“War On Two Fronts” Pt.4

Hi! I’m not sure if you’ve heard of Epic the musical and the song “There are other ways” but I was thinking a Tech X Reader where he gets lost and comes across a sorceress and she seduces him and it’s very steamy? Lmk if this is ok, if not feel free to delete. Xx

“There Are Other Ways”

Tech x Reader

Tech had been separated from the squad before. Statistically speaking, given the volume of missions they undertook in unpredictable terrain, the odds were precisely 3.8% per assignment. He should have been more prepared for it—should have accounted for environmental disruptions, latent electromagnetic fields, or the possibility of the forest itself being… alive.

Still, none of that explained why his visor fritzed out the moment he crossed the river.

Or why the fog grew thicker when he tried to retrace his steps.

Or why the trees whispered his name like they knew him.

“Tech…”

He halted. The voice came from ahead—feminine, melodic. Not from his comm. And certainly not Omega playing a prank. She didn’t sound like a dream.

His grip tightened on his blaster. “Reveal yourself.”

And you did.

You stepped from the mist as if you belonged to it. Bare feet sinking into moss, the water licking around your ankles. The moon crowned you, making the fine threads of your cloak shimmer like woven starlight. Your gaze was ancient. Curious. Smiling.

“I’ve been waiting,” you said, voice like silk over steel.

Tech’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. “Statistically improbable, considering I had no intention of entering this region of the forest, nor becoming separated from my unit.”

“Perhaps I saw what you could not,” you said, tilting your head. “Or perhaps I called, and you listened.”

He ran a diagnostic scan. No lifeforms detected. No hostile readings. The air was too quiet.

“Are you… Force-sensitive?”

You laughed—a soft, knowing sound that made his stomach tighten.

“I’m something like that. Does it matter?”

“It very much does. If you are a threat, I am obligated to neutralize—”

But you were closer now. He hadn’t seen you move. Your fingers touched the edge of his armor with something like reverence.

“I’m not a threat unless you ask me to be.”

His breath hitched. Just once. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re… a clone trooper. The mind of your little unit.” You circled him slowly. “Always calculating. Always thinking. Never letting go.”

“I find control to be preferable to chaos,” he said sharply.

“And yet,” you whispered, stepping behind him, your hand brushing the nape of his neck, “you walked into the chaos anyway.”

His fingers twitched. He should have stepped forward. Should have recalibrated his scanner. Should have moved—

But he didn’t.

Because something about your presence tugged at the part of him he kept locked away. The part he filed under unnecessary. Indulgent. Weak.

“Your body,” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “wants what your mind won’t allow.”

He stiffened.

You smiled, warm and wicked, stepping in front of him again, your fingers now brushing the soft lining between his chest armor and undersuit. “You wear this like a wall. But you’re still a man beneath it.”

“I am not… easily manipulated,” he managed, though his voice had dropped, deeper than he liked.

“I’m not manipulating you, Tech.” You met his gaze. “I’m offering you a choice. You can walk away. Return to your mission. Your team. Your purpose.”

You stepped closer, and his breath caught as your hand slid beneath the edge of his cowl, your touch feather-light. “Or you can let go. Just for one night. Just this once.”

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He could list a hundred reasons why this was an anomaly. A deviation. A risk.

And yet—

His hand came up, slowly, almost shaking. Not to stop you. To touch you. To feel you. To confirm you were real.

You leaned in.

“I can show you other ways,” you whispered.

Then your lips brushed his—tentative at first, waiting. And when he didn’t pull away, you deepened the kiss, slow and exploratory, as if trying to map the mind he kept so tightly wound.

Tech’s world tilted.

Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking.

He was feeling.

And when he let his blaster fall to the moss, when his hands found your waist and pulled you against him, when he kissed you back with a desperation he didn’t know he had—

He wasn’t the mind anymore.

He was a man.

His breath stuttered.

Tech wasn’t used to this—not the heat rising in his chest, nor the sensation of lips ghosting down his neck like a whisper meant only for the softest, most hidden parts of him.

Your eyes drank him in—not with hunger, but with reverence. His freckles, his sharp cheekbones, the slight twitch in his jaw that betrayed the storm behind his glasses.

“You’re beautiful,” you said softly.

Tech blinked. “That is… an illogical observation.”

You smiled. “Then your logic needs reprogramming.”

He made a noise—half protest, half breathless laugh—but it caught in his throat when your hands touched the bare skin of his collarbone. Your thumbs pressed lightly into the muscles of his neck. Tech didn’t realize how tense he always was until he felt himself melting beneath your touch.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

“I…” His voice caught. “I cannot.”

You nodded, leaning in until your forehead touched his. “Then don’t.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you—desperately this time, hands curling at your waist as if anchoring himself to something real, something grounding in the swirling chaos of magic and sensation.

You pressed against him, warm and solid and devastatingly soft. One hand curled into his hair, the other sliding beneath the edge of his armor as you slowly coaxed it free. Piece by piece, you helped him shed it—not forcefully, never rushing. Like a ritual. Like he was something sacred.

When the last plate fell into the moss with a thud, he stood before you stripped of all defenses, chest rising and falling in quiet, stunned silence.

“You’re still thinking,” you said gently, brushing your nose against his.

“I—always think,” he breathed.

“Then let me think for you tonight.”

He didn’t protest when you led him backward into the moss, the magic of the forest warming the ground like a living bed. You straddled his lap, kissing him slow, deep, like you wanted to memorize every stifled sound he made.

Tech’s hands roamed—tentative, reverent, needy. He touched like a man learning to live in his own skin for the first time. Every sigh, every moan, every tremble you pulled from him was a tiny rebellion against the order he clung to.

And gods—how he clung to you instead.

Your magic hummed beneath your skin, wrapping around his ribs like silk. It didn’t control him. It didn’t bend his will. It simply amplified everything he was already feeling, pulling him deeper into you, into this—the illusion, the escape, the exquisite loss of control.

Your mouths met again and again. His glasses were somewhere in the moss. His hands splayed along the curve of your back. And when you whispered his name, over and over, like it was the only truth left in the galaxy—

He whispered yours back like a prayer.

Like he had always known it.

Like logic had never mattered at all.

“The Lesser of Two Wars” Pt.2

Commander Fox x Reader x Commander Thorn

The club was one of those places senators didn’t publicly admit to frequenting—no names at the entrance, no press allowed, no datapad scans. Just a biometric scan, a whisper to the doorman, and you were in.

Nestled high above the skyline in 500 Republica, it was a favorite among the young elite and the exhausted powerful. All glass walls and plush lounges, dim gold lighting that clung to skin like honey, and music that never rose above a sensual hum. Everything in here was designed to make you forget who you were outside of it.

And tonight, that suited you just fine.

You had a drink in hand—something blue and expensive and far too smooth—and laughter on your lips. Not your usual politician’s laughter either. No smirking charm or polite chuckles. This one was real, deep in your belly, a rare sound that only came out when you were far enough removed from the Senate floor.

“Tell me again how you managed to silence Mas Amedda without being sanctioned,” you asked through your grin, blinking slowly at Mon Mothma from across the low-glass table.

“I didn’t silence him,” Mon said, sipping delicately at a glowing green drink. “I simply implied I’d reveal the contents of his personal expenditures file if he didn’t yield his five minutes of floor time.”

“You blackmailed him,” Chuchi said, eyes wide and utterly delighted. “Mon.”

“It wasn’t blackmail. It was diplomacy. With consequences.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Stars above, I love you.”

You weren’t the only one laughing. Bail Organa was seated nearby with his jacket off and sleeves rolled, regaling Padmé and Senator Ask Aak with a dry tale about a conference that nearly turned into a duel. For once, there were no lobbyists, no cameras, no agendas. Just the quiet, rare illusion of ease among people who usually bore the weight of worlds.

But ease was temporary. The night wore on, and senators began to peel away one by one—some called back to work, others escorted home under guard, a few sneaking off with less noble intentions. Mon and Chuchi left together, promising to check in on you the next day. Padmé disappeared with only a look and a knowing smile.

You, however, weren’t ready to go.

Not until the lights got just a bit too warm and the drinks turned your blood to sugar. Not until the music softened your spine and left your thoughts curling in all directions.

By the time you left the booth, your heels wobbled. You weren’t drunk-drunk. Just the kind of warm that made everything feel funny and your judgment slightly off. Enough to skip the staff-speeder and walk yourself toward the street-level lift like a very determined, very unstable senator.

You barely made it past the threshold of the club when someone stepped into your path.

“Senator.”

That voice.

Low. Smooth. Metal-wrapped silk.

You blinked, head tilting up.

Commander Thorn.

Helmet tucked under one arm, brow slightly raised, red armor catching the glint of the city lights like lacquered flame. His expression was hard to read—professional, always—but it wasn’t Fox-level impassive. There was a quiet alertness in his eyes, and something… else. Something you couldn’t name through the fuzz of your thoughts.

You gave him a slow once-over, then grinned.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the charming one.”

Thorn’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

“You’re leaving without an escort.”

“Can’t imagine why. I’m obviously walking in a very straight line.”

You took a bold step and swerved instantly.

He caught your elbow in one gloved hand, his grip steady, sure. “Right.”

You laughed softly, not pulling away. “Did Fox send you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I was stationed nearby. Saw you entered and didn’t leave with the other senators. Waited.”

You blinked, the words catching up slowly.

“You waited?”

His tone was casual. “Senators don’t always make smart choices after midnight.”

You scoffed. “And you’re here to protect me from what—bad decisions?”

“Possibly yourself.”

You leaned in slightly, still smiling. “That doesn’t sound very neutral, Commander.”

“It’s not.”

That surprised you.

Not the words—the admission.

He guided you toward the secure transport platform. You walked close, his arm still steadying you, your perfume drifting between you like static. You felt him glance down at you again, and for once, you didn’t deflect it with a joke. You let the silence stretch, warm and a little unsteady, like everything else tonight.

When you reached your private residence, he walked you to the lift, hand never once leaving your arm. It wasn’t possessive. It was watchful. Protective. Unspoken.

The lift doors opened.

You turned to him. Slower now. Sober enough to remember the mask you usually wore—but too tired to lift it fully.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.”

“I’d rather see you escorted than carried,” he said simply.

A beat passed.

“I think I like you better outside of duty,” you said, voice quieter. “You’re a little more human.”

And for the first time, really, Thorn smiled.

Not a twitch. Not a ghost.

A real one.

It was gone before you could memorize it.

“Goodnight, Senator.”

You stepped into the lift.

“Goodnight, Commander.”

The doors closed, and your chest ached with something that wasn’t quite intoxication.

⸻

You barely had time to swallow your caf when the doors to your office hissed open without announcement.

That never happened.

You looked up mid-sip, scowling—only to find Senator Bail Organa storming in with the calm urgency of a man who never rushed unless the building was on fire.

“Good morning,” you said warily. “Is something—”

“There’s been a threat,” he interrupted. “Targeted. Multiple senators. Chuchi, Mon, myself. You.”

You lowered your mug, slowly. “What kind of threat?”

Bail handed you a datapad with an encrypted message flashing in red. You scanned it quickly.

Anonymous intel. Holo-snaps of your recent movements. Discussions leaked. Your voting history underlined in red. The threat was vague—too vague for your comfort. But it didn’t feel like a bluff.

And it had your name in it.

You exhaled sharply. “Any idea who’s behind it?”

“Too early to confirm. Intelligence thinks it’s separatist-aligned extremists or a shadow cell embedded in the lower districts.”

“Of course they do.”

Bail gave you a meaningful look. “Security’s being doubled. The Chancellor’s assigning escorts for all senators flagged.”

You raised a brow. “Let me guess. I don’t get to pick mine.”

“No. But I thought you’d appreciate knowing who was assigned to you.”

The door opened again before you could ask.

Two sets of footsteps. Distinct.

Heavy. Precise.

You didn’t have to turn around to know.

Fox.

Thorn.

Of course.

Fox was already scanning the room. No helmet, but sharp as a knife, his eyes flicking to every shadow, every corner of your office like you were under attack now. Thorn walked half a step behind, expression calm, posture less rigid, but still unmistakably alert.

“I see we’re all being very subtle about this,” you muttered, glancing at the armed men flanking your office now like guards of war.

“You’re on the list,” Fox said. His voice was like crushed gravel—low, even, never cruel, but always tired.

“What list, exactly?” you asked, crossing your arms. “The ‘Too Mouthy to Survive’ list?”

Thorn’s mouth twitched again—always the one with the faintest hint of humor behind the armor.

“The High Risk list,” Fox replied simply.

“And how long will I be babysat?”

“Until the threat is neutralized or your corpse is cold,” Thorn said, deadpan.

You blinked.

“Was that a joke?”

“I don’t joke.”

“He does,” Fox said without looking at him. “Badly.”

“I hate this already,” you muttered, rubbing your temple.

Bail cleared his throat. “They’ll rotate between shifts. Never both at the same time, unless the situation escalates.”

Your head snapped up. “Both?”

“Yes,” Bail said flatly. “Two of the best. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“I’d feel luckier if my personal space wasn’t about to become a crime scene.”

Thorn stepped forward, tone gentler than Fox’s but still authoritative. “We’re not here to interfere with your duties. Just protect you while you do them.”

“And that includes sitting in on committee meetings? Speeches? Dinner receptions?”

Fox nodded. “All of it.”

You looked between them—Fox, with his granite stare and professional distance, and Thorn, who still hadn’t quite stopped looking at you since last night.

Something in your gut twisted. Not fear. Not annoyance.

Something dangerous.

This wasn’t just political anymore.

You were being watched. Stalked. Hunted.

And these two were now your only shield between that threat and your life.

You hated the idea of needing protection.

You hated how safe you felt around them even more.

⸻

The Senate chamber was unusually quiet.

Not silent—never silent—but that thick kind of quiet that came before a storm. Murmurs dipped beneath the domes, senators eyeing each other with the unease of shared vulnerability. No one said it outright, but the threat had spread. Everyone had heard.

And everyone knew some of them were marked.

You sat straighter in your pod than usual, spine taut, eyes fixed on nothing and everything. You’d spoken already—brief, pointed, and barbed. You had no patience today for pacifying words or empty declarations of unity.

Somewhere behind you, still and unreadable as always, stood Commander Fox.

He hadn’t flinched when your voice rose, hadn’t twitched when you called out the hypocrisy of a few senior senators who once claimed loyalty to neutrality but now conveniently aligned with protection-heavy legislation.

Fox didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

His presence was a loaded weapon holstered at your back.

You ended your speech with a clipped nod, disengaged the microphone, and leaned back in your seat. The applause was polite. The glares from across the chamber were not.

When the hearing adjourned, your pod retracted slowly, returning to the docking tier. You stood, heels clicking against the durasteel, and without needing to signal him, Fox stepped into motion behind you.

He said nothing.

You said nothing—at first.

But halfway down the polished hallway leading back toward your office, you tilted your head slightly.

“You know, you’re a hard one to read, Commander.”

Fox’s gaze didn’t waver from the path ahead. “That’s intentional.”

“I figured.” You glanced sideways. “But you’re really good at it. Do you even blink?”

“Occasionally.”

Your lips twitched, a smile curling despite yourself.

“Not a lot of people can keep up with me,” you said, voice softer now. “Even fewer try.”

Fox didn’t reply immediately. But something shifted.

Not in what he said—but in what he didn’t.

He moved just half a step closer.

Most wouldn’t have noticed. But you were trained to pick up the smallest things—micro-expressions, body language, political deflections hidden in tone. And you noticed now that he was watching you more directly. That his shoulders weren’t held quite as far from yours. That his footsteps echoed in perfect sync with yours.

You turned your head toward him, brow raised.

“I thought proximity would make you uncomfortable,” he said, finally.

You blinked. “Because I’m a senator?”

“Because you don’t like being watched.”

“Everyone watches senators,” you said. “You’re just better at it.”

Another step.

Closer.

He still didn’t look at you outright, but you felt it. That shift in awareness. That quiet, focused gravity pulling toward you without making a sound.

“What’s your read on me, then?” you asked.

Fox stopped walking.

So did you.

He finally turned his head. Just slightly. Just enough.

“You’re smart enough to know what not to say in public,” he said. “But reckless enough to say it anyway.”

You stared at him, breath caught somewhere between offense and amusement.

“And that makes me what? A liability?”

“It makes you visible,” Fox said. “Which is more dangerous than anything else.”

Your mouth was dry. “Is that your professional opinion?”

His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yes.”

You felt the air shift between you. Unspoken, heavy.

Then, just like that, he stepped ahead of you again, resuming the walk as though the pause hadn’t happened at all.

You followed.

But your heart was beating faster.

And you weren’t sure why.

You were almost at your office when the change in guard was announced.

“Senator,” Fox said, pausing by the lift. “My shift’s ending. Commander Thorn will take over from here.”

You opened your mouth to ask something—anything—but he was already stepping back. Already gone.

And just like that, you felt it.

The cold absence where his presence had been.

The lift doors opened before the silence had a chance to stretch too far.

“Senator,” Thorn greeted, stepping out with that easy, assured confidence that Fox never wore.

His helmet was clipped to his belt this time, revealing the full sharpness of his jaw, the subtle smirk tugging one corner of his mouth upward. His expression was casual—friendly, even—but his eyes swept you over with that same tactical precision as Fox’s.

You noticed it, even if others wouldn’t.

“Commander Thorn,” you said, brushing a stray strand of hair back. “How fortunate. I was just getting bored of no conversation.”

Thorn chuckled. “That sounds like Fox.”

“He said maybe twelve words the entire time.”

“Four of them were probably your name and title.”

You smirked, but your tone turned dry. “And you’re any different?”

He fell into step beside you without needing to be told. “Maybe. Depends.”

“On?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Whether you want someone who listens, or someone who talks.”

You glanced up at him, not expecting that level of insight. “Bold for a man I barely know.”

“I’d say we know each other better than most already,” he said casually. “I’ve seen you argue with half the Senate, smile at the rest, and stumble out of a club at 0200 pretending you weren’t drunk.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I was not pretending.”

He grinned. “Then you were very convincing.”

You reached your office doors. The security droid scanned you and unlocked with a soft click. You didn’t go in right away.

“You’re not like him,” you said after a beat.

“Fox?” Thorn’s brow lifted. “No. He’s the wall. I’m the gate.”

You gave him a look.

“That’s either poetic or deeply concerning.”

He leaned slightly closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the sheer reality of the man behind the armor. “Just means I’m easier to talk to.”

You didn’t respond immediately.

But your fingers lingered a little longer on the door panel than they needed to.

“I’ll be inside for a few hours,” you said finally, voice softer now.

Thorn didn’t step back. “I’ll be right here.”

The door closed between you, but your heart was still beating just a little too loud.

⸻

You were seated at your desk, halfway through tearing apart a policy proposal when the alarms flared to life—blaring red lights streaking across the transparisteel windows of your office.

Your comms crackled a second later.

“All personnel, code red. Attack in progress. Eastern Senate wing compromised.”

You stood so fast your chair tipped over.

Outside your door, Thorn’s voice was already sharp and commanding.

“Stay inside, Senator. Lock the doors.”

“Thorn—”

“I said lock it.”

You hesitated for only a second before slamming your palm against the panel. The doors sealed shut with a hiss, cutting off the sounds beyond.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. The east wing. You didn’t need a layout map to know who worked down there.

Mon Mothma.

Riyo Chuchi.

You turned toward your comm panel and opened a direct line.

It didn’t go through.

The silence that followed was worse than any explosion.

Moments passed. Five. Ten. Long enough for doubt to slither into your chest.

Then the door unlocked.

You turned quickly—but not in fear. Readiness.

Thorn stepped inside, blaster still drawn. His armor was singed, one pauldron scraped, the other glinting with something wet and copper-dark.

“Are they okay?” you asked, voice too sharp, too desperate.

“One confirmed injured,” Thorn said. “Not fatal. Attackers fled. Still sweeping the halls.”

You exhaled, relief unspooling painfully down your spine.

Thorn crossed the room to you, checking the windows before stepping back toward the door.

“I’m getting you out,” he said.

“Now?”

“It’s not safe here.”

You followed him without hesitation.

But just before the hallway opened fully before you, another figure joined—emerging from the opposite end with dark armor, dark eyes, and a darker expression.

Fox.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at Thorn. Then at you.

Then back at Thorn.

Thorn gave a small, dry nod. “Guess command figured double was safer.”

Fox stepped into pace beside you, opposite Thorn.

Neither man said a word.

But you felt it.

The change. The pressure. The electricity.

Both commanders moved in unison—professional, focused, unshakable. But their attention wasn’t just on the halls or the shadows. It was on each other. Measuring. Reading. Holding something back.

And you?

You were caught directly between them.

Literally.

And, for the first time, maybe not unwillingly.

The Senate had been locked down, but your apartment—tucked within the guarded diplomat district—was cleared for return. Not safe, not exactly, but safer than a building that had just seen smoke and fire.

Fox and Thorn flanked you again.

The hover transport dropped you three streets out, citing security rerouting, so the rest of the way had to be walked. Late-night fog curled between the towers, headlights casting long shadows.

You should’ve been quiet. Should’ve been tense.

But something about the presence of both commanders beside you—so alike and yet impossibly different—made your voice turn lighter. Bolder.

“I feel like I’m being escorted by a wall and a statue,” you teased, glancing sideways. “Guess which is which.”

Thorn let out a low snort, barely audible.

Fox, predictably, did not react.

You smiled a little. Then pressed further.

“You really don’t say much, do you, Commander?” you asked, turning slightly toward Fox as your heels clicked against the pavement.

“Only when necessary.”

“Lucky for me I enjoy unnecessary things.”

Fox’s eyes didn’t flicker. Not outwardly. But he said nothing, which somehow made the game more interesting.

You leaned in, just enough to brush near his armor as you passed a narrow alley. “What if I said it’s necessary for me to hear you say something soft? Maybe something charming?”

Fox didn’t stop walking. But his gaze turned fully to you now, sharp and unreadable.

“Then I’d say you’re testing me,” he said lowly.

Your breath caught for a beat.

Behind you, Thorn cleared his throat—just once, quiet but pointed.

You looked back at him with a sly smile. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’m not starting a fight. Just making conversation.”

“You’re good at that,” Thorn said, polite but cool.

Was that… jealousy? No. Not quite. But close enough to touch it.

You reached your door and turned toward both men.

“Are either of you coming inside?” you asked, only half joking.

Fox didn’t answer. Thorn gave you a knowing smile.

“Not unless it’s protocol, Senator.”

You shrugged dramatically. “Shame.”

The locks activated with a soft click. You turned just before stepping through the threshold.

“Goodnight, Commander Thorn. Commander Fox.”

Fox gave you a single nod.

Thorn, ever the warmer one, offered a parting smile. “Sleep easy, Senator. We’ve got eyes on your building all night.”

You stepped inside.

And as the door closed behind you, you pressed your back to it… smiling. Just a little.

One was a wall. The other a gate.

And both were beginning to open.

⸻

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Foxy again 😀 Click for higher quality >.> I'm unsure why it looks blurry on my tablet..

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.

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.

Radiant. 

“Hit Me (Like You Mean It)”

Commander Wolffe xBounty Hunter!Reader

⸻

The cantina on Vradros IV reeked of sweat, desperation, and synth-spice. Which is to say, it smelled exactly like a place Wolffe would pick for a “quiet recon op.”

You leaned against the bar, twirling your drink with one hand, your blaster slung low on your hip like a challenge. You felt him before you saw him—Commander Wolffe moved like a ghost in armor, all steel and unspoken tension.

“You missed our meeting,” he said, voice low and gruff behind that half-scorched vocabulator.

You smirked. “I was busy. Didn’t realize I needed your permission to have a life.”

“You don’t.” He paused. “Just seems like yours always conveniently conflicts with mine.”

You turned, sipping your drink lazily. “Aw. You miss me, Commander?”

Wolffe didn’t flinch, but the corner of his mouth twitched like it wanted to. “You’re a pain in my shebs.”

“And yet,” you drawled, “here you are.”

He looked tired. No—past tired. He looked hollowed out, like someone who’d been running on fumes since the war ended, and no one remembered to tell him he could stop.

You tilted your head. “You sleep at all?”

“Enough.”

“Eat?”

“When I remember.”

“Touch anyone lately?”

That got his attention.

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and startled—but not offended. Never offended. Not with you.

“That’s a hell of a question.”

You shrugged. “It’s a hell of a galaxy.”

He was quiet for a beat, jaw tight.

Then, out of nowhere, he said, “You gonna hit me, or just keep talking?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He stepped closer, chest brushing yours. “You’ve been itching for a fight since I walked in.”

“No, you’ve been begging for one.” You looked him up and down. “Why?”

“Maybe I deserve it.”

“Oh, don’t get all martyr on me, Commander.” You narrowed your eyes. “What’s really going on?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you, every inch of him coiled and unreadable.

And then he said, almost too quiet: “I just want to feel something.”

Ah.

There it was.

The crack in the armor.

Not in his phrasing—Wolffe would never be that direct—but in the weight behind the words. You’d seen it before. In soldiers who lost brothers. In children who never got hugged enough. In yourself, sometimes, when the nights were long and the stars too loud.

“Fine,” you said, stepping in close. “You wanna get hit?”

He nodded once, stiff.

You swung. Not hard—but enough to snap his head to the side.

The cantina didn’t even blink. No one cared. It was that kind of place.

Wolffe exhaled, slow and shaky. Turned his head back toward you.

And smiled.

A real one. Lopsided. Crooked. Full of pain and something almost like relief.

You grabbed the front of his armor and pulled him down to your level. “Next time you need to be touched, maybe try asking, instead of playing wounded karking bantha.”

He leaned in, voice rough. “Would you say yes?”

You kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw. Like striking flint to stone.

His hands came to your waist, holding on like he didn’t trust the ground to stay solid. You felt the tremor in him—not fear. Not hesitation. Just need.

You pulled back, just enough to murmur against his mouth: “Touch-starved bastard.”

He looked at you like you’d reached inside him and flipped a switch he forgot existed. “I deserved that punch.”

“You’ll deserve the next one too.”

He smirked. “Looking forward to it.”

⸻

me: I write for myself, not validation

also me after posting a fic *refreshes ao3 every five minutes*

(two things can be true)

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

Title: “This Life”

ARC Trooper Fives x GN!Reader

⸻

Blaster fire lit up the crumbling ruins like lightning in a dead storm. You ducked behind a scorched column, heart pounding, comms blaring with garbled voices. Another skirmish, another senseless conflict in a war that never stopped taking.

You weren’t a soldier, not really. Intelligence officer, field analyst—whatever title the Republic slapped on you, it didn’t change the fact that you ended up on the frontlines more often than not. Especially when you were assigned to the 501st.

Especially when he was there.

“Behind you!”

Fives’ voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. You dropped low just in time for him to fire over your head, taking down the droid that had been about to fry you. He slid into cover beside you, breathing hard, face streaked with soot and blood.

“Close one,” you muttered.

“You really know how to pick your spots,” he said, flashing that grin—the one that used to make your knees weak. Still did, if you were being honest.

You laughed, short and bitter. “This war’s got a habit of throwing us into hell together, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “It does.”

You looked at him then, really looked. Fives wasn’t just tired—he was worn, stretched thin by secrets, loss, and the weight of being more than just another number. He was alive, but barely hanging on. And you hated that the Republic didn’t see it. That they didn’t see him.

He caught your gaze, like he always did, reading you like a datapad.

“What?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Maybe in another life,” you said before you could stop yourself, “you and I would’ve had peace. Time. A place not drowning in war and death.”

His eyes darkened. “Maybe.”

You turned away, blinking fast. The next words came without permission. “I would’ve loved you, Fives. Fully. Properly. Without fear of losing you every time we touch ground.”

He was quiet for a beat too long. Then: “Why not this life?”

Your breath caught. “Because this life isn’t made for love. Not for us.”

“It could be,” he said, voice raw. “If we fought for it. If we carved it out from the chaos.”

You looked at him, heart breaking. “You’d really risk everything?”

He leaned in, forehead brushing yours. “I already have.”

And then the comms cracked to life. New orders. Pull out. Another planet to bleed for. Another reason to bury the moment.

You both stood, back to war. No promises. No declarations. Just a look that said maybe—maybe in another life. But neither of you could help hoping:

Why not this one?