“The Butcher And The Wolf”pt.2

the self-indulgent fanfiction will continue until morale improves

Me: I'll stay silent so they don't know I'm judging The face I'm silent with:

You gonna let a bitch with Spider Man- Into the Spider Verse in her top 4 speak to you that way??

“The Sound of Your Voice”

Wrecker x Togruta Reader

The sunset painted Pabu’s sky in thick, golden brushstrokes, casting long shadows over the peaceful island. Waves lapped lazily against the cliffs below, and somewhere distant, children’s laughter drifted on the breeze.

Wrecker walked carefully behind you, boots thudding heavily against the worn footpath. In contrast, you moved with a graceful lightness, bare feet brushing over the earth as if you were part of it. He wasn’t paying much attention to where he was, though.

Not when you were walking beside him, your vibrant montrals catching the light, your voice weaving a story he barely understood but couldn’t get enough of.

You stopped near a bluff overlooking the water, turning back to him with a smile.

“You can sit, if you like,” you said softly.

Wrecker flopped down without hesitation, arms resting on his knees. He watched curiously as you remained standing, closing your eyes and spreading your toes against the soil. You tilted your face up toward the stars, breathing deep, like you were drinking in the very air.

After a long, peaceful moment, you opened your eyes and looked down at him.

“Togruta believe the land is part of us,” you began, voice like a gentle tide, steady and warm. “The soil carries the memory of life. Every step we take barefoot, we are sharing in that memory. Feeling the heartbeat of the world.”

Wrecker blinked up at you, utterly enchanted but thoroughly confused. “The dirt’s got a heartbeat?” he asked, scratching the side of his head.

You laughed, soft and melodious, not mocking him — just delighted by his earnestness.

“In a way. It’s not something you hear with your ears. You feel it here.” You placed your palm over your chest, just above your heart.

Wrecker copied the gesture clumsily, his big hand thudding against his chest plate with a solid thunk. He winced. “Maybe I oughta take this armor off first, huh?”

You smiled and knelt beside him, resting lightly on your heels. Your robes pooled around your legs, and your toes stayed firmly rooted in the soil.

“You don’t have to be Togruta to feel the connection. Just… still your mind. Listen.”

Wrecker frowned a little in concentration, shutting his eyes tight, shoulders tensing like he was preparing for battle.

You bit back a laugh. “Not so hard. Relax.”

He cracked an eye open at you, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. “I ain’t too good at this kinda thing,” he admitted. “S’pose I don’t really hear nothin’ except you talkin’.”

You tilted your head slightly, your montrals twitching at the gentle evening breeze.

“That’s alright,” you said, reaching out and gently taking his gloved hand in yours. His hand swallowed yours easily. “Maybe you don’t need to hear the earth tonight. Maybe… it’s enough just to listen to me.”

Wrecker’s cheeks flushed warm, and he gave a low, bashful chuckle.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I like listenin’ to ya. Your voice makes everythin’ seem… calmer. Better.”

The two of you sat there, hand in hand, the ocean’s lullaby wrapping around you. Above, the stars wheeled lazily across the night sky, ancient and eternal — just like the bond between living beings and the worlds that cradled them.

And Wrecker, big and loud and rough around the edges, had never felt so peaceful just sitting still.

Just listening to you.

Just feeling — maybe, just a little — the heartbeat of the land beneath him.

Wrecker shifted, glancing down at your bare feet pressed into the soil, then at his own heavy boots. He frowned, thoughtful.

“Do ya think… it’d help if I took these off?” he asked, voice low, almost shy.

You smiled warmly, tilting your head. “Maybe. It might help you feel what I feel.”

He grunted, leaning back to unbuckle his boots. It took him a moment — the armor clasps were stubborn — but finally, with a huff, he yanked them off and peeled away his thick socks too.

The second his bare feet touched the earth, he froze.

“Maker, that’s weird,” he blurted. “It’s all… squishy!”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your amusement. Wrecker wiggled his toes uncertainly, then gave a surprised grin.

“Feels kinda nice, though.”

You nodded, the moonlight catching the gentle curve of your smile. “Togruta believe that the land is not just something we live on — it’s something we live with. Every creature, every plant, every stone is part of a greater whole. We’re taught to listen, to feel… to never see ourselves as separate.”

Wrecker watched you with wide, focused eyes, the way he did when he was on a mission, except softer now, like the whole world had narrowed down to just you and your words.

You continued, your voice smooth and full of quiet passion. “When we walk barefoot, we are honoring the connection. Letting the world know we are its children, not its masters.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the murmur of the ocean below.

Wrecker let out a slow breath, his toes curling into the soil. He looked at you for a long moment, then said, with a sincerity that made your heart flutter:

“You got such a beautiful voice.”

You felt your cheeks warm, your montrals picking up the slight tremble of emotion in his words.

“I don’t really get all of it,” Wrecker added with a crooked grin, “but when you talk, it’s like… like everything’s alright. Even if I don’t understand it all, I wanna keep listenin’.”

You smiled, shy but radiant, and shifted closer, the two of you sitting barefoot in the cool dirt, connected not just to the land, but to something deeper.

And under the endless Pabu sky, with your voice weaving through the night air, Wrecker decided he didn’t need to understand everything.

He just needed you.

this is the peak of my artistic career

this is so shit bro

“Crossfire” pt.8

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The twin suns of Tatooine dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, fiery glow across the sand dunes. The planet’s desolation had an eerie beauty to it—one that had become a quiet refuge for the reader and the child. For months now, they’d kept to the edges of this forgotten world, far from the eyes of the Republic and Separatists alike.

The loth cat, whom they’d found scrabbling through the dust on the outskirts of their makeshift farm, had become an unlikely companion. Its sleek, blue-grey fur had started to grow back, its eyes glinting with a sharpness that matched the desert itself. It was, without a doubt, a symbol of something still clinging to life in the emptiness of their exile. And, despite the grueling hardships they’d faced before this, there was a strange comfort in its presence.

The mechanic shop was a far cry from the quiet isolation of a farm. The reader had quickly adapted to the new environment—fixing speeders, engines, and droids. It was more familiar to her than the tedious cycle of planting crops and praying for a harvest. Tatooine had no shortage of broken-down machines, and the demand for repairs was constant. It kept them busy.

The small, makeshift shop was wedged between a cantina and a market stall. Despite its modest size, it was functional. She’d painted a faded sign with crude lettering—Repair & Salvage. Inside, the shop was a cluttered paradise of parts and tools. The air always smelled faintly of oil, rust, and the heat of the desert sun that relentlessly beat down on everything.

The child, now quietly watching her work with his small hands, had started to pick up bits of the trade. He was clever, inquisitive—his Force sensitivity seemed to lend itself to the work, too. But there was still that feeling of unease lingering in the air, something unspoken between them. Despite their time together, she hadn’t fully explained why she’d saved him, why she’d taken him in. And in return, he hadn’t pressed her for answers. Perhaps he didn’t need them.

“Fixing things feels easier than farming,” she muttered one evening, wiping oil from her hands as she glanced over at the boy.

He didn’t respond immediately, focused on cleaning a small tool he’d just finished using. He’d been learning quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he finally said, his voice a mix of curiosity and the wariness he’d developed over time. “But, do you miss… I mean, we could’ve been anywhere, right?”

She paused. The sound of the desert wind whistled faintly through the cracks in the shop walls, but she didn’t answer immediately. There was a silence in the room as the loth cat padded over and jumped onto a nearby crate, curling up into a ball. The child’s question hung in the air.

“Do you miss it? Being with them?” he repeated, voice quieter this time.

It took her a moment before she spoke. She stood and leaned against the workbench, looking out toward the open door. The desert stretched endlessly beyond, quiet except for the distant hum of a passing speeder.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But we’re safer here. And it’s… simpler.” Her voice faltered for a moment, her gaze lingering on the horizon before it shifted back to him. “We can keep you safe here. That’s what matters.”

The child nodded slowly, but she could see the wheels turning in his head, the lingering doubt. He was old enough to understand that safety wasn’t always as simple as finding a new place to hide.

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that hiding was only temporary, that the world would eventually catch up to them. She wouldn’t let that happen, not if she could help it. And she wasn’t sure if that made her a fool, but it was the only thing she could do to atone for what she’d dragged him into.

Their quiet life in the desert was their only solace. She’d gotten used to the sound of the loth cat’s purring in the corner, to the child’s shy attempts to fix things beside her, and even to the heat of the desert sun that felt like it never stopped beating down on the sand.

But as days bled into months, the feeling of being watched—of being hunted—never quite left. She couldn’t shake the sensation that someone, somewhere, knew where they were. Even on this barren world, she couldn’t escape what had been set into motion. The ghost of the Republic, of the Jedi, of Palpatine and his web of lies, was still out there, waiting for her to slip.

One day, while she was working on a speeder engine, a familiar sound—a crackle through the comm—broke the stillness of the shop. Her hand froze, mid-repair. Her eyes shot to the communicator on the counter.

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath, hoping it wasn’t what she feared.

The transmission crackled again, louder this time. She wiped her greasy hands on a rag and sighed, reluctantly walking over to the comm. Her fingers hovered over the switch. She hesitated. The child’s curious gaze fixed on her, but he didn’t say anything.

With a deep breath, she pressed the button.

“Yes?”

It was Rex’s voice. Strong. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said, his tone almost tentative. “Where are you?”

She glanced back at the child, who was now fidgeting with a broken droid part. He didn’t look up, but the tension in the room was palpable. She bit her lip.

“Somewhere safe,” she replied, her voice cold. “Not where you want to be.”

There was a pause on the other end, Rex’s voice quiet for a moment, like he was weighing his next words. “We’ve been looking for you. You’ve been gone a while. The Jedi are still—”

“I’m not interested in the Jedi,” she interrupted sharply. “I told you, I’m done with that. You should be, too.”

Another silence, heavy, before he responded again, quieter now. “Look, I don’t care where you are. I don’t care about the Jedi or the Separatists. I care about you.”

She exhaled sharply. She could hear the weight in his words, feel it pull at the corners of her heart. But she had to stay strong.

“I’m not the same person you knew, Rex,” she said, her voice softening but still firm. “I can’t—”

“We’re coming for you,” Rex cut in, a promise hidden beneath his words. “Wherever you are. We’ll find you.”

The line went silent again, but this time, she didn’t reach for the comm to hang up. She stood still, her eyes drifting to the child, who had now stopped fidgeting and was staring at her intently. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say next.

But the choice had already been made. She couldn’t let the past come for them—not now.

“Stay where you are, Rex,” she said, her voice low. “This life… it’s the only one we can have now.”

The transmission ended abruptly, and as the static faded, she felt the weight of her decision sink deep into her chest. She couldn’t outrun her past forever, but she had to try. For the kid’s sake. For hers.

The comm clicked off, and the desert wind whistled through the cracks in the walls once more.

⸻

*After order 66*

The heat of Tatooine never relented, always oppressive, always relentless. The twin suns glared down, but in the small mechanic shop, the air was thick with the hum of droids and the scent of oil. The faint noise of the desert outside was a constant, but it had become part of her rhythm now. The shop was her sanctuary, her space of peace—and for a while, it had felt like the world had forgotten her.

She had heard the whispers, of course—the rumors of Rex’s death, of Cody’s desertion from the Empire. The news had spread in quiet circles, murmured over cantina tables and in back-alley conversations. But she hadn’t believed them—not fully. She couldn’t. She’d mourned them, both of them. And with that mourning, something cold had settled in her heart. The truth she couldn’t face, the possibility that both men, once so important to her, were lost to her forever, had nearly shattered her.

But now, in the stillness of her shop, as she wiped grease from her hands, she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door—two sets, both heavy with purpose. A faint chill ran down her spine, her senses on alert, even after all this time.

She wiped her hands again, her mind racing. It had been months—years, even—since she’d had a real visitor, someone who wasn’t just passing through the dusty town, looking for a quick fix. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to retreat into the silence of her world. But she couldn’t. Not this time.

She turned her back to the door, taking a deep breath, unsure whether to brace herself or pretend nothing was coming. But then the door creaked open, the soft jingle of the bell above signaling an arrival.

“Morning, ma’am,” a voice said.

She froze.

It wasn’t just the familiarity in the voice—it was the tone, the cadence, the weight of it. A voice she hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

Her heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned, her eyes locking onto two figures standing in the doorway. Two familiar figures—no, too familiar. One was tall, his hair a bit longer than she remembered but still as worn as ever. His posture was stiff, but there was that same quiet intensity in his eyes. The other was just as imposing, broad-shouldered, his face still marked with the same stoic expression, though his gaze now held something darker. Something more… raw.

“Rex?” she whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing. She looked at Cody, and her throat tightened as recognition flooded her.

They stood there, like ghosts come to life, wearing the familiar gear of the Republic clones, but now twisted, aged, and worn by time. They were still wearing the armor, but it was scratched, weathered, and battered, not the pristine white she had once known.

“Not the best welcome we’ve had, huh?” Rex said, his voice laced with a dry humor she remembered too well, though there was something hesitant in his tone.

Her knees nearly buckled as she stared at him, her heart thumping in her chest. “How—how are you here? How are you both here?” she stammered, stepping back slightly, unsure of what to make of it all.

“We heard a lot of things,” Cody replied, his voice deep and serious. “About the kid. About the Empire. We couldn’t… we couldn’t stay away any longer.”

“Is it really you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to believe it. Part of her didn’t want to face the possibility that this was real—that they were truly standing there in front of her.

Cody stepped forward, his hand reaching out as if to steady her, but she backed away instinctively.

“I swear, it’s us,” Rex said quietly, watching her carefully. “We’re still alive, still standing. After all this time… we couldn’t let you stay alone. Not anymore.”

She swallowed hard, feeling something warm and painful flood her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her words caught in her throat.

“How? What happened?” she asked, finally finding her voice again, but even her tone was filled with disbelief.

Rex and Cody exchanged a look, their expressions heavy. There were so many things they both needed to explain—too many things. But neither of them was sure where to start.

“We’re deserters now,” Cody said flatly. “The Empire doesn’t want us anymore. After what happened… after Order 66…” He trailed off, his words thick with the weight of their shared past. “We couldn’t stay loyal to them. Not after all they did. Not after we saw the truth.”

“We couldn’t stand by and let them control us,” Rex added, his voice quieter, filled with regret and guilt. “The Republic turned into something else. And we both walked away. We couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen. We tried to move on, but… we couldn’t forget you. Or the kid.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were… I thought you were dead. I mourned both of you. I believed the rumors.”

Cody’s jaw tightened, and Rex’s eyes softened with something like sorrow. “We had to keep our distance,” Rex said. “We didn’t want to lead anyone to you, especially after what happened. We thought… we thought if we stayed hidden long enough, it might be safer for you. But we didn’t want to lose you, either.”

She nodded slowly, as if processing everything at once. The shock, the disbelief, the pain. It had been so long. Too long.

“Why come here now?” she asked, her voice steadying as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “What’s the point of all this?”

Rex stepped closer, his gaze intense. “We just want to be with you. Help. If you’ll let us. We can’t go back to what we were. But maybe we can move forward, together. The three of us.”

The child, who had been quietly watching from the corner, suddenly walked over, looking up at them with wide eyes. “Are they… the ones from before?”

She looked down at the boy and then back at Rex and Cody, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Yes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “They’re the ones.”

Cody gave a small nod in return, his face unreadable but soft. “And we’ll do what we can to keep you both safe. If you’ll have us.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their shared past, and the unspoken understanding that nothing was ever going to be the same as it was before. Yet, despite everything, here they were—alive, standing together once again.

Her heart, which had been a tangled mess for so long, slowly began to settle, and with it, the promise of something new. Something that, despite all the pain and the losses, felt like it could be worth fighting for.

“Then stay,” she said, her voice steady. “Stay with me. Stay with us.”

The sun had set on Tatooine, the twin moons casting long shadows across the desert. The familiar, yet bittersweet weight of the night settled over the small mechanic shop, but something was different. There was an unspoken tension, a fragile peace woven through the air.

Inside the shop, the hum of tools and machines was the only sound, the soft whirring of droids as they worked on various repairs. The child, now safely nestled in the corner with a toy in his hands, had grown accustomed to the rhythm of life here, as had she. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was a quiet anticipation—one that stirred within her chest, making her feel both hopeful and uncertain.

Rex and Cody were here, standing by her side in a way they hadn’t been before. The space they shared wasn’t just that of comrades or soldiers—it was the space of something far more complex, fragile, and yet, somehow, stronger than anything she had known before.

They hadn’t talked much about the past, not yet. Not everything. The war, the betrayal, the chaos—they still lived in their memories like ghosts. But there was time for that later. Tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about rebuilding, about forging something new.

Cody stood by the door, his posture relaxed, though his eyes still carried the weight of everything they’d all been through. Rex was sitting at the table, his gaze drifting between her and the child, a hint of a smile on his lips. The same quiet intensity lingered in his eyes, but tonight, it felt less like a burden and more like a promise.

She looked at them, her heart catching in her throat. For so long, she had feared she was alone, that the world had moved on without her. She had convinced herself that the bonds they once shared were lost to time, erased by the chaos of the galaxy. But here they were, standing before her—not as clones, not as soldiers—but as something more. Something that might just survive.

“You know,” she said, her voice quiet, but firm. “I thought I was done fighting. Done running. I thought the past would always catch up to me.”

Cody tilted his head, his gaze softening. “We all thought we were done fighting.”

Rex nodded, his expression serious but warm. “But sometimes, the fight isn’t over. Sometimes, we get a chance to do things differently. And we’re here, for whatever comes next.”

She took a deep breath, letting the words sink in. Her heart ached with the weight of everything—everything they had lost, everything they had fought for. But as she looked at Rex and Cody, something settled in her chest. She realized that while the war might have shaped them, it didn’t define them. They were more than just soldiers, more than just their pasts. They were a part of something new.

The child looked up at her, his bright eyes filled with hope. “Are you going to stay with them now?”

Her heart fluttered, and she nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m going to stay. We’re all going to stay.”

She turned back to Rex and Cody, her gaze lingering between them. For a moment, the weight of everything they had gone through felt like it was fading. It was still there, lingering in the background, but it no longer defined them. Not anymore. They had a future, one they would build together, in this quiet corner of the galaxy.

The quiet hum of the shop filled the space around them, a steady rhythm that was somehow comforting. They had been through war, through loss, through pain—but here, in this small mechanic shop on a distant desert world, they had found something else. Peace. Hope. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to heal.

As the night stretched on, they sat together, the world outside growing darker and quieter. But inside, there was a warmth that none of them had felt in a long time.

And for the first time in years, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

They had survived. Together. And they would continue to, one step at a time.

The future was uncertain, but for once, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were together. And that was enough.

Previous Chapter

A/N

I absolutely hate how I ended this, but tbh I also absolutely suck at endings so this makes sense.

“War On Two Fronts” pt.2

Captain Rex x Reader X Commander Bacara

Christophis shimmered beneath a cold midday sun. The siege held steady for now, but you knew what the silence meant—another droid push was coming.

You stood outside the Republic command center as the wind curled through the crystal-laced streets, arms crossed over your chest as General Kenobi stepped beside you.

“You’re tense,” Obi-Wan said mildly, hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m Jedi,” you replied. “Tense is the brand.”

He chuckled softly. “You sound more like your former Master every day.”

You side-eyed him. “Don’t insult me.”

Kenobi smiled, and the two of you shared a brief, familiar quiet. He was warmth where Mace was fire. Less demanding, more wry. But you never doubted his strength.

He gestured for you to follow him back inside. “Cody and Rex have uncovered something troubling.”

⸻

Inside the war room, the holomap flickered with overlapping reports of enemy troop movements—ones the Separatists shouldn’t have been able to predict.

Cody looked up. “We’ve been compromised.”

You frowned, stepping beside Rex. “Hacked?”

“Worse,” Rex muttered, jaw tight. “Someone inside fed the droids our plans.”

Kenobi’s brow furrowed. “You’re certain?”

“We checked the comms logs, troop assignments. It had to be someone in the barracks,” Cody said.

You exchanged a glance with Rex.

“This wasn’t a droid slicing into our systems,” you said. “This was betrayal.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin headed out shortly after—to track down Ventress, whom they suspected had made direct contact with the traitor. You watched them vanish over the ridge, then turned back toward the barracks.

Cody nodded to Rex. “We do this quiet.”

You, Rex, and Cody questioned each of the troopers in the unit, keeping it routine. Nothing tipped you off—until Rex noticed something Slick had said.

Cody turned to you, “General,” he said, furious, “he knew the layout. Accessed the codes. Blasted his own squad’s quarters to cover his tracks.”

The rest came fast—tracking him to the weapons depot, where he’d set explosives to destroy Republic munitions.

Slick ranted as Cody and Rex finally brought him down. You stood at the edge, watching the aftermath, pulse still hammering.

“I was freeing myself!” Slick yelled. “We’re slaves—bred for war, thrown into battles without choice. You’re all too blind to see it!”

“You betrayed brothers,” Rex bit out. “Not just orders. Us.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t—not right then. You looked to Cody, who was already organizing a sweep of remaining supply caches.

“Reinforce the northern sector,” you told Rex, your voice steady. “We can’t let them think this rattled us.”

“Yes, General.”

He started to move, but paused. “Do you think he was right?”

You looked at him, really looked.

“No,” you said quietly. “You aren’t slaves. You’re soldiers. But that doesn’t mean the Republic treats you right.”

A small flicker passed over his face—something like surprise. And something else beneath it.

Respect.

You didn’t linger. You turned back to the ruined depot and the traitor being dragged away.

But the next time Rex looked at you, it was different.

⸻

The air over Christophis was charged with static and tension—thick enough to choke on. The Separatists had dug in deeper, the front line stretching like a fraying wire. Crystal shards and smoldering wreckage dotted the skyline.

You stood atop the forward command platform beside Rex and Anakin, squinting through macrobinoculars as waves of droids advanced, relentless.

“Cody’s holding the right flank,” Rex reported. “But not for long.”

Anakin shifted beside you. “Then we take the pressure off.”

You lowered the binocs, nodding. “We push up the main thoroughfare. Hard and fast. Break their rhythm.”

Rex gave a short nod. “I’ll get the men ready.”

As he turned, Anakin glanced sideways at you. “Not bad, General. Starting to think you’re enjoying our messes.”

“I was trained by Windu. Messes are my baseline,” you said, arching a brow.

Anakin grinned. “You ever get tired of being reassigned?”

You opened your mouth to answer—but the sudden thrum of a descending transport drew your attention skyward. A Jedi cruiser broke the cloudline, dropping a low-altitude shuttle near your position.

A moment later, the boarding ramp hissed open—and out strode a young Togruta girl with fire in her stride and determination on her face.

“Jedi reinforcements?” Rex asked, squinting.

You stepped forward as she approached. “She’s just a kid…”

“I’m not ‘just a kid,’” the girl interrupted, planting herself in front of you and Anakin. “I’m Ahsoka Tano. Jedi Padawan. Assigned by Master Yoda.”

Anakin blinked. “Assigned to who?”

“To you,” Ahsoka replied, chin lifted proudly. “Master Skywalker.”

You looked between them, watching the shock play across Anakin’s face, and bit back a smile.

“Well,” you said quietly, “have fun with that.”

But Ahsoka wasn’t done. She turned to you next, eyes bright with news.

“And you, General,” she added. “I have orders for your redeployment. The Council needs you on Jabiim.”

Your heart skipped.

Jabiim.

The mud planet. The fractured native clans. The ghosts.

“I served there as a Padawan,” you said. “Years ago.”

Ahsoka nodded. “The Council said your connection with the local resistance could help rebuild diplomacy. They’re trying to avoid civilian casualties. You will be aiding Master Mundi and his men”

You didn’t answer right away. The weight of it pressed into your chest—not just another mission. Not just more fighting.

But Bacara.

And Mundi.

Anakin folded his arms, expression darkening. “You just got here. They’re moving you again?”

You glanced at him. “It’s war, Skywalker.”

He shook his head. “It’s bad planning.”

Rex was quiet beside you, unreadable behind his helmet.

You finally turned to him. “You’ve got good people, Captain. You’ll win this without me.”

He hesitated for the briefest beat before nodding. “Safe travels, General.”

You turned back toward the shuttle, Ahsoka falling into step beside you. “They’re expecting you to land by nightfall.”

“And I expect to be muddy by morning,” you muttered.

You didn’t look back.

But you felt it—that unmistakable flicker of attachment. The way a battlefront had started to feel like home. The way one quiet, steady clone had started to make you hesitate before stepping onto a ship.

You swallowed it.

And walked away.

⸻

The rain on Jabiim hadn’t changed.

It greeted you like an old foe—relentless, icy, and soaking through every layer of your robes before you even stepped off the gunship. The scent of wet metal and rot filled your lungs, the familiar churn of mud underfoot as clone boots squelched around you.

You blinked against the downpour, lifting your hood as a group of Jabiimi locals approached. Dressed in patchwork armor and soaked tunics, they looked rougher than you remembered—but their leader, a grizzled woman with salt-and-pepper braids, smiled the moment she saw you.

“Jedi!” she called out. “I didn’t believe it when they said it was you.”

You moved forward and clasped her arm, shoulder to shoulder in the Jabiimi way. “Reya. Still not dead?”

“Disappointed?” she asked with a sharp grin.

“Honestly, yeah. I was sure you’d be the one to get pancaked by an AT-TE trying to punch it.”

She barked a laugh, and a few of her men chuckled behind her. The rain ran down your face, but you didn’t care—not here.

“Still the same sharp tongue,” Reya said. “But older. Heavier.”

You looked toward the ridgelines beyond the base, where smoke curled from recent skirmishes.

“We all are.”

⸻

The command tent was warm in comparison, though the heat came mostly from tension.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was hunched over a holomap, his long fingers tapping as he scrolled through topography. Bacara stood at his side, arms folded, helmet tucked beneath one arm. He glanced up as you entered—and then promptly looked away.

“General,” Mundi greeted without looking up. “Your arrival was later than expected.”

You raised a brow. “Nice to see you too, Master Mundi. The diplomatic welcome from the Jabiimi slowed us down.”

“They do have a flair for unnecessary tradition,” he replied, dry as bone.

You stifled a sigh and stepped closer. “They trust me. That’ll matter when this turns ugly.”

Mundi didn’t argue—but didn’t agree either.

Instead, he gestured toward the glowing red marks on the map. “Separatist forces have split across the valley. We’ll need a two-pronged advance.”

You exchanged a brief glance with Bacara. “I assume I’m taking one side?”

“Yes,” Mundi said. “And Commander Bacara will accompany you.”

You didn’t miss the subtle way Bacara’s jaw shifted.

Later, outside the command tent, the rain had lightened to a misty drizzle. You and Bacara walked in silence through the makeshift perimeter. Troopers moved past, saluting. The mud clung to everything.

“You’re quiet,” you finally said, side-eyeing him. “More than usual.”

“I prefer action to small talk,” he replied, eyes scanning the treeline.

You folded your arms, then smirked. “Well. I’d try to get you to like me, but it’s clear you already hate Master Mundi more.”

For the first time since you’d arrived, Bacara blinked—and something flickered across his face. A twitch of the mouth. Maybe even a grin. You weren’t sure. But it was enough.

“He’s… not ideal,” Bacara said at last.

You raised a brow. “That was practically gossip. Careful, Commander.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension between you had eased. Slightly.

You stepped up beside him. “You don’t have to like me. But we fight better when we understand each other.”

“I understand you fine, General,” Bacara said, looking forward. “You don’t like being told what to do. You take risks. You talk too much.”

You hummed. “And yet, somehow, you haven’t shot me.”

“There’s still time.”

The ghost of a smirk tugged at your lips as you looked out across the field. Rain still fell. The mud still swallowed boots whole. But something was shifting. Just a little.

You’d crack his armor eventually.

One way or another.

⸻

The dawn on Jabiim was little more than a pale bruise behind stormclouds.

Visibility was poor. The mist clung to the ground like a second skin. The entire platoon moved like wraiths over the muddy terrain, their white armor dulled with grime. Bacara led the charge, as always, silent and swift. You followed at his flank, your saber unlit for now, your mind scanning for movement through the Force.

This mission was simple: flush out a Separatist munitions outpost built into the cliffs east of the valley before reinforcements arrived. Quiet, fast, sharp. That was Bacara’s way.

And there had been no room for questioning it.

He hadn’t assigned you anything. He’d informed you. “You’ll be on overwatch. Do not break formation unless ordered,” he’d said back at camp, his voice clipped and precise. “This is not a Jedi operation. This is military execution.”

You weren’t used to being spoken to like a cadet.

As you crested the final ridge, you crouched next to Bacara. He was scanning the outpost below, HUD flickering, speaking quietly into his comm to his men.

“Squad A—flank left. Squad B, take high ground on that outcrop. We breach in five.”

You watched him for a beat, then leaned close.

“Got a plan for the anti-armor cannons on the eastern side?”

He didn’t look at you. “They’ll be dealt with.”

“Your definition of ‘dealt with’ usually involves body bags.”

Bacara finally turned, visor gleaming. “My definition of ‘dealt with’ ends with mission success. You’re on overwatch, remember?”

You exhaled slowly, not wanting to escalate. “I’m trying to work with you, Commander. If you’d communicate—”

“Trust is earned, not given,” he said sharply. “And so far, all I’ve seen is impulsiveness, disobedience, and sentimentality.”

You stared at him, something sharp catching behind your ribs.

“I save lives,” you said. “You bury them.”

Bacara’s tone went cold. “And yet, you’re here. Assigned to my unit. That should tell you something.”

He turned without another word, barking orders to his troops as they began moving into position.

⸻

The assault was brutal.

Explosives lit up the fog, and Separatist fire screamed through the air. Bacara’s unit moved with terrifying coordination—drilled to perfection, ruthless in their advance. You provided support, covering fire, strategic pushes—but nothing too visible. Bacara didn’t want theatrics. He wanted precision.

It worked.

By the time you moved into the outpost interior, only a few scattered droids remained. You slashed through them with clean sweeps, the hiss of your saber illuminating the narrow halls.

But something still sat sour in your gut.

Back at camp, you wiped grime from your face and walked straight into the makeshift command tent where Bacara was debriefing.

“You reassigned Trooper Kixan.”

Bacara didn’t look up from his datapad. “Yes.”

“He saved three men today,” you said, stepping in. “Took a blaster bolt to the shoulder and kept moving. He’s loyal. Smart. Brave.”

“And slow. His reaction time compromised the left flank. He will be reassigned to support detail under a different unit.”

You stared at him. “You can’t treat them like parts, Bacara.”

“I don’t, General,” he replied, eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “I treat them like soldiers. And I do not have room for anything less than excellence.”

Something cold lodged in your throat. “You’re going to push them until they break.”

“They were bred for this,” he said flatly. “If they break, they weren’t made for war.”

You hated how calm he sounded. You hated how efficient he was. You hated how much it reminded you of everything Mace warned you about when Jedi strayed too far into command and left their compassion behind.

You turned to leave, stopping just at the tent flap.

“I thought Mundi was the hardest man in this battalion to like,” you said, not looking back. “But congratulations. You’re winning.”

⸻

The storm had broken sometime after midnight. Rain battered the tents with rhythmic violence, and the air carried that sharp, post-battle scent: metal, ozone, blood.

You couldn’t sleep.

Your boots sank into the sludge outside your tent as you paced, the glow of the communicator clenched in your hand like it could anchor you.

You stood still beneath the overhang of a comms tower and keyed in the encryption sequence. The signal buzzed—delayed, flickering—and for a heartbeat, you thought it wouldn’t connect.

Then, Master Windu’s image shimmered to life, projected in pale blue above your comm.

“[Y/N],” he said, voice like gravel smoothed by a river. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “You’re up late. I assume this isn’t a scheduled update.”

You scoffed. “No. This is a tactical emergency.”

Mace didn’t react. “You’re bleeding?”

“Emotionally,” you said, dryly. “From the brain. And the soul.”

He stared. “Explain.”

You leaned in like you were about to spill secrets forbidden by the Code. “Master, I swear, if I spend one more minute on this cold, miserable rock with Commander Iceblock and High Council Saint Arrogance, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Mace blinked slowly. “I take it you’re referring to Bacara and Master Mundi.”

“Who else would I be referring to?! One of them speaks like he’s permanently inhaled a blaster cartridge and the other talks to me like I’m still a youngling who can’t lift a cup without supervision!”

Mace’s brow twitched slightly. “You are still young.”

You pointed a stern finger at the holocomm. “Don’t do that. Don’t Jedi me. This is a venting call, Master.”

“I gathered.”

You slumped back in the chair, groaning. “Bacara reassigns clones like they’re sabacc cards. He told me I was ‘failing to meet operational discipline standards.’ What does that mean?! I beat his training droid record last month!”

“You are… not a standard Jedi.”

“I’m not even sure he likes Jedi. And Mundi just nods at everything he does like they’re some cold, creepy war hive mind! At least you used to tell me when I was being annoying. They just silently judge me like two frostbitten gargoyles!”

There was a long pause. You half expected Mace to give you a lecture. Instead, his voice was low. “You’re frustrated. That’s not wrong. What do you want from them?”

You sighed, all the energy draining out of you. “I don’t know. Respect? Trust? Maybe a little acknowledgment that I know what I’m doing?”

Mace’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You want them to see you the way I do.”

You didn’t answer right away. But yeah—maybe.

“I can’t make them see it,” Mace continued. “But I can remind you that you’ve earned everything that put you where you are. Don’t twist yourself into someone else to win their approval.”

You smiled faintly. “Not even for peace and quiet?”

“Especially not for that. You’ve never been quiet.”

You laughed, resting your chin in your hand. “I miss Coruscant.”

“I miss not having to take comm calls at two in the morning.”

You beamed. “But you still answered.”

His mouth twitched. “Always.”

You grinned, wide and unapologetic.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ll outlast them both.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Master.”

The transmission ended, and for the first time in days, you felt like your balance had returned.

⸻

The frost crunched beneath your boots, thin white cracking like old bone as you followed the squad through the craggy ravine. The sky above was overcast—grey, as always—and your breath fogged with every exhale.

It was the first coordinated mission with just you, Bacara, and the squad. No Ki-Adi-Mundi. No diplomacy. Just a recon op on the edge of hostile territory. Quiet. Tense. Frozen.

You liked the clones. Most of them, anyway. Kixan—freshly reassigned—offered you a small nod as you passed. You gave him one back.

Bacara hadn’t spoken to you directly since the debrief.

You didn’t know why it irked you so much. He was never exactly chatty—but there was something pointed about his silence now. And it was beginning to wear on your nerves.

You kept pace beside him anyway, trudging over uneven rock as the squad spread out behind you.

“Terrain levels off another two klicks ahead,” you said. “If we angle the scan here, we can avoid the ridge entirely and still get clean readings.”

He said nothing.

You blinked. “That wasn’t a suggestion. That was a tactical note.”

“I heard you,” he muttered, gruff and unreadable.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did I do something to upset you, Commander?”

There was a beat. He didn’t look at you. “No.”

Liar.

You frowned, your hand brushing the hilt of your saber. “Okay. So it’s just me. Got it.”

“Don’t start something mid-mission,” he snapped. Not loud—but sharp enough to cut.

Your nostrils flared. “You’re not my master, Bacara.”

“No. But I am your commander on this op. And your opinion of me has been made… abundantly clear.”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t hear all of your conversation with Master Windu,” he said, voice low. “Just enough.”

Oh no.

Your mouth opened—and closed. You felt your stomach twist.

“How much is ‘enough’?”

“‘Emotionally bleeding from the soul,’” he quoted flatly.

Maker.

You looked away, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks despite the cold. “You were spying.”

“I was passing the comm tent.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a swear. “Fine. Look—maybe I vented. A little. But you were being impossible.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a swear. “Fine. Look—maybe I vented. A little. But you were being impossible.”

“I was doing my job.”

“At what cost?”

Bacara stopped. You nearly walked into him.

He turned to you fully, expression unreadable behind the harsh lines of his helmet. “I don’t have the luxury of trial and error, General. I don’t get to make emotional calls and hope they work out.”

You swallowed. “You think I do?”

He didn’t answer.

You took a step forward, eyes locked on him. “I feel things. That’s not a weakness. And maybe I complain. Maybe I rant. But I’ve never abandoned the mission. I’m here. I’m fighting. Same as you.”

There was a moment—a flicker of something in his stance. Tension. Conflict. Maybe even a touch of guilt.

“I don’t dislike you,” he said finally.

You blinked. “You’ve got a strange way of showing it.”

A silence stretched between you.

He added, quietly, “I dislike Mundi more.”

You snorted before you could help it. “Well, now you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“No,” he said dryly. “That’s not what that was.”

And just like that, a crack formed in the durasteel.

Not enough to change everything.

But enough to start.

⸻

The wind came down from the northern slopes in sharp, whispering currents, cutting through every seam of your robes. The battle might have been quiet today, but the land was still loud—with frost, with silence, with the kind of stillness that meant something was always waiting.

You sat cross-legged near the squad’s makeshift fire, arms wrapped around your knees, watching embers dance. The clones had begun to relax, little by little. Helmets off. Gloves loosened. There was even the soft clink of a thermal flask being passed around.

Bacara hadn’t joined them yet. He stood off a few meters, half-silhouetted in the dark, arms folded, visor turned toward the stars—or the silence. You couldn’t tell.

You didn’t press him.

Instead, you looked at the men.

Gunner was talking with Varn, low-voiced but animated. Kixan nodded along, his smile tired but real. Even Tekk, the quietest of them, had cracked a dry comment earlier that got a snort from the group. You liked seeing them like this. Human.

You passed your own ration tin to Kixan and leaned back, letting the heat of the fire work on your frozen spine.

And then Master Mundi joined the circle.

He sat down with the composure of a politician, robes perfectly arranged despite the mud at the hem. He gave a slight nod to the men, then turned his attention to you.

“General,” he said. “It is good to see you integrating with the unit.”

You arched a brow. “They’re good men. Not hard to like.”

He gave one of his tight, unreadable smiles. “Affection must never cloud judgment. Familiarity breeds attachment. Attachment clouds the Force.”

There it was.

You smiled, tight-lipped. “I’m aware of the Code, Master.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said mildly, but it still grated. Like you were a student again. Like the weight of your lightsaber and the stripes on your armor didn’t mean anything.

The silence that followed was awkward—until Gunner coughed and redirected with a story about a wild nexu they’d seen in a jungle op once. The others followed his lead.

You joined in too—offering a few memories from a chaotic campaign with the 501st that involved a collapsed bridge, a flock of angry bird-lizards, and Anakin Skywalker daring a clone to drink glowing fruit juice.

That got real laughs.

Even Tekk chuckled, and Varn snorted loud enough to attract Bacara’s attention. The commander lingered, glanced at the fire, then slowly made his way over.

You noticed. So did the men.

He didn’t sit, but he stayed. Close enough to hear. Close enough to be seen.

That was something.

And then, quietly, Gunner passed him the flask.

Bacara hesitated—just for a moment—then took it. No words. Just a nod. But the men noticed. So did you.

The conversation rolled on. Light. Easy. Full of battle scars and ridiculous injuries and even a poor attempt at singing a Republic marching song. The cold wasn’t gone—but it felt distant now. Dull.

You met Bacara’s eyes briefly through his helmet, and offered a small, genuine smile.

He didn’t return it.

But he didn’t look away, either.

And somehow, that was enough.

⸻

The war was never really over—not on Coruscant, and certainly not in your head. But the campaign was.

The treaty was signed, the separatist stronghold had been dismantled, and the native leadership, thanks to your careful negotiations, had agreed to provide intelligence and safe passage for the Republic.

It was a hard-won, smoke-stained victory. You’d survived. So had the squad. Even Bacara.

Back on Coruscant, the base was bustling with returning battalions. Steel corridors echoed with familiar voices and heavy boots, but everything felt strangely muffled to you. It always did after a long campaign. Like you were half out of your body, trailing somewhere between systems and decisions you couldn’t take back.

You were exiting the debriefing chambers when you heard the voice—steady, familiar, a little softer than usual.

“General.”

You turned—too fast.

Rex stood there in casual gear, one hand loosely on his belt, the other behind his back. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, which meant you got the full impact of that steady, level gaze and the faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Standing just behind him was Ahsoka Tano, arms crossed, an amused but knowing expression on her face.

“Well, look who made it back in one piece,” you said, heart lurching before you could stop it.

Rex nodded. “Didn’t doubt you would, General.”

You walked toward them, easing into the reunion like slipping into an old coat. Comfortable. Familiar. Too comfortable?

Ahsoka stepped forward first. “You smell like three weeks of burned jungle and bad rations.”

You snorted. “It was three weeks of bad rations, but certainly wasn’t burned jungles.”

She grinned, then leaned in to give you a quick hug. “Welcome back.”

You were about to respond when you felt it—eyes. On your back.

You turned, just slightly, and saw Bacara in the distance, halfway across the hangar bay. Still in full armor, helmet under his arm, face unreadable.

He didn’t approach. Just… watched.

You blinked, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest, then turned back to Rex—and that’s when you saw it.

A tiny shift. A twitch of his jaw. The faintest flicker in his expression.

You weren’t sure what it meant.

But Ahsoka did.

She looked between the two of you, her brow furrowing slightly as she took a half-step back and crossed her arms again. Observing.

“Commander Bacara?” Rex asked, casual in tone, but not in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “We worked… closely this campaign.”

Rex gave a small nod, then glanced over your shoulder briefly. “He doesn’t look thrilled.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Ahsoka did, though. “Neither do you.”

The silence that followed was tight.

You tried to lighten it. “You’re both just mad I didn’t die out there.”

Rex gave a thin smile. “Not mad, General. Just surprised.”

That one stung. Not because it was harsh—because it wasn’t. It was honest. And distant. And something you couldn’t quite read.

Before you could say anything else, a summons crackled over your comlink—Council debriefing.

“Guess I’m wanted,” you said, already backing away.

You turned and started walking. You didn’t look back.

But you could feel two sets of eyes watching you go.

One like a shadow. The other like a tether you weren’t sure you could still follow.

⸻

Previous Part | Next Part

(A/N, I had to make up a few clone ocs as I could not find one clone name for the Galactic Marines)

“The Worst Luck”

ARC Trooper Fives x Sith Assassin!Reader

⸻

Hidden in the caverns of a storm-ridden world, the Separatist outpost buzzed with dark energy. Most didn’t know this base existed—most weren’t meant to.

You patrolled its halls like a shadow: cloaked in darkness, lightsaber at your hip, Count Dooku’s orders in your comm. You weren’t just his assassin. You were his favorite one—fast, brilliant, and loyal. Or so he thought.

The GAR must’ve caught wind of this place, because they’d sent two of their finest headaches in armor: ARC Troopers Echo and Fives.

One was bleeding. The other was missing. And your patience?

Wearing very thin.

⸻

You pressed Echo against the cold metal of a cell wall, your red blade crackling inches from his cheek.

His expression was equal parts pain and smugness. “You sure this isn’t personal?”

“Would it make a difference if it was?”

“Not really. I just like to know how far up the creep scale we’re going.”

You leaned in, amused. “Where is your partner?”

Echo raised a brow. “Fives? Trust me, he won’t let you take him alive.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Is he really that dangerous?”

Echo actually snorted. “No. He just has the worst luck I’ve ever seen. I once watched him fall down a set of stairs and somehow set off every detonator in the room. We weren’t even carrying that many.”

You blinked.

Echo nodded sagely. “The man’s a one-man catastrophe. If he’s still loose in here, odds are he’s somehow about to crash a starfighter into the medbay by accident.”

You smiled—despite yourself. “I’ll be sure to leave a fire extinguisher out for him.”

⸻

Fives was, predictably, not following the plan.

He was crawling through a duct that was way too small for his armor, holding a deactivated blaster, and whispering threats to Echo’s comm signal.

“Echo, if you’re not dead, I’m gonna kick your osik for getting caught,” he muttered. “Also, I may or may not have just dropped a thermal detonator in the hangar bay. Might wanna move.”

No response.

He sighed. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself.”

A cold voice echoed from below: “You’re not very stealthy.”

His eyes widened. “Oh—nope—”

You launched your saber.

Fives dropped like a sack of bricks through the grate, rolling with a very undignified grunt onto the hallway floor, armor scuffed, ego intact.

He grinned up at you from his heap. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You stalked forward, eyes narrowed, saber blazing. “You broke into a classified base.”

“Well technically, Echo broke in. I just… fell in.”

He scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt off his pauldron. “Look, do we have to fight? Because I’d rather just stare at you for a bit. You’ve got the whole angry-warlord look down, and I gotta say—it’s doing things for me.”

You blinked.

“…Did you just flirt with me mid-arrest?”

“Oh sweetheart, that wasn’t even my best line.”

You attacked.

The duel was fast and reckless.

You moved like smoke—twisting, striking, your saber slicing through the air with lethal precision. Fives fought dirty—improvised, unpredictable, ducking under your blade and throwing whatever he could find your way: a tray, a datapad, a coffee mug.

“Seriously?” you growled, batting it aside.

He grinned. “Didn’t hit you, did it?”

You kicked him hard in the chest. He flew back, slammed into a crate, and groaned. “Okay, that one’s fair.”

You advanced, steps slow and measured.

Fives coughed, wiped blood from his lip, and looked up at you with defiant heat in his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he rasped. “Kill me. Bet I’ll still look better dead than half the seppies in this base.”

You stopped.

Laughed.

Actually laughed.

He blinked. “…Was that a smile?”

“No.”

“It was. You smiled.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insane.”

Fives pushed to his feet, panting. “Takes one to fight one.”

You circled each other, breathing hard.

“Why didn’t you run?” you asked.

Fives tilted his head. “Maybe I wanted to see what a Sith assassin looked like up close.”

“Disappointed?”

He smiled. “No. You’re terrifyingly hot. It’s messing with my aim.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. This idiot. This attractive, sharp-tongued, insufferable idiot.

You deactivated your saber. “You’re lucky I find your stupidity charming.”

“You’re lucky I can’t feel my ribs.”

“…You didn’t break anything.”

“I break everything. It’s kind of my thing.”

You studied him for a long moment, head tilted.

Then you spoke, soft and curious: “Why does he call you Fives?”

Fives gave a crooked grin. “Because my number is CT-5555. Or maybe because I only ever have five brain cells working at any given moment.”

“…That tracks.”

⸻

You shoved Fives into the room beside Echo, who was now sitting up and mildly annoyed.

Echo blinked. “Oh kriff. You’re still alive.”

Fives grinned. “She likes me.”

Echo stared at you, then him. “You’re unbelievable.”

You smirked and crossed your arms. “He tried to fight me with a mop.”

“It was tactical,” Fives shot back.

“You fell over your own foot.”

“It was a strategic stumble!”

Echo groaned. “I’m surrounded by morons.”

You leaned against the door, eyes flicking between them. “Tell me, ARC Trooper—how long before the Republic sends a team for you?”

Fives shrugged. “Long enough for you to fall in love with me.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He winked.

And Maker help you—you didn’t immediately stab him.

⸻

The cell was dim and humming with tension. Echo paced like a caged animal, checking the cuffs on his wrists every few minutes. Fives leaned against the wall like he was on leave at 79’s, smirking every time you looked at him.

And you?

You’d made the mistake of hesitating. The mistake of not killing them when you had the chance.

Something about that idiotic grin. Something about the way Fives joked with death like they were old friends.

It irritated you.

It fascinated you.

You turned your back on them and checked the comm unit outside the cell. The transmission coming through wasn’t Separatist.

“—this is General Skywalker, approaching target coordinates. Standby for breach.”

Your blood ran cold.

No. Not now.

You tapped the panel. “What kind of breach? How far out?”

The droid on the other end fizzled. “Jedi cruiser approaching from the lower stratosphere. Their forces have jammed exterior defenses. Two gunships inbound.”

You spun around. Fives was watching you carefully now.

“You’re nervous,” he said softly.

You ignored him. “You said the Republic wouldn’t come.”

“I said long enough for you to fall for me,” he said, grinning. “Apparently they’re faster than I thought.”

You pulled open the cell and grabbed his collar.

“Whoa—”

You shoved him into the wall, pinning him with your arm against his chest.

“You know what’s about to happen, don’t you?”

Fives didn’t flinch. “Looks like the cavalry’s here.”

“Your Jedi are going to tear this place apart.”

“Yeah. And if I were you, I’d get real comfortable with the idea of changing sides.”

You glared. “I don’t have a side.”

Fives smirked. “No, you have a job. You follow orders. You’re good at it. But I’ve seen that look before. You’re not sold on this war anymore.”

You hesitated.

He tilted his head. “Come with us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“I’m serious. You’re strong, terrifying, weirdly hot—Echo agrees with me.”

Echo shouted from the cell, “I do not!”

“You’re not like the others,” Fives continued. “You hesitated. You didn’t kill us. And I don’t think that’s just curiosity.”

You looked at him—really looked.

And he wasn’t wrong.

But before you could speak, the walls shook. A violent tremor rattled the floor. Sirens flared.

They were here.

“Get down!” you shouted, instinct pulling you faster than thought.

The ceiling cracked open above, and the cell block exploded into fire and debris.

Gunfire.

Smoke.

Blue and white armor filled the halls.

You pulled your saber and moved, deflecting blaster bolts while droids scrambled to regroup.

Fives grabbed Echo, ripping the restraints off his wrists.

Echo stared. “You sure about this?”

Fives looked at you, still holding your saber like it wouldn’t touch him.

“Pretty sure.”

You blocked a bolt that would’ve taken off his head and glared. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

“Oh, trust me,” he grinned, “I’m already planning the thank-you speech.”

You turned your back on the fight—on everything—and ran beside them through the collapsing base.

⸻

Outside the base.

The fight was chaos. The 501st swarmed the compound like a storm. AT-RTs thundered through mud and smoke, and blasterfire lit up the sky like fireworks.

You ducked behind a transport with Fives and Echo, heart hammering.

“You’ve got to be joking,” you muttered.

Marching toward the base was Skywalker himself, saber drawn, flanked by Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex.

You exhaled slowly. “I just betrayed the Separatists for that guy?”

Fives beamed. “Jealous?”

You shoved his helmet back on. “Shut up and run.”

⸻

Later. On the Venator.

You sat alone in the medbay, cloak scorched, hands trembling.

You hadn’t spoken since you boarded the ship.

Echo had gone to debrief. Fives… had stayed.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer.

He stepped closer. “You saved us.”

You laughed bitterly. “I doomed myself.”

“You did the right thing.”

“I don’t even know what the right thing is anymore.”

He knelt in front of you. “You didn’t hesitate back there. You chose.”

You looked down. “I’m not like you.”

Fives gently reached for your hand. “No. You’re not. You’re smarter.”

You blinked at him.

“I mean that,” he said, eyes warm now. “You’re terrifying. And brave. And brilliant. And also—can I kiss you now or do I need to duel you again first?”

You actually laughed—a real laugh.

Fives leaned in. “Is that a yes?”

“…Just shut up and kiss me.”

“The Lesser of Two Wars” pt.8

Commander Fox x Reader x Commander Thorn

It was late.

The upper halls of the Senate were near silent, the buzz of daylong debates finally faded into stillness. The Senator walked the corridors alone, the soles of her boots echoing softly over polished floors. Fox had offered to escort her back to her office, but they’d both stayed behind—long after the others had gone—to “wrap up” some excuse neither of them really believed.

He was waiting near the entrance to her office, helmet under his arm, every inch of him wound tight.

“I should go,” he said, voice low.

“You should,” she agreed.

He didn’t move.

She stepped closer. “You’ve been watching me all night.”

“I’m supposed to.” His gaze flicked over her face. “You’re still under protection.”

“From what, Commander?” she asked, her voice dipped in something soft, sharp. “What exactly are you protecting me from right now?”

Fox swallowed. He didn’t answer.

She moved closer still, until the air between them felt thinner than breath. “You’ve been trying to outrun this since the moment I met you.”

He looked at her like she was dangerous. Like she was something he couldn’t survive.

And then he kissed her.

No hesitation this time. No orders to fall back. Just the hard grip of a calloused hand at her jaw, the pull of lips meeting hers like the break of a dam. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t pretty. But Maker, it was honest.

They parted just slightly—his breath hitched, her eyes half-lidded with disbelief.

But they weren’t alone anymore.

Thorn stood a few meters down the hall, fists clenched at his sides, fury carved into every line of his face. “Are you karking serious?”

Fox turned sharply. “Thorn—”

“You son of a bitch.” Thorn strode forward. “You pulled rank on me. You sent me back to barracks like I was some shinie with no impulse control—and here you are—”

“It’s not the same,” Fox snapped.

“Oh, it’s not? Enlighten me.”

“You were careless.”

“And you’re a hypocrite.”

The next second, fists were flying.

Thorn hit first, shoulder braced as he slammed Fox into the wall with enough force to rattle the durasteel. Fox didn’t hesitate, launching a hard right hook that cracked across Thorn’s cheek. The fight was a tangle of trained bodies, of grunts and snapped oaths, two elite commanders going feral in polished halls that had seen too much.

The Senator stepped back once—twice—then growled under her breath.

“Enough.” Her voice was thunderous. When they didn’t stop, she surged forward.

She grabbed Thorn’s collar and yanked him back hard enough to throw him off balance. He stumbled and fell. Before Fox could recover, she spun and caught him with a sharp heel to the back of the leg, sending him to the ground with a pained grunt.

They both stared up at her in stunned silence.

Hair tousled. Jaw tight. Fury simmering just beneath her skin.

“You two are commanders. Grown men. Soldiers. And you’re throwing punches like teenagers in a hangar bay.”

They didn’t respond.

She exhaled sharply, pacing between them. “You want to fight over me? You better ask yourselves why. Because I’m not a prize to be won. I’m a senator, a former commander, and the next one of you who uses your fists to make a point better be ready to go through me first.”

They were quiet for a long moment. Then Thorn muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

Fox nodded, slower. “Understood.”

She gave them each a final, withering glare… then turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the silence of their bruises and bitter pride behind her.

⸻

The walk back to the barracks was silent.

Fox and Thorn, bruised and bloody in places they wouldn’t admit, barely glanced at one another. The silence between them crackled—too raw, too heavy to be ignored.

When they stepped inside the common area, the atmosphere shifted. Hound was the first to notice. He sat lounging on the couch, polishing his boots with Grizzer dozing at his feet. Stone and Thire flanked the table, eating ration bars and playing sabacc.

“Stars,” Stone muttered, eyes flicking up. “Did someone dropkick you both off a gunship?”

“Thorn looks like he kissed a shock baton,” Thire added.

Hound smirked, wiping his hands. “Please tell me you two didn’t fight each other.”

“It’s none of your business,” Fox snapped, pulling off his gloves and heading toward his bunk.

But Thorn, scowling and still charged with adrenaline, threw his helmet down with a loud clang.

“Oh, you want to act like it didn’t happen? Sure. Let’s lie to the rest of the battalion now, too.” He turned to the others. “Fox kissed the senator. After all that crap about professionalism. After he pulled rank on me.”

The room went quiet.

Stone raised his eyebrows. Thire gave a low whistle.

Hound blinked. “No kidding. Thought you two were going to chew each other’s armor off first.”

Fox spun around, jaw tight. “Drop it, Hound.”

But Hound smirked wider. “Guess it hits different when it’s you breaking your own rules, huh?”

The hit came fast.

Fox’s fist cracked across Hound’s jaw, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor. Grizzer was on his feet in an instant, growling deep, protective instincts firing off like alarms. The other clones leapt up, reaching for Hound, grabbing Fox’s arm—but the mastiff didn’t wait.

The beast lunged, barking furiously, teeth bared.

“Back!” Fox shouted, backing up, hand reaching instinctively for the stunner at his hip. “Control your animal, or I will.”

“You even threaten him again, I swear to—” Hound was up now, lip bloodied, rage simmering.

Stone and Thire jumped in to block both sides, but Thorn charged next, shoving Fox hard in the chest.

“You karking hypocrite!”

The barracks exploded into chaos.

It was fists and shouts and boots scraping over concrete. Grizzer was barking, circling, teeth snapping near anyone too close to Hound. Fox and Thorn were at each other’s throats again, Thire wrestling Thorn back while Stone tried to keep Fox from swinging again.

And then—

“Enough!”

Two voices barked like blaster fire.

Marshal Commanders Cody and Neyo stood in the threshold like twin storms.

Every clone froze. Even Grizzer stilled, tail twitching low, a warning growl still rolling in his chest.

Fox’s chest heaved, bruised knuckles clenched. Neyo stepped forward without hesitation, gripped Fox by the collar of his blacks, and dragged him toward the hallway.

“You’re coming with me,” Neyo snapped. “Now.”

Fox didn’t argue. He let himself be pulled from the room, the others watching in silence.

Cody stood a moment longer, arms folded, gaze sweeping the wrecked common space.

“You’re supposed to be leaders,” he said, voice cold. “Not a squad of kriffing cadets on their first week. You think command comes without control? That it gives you license to throw punches over who’s got feelings?”

They said nothing.

“You want to blow off steam, take it to the training floor. I don’t want to hear another word about brawls in the barracks. And if I do—I will sort it out next time. And none of you want that.”

“Yes, sir,” came the low, unified murmur.

Cody turned sharply and left.

Grizzer whined softly, pressing his head to Hound’s thigh.

Thire muttered under his breath. “They’re gonna kill each other before the war does.”

Stone leaned back against the wall, shaking his head. “Or fall in love with the same senator and burn down Coruscant trying.”

⸻

Fox didn’t say a word as Neyo gripped the front of his armor and dragged him down the corridor like a disgraced cadet. His boots scraped and slammed against the durasteel floor with every step. Fox could feel the eyes of the Guard on him as they passed—wide, silent, shocked.

The door to an empty training room hissed open.

Neyo shoved Fox inside so hard he stumbled.

The door slammed shut.

“You arrogant, undisciplined fool,” Neyo spat, voice venomous. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Fox stood tall, silent. His lip still bled from the earlier fight.

Neyo stalked in a tight circle around him like a predator, helmet tucked under his arm, jaw rigid with fury. “You are a Marshal Commander, Fox. You’re supposed to be an example. A standard. The Republic’s line of order.”

Fox’s fingers twitched.

“And yet I find you brawling like a gutter rat in your own barracks. Punching your own men. Threatening to put down a mastiff like you’ve lost every ounce of judgment and humanity you ever had.”

“I—”

“Shut your mouth.”

Neyo’s voice cracked like a whip. His gray eyes were ice, unrelenting.

“You are a disgrace,” he snapped. “You think Palpatine doesn’t have ears everywhere? You think your little war of hormones hasn’t been noticed?”

Fox clenched his jaw.

“This senator—whatever obsession you’ve developed—it’s compromised you. You’ve turned into the kind of unstable mess that gets people killed.”

Neyo stepped closer, his voice quieter but deadlier. “You’ve forgotten what we are. We serve. We protect. We don’t feel. We’re not allowed to want.”

“She’s different,” Fox muttered.

Neyo barked a cold laugh.

“Oh, she’s different, alright. She’s got you tearing your own command apart from the inside out. You’ve broken your discipline. You’ve broken rank. You’ve broken yourself.”

Fox’s nostrils flared. He didn’t speak.

Neyo’s tone dipped lower, cutting.

“You wanna throw it all away for a senator with a bloody past and a smile that melts steel? Fine. But you’ll do it without that title. Without that armor. Without the men who trusted you.”

That one hit.

Fox looked up sharply.

Neyo’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to be a commander anymore, Fox? Say the word. I’ll strip your code and you can go chase tail in the lower levels with every other brain-dead grunt who forgot what we were bred for.”

The room rang with silence.

Then—

“I haven’t forgotten,” Fox said quietly. “Not for a second.”

Neyo stared him down. And for the first time, Fox looked… tired.

“I’m trying to hold it together,” Fox said. “But it’s like she pulled a pin and now I can’t stuff everything back in.”

Neyo stared at him a moment longer, then turned his back.

“I don’t want excuses. I want a commander.”

He walked out without another word.

The door hissed shut behind him.

Fox stood alone in the dim quiet, shaking slightly, adrenaline bleeding off.

Then the door slid open again.

“Hell of a beating,” Cody said mildly, stepping in. “He always did know how to cut deep.”

Fox didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the scuffed floor.

Cody walked over, calm as ever, arms crossed.

“You want to talk about it?”

“I kissed her,” Fox said finally.

Cody didn’t even blink.

Fox exhaled, shoulders heavy. “After I punished Thorn for the same thing.”

“Ah,” Cody said. “So this is a whole mess.”

“She does something to me, Cody. I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve spent years keeping myself locked down. Keeping control. Then she walks in and it’s like… everything I’ve buried starts clawing its way back up.”

Cody was quiet.

Fox’s voice dropped lower. “She’s fire. Controlled chaos. And I’m supposed to be stone.”

“Even stone cracks under enough pressure,” Cody said. “You’re not a machine, vod. You never were. But what you are is a leader. And you’ve got to decide which version of you survives this. The soldier, or the man.”

Fox looked up at him.

Cody’s voice softened just a touch. “You can’t be both. Not forever.”

⸻

The barracks were quieter than usual when Fox walked in.

He didn’t storm through like a commander this time—didn’t bark orders, didn’t expect salutes. He walked with purpose, but not with authority. His helmet was under his arm, and something strange lingered in his expression… something like regret.

The lounge had the usual suspects: Hound nursing a bruised jaw, Thire reading reports, Stone half-dozing in the corner. Grizzer lay sprawled under the table, big head on his paws.

They all looked up when Fox stopped in the doorway.

He stood there a second, then took a breath.

“I was out of line.”

That alone was enough to make Hound blink.

“I let personal feelings cloud my judgment. I lost control. I disrespected my rank and you, my brothers.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

He stepped forward. From behind his back, he pulled out a wrapped bundle.

“I figured if I owed anyone the biggest apology…” He crouched down, unwrapped it, and slid a hefty bone across the floor.

Grizzer’s ears perked. He sniffed it, then took it gently—almost respectfully—and lumbered off to gnaw in peace.

“Thanks,” Hound muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Still hurts like hell.”

Fox gave a wry smirk. “It should.”

Stone chuckled. “You gonna cry next or…?”

Fox just shook his head. “No. But I am going to make it right.”

He nodded once, turned, and left.

⸻

Thorn was on the upper level, seated on a bench outside the weapons maintenance bay, arms folded, helmet beside him.

Fox approached slowly.

“Thorn.”

No answer.

Fox took a breath, then sat beside him, not too close. Just close enough.

“I was wrong,” he said simply. “What I did… punishing you, calling you out… then doing the same thing myself. That’s not leadership. That’s hypocrisy.”

Thorn glanced over, eyes dark with residual anger. “No argument here.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Fox said. “But I didn’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Thorn let out a breath, slow and heavy.

“You’re still in love with her?”

Fox didn’t answer for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Have been for a while. Doesn’t mean I have the right to be.”

Thorn leaned back, looking up at the overhead lights. “You ever think we’re not built for this kind of thing?”

“All the time.”

Another pause.

“I appreciate the apology,” Thorn said at last. “Doesn’t erase the bruise, but it helps.”

Fox gave a short nod.

They sat in silence a little longer—two soldiers, two men, caught between duty and desire.

Then Fox stood. “I’ll see you on rotation.”

Thorn nodded. “Yeah. See you then.”

As Fox walked away, Thorn called after him, voice neutral but edged in meaning.

“Don’t screw it up again.”

Fox didn’t look back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Previous Part | Next Part