepped closer—slow, careful—and brushed his hand against hers. His fingers were cold from the night air. She didn’t pull away.

“You kissed me,” she whispered.

“I’d do it again.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, something defiant and fragile behind them. “Then do it right this time.”

He did.

This one wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t bitter or angry or desperate. It was slow. It was deliberate. It was raw in a way that hurt and healed at the same time.

When they pulled apart, they didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

He didn’t stay the night. That wasn’t who they were yet. But when the door closed behind him, the quiet left behind felt different.

Hopeful.

⸻

He knew before she said anything.

He could feel it the second he stepped into her quarters—before the door hissed closed behind him, before she turned to face him, before her eyes even lifted from the floor.

It was in the air. That stillness. The kind of silence that follows a storm and leaves nothing untouched.

Rex stood there a moment, helmet cradled under his arm, expression unreadable. “You’ve made a choice.”

She nodded. Her mouth opened, closed, then finally managed, “I didn’t mean for it to get like this.”

He gave a small, sad smile. “I know.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He said it quickly—too quickly.

Her brow creased, but he held her gaze with that steady calm she’d always admired. “You were never mine to keep,” he said gently. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I love you.” The words escaped like breath, hoarse and aching. “You need to know that.”

He exhaled through his nose. Looked away for just a second, then met her eyes again.

“I know that too.”

She took a step closer, but stopped herself. “I didn’t want to string you along. I couldn’t keep doing this to you—this back and forth. I chose Bacara. But that doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real.”

Rex nodded once, slowly. His throat worked. “He’s not better than me.”

“I know.”

“But you’re better with him?”

She blinked hard. “I don’t know what I am with him. I just know… I don’t want to live in limbo anymore.”

For a moment, he looked like he might say something more. But instead, he stepped forward, reached out, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gentleness of it unraveled her.

“You were always going to break my heart,” he said softly. “I just hoped I’d be enough to stop it from happening.”

She blinked fast. Tears clung to her lashes.

“Rex…”

He shook his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You never led me on. We’re soldiers. We steal what moments we can before the war takes them away. You gave me more than I ever expected.”

And then he leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

When he stepped back, something in her chest fractured.

“I’ll see you on the next campaign,” he said, voice rough, but steady.

And then he was gone.

She stood there long after the door closed, arms wrapped tight around herself. She didn’t know what she felt more—relief, regret, or the slow, dawning fear that she’d lost something that could never be replaced.

⸻

The halls of the barracks were quiet this late, a kind of peace Rex had never trusted. Silence was just a disguise war wore before it struck again. But this—this wasn’t the battlefield.

This was heartbreak.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, armor half-stripped, chest plate tossed aside, vambraces on the floor. His gloves were clenched in one hand, thumb rubbing worn fabric. Like holding on might keep him from slipping into something dark and stupid.

Jesse passed him once without saying a word. Not because he didn’t care—but because even Jesse knew when something hurt too much for words.

She chose Bacara.

The thought came unbidden, like a knife twisted in his side.

He didn’t hate Bacara. Not really.

But Force, he envied him. Envied the way she softened when she looked at the Commander. Envied the way Bacara could be cold, brutal even, and still… she reached for him. Still found something worth saving in that hard shell of a man.

Rex had bled for her. Laughed with her. Been vulnerable in ways he hadn’t been with anyone else. He’d offered her the part of himself that he didn’t even understand most days.

And she had loved him. She had. That much he didn’t doubt.

But love wasn’t always enough. Not when you’re trying to love two people, and one of them pulls your gravity just a little harder.

He sighed, leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees. Helmet resting between his boots.

“Captain,” a voice said softly from the doorway.

It was Ahsoka.

He didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be out this late.”

She stepped inside anyway, the door sliding shut behind her.

“I felt it. Through the Force. You’re… not alright.”

He smiled bitterly. “You’re getting better at that.”

Ahsoka folded her arms. “She picked Bacara.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No point in pretending otherwise,” he said. His voice was quiet. Raw.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He lifted his head. His eyes looked older than they should have. “She made a choice. She deserves that. They both do.”

Ahsoka sat on the bunk across from him. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.”

“No,” Rex said. “It doesn’t.”

There was a long silence between them.

“I always thought you’d end up with someone like her,” Ahsoka said, almost wistfully. “Strong. Sharp. Stubborn.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Me too.”

She leaned forward, her expression gentle but firm. “You didn’t lose her, Rex. You loved her. That counts for something.”

Rex looked at her—this young, impossibly wise Padawan who had seen too much already. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m alone again.”

“No,” Ahsoka agreed softly. “But it means your heart still works. And that’s something most of us can’t say anymore.”

He looked down at the gloves in his hand. At the callouses on his fingers. At everything he still had to carry.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, mostly to himself.

And maybe, someday, he would be.

But not tonight.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You’re writing is amazing! I had two things

1: What is a trope you love writing?

2: Can there be a Bad batch x reader, where she’s loves to cook. When she joins them she cooks for them and they love her cooking (once they get used to having something other than ration bars). Maybe she even sends them with packed lunches for when they go off.

Thank you x

I don’t have a trope in particular I like writing, but I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers or anything angsty or tragic

⸻

“Seconds”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

⸻

They weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

A civilian-turned-ally. Handy in a fight, steady under pressure, and weirdly good at organizing their storage crates. But most of all, you cooked. Like, really cooked.

No one had expected it—not after surviving off ration bars, battlefield meals, and the occasional mystery stew Crosshair pretended didn’t come from a can. But then you’d shown up with a patched-together portable burner and the stubborn attitude of someone determined to make something edible from nothing. And you did.

The first time you cooked, it had stunned them into silence.

The scent of simmering broth wafted through the corridors of the Marauder, followed by spices and roasted meat and something buttery that made Wrecker’s eyes water.

Tech was the first to speak, nose twitching. “That is not protein paste.”

“Unless someone’s finally weaponized it,” Echo said, cautiously hopeful.

Hunter didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in the doorway of the galley with arms crossed, watching the way you moved—calm, focused, humming to yourself as you stirred a bubbling pot. There was something disarming about the scene. Domestic. Gentle. Strange.

Crosshair gave a low whistle from where he lounged. “Are we keeping this one?”

No one answered. But no one said no.

⸻

It became tradition fast.

You cooked whenever there was downtime, wherever there were ingredients. You scavenged herbs on jungle moons, traded for spices in backwater towns, stretched every credit and crumb into something warm. Something human. You’d hand them plates and bowls and containers like they were weapons before a battle—only these made them feel… grounded.

Every day you could. Breakfasts on quiet mornings. Late dinners after brutal missions. You adapted what ingredients you had, learned what they each liked—Tech hated onions but loved citrus, Crosshair liked spicy food that burned the tongue, Echo had a sweet tooth he tried to hide, and Hunter… Hunter liked comfort food. He’d never say it out loud, but you caught the softness in his expression whenever you made something simple and warm. Like home.

They never asked you to. But they stopped saying no.

Eventually, you started packing lunches for them. Personalized. Thoughtful.

Crosshair’s were spicy and wrapped with a snarky note.

Wrecker’s came with double servings and a warning label.

Tech’s included clean utensils and clear labels, because of course they did.

Echo’s always had a little dessert tucked in the side

Hunter’s would just have little doodle/picture you’d drawn

⸻

They’d left you behind this time. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself, but because someone had to stay with Omega. She wasn’t ready for this mission, and neither were you—still recovering from the last one, a blaster graze healing at your ribs.

The ship was quiet. Omega wandered in around dinner time, drawn by the smell of whatever you were cooking.

She climbed up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, chin resting on her hands as she watched you slice vegetables and stir broth.

“That smells better than anything I’ve ever had on Kamino,” she said dreamily.

You smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

She watched you for a while, head tilting. “You always look really happy when you cook.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

You thought about it as you stirred. “Because food makes people feel safe. Even in the middle of a war, a good meal can remind you what it’s like to be human.”

Omega was quiet for a beat. Then: “You make them feel safe.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at you. “You really care about them, huh?”

You nodded. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve someone to care.”

She grinned slowly. “You’ve got a crush on one of them.”

You almost dropped the spoon.

“Excuse me?”

She giggled. “I knew it!”

You tried (and failed) to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sliding off the counter. “You pack lunches. You make special snacks. You stitched Wrecker’s sleeve when it ripped, even though he didn’t ask. You added hot sauce to Crosshair’s meal because he once said it tasted better. You kept Tech’s favorite tea even though no one else drinks it. And you stayed up all night once just to make sure Echo’s respirator didn’t fail after that dust storm.”

She paused, smirking. “One of those meant more.”

You turned back to the pot. “You are way too observant.”

She laughed. “So, who is it? Wrecker?”

“No.”

“Tech?”

“Definitely not.”

“Echo?”

“Closer.”

“Crosshair?”

You gave her a look.

She grinned wide. “Fine, fine. I won’t guess. For now.”

You stirred the pot again and said, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

Omega’s voice was gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “Because maybe it’s safer this way. Just being part of this… this crew. This little found family. It’s enough.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she slid onto a nearby stool and rested her chin in her hand again.

“They’ll be back soon,” she said. “You gonna tell them dinner’s ready?”

You smiled quietly, not looking up. “They’ll smell it.”

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.

“Name First, Then Trouble”

Fives x Female Reader

Warnings: Implied Smut, sexually suggestive

⸻

The air inside 79’s was a hazy blend of spice, sweat, and that old metallic tang of plastoid armor. It was always loud—always full of regs laughing too hard, singing off-key, and clinking glasses with hands that still shook from the front lines. But tonight?

Tonight, you had a spotlight and the attention of half the bar. Most importantly, you had his.

From the small raised stage near the piano, your eyes flicked toward the familiar ARC trooper leaning against the bar. Helmet under one arm, legs crossed at the ankle, blue-striped armor scuffed like it’d seen hell and swaggered out untouched. You knew that look. You’d seen it before—weeks ago, months ago. Fives always came back, and he always watched you like he was starving.

And tonight was no different.

Your set ended to a chorus of cheers. You slid off the piano top, high heels clicking against the floor, hips swaying just enough to keep his eyes hooked.

Fives didn’t even try to hide the grin that curled across his face as you approached.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I think you were singing just for me.”

You smirked. “If I was, you wouldn’t be standing over there, Trooper.”

He stepped closer without hesitation. “Careful. Say things like that and I’ll assume you missed me.”

You leaned one elbow against the bar. “What if I did?”

Fives looked floored for all of two seconds before he recovered with a cocky grin. “Then I’d say we’re finally on the same page.”

“Is that what you tell all the girls at the front line?”

He laughed. “Only the ones who can make regs forget they’re one bad day from a battlefield.”

From beside him, Echo groaned audibly into his drink. “Stars, Fives, please—just one conversation where you don’t flirt like your life depends on it.”

“Jealous I’ve got better lines than you?” Fives teased, bumping Echo’s shoulder.

“No,” Echo deadpanned. “Jealous of my ability to have shame.”

You laughed, and even Echo cracked a smile at that.

“Don’t mind him,” Fives said, focusing on you again. “He’s just bitter no one sings for him.”

You sipped your drink, voice playful. “And what makes you think I was singing for you?”

Fives stepped in closer—just close enough that you could smell the faint scent of cleanser and battlefield dust clinging to him. “Because,” he said, voice quiet but confident, “you’re looking at me like you already made up your mind.”

Your gaze held his for a long moment. The tension hummed like music between verses—hot and coiled, teasing the drop.

“Maybe I have,” you said softly, setting your glass down.

His eyes widened just a touch. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a half-smile. “You want to find out?”

Fives blinked. “Find out what?”

You leaned in, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of his pauldron as you murmured near his ear:

“If you want to come back to my apartment.”

Fives went completely still. Echo actually choked on his drink behind him.

“Stars above,” Echo muttered under his breath, turning away. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

But Fives? He looked like you’d just handed him victory on a silver tray.

“You’re serious?” he asked, tone equal parts awe and smug disbelief.

You shrugged, playing casual. “I don’t make offers I don’t intend to follow through on, ARC trooper.”

Fives grinned—bright, reckless, and so damn him.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

And just like that, you were out the door—with the best kind of trouble following one step behind you.

⸻

The room was warm.

Not just from the heat of tangled limbs and lingering sweat, but from the quiet hum of comfort that followed a particularly good decision. Outside, Coruscant flickered in the distance—speeders zipping by in streaks of light, a low thrum of traffic buzzing like the aftermath of a firefight.

Inside, Fives lay flat on his back in your bed, armor long gone and bedsheets pooled around his hips. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to stretch or sprint away.

You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with one hand and staring down at the man who had flirted with the confidence of a thousand battle droids—and was now staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe.

“So,” you said, amused, “you always go quiet after?”

Fives blinked. “No! I mean—only when I’m… y’know.”

“Emotionally overwhelmed by your own success?”

He let out a weak laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Stars, you’re dangerous.”

“I warned you,” you said, poking his bare chest. “You didn’t listen.”

“I did. I just didn’t care.” He looked at you then, eyes softer. “You’re… not what I expected.”

“Because I invited you home? Or because I made you nervous for once?”

Fives groaned. “Both.”

A silence settled again, this one a little heavier—like something was unsaid. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, then blurted out:

“Okay, listen. I’m so embarrassed I didn’t ask before, but… what’s your name?”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

Fives winced. “I meant to ask! But then there was the bar, and the music, and then you invited me home and my brain just… shut down, okay?”

You stared at him. “We slept together, and you don’t even know my name.”

“I know your voice,” he offered. “And your laugh. And your—uh—flexibility.”

You grabbed the pillow and whacked him in the face.

He laughed against the cotton, muffled. “Okay, okay! Truce!”

“My name!” you said firmly.

“Right,” he said, sitting up slightly. “Please. I’m begging.”

You eyed him, then finally said it: “[Y/N].”

Fives whispered it like a secret. “Yeah. That fits.”

You arched a brow. “And what’s your name, Trooper?”

He paused. “You don’t know?”

“Of course I do,” you smirked. “I just wanted to see if you’d finally offer it without bragging about being an ARC.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s Fives.”

“Fives,” you repeated. “Fives and [Y/N]. Cute. Tragic.”

“I vote tragic,” he said, falling back dramatically into the pillows.

⸻

Echo was waiting for him.

Not with questions. Not with judgment. No—worse. With smug silence.

Fives entered the room whistling, undersuit halfway zipped, hair a little too messy to pass inspection. Echo didn’t even look up from his datapad.

“So,” Echo said, still reading. “Did you have fun last night?”

Fives coughed. “Define fun.”

Echo finally glanced up. “Did you ever ask her name?”

Fives groaned. “How do you know about that?”

“Because, I know you.” Echo said casually, “her name is [Y/N]. She’s sung at 79’s for months. I’ve talked to her before.”

“You what?”

“She’s nice. Friendly. Has great taste in Corellian whiskey.”

“You’ve talked to her?” Fives said, scandalized.

“Multiple times.”

“And you never told me?”

Echo grinned. “Thought you were a professional flirt. Didn’t realize you were just a dumbass with armor.”

Fives pointed a finger. “You’re lucky I’m still emotionally glowing from this morning.”

Echo raised a brow. “Oh, you’re glowing, alright. Like a reg who forgot the basics.”

Fives flopped into his bunk. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m accurate.”

Fives groaned into his pillow. “[Y/N],” he mumbled, testing it again like it was sacred. “Stars… I really like her.”

Echo just chuckled and returned to his datapad.

“You’re doomed,” he said lightly. “Better learn her last name next.”

“She has a last name?”

No lie, reading these chapters has made me fall back in love with the clones and inspired me to write fanfics about them again

Liar Liar (Part 7/?)

Part 7 - The Truth // <<< Part Six

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

🫧 word count: 4.5k

🫧Chapter Summary: With questions and gossip spiralling out of control, Fox takes action and takes you on a date to break the news. However, it doesn't go exactly to plan.

🫧Chapter Warnings: safe for work, flirty texts, flirting, reader wearing a red dress, heavy angst, crying, heartbreak, trust issues, comfort, accidental confessions.

    "Hound, can I have a word?" It was the next day, and during your lunch break, you spotted Hound lingering by the counter, balancing a tray of food while waiting for the next available seat. The moment you saw him, the urge to speak to him flared up, overriding your initial plan to just grab something to eat and return to your desk.

Excusing yourself, you wove through the crowd of officers and troopers, brushing past shoulders until you reached him just before he could sit down.

The Sergeant blinked in surprise at your sudden appearance—though even more at the clear irritation in your tone. That alone was enough to catch his attention. You weren’t usually one to sound so bothered.

Adjusting his grip on his tray, he arched a brow. “Everything alright?”

You ignored the question and tilted your head, gesturing for him to follow. Hound hesitated briefly but ultimately sighed and followed you out of earshot of the bustling mess hall.

Once you were in a quiet enough spot, you turned to face him, arms crossed. “Want to tell me why Thire and Stone think me and Commander Fox are a ‘thing’?”

His mouth opened, then promptly closed. He awkwardly glanced to the side, shifting on his feet like a guilty cadet caught sneaking extra rations. “Yeah… about that… that’s, uh, my error.”

“Yeah, it is, ” you echoed sharply. “Why would you say something like that? What even made you think that in the first place?”

He let out an uncomfortable chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was just an observation.”

“An observation ?” You huffed, throwing your hands in the air. “Hound, me and Fox barely speak. ”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, shifting his tray from one hand to the other, “I just… I don’t know, I thought I noticed something.”

You gave him a flat stare. “Like what?”

He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “Like the way he looks at you.”

Your brows shot up. “The way he looks at me?”

“Forget I said anything,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Well, does Fox know about this ridiculous gossip?”

Hound frowned. “Of course not.”

“Good. And I don’t want him to know.”

The last thing you needed was for Commander Fox to hear about this. The man already carried the weight of Coruscant’s security on his shoulders—he did not need to be burdened with some absurd rumor about the two of you.

But then, a thought struck you.

You lowered your hand, eyes narrowing slightly as a memory resurfaced—Fox and Hound, standing in the hangar yesterday. It had looked… tense. Almost heated.

Frowning, you tilted your head. “That reminds me, what was that about yesterday?”

Hound stiffened, lips pressing into a firm line. “What was what about?”

“The conversation you had with Fox in the hangar.” You studied him carefully. “Looked serious. ”

There was conflict in his gaze. Hesitation. But after a moment, he sighed and shook his head. “Nothing worth worrying about. A patrol went wrong. That’s all.”

You watched him closely, trying to gauge whether or not that was the whole truth.

But eventually, you nodded. “Alright,” you said, relieved that at least it wasn’t about you.

Hound exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Sorry about the gossip. I really didn’t mean for it to spread.”

You rolled your eyes, but the irritation had mostly faded. “Just… maybe keep your ‘ observations’ to yourself next time.” You mutter, using air quotations.

He held up his hands. “Duly noted.”

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Fox was a kriffing mess.

The situation with you was spiralling out of control—a beautiful disaster he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

He had tangled himself in a lie so foolish, so reckless , it made his stomach churn. But the way you spoke to him, the way you laughed, the way you flirted with Whisky … Stars, he had never wanted anything more.

And then, there was that officer .

Fox had seen the way the man looked at you in the hangar. It was painfully obvious—squared shoulders, a little too eager, the way his eyes lingered when you smiled. Kriff, it almost hurt.  

It shouldn’t have affected him. It had no right to affect him. But it did. A hot coil of something ugly, possessive, wrapped around his ribs at the sight. Another man looking at you the way he did.

And then there was Hound.

Fox clenched his jaw as his mind replayed the words from the hangar.

"You haven’t told her? I swear, Fox, if you don’t in the next few days, I will. She deserves better.”

He hated how involved Hound was in this. Hated that he was right .

He needed to tell you the truth. But how selfish would it be if he stretched this out just a little longer?

Even now, hidden in a dimly lit storage closet—far away from the constant questions about Rik Waldar , away from his brothers, away from you —he found himself rereading your messages from last night. Stars, he was smitten.

And from your replies, so were you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply through his nose. “No. Stop it, Fox,” he muttered under his breath.

Yet, later that night, when the barracks had gone quiet and all his brothers were sleeping, he still found himself sneaking back to his office. Just to sit there, datapad in hand, waiting for your next message.

And tonight was no exception.

So, any pretty girls at the new base?

A smirk tugged at his lips at your message. Were you the jealous type?

None as pretty as you.

It didn’t take long for you to respond.

Ugh. You are smooth. Ever been told that before?

Once or twice. Why? Is it working?

He leaned back in his chair, waiting, knowing you’d take a moment to compose yourself. Sure enough, a minute later you reply.

Maybe. But I already like you, so you don’t have to try that hard.

Fox’s heart stopped. For a brief second, he forgot how to breathe. His hand tightened around the datapad, reading the words over and over again.

You already liked him.

Shit.

His fingers hovered over the keys, mind racing with what to say and how to respond without giving away too much. But before he could, another message came through.

Hound said something weird to me today, by the way.

His stomach twisted.

Weird how?

Apparently, he thinks I have a thing for Commander Fox.

Fox stiffened, eyes locked onto the screen, pulse thrumming in his ears.

Do you?

Your reply came fast. Too fast.

Pfft. Not a chance. He’s uptight and irritable all the time. It’s exhausting just being near him. He even walked me back to the station the other day and I felt so awkward.

Fox felt that one like a punch to the gut.

Damn. You really didn’t like him. Not as Fox, anyway.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his tone casual.

What if he’s just misunderstood?

Then he should try being less of an arse. Not my problem.

Fox exhaled slowly through his nose, tapping his fingers against the desk before taking a big gulp of caf. Stars, maybe he should have let you go on a caf run. That machine really is terrible. Anyway, he wasn’t sure why he asked what came next—maybe because, despite everything, he wanted to hear your answer: Is it just the attitude? Or are looks a factor too?

A pause. Then—

Dunno. Never seen his face, so I couldn’t say.

Fox stared at your message for a long moment. The truth sat heavy in his chest, but he still found himself typing.

Do looks matter?

Not really. But it’s nice to put a face to a name.

He runs a hand over his face, groaning softly into it. Right, he had to get this over and done with. 

Meanwhile back at your place, you lay sprawled out on your stomach, datapad clutched between your hands, grinning so hard it almost hurt.

Do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?

The words had sent your heart into a fluttering mess, your feet instinctively kicking the air behind you as your mind instantly leapt to one question: What the hell am I going to wear?

Your fingers flew over the keyboard as you typed out a response, still biting back a smile.

Not going to ditch me this time?

His reply was immediate.

I promise.

You exhaled softly, rolling onto your back as your eyes flickered toward your wardrobe. You weren’t sure what kind of date Whisky had in mind, but that didn’t stop you from mentally sorting through every outfit you owned, already imagining what he’d like.

What kind of date did you have in mind?

One where I wine and dine you.

Your grin grew as you typed back.

I hope there’s dessert.

There will be.

Stars . If he kept this up, you were going to be insufferable tomorrow.

But as your excitement buzzed, a nagging thought tugged at the back of your mind. The hangar.

That moment when he had rushed off like something urgent was happening; only for you to later find out that there hadn’t been an issue at all. No escaped prisoner, no commotion. And then there was the thing he had been meaning to tell you.

You chewed your lip before hesitantly typing,

Will you tell me what you wanted to? Back in the meadow?

There was a slight pause before he replied.

Yes, I will. Please don’t worry. It will be okay.

You really hoped so.

Your stomach twisted slightly at the possibilities. He’d assured you there was no other woman, so that ruled out one terrifying thought. But what if it was something worse? Was he ill? Was there something serious he wasn’t telling you?

You grimaced, quickly pushing the thought aside before you could spiral.

Instead, you let your fingers brush over the keys, heart lightening as you typed,

You know, you really make me happy.

His response came quickly.

Good. Because you make me happy too.

That warm, giddy feeling spread through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you let your fingers hover before typing something a little more… bold.

If the date goes well… maybe I’ll reward you.

There was a pause for a small moment. You feared maybe you were too bold but then:

Yeah? And what kind of reward are we talking about?

You grinned wickedly, rolling onto your side, fingers teasing the screen as you debated just how far you wanted to push him.

Oh, you know. Something worth being good for.

This time, the pause was longer.

Then, finally—

You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.

And you laughed, fully, out loud, feeling your cheeks heat at the thought of Whisky, wherever he was, probably losing his mind right now.

But what you didn’t know was that Fox was losing his mind.

Fox leaned back in his chair, his head tipping against the wall as he let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose. His datapad rested against his stomach, his free hand dragging down his face in frustration.

Or maybe desperation.

Because, stars, you were killing him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. And it was his fault.

The way you flirted with him—unknowingly flirting with Fox —had him spiraling into dangerous waters. He felt warm, restless, an ache settling low in his stomach as his body reacted far too eagerly to the teasing words on the screen.

And that last message?

"Something worth being good for." He repeats in a whisper. His jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply, the heat of it crawling down his spine. He needed to stop this. He needed to stop before he said something incredibly stupid. 

I have to go.

Your response was instant.

So soon?

Yeah. Before I say something I shouldn’t.

Fox ran a hand through his hair, trying to will away the heat still simmering under his skin. Yep, he was certainly turned on right now.

Meet me tomorrow at 1900, west sector entrance. Dress nice.

Oh? Dress nice? Are you taking me somewhere fancy, Whisky?

Fox smirked, fingers gliding smoothly over the screen.

You’ll see. Sweet dreams, sweetheart.

He was just about to shut off the datapad when a new message came through.

Wait!

His thumb hovered over the screen. He exhaled slowly, waiting, heart thudding just a little faster than it should.

I miss seeing you.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning.

Seeing me? Sweetheart, how do you think I feel? I can’t even see your beautiful face.

Smooth. He had to give himself credit—he was good at this. The easy flirting, the charm, the teasing. It was second nature by now.

But the moment your next message appeared, the confidence wavered.

Do you want to see me?

His breath hitched. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as warmth spread in his chest…and a little lower.

That was flirty. And enticing.

His hand flexed against his thigh before quickly tapping out a response, keeping it light.

See you, how?

The three dots appeared for what felt like forever and a day until:

Don’t be thinking naughty thoughts, Whisky. Only my face.

Fox let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Kriff. That was a relief. Not that he would have gone through with it if it had been something more, but still… He wasn’t sure how much self-control he had left after tonight’s teasing.

Then, a new message. A file attachment. Fox swallowed thickly as his thumb hovered for half a second before tapping it open.

And stars above—

His breath stalled in his throat.

It was just a picture of your face, nothing more, nothing scandalous—just you in bed, your head resting on your pillow, strands of hair messy around your face, lips parted ever so slightly, eyes soft and warm.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

He blinked, his chest tightening with something he didn’t want to name. Instead, his fingers moved on instinct.

You’re perfect.

And with that, he shut off the datapad, tossing it onto his desk before dragging his hands down his face with a long, suffering groan.

Tomorrow was going to kill him.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

1900 hours. Dressed to impress. West Sector. Gift in back pocket.

Fox paced, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his white button-up crisp against his toned frame. The sleeves were neatly rolled up, a careful balance of refined and relaxed, but the way he kept shifting his weight gave away his nerves.

He had been replaying this moment for hours. What to say. How to act. How not to mess this up. All because he had accepted a note from you at 79’s.

"What was I thinking?" He muttered under his breath.

“Hey, handsome.”

Fox turned so fast he nearly stumbled, eyes widening.

And kriff, he was glad he did.

There you stood, bathed in the golden glow of Coruscant’s streetlights, dressed in deep red—the colours of the Guard. The dress hugged your figure in a way that made his throat go dry, and your heels only added to the effortless confidence you carried.

For a moment, he could only stare.

“Wow,” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

The smile you gave him in return? Yeah, he was in trouble.

“Oh, stop it,” you teased, stepping closer, hands tucked behind your back. “You look very dashing, Whisky .”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together as if that would stop the heat creeping up his neck. “Thanks,” he murmured. Clearing his throat, he extended an arm. “Shall we?”

You took it without hesitation, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow, the warmth of your touch searing through the fabric of his sleeve. Your perfume drifted close—light, sweet, and enough to scramble his thoughts.

As he flagged down a cab, you glanced at him curiously when he rattled off an address.

“Somewhere special?”

Fox smirked. “Somewhere deserving of you.”

Your stomach flipped in excitement.

The ride was short, but that didn’t stop him from slipping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. It was easy, effortless—like this had always been a habit between you. Soft conversation flowed between the two of you, words dipped in laughter and teasing as the city lights blurred outside the window.

When you arrived, your breath caught.

Fox helped you out of the cab, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he guided you forward. The restaurant was breathtaking. Twinkling fairy lights draped across wooden beams, casting a golden glow over the space. Trellises overflowed with soft blossoms, their fragrance mingling with the cool evening air. A fountain gurgled softly in the center of the courtyard, its quiet song blending with the hum of conversation.

He had gone all out.

Fox pulled out your chair, waiting for you to settle before taking his own.

“Well, Whisky ,” you giggled, resting your arms on the table, “you’re full of surprises.”

He smirked, pouring you both a glass of wine from a bottle swiftly delivered by a server. “You think so?”

“I know so.” You raised your glass, tapping it lightly against his before taking a sip. “How many girls have you brought here?”

His brow lifted slightly. “Would you believe me if I said none?”

You narrowed your eyes, playful. “I don’t know. You are a smooth talker.”

Fox chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced down at the menu. You watched him for a moment, admiring the way the dim lighting softened his features, how the corners of his mouth twitched when he was focused.

Then, something shifted.

His shoulders tensed, fingers tightening around the menu, his usual air of confidence faltering ever so slightly.

Your smile faded, just a touch. “Hey,” you said softly, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “You okay?”

Fox blinked, snapping back to the moment. He looked at your hand—warm, steady, grounding—before clearing his throat and reaching for his drink.

“Y-yeah,” he said, voice not quite as smooth as before. He took a long sip, setting the glass down carefully. “Sorry. Just… nervous.”

You squeezed his hand gently before pulling back, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s just me, Whisky. Nobody else.”

His jaw tightened for a moment, like he was biting back words.

You were. He wasn’t.

Then, he exhaled slowly and sat up straighter. “I know,” he murmured. “And I’m lucky you are.”

The tension melted just as quickly as it had come, and soon enough, conversation flowed again. The wine disappeared steadily, the appetisers arrived, and between bites, you found yourself giggling at his dry humour, your foot grazing his leg beneath the table.

“Careful,” Fox murmured, smirking against the rim of his glass.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Careful of what?”

His smirk deepened. “You know exactly what.”

“Mm. Do I?” You dragged the tip of your shoe just a little higher up his calf, watching the way his fingers twitched against his glass.

Fox exhaled sharply, setting his drink down with deliberate care.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, voice lower now.

You bit back a smile, taking a slow sip of wine. “Then I hope you’re fireproof.”

His fingers drummed against the table, gaze locked onto yours—dark, unreadable, utterly consumed. Then, with a quick glance around, as if double-checking your privacy, he reached into his back pocket.

“Before I forget…” he started, voice softer now, something almost uncertain laced within it. “I should give you your gift.”

You sat up a little straighter, warmth rushing to your cheeks as he placed a small, square box in front of you.

Your fingers brushed over the lid, heartbeat picking up. “A gift?”

Fox rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flickering to yours before he nodded. “It’s nothing huge, but…” He opened the box, revealing a delicate bracelet inside—a single red gem dangling from the thin band.

“Oh, Whisky,” you breathed, a grin appearing as you carefully lifted it from the box. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the weight of it cool against your skin. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at the sincerity in your voice. “Beautiful,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over your wrist as he latched it on for you, “like you.”

It was easy to get lost in this, lost in him.

For a little while, nothing else mattered.

For a little while, everything was perfect.

And then, in an instant, it wasn’t.

Your eyes drift over Fox’s shoulder, catching sight of a familiar figure. “Oh, hey! It’s Pia. You okay if I go say hi?”

Fox glanced back too, spotting Pia by the reception desk. She hadn't seen either of you yet, focused on whatever she was waiting for. “Sure,” he said lightly. “Just don’t go running off on me.”

You humoured him with a smile, brushing a hand over his shoulder as you passed.

“Pia?”

She turned at the sound of your voice, her face lighting up instantly. “Hey, you!” She pulled you into a quick hug, then leaned back, eyeing you with approval. “Damn, girl, you look sexy.”

You laughed, giving her a mock twirl. “Doing my best. I’m on a date.”

“Oh, same! Though mine’s late.” She rolled her eyes but grinned anyway. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You nodded back toward your table. Pia’s gaze followed, her brows lifting slightly.

“Well, well,” she mused, chuckling. “Didn’t think the Commander had it in him.”

Your smile remains but sudden confusion surfaces.

“Hm?”

Pia glanced at you, still grinning. “I mean, I saw you two all cosy at 79’s. Figured you had a thing for him.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Sure, but Whisky isn’t a Commander .”

Something shifted in Pia’s expression.

She looked back at Fox still sitting there, unaware, completely at ease. Then back at you.

“…Whisky?”

A cold unease settled over you. “Yeah.”

Pia’s lips parted, her arms crossing over her chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Whisky ,” she said carefully. “And that? That isn’t one.”

Your stomach turned. “What are you saying?”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “That’s Fox. ”

The world around you dulled into nothing. Your mouth opened, but no words came. “Say that again.”

Pia’s confidence wavered, her grin long gone. “Love… I told you who he was that night.” Her brows knit together. “I thought you knew .”

No.

No, she hadn’t told you. She had been about to, but then a patron had called for her, and the moment had slipped away. You had never questioned it. Had never thought to.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

Your head shook, a sickening drop in your stomach. “He… he told me his name was Whisky.”

Pia shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and the man you thought you knew. “Wait—m-maybe it is,” she fumbled, grasping for something, anything to take back what she had just said. “I mean, he’s a clone, right? They all look the same, maybe—”

Her desperate excuse fell apart the second the next voice cut through the restaurant.

“ Fox! What are you doing here?”

Your blood ran cold.

Pia spun first, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

The voice belonged to Thire. He was walking straight toward your table, waving like it was nothing.

Fox stood quickly, his entire body stiff, hand raising in a useless attempt to silence his brother.

It was too late.

You felt him look at you.

Your eyes locked onto his, and in that moment, your heart shattered.

Everything you had built, every moment, every word— a lie.

A sharp breath lodged in your throat. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The weight in your chest threatened to crush you, and all you could do was turn on your heel and walk.

No— run.

Pia called your name, but you barely heard her. The restaurant blurred past, the cool air of the street hitting your face as you pushed through the doors. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the noise of passing speeders and distant chatter.

Somewhere behind you, voices rose in argument—Pia’s unmistakable fury, sharp and cutting.

And then—

“ Wait! ”

Your breath hitched, legs faltering as you came to an abrupt stop.

Footsteps. Heels against pavement. Pia.

She caught up, panting slightly, hands gripping your wrists the second she reached you.

“I don’t understand,” you choked, a sob clawing its way to the surface. Your hands covered your mouth, shaking. “Why would he do this?”

Pia’s own frustration simmered beneath her concern, her jaw tight. “I don’t know, love.” She squeezed your hands. “I don’t have a clue what was going through his mind.”

The tears came too fast, hot and relentless. You tried to wipe them away, but it was useless. The pain of it, the humiliation —it burned like fire beneath your skin.

Pia didn’t hesitate. She pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you as you broke. “D-did he want to hurt me?” Your voice was barely there, raw and shaking. “I don’t— I don’t get it. ”

She exhaled a slow, miserable sigh, resting her chin atop your head. “I… I couldn’t tell you.”

But you could tell her.

And oh, did you have answers. “He never liked me,” you whispered, hiccuping between sobs. “Fox—he was always rude to me. It’s like he wanted to play with me.”

A look flickered across Pia’s face. One you couldn’t read.

“Would he do that?” she asked, voice hesitant. “Really?”

You pulled back slightly, pressing a trembling hand over your chest, trying to steady your breath. “W-why lie about who he was? He always talked about Fox—Fox this, Fox that.” Your stomach twisted. “Was he just—just trying to figure out what I didn’t like about him? Was this some kind of—of sick joke?”

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Your mind raced in circles, spinning, grasping for answers you didn’t have. “Am I a bad person?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Pia didn’t hesitate. “No.” She shook her head, voice firm. “You’re a kind-hearted person, and some idiot wanted to test that.”

It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

Because none of it changed the truth.

“Oh—oh, stars. ” A fresh wave of dread crashed over you. “Thire! He’s going to tell everyone . ” Your breath came faster, panic swelling. “I can’t—I can’t —”

“Shh.” Pia took a deep breath, rubbing your arms in soothing circles. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t say a thing.” She reached into her bag, fishing out her key fob and pressing it into your trembling hands. “Go back to my place. I’ll be right behind you. You remember where I live?”

Your fingers curled around the fob, mind swimming. You nodded shakily. “O-okay. I think so. What are you doing?”

Pia scoffs. Tying her hair up, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder.

“Giving Fox another piece of my mind before he comes looking for you.”

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“Brothers in the Making” pt.3

Command Squad x Reader

The fortress was carved straight into the mountainside — dark metal and cold stone, its towers punching through the mist like jagged teeth. Separatist banners snapped in the wind, and scout droids buzzed along the perimeter like angry insects.

You crouched with Obi-Wan behind a ridge just above the valley floor. The cadets were lined up beside you, low and quiet, eyes locked on the compound.

Anakin was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen.

“Alright,” you whispered, tapping your datapad. “I count four main patrol paths. One blind spot. Minimal aerial surveillance.”

Kenobi nodded. “We can use the cliffside tunnel. I’ve seen this kind of layout before — there’s usually an access vent leading into the communications wing.”

You turned to your boys. “No heroics. Stay behind cover, stick to the plan, and no loud noises. Got it?”

They all nodded.

Except for Bacara, who raised a hand like he had a question.

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is about blowing something up—”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No loud noises.”

“Fine.”

Just as you leaned in to start your descent, a distant buzz and then a crash echoed from the other side of the fortress wall.

Everyone froze.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. “That wasn’t us, was it?”

You didn’t answer — because right then, Anakin skidded down the slope, cloak half-burnt, covered in dust and grinning like an idiot.

“Hey!” he called, too loud. “Good news! I found a side entrance—”

A siren wailed.

Turrets rotated.

Searchlights snapped to life and started scanning the cliffs.

You turned, face blank. “Did you trigger an alarm?”

Anakin pointed behind him. “Technically? The droid did.”

Rex, next to you, groaned into his gloves. “We’re all gonna die.”

Kenobi was already getting up, lightsaber in hand, perfectly composed as chaos exploded below.

“Plans change,” he muttered. “We improvise.”

“Oh yes,” you said flatly, drawing your blaster. “Let’s all just improvise our way into a heavily armed Separatist base. That’s definitely how I planned to spend my day.”

He gave you a look as you both started moving down the slope.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said over the rising noise, “I never thought I’d see the day you would be the voice of reason.”

You ducked behind a boulder, covering the cadets as they followed in. “Yeah, well, someone has to be the adult while your Padawan’s off starting a land war with a power converter.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You could always take him. Add him to your little army of foundlings.”

You gave him a flat look. “I already have five too many.”

Behind you, Fox tripped over his own boots and nearly bowled into Cody.

Kenobi raised an eyebrow.

You added: “And they bite.”

————

Inside the base, it was colder than the mountain winds outside — all durasteel corridors and flickering lights, the buzz of power conduits echoing through the walls like a warning.

You crouched behind a support pillar as another pair of droid sentries clanked past. The group had slipped in through the broken emergency access hatch Anakin had accidentally discovered — half of it still smoldering from whatever he'd done to override the lock.

You turned to Obi-Wan in a sharp whisper. “Splitting up is a terrible idea.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your foundlings run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your cadets run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“Your kids,” he said smoothly. “And as you’ve reminded me — foundlings are expected to fight.”

You clenched your jaw. “They’re not ready for this.”

He met your eyes. “Neither were we, once.”

That stopped you cold.

He lowered his voice, just a touch. “They need the experience. He needs the responsibility.”

You looked across the corridor — to where Anakin was gesturing wildly with his hands, trying to give the cadets some kind of whispered briefing. Bacara was clearly ignoring him. Wolffe already had a stun grenade in hand.

You exhaled through your nose. “If they die—”

“They won’t.”

You gave him one last glare, then looked back at the boys. “If anything goes wrong, scream.”

Fox raised a hand. “Like—?”

“I will hear you. I will end whoever hurt you. Just scream.”

The cadets nodded, suddenly a lot more serious.

Anakin gave a quick salute. “We’ll meet you back at the east exit.”

Obi-Wan glanced at you. “Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes and moved out, both of you slipping into the shadowed hallway like water down a blade.

———

Your part of the mission was quick and clean. Every step was coordinated — you swept forward through dark halls while Obi-Wan silently disabled security systems, his movements graceful and lethal.

You’d never worked with a Jedi like this before — and you had to admit, it was… oddly satisfying.

No words were wasted. He moved, you moved. You dropped a droid with a blaster shot, he caught its partner’s blaster arm mid-swing and twisted it clean off. The two of you cleared the detention block in under four minutes.

“Cell 14,” Obi-Wan said, checking the datapad he pulled from a guard’s belt.

You were already unlocking the panel.

Inside, the senator’s daughter was scared but unharmed — pale, dressed in rich fabric, bound at the wrists.

“I’ve got her,” you said, pulling her close and cutting the ties.

She stared up at you. “Who are you?”

You gave her a faint smile. “Someone your mother owes a drink.”

———

Elsewhere, it was less smooth.

Anakin’s plan — and you used the word plan very loosely — had apparently included sneaking into the droid depot and causing a “small, contained distraction.”

That turned into blowing up a weapons rack, stealing a tank, and getting stuck in a three-way chase down the hallway with spider droids, sirens, and Wolffe yelling, “I SAID I WASN’T GONNA BLOW ANYTHING UP, BUT THEN HE HANDED ME A DETONATOR—”

“I thought it was a flashlight!” Anakin shouted back.

Rex was clutching the controls of the tank like his life depended on it. Bacara was on top of the thing firing wildly and screaming gleefully. Cody and Fox were halfway hanging out of the hatch, shouting directions and laughing hysterically.

“THIS IS NOT STEALTH!” Fox screamed.

“I’M DISTRACTING THEM!” Bacara grinned. “DISTRACTION MISSION SUCCESSFUL!”

“DEFINITELY not ready,” you muttered, back with Obi-Wan as you made your way to the rendezvous.

You could hear the tank before you even saw them.

Obi-Wan glanced sideways at you with a completely straight face. “Would now be a bad time to say you were right?”

You stared at the smoke trail in the distance. “I hate you.”

———

The escape was… a mess.

They made it out, of course. Somehow.

With a half-destroyed tank rolling in front of the group as cover, explosions at their backs, and Anakin cheering like they’d just won a podrace, the cadets had sprinted across the canyon with blaster bolts chasing their heels.

You’d covered the senator’s daughter with your own body the whole way.

Kenobi had deflected shot after shot, graceful and impassive, the calm center of a storm.

Once they’d finally cleared the base and reconnected with the ship, you spent the first ten minutes pacing the ramp with your helmet tucked under your arm, muttering curses in three different languages.

Then, after a full headcount and emergency takeoff, you finally collapsed into a seat in the main hold.

Everyone was quiet.

Even Anakin.

The cadets sat in a circle, scratched and bruised, letting adrenaline drain from their systems. You watched them from your spot, arms crossed, boots heavy on the floor.

Cody was staring at his hands like they didn’t belong to him.

Fox hadn’t said a word.

Bacara was still grinning, but it was thinner now.

You leaned forward, voice low. “You all did good.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you.

“Not perfect. Not clean. But good,” you said, and your voice softened, just a touch. “You followed orders. You adapted. You survived.”

Wolffe swallowed, eyes flicking to the floor.

You stood, stepping forward, and placed a hand on the back of Cody’s neck — warm and grounding.

“You saw war today. The real thing. Not just drills. Not just training. And you all made it out.”

There was silence again.

Then Bacara mumbled, “Even if Skywalker tried to kill us all.”

“I heard that,” Anakin called from the cockpit.

“Good.”

You turned toward the boys again. “Rest up. You earned it.”

As they started to settle into sleep wherever they could — curled in corners of the hold, some using their packs as pillows — you moved quietly to the front of the ship.

Kenobi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the stars pass through the viewports.

“You think they’re alright?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

He glanced at you. “They will be.”

You tilted your head. “So. What happened to your ship, exactly?”

He didn’t blink. “Mysterious failure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sabotage, maybe.”

“Right.”

“Couldn’t possibly have been someone crash landing our ship.”

You sighed. “You Jedi are the worst.”

“I get that a lot.”

———

You hated the smell of Coruscant. Too clean. Too bright. Like chrome and false smiles.

But the senator’s estate was quiet, at least. High above the clouds, the landing platform was bordered by hanging gardens and silent droids, the building towering like a temple to wealth and secrecy.

You disembarked with the senator’s daughter at your side — safe, whole, and grateful.

The senator met you personally, eyes shining with relief. They pulled you into a tight embrace and whispered, “I owe you everything.”

Then they looked at your five cadets, lined up neatly and looking everywhere but directly at the senator.

“These boys…” the senator said slowly. “Are they—?”

You cut in smoothly. “Foundlings. Mine.”

A pause.

The senator raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. They’re… sharp. Disciplined.”

“Lucky genes,” you said, smiling coolly.

Behind you, Fox was mouthing don’t say anything at Wolffe, who was visibly biting his tongue.

The senator looked thoughtful. “You know… there may be a place for them in security, when the time is right. We could find funding. Official channels.”

Your blood went cold.

But you smiled anyway.

“I’ll think about it.”

The senator nodded, clearly meaning well — but clearly dangerous.

You filed it away. Another warning.

They were not ready to be seen.

Not yet.

That night, back on the ship, the boys sat on the floor around you again, waiting for your orders.

But you just looked at them — really looked at them.

Wolffe’s bruise under his eye. Rex’s busted knuckles. Bacara’s scraped cheek. Cody’s silence. Fox’s slumped shoulders.

You said nothing at first.

Then, softly: “You did good.”

Five sets of eyes flicked up.

You gave them a small nod. “Get some rest. More training tomorrow.”

“Yes, buir,” they all said at once.

And you didn’t correct them.

Not this time.

————

Kamino had never felt this quiet.

Rain still lashed against the glass corridors. The white lights still hummed. Clones still trained, marched, sparred. But the air carried a tension now — tight and sterile, like the Kaminoans were watching every step.

Because they were.

The cadets noticed it first.

Extra cameras in the mess hall.

Silent observers hovering near the training chambers.

One of the newer units mentioned being taken aside and scanned after sparring.

And then, there was the way the five field cadets were treated.

Rex, Cody, Bacara, Fox, and Wolffe.

They were whispered about now — envied, doubted, even resented.

Rex heard a pair of cadets muttering behind his back in the armory.

“Think they’re better than us.”

“Just ‘cause they left Kamino.”

Bacara caught a shove in the hallway.

Fox started training harder, angrier.

You noticed it — how they stuck close together now. A small, tight unit. Good for war. Bad for brothers.

You were in the middle of correcting Bacara’s form during a sparring drill when you saw Jango watching from the overlook.

He didn’t call out to you. Just tilted his head, a silent signal.

You followed.

He was leaning against the wall in a private corridor, arms crossed.

“They’re pissed,” he said, voice low and steady.

You didn’t need to ask who.

“The Kaminoans?”

He nodded once. “Didn’t like you taking your cadets off-world. Especially not without their approval. You rattled their control.”

You leaned your back against the wall, arms folded. “That was your idea.”

He huffed a short breath of amusement. “They’re already talking about locking down field excursions. Increased isolation protocols.”

Your jaw tensed. “They’re kids. Not droids.”

“They’re property,” he said bitterly. “According to Kamino.”

You looked down at the floor, teeth clenched.

“They’re more than that,” you muttered.

He gave you a look. “Then you better teach them to act like it. Before this place eats them alive.”

————

Later that day, it happened.

Two cadets shoved Fox after a sparring match. Said he thought he was too good for the rest of them now.

Fox didn’t fight back.

But Wolffe did.

Cody pulled him off before it escalated, but not before everyone saw.

The whole training floor went dead silent.

You walked into the middle of it.

And no one said a word.

You turned, looking around at all of them — rows of half-grown clones, armor scuffed, breath caught.

“Line up.”

They did.

All of them. Even the ones still panting from the fight.

You stood in front of them, helmet tucked under your arm, rain streaking down the windows behind you.

“I’ve been too soft on you.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

You raised your voice.

“I wanted you to feel like brothers. I wanted you to find your names. To find yourselves. But that doesn’t mean forgetting what you are.”

You started to pace, slow and sharp.

“You are soldiers. You are Mandalorian-trained. You are disciplined. And above all — you are loyal.”

A pause.

“Not to me. To each other.”

They watched you like they were trying to breathe your words in.

“This?” You pointed at the dried blood on Wolffe’s lip. “This jealousy? This division? It’s not strength. It’s weakness. And weakness gets you killed.”

You stopped walking, facing them head-on.

“I don’t care who went off-world. I don’t care who hasn’t earned a name yet. You are brothers. And from today on, the training gets harder. The drills get longer. The expectations rise.”

A long, steady beat.

“Earn your place. Earn your name. Earn each other.”

No one moved.

No one dared.

You dropped your voice just enough.

“This is your warning. Tomorrow — the real training begins.”

You turned on your heel and walked out.

Behind you, they stood taller.

Silent.

Together.

————

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

more angst since y’all liked it last time

“Storm and Starlight”

Sev x Jedi Reader

It had been twenty-nine days since she went missing.

Sev knew the exact count, though he never said it aloud. He didn’t like counting things unless they were kills. Death was predictable. Comfortable. But her? She was something else.

They lost contact with her squad during an op on Felucia. Dense jungle. Hostile locals. Separatist interference. Command called it. KIA, presumed.

Sev didn’t believe it. Not because of some Jedi faith, but because she was the one thing in his life that didn’t shatter under pressure.

She annoyed the hell out of him. Bubbly, bright, constantly chirping about “hope” and “trust in the Force.” It should have driven him up the walls. But somehow, it worked. She worked.

And now she was gone.

So when the door to the debriefing room slid open and he saw her silhouette—filthy robes, a torn sleeve, a limp in her step—his mind blanked.

She paused in the doorway. Her hair was caked in mud and ash, but her smile still hit like a thermal detonator.

“Miss me?”

There was a beat.

Then another.

Sev crossed his arms and exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. “I had wondered where my headache went.”

She laughed—light and unexpected, like rain in a war zone—and limped closer. “Is that how you greet everyone who comes back from the dead?”

“I’ve only seen you do it. Once.” He eyed her up and down. “You look like hell.”

“Hell’s got better lighting.”

Sev reached out, pulled her closer by the belt of her torn robe. “Where the kriff were you?”

“Trapped. Separatist scout patrol hit us hard. I got out, the others didn’t. I’ve been trekking across half the jungle, dodging droids and eating… well, I think it was fruit. Could’ve been eggs.”

“Should’ve been you that got eaten.”

She leaned her forehead against his chest plate. “Aw. You did miss me.”

Sev went still.

Her warmth, her voice, even the scent of jungle rot clinging to her—none of it should’ve made his heart stutter like that. And yet.

“I didn’t miss you,” he said, voice lower. “I just got used to the quiet.”

She looked up, eyes glittering like starlight. “Liar.”

And he was.

Because for twenty-nine days, he hadn’t slept right. The jokes didn’t land. The blood didn’t thrill. He kept expecting her voice in his comm, her humming in the medbay, her absolutely infuriating habit of giving everyone in Delta Squad an encouraging nickname.

Now she was back. Cracked and bruised—but still sunshine, somehow.

“You’re gonna die smiling one day,” he muttered. “And I’ll be the one dragging your corpse back just so I can punch it.”

She smiled, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll die knowing you cared.”

Sev sighed and pulled her fully into his arms. “Next time you disappear, I’m tying a tracking beacon to your ankle.”

“Promise?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

me when the plot won't plot like it should