Clone Commando - Blog Posts

Star Wars Republic Commando Intro Remake by Oleksandr Maziura

I've just come across this recently. This looks SO cool & incredibly detailed. If ANY OG Lucasarts Star Wars game deserves a remake, it's this gem of a video game, Star Wars Republic Commando (2005). Thank you so much Oleksandr Maziura for this Republic Commando Intro Remake.

In addition: Taun We's hand gesture was a really nice touch (showing her care & empathy towards Baby Boss). Also, after encountering that A-DSD Advanced Dwarf Spider Droid in the Training Simulator, I remember when playing the game I'd IMMEDIATELY toss a good ol' Detonator towards 'em, target 'em & then order ALL Squad Members to concentrate fire on THAT Target.

Back in the day I used to ❤️ using the Engage Target Command and see my Squad just unload their array of Blaster, Sniper & Anti-Armor rounds (in addition to their Thermal & EC (Electro-Static Charge) Detonators) while my Target's health just slowly drained away. Nothing beats Concentrated Firepower!

Star Wars Republic Commando (Released 02-28-2005)

"You have been born into dangerous times. A sharp mind can be the key to survival. But as often as not, it will be your inherent physical traits that win the day. And in this regard you will be superior to your more common brethren. For you are a Commando, an elite unit, something truly special."

-Kaminoan Taun We to Clone Commando-in-training Boss

❤️ this classic, dope video game. (And the novels, too.) Hard to believe this was released 20 yrs. ago. Would've been SO cool if we had a Remaster or even a Republic Commando II sequel.

❤️ when playing Republic Commando how whenever Boss (AKA Delta Squad Leader AKA RC-1138 AKA 38 AKA Clone Commando Sergeant Boss) drew his BlasTech Industries DC-15S pistol, he would always spin it - just like Jango Fett, Boba Fett, Captain Rex, etc.

Also ❤️ that right-to-left laser-wipe that would clear away icky fluids that splattered on your helmet's T-Visor after any close encounters with hostiles & your Armor's trusty Knuckle Plate Vibroblade.

A-A-AND also ❤️ discovering a Jedi's lightsaber aboard the assault ship The Prosecutor which led to this line from Boss: "An elegant weapon for a more civilized time, eh? Well, guess what? Times have changed…!"

It's little details like these that make the lore of Star Wars, Star Wars video games & the Star Wars universe so immersive & enjoyable.

Poor Sev.

Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor

Although the Phase-II Clone Trooper Armor always got a lot of love…The Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor was always the best design to me due to the Phase-I Armor's likeness to Jango Fett's Mandalorian Armor.

From the Phase-I Clone Trooper Armor. To the Phase-I Clone Commando Katarn-Class Armor. And especially the Phase-I ARC Trooper Armor with its numerous Mandalorian influences (Helmet mounted Rangefinder, Kama, Jetpacks, Wrist Rockets, etc.)

Phase-I Armor for the Win...!

OH MY GOSH!!! HE HAS CATERPILLAR ARMOR!!!!!!!!

hey guys this is faun, my clone commando oc and i love him dearly

he is a simple guy who loves little creatures so much. also big creatures. he loves all animals. if he was not forced to be a solider, he would be a biologist :)

EDIT: he also has a toyhouse profile btw if you want to read more about him! <-

“Brothers in the Making” pt.4

Command Squad x Reader

The new training was brutal.

You made good on your warning.

Every morning started with live-fire simulations — no safeties. No shortcuts. Hand-to-hand drills until they couldn’t lift their arms. Obstacle courses under pelting rain and wind so strong it knocked them off balance. You pushed them until they bled, and then made them do it again.

And they got better.

Fox stopped hesitating.

Bacara stopped grinning.

Wolffe started thinking before acting.

Cody led with silence and strength.

Rex? Rex was starting to look like a leader.

You saw it in the way the others followed him when things got hard.

But even as your cadets got sharper, meaner, closer — something shifted outside your control.

Kamino got crowded.

You noticed it in the hangars first. Rough-looking men and women in mismatched armor, chewing on ration sticks and watching the cadets like predators sizing up meat.

Bounty hunters.

The Kaminoans had started bringing them in — not for your cadets, but for the rank-and-file troopers.

Cheap, nasty freelancers. People who'd kill for credits and leak secrets for less.

You weren’t the only one who noticed.

You slammed your tray down in the mess beside Jango, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau.

Skirata didn’t even look up from sharpening his blade. “So. You see them too.”

“They stink like trouble,” you muttered.

Jango grunted. “Kaminoans don’t care. They want results. Faster, cheaper.”

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Vau said coldly. “No honor. No code. Just teeth.”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed. “They’re whispering to the clones. Getting too friendly.”

“Probably scoping them out,” Kal muttered. “Seeing who’s soft. Who’ll break first.”

Jango’s voice was low and lethal. “If one of them talks — if any of them breathes a word to the Separatists—”

“We're done,” you finished for him.

Silence settled over the table like a weight.

You glanced around the mess. One of the hunters was laughing with a group of standard cadets, tossing them pieces of gear like candy. Testing their limits. Grooming.

Your blood boiled.

“They’re not going near my boys,” you said quietly.

Kal looked over, sharp-eyed. “You planning something?”

“I’m planning to watch,” you replied. “And if they so much as look at my cadets sideways—”

“You’ll gut them,” Vau said. “Good.”

That night, as the storm beat against the training dome, you walked past the dorms. The lights were dim, but you could hear muffled voices inside.

“—you really think we’re ready?”

“Doesn’t matter. Buir thinks we are.”

“Yeah but… what if those bounty hunters—”

You stopped outside the door. Knocked once.

The room went dead quiet.

You stepped in.

The cadets snapped to attention.

You gave them a look. “You worried about the new visitors?”

They didn’t answer.

Rex stepped forward. “We don’t trust them.”

“Good,” you said. “Neither do I.”

They relaxed — just slightly.

“You,” you added, “have one advantage those other clones don’t.”

“What’s that?” Bacara asked.

You looked each of them in the eye.

“You know who you are. You know who you trust. You know what you’re fighting for.”

Fox swallowed. “And the others?”

“They’ll learn,” you said. “Or they’ll fall.”

A long silence followed.

Then Cody said quietly, “We won’t let them touch the brothers.”

You gave a small, proud nod. “That’s what makes you more than soldiers.”

You looked to each of them in turn.

“You’re protectors.”

———

The first hit came during evening drills.

You weren’t there. You’d been pulled into a debrief with Jango and the Kaminoan Prime. That’s why it happened. Because you weren’t watching.

Because they were.

The bounty hunters had been circling the younger cadets all week. The ones just starting to taste their own strength — just old enough to be cocky, not old enough to know when to shut up.

The hunters pushed them harder than protocol allowed. Made them spar past exhaustion. Made them fight dirty. Gave them real knives instead of training ones.

Neyo ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

Gree broke two ribs.

Bly passed out from dehydration.

And the worst?

Thorn.

One of the bounty hunters slammed him face-first into the training deck.

Hard enough to split his forehead open and leave him unconscious for thirty terrifying seconds.

By the time you arrived, Thorn was being carried out by two med droids, blood streaking down his temple, barely coherent.

The bounty hunter just stood there, arms folded, like nothing had happened.

You didn’t say a word.

You decked him.

One punch — a sharp right hook to the jaw. Dropped him cold.

Kal held you back before you could go in for another.

“You’re done,” you snarled at the Kaminoans who came running. “Get these kriffing animals off my training floor.”

“We were merely increasing the resilience of the standard units,” one of the white-robed scientists said coolly.

You stepped toward her.

“You try to touch any of mine,” you growled, “and you’ll see just how resilient I am.”

———

Later that night, the cadets met in the shadows of the observation deck. Not just your five — all of them.

Cody. Rex. Bacara. Fox. Wolffe.

Neyo. Keeli. Gree. Thorn. Stone. Bly.

Monk. Doom. Appo. Ponds.

Even a few of the younger ones — still waiting to earn names.

They were tense. Quiet. Watching the door. Waiting.

Keeli spoke first. “They’ll come back.”

Fox crossed his arms. “Then we hit them first.”

“Without Buir?” Rex asked, wary.

“She can’t be everywhere,” Wolffe muttered.

Monk frowned. “This isn’t a sim. These guys aren’t playing.”

Neyo leaned against the wall. “Neither are we.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Rain drummed against the glass overhead.

Finally, Gree spoke. “We don’t have to fight them.”

They all turned.

“We just have to outsmart them.”

They waited for their moment.

It came two days later. A late-night combat session with three of the bounty hunters, deep in one of the isolated auxiliary domes. No cams. No observers. Just a handful of cadets, and three heavily armed mercs ready to “teach them a lesson.”

They never saw it coming.

Rex faked an injury — stumbled, cried out, fell to one knee.

Bly drew the hunter in close, under the guise of helping him.

Gree triggered the power outage.

Fox, Neyo, and Bacara moved in from the shadows like ghosts.

Monk and Doom stole their gear.

Keeli hit them with a stun baton he “borrowed” from the supply closet.

By the time the lights came back on, the bounty hunters were zip-tied to the floor, unconscious or groaning, surrounded by sixteen bruised, grinning cadets.

They didn’t tell the Kaminoans what happened.

Neither did the hunters.

The next day, those bounty trainers were gone.

You knew something had happened. Jango did too.

You pulled Rex aside, arms crossed. “We didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t ask,” you said.

He stood a little straighter. “Then I won’t tell.”

You smiled.

For a second, you almost said it.

Almost.

But not yet.

Instead, you gave him a nod.

“Well done, kid.”

———

Tipoca City was never supposed to feel like a warzone.

But that night — under blacked-out skies and howling wind — the storm broke inside the walls.

It started with Jango leaving.

He met you, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau on the upper platform, rain hammering down in waves, cloak rippling behind him.

“Got called offworld,” he said without preamble. “Client I can’t ignore.”

You frowned. “Problem?”

He glanced at the Kaminoan tower, where sterile lights still glowed behind long windows.

“Yeah. Ten of those kriffing bounty scum are still here. Kaminoans won’t remove them.”

Kal spat on the ground. “Let me take care of it.”

“You, Vau, and her,” Jango said, nodding to you. “Handle it before I get back.”

He walked off without waiting for a reply.

The next few hours passed too quietly.

You and Kal did recon.

Vau slipped through maintenance corridors.

Then — the lights flickered.

The main comms cut out.

And every blast door in Tipoca City slammed shut.

———

In the Mess hall Neyo was mid-bite into a ration bar when it happened.

The lights dimmed. The far wall sparked. The room went deathly silent.

There were thirty cadets inside — the full command unit. And five Republic Commando cadets, seated near the back. All in training blacks, all unarmed.

Then the doors slid open.

Ten bounty hunters walked in.

Wearing full armor. Fully armed.

The first one tossed a stun grenade across the room.

The cadets scrambled — diving behind tables, flipping trays, shielding younger brothers.

A loud, metallic slam.

The doors locked again.

But this time, from outside.

A voice crackled over the mess intercom.

“Don’t worry, boys,” you said, voice steady, cold. “We’re here.”

One by one, the lights above the bounty hunters started popping.

Out of the shadows stepped you, Kal Skirata, and Walon Vau.

Three Mandalorians. Blasters drawn. Knives sheathed. No fear.

“Let’s clean up our mess,” Vau muttered.

The fight wasn’t clean.

It was fast. Ugly. Vicious.

You moved first — disarmed the closest hunter with a twist of your wrist and drove your elbow into his throat.

Kal went for the one reaching toward the Commando cadets, snapped his knee and disarmed him with a headbutt.

Vau took two down in five seconds. Bone-snapping, brutal.

The cadets rallied. Neyo and Bacara flanked the room, herding the younger ones behind upended tables. Rex shoved Keeli out of harm’s way and grabbed a downed shock baton.

Thorn cracked a chair over a hunter’s back.

Bly and Gree tag-teamed one into unconsciousness with nothing but boots and fists.

But then—

One of them grabbed Cody.

Knife to his throat.

Your blood ran cold.

“No one move,” the hunter snarled, voice wild. “Open the door. Now.”

You stepped forward slowly, hands up, helmet off.

“Let him go,” you said, voice low.

“Back off!” he yelled. “I’ll do it!”

Then — he started cutting.

Cody didn’t scream. Didn’t cry out.

Just clenched his jaw as blood ran down his brow and over his eye.

You saw red.

You lunged.

One shot — straight through the hunter’s shoulder — and he dropped the blade.

Before he hit the ground, you were there, catching Cody as he fell.

He blinked up at you, blood running down his face, trembling.

You cupped the back of his head gently, voice soft but steady. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Kal secured the last hunter. Vau stood guard at the door. The mess was a wreck of overturned tables, scorch marks, and groaning mercenaries.

You looked down at Cody.

The top of his brow and temple was sliced deep. Ugly.

He winced as you cleaned it.

“That’s going to scar,” you said quietly.

Cody met your gaze — steady now, strong, even through the pain.

“I don’t care.”

You smiled faintly.

“Good. You earned it.”

The mess hall had long since fallen silent.

The medics came and went. The unconscious bounty hunters had been dragged off to confinement cells. The lights flickered gently above, casting a soft blue hue over the now-empty space.

The only ones left were you and your cadets.

Twenty-three young men. Battle-scarred, bloodied, tired.

And very, very proud.

You sat on a table, legs swinging, helmet in your lap. A few bruises blooming on your jaw, a cut on your knuckle — nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. Nothing you wouldn’t do again in a heartbeat for them.

They lingered near you, some sitting, some leaning against overturned chairs, some standing silently — waiting for you to speak.

You looked at each one of them.

Wolffe, arms crossed but still wincing slightly from a bruise on his side.

Rex, perched beside Bly, both quiet but alert.

Fox, pacing a little like he still had adrenaline to burn.

Bacara and Neyo flanking the younger cadets instinctively.

Keeli, Gree, Doom, Thorn, Monk, Appo — all watching you.

Cody, sitting close by, with fresh stitches across his brow. His scar. His mark.

You let the silence hang a little longer, then finally exhaled and said, “You did well.”

They didn’t respond — not right away — but you could see the pride simmering behind their eyes.

You stood and walked slowly in front of them, glancing from face to face.

“You’ve trained hard for months. You’ve pushed yourselves, pushed each other. But today…” You paused. “Today was something different.”

They listened closely, the weight of your words pulling them in.

“You were outnumbered. Unarmed. Surprised.” Your voice softened. “But you didn’t break. You protected each other. You adapted. You fought smart. And you stood your ground.”

Your gaze swept across the room again, and this time, there was no commander in your expression — only pride. And something close to love.

“You showed courage. And resilience. And heart.”

You walked back toward Cody, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“If this is the future of the Republic Army…” you smiled faintly, “then the galaxy’s in better hands than it knows.”

You looked at all of them again.

“I’m proud of you. Every single one of you.”

For a moment, the room was silent again.

Then a quiet voice piped up from behind Rex.

“Does this mean we get to sleep in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not a chance.”

Laughter broke through the tension — real, loud, echoing off the walls.

Fox clapped Rex on the back.

Cody leaned lightly against you and didn’t say a word — he didn’t have to.

You stayed there a while longer, sitting with them, listening to the soft hum of rain against the dome. For now, there was no war. No Kaminoans. No Jedi.

Just your boys. Just your family.

And in the stillness after the storm, it was enough.

—————

*Time Skip*

The storm had been relentless for days — even by Kamino standards.

But today, there was something different in the air. The kind of stillness that only came before things broke apart.

You felt it the second the long corridor doors opened.

You were walking back from the firing range, datapad in one hand, helmet under your arm — drenched from the rain, mud on your boots, blaster at your hip.

And that’s when you saw him.

Tall, cloaked in damp robes, ginger hair swept back, beard trimmed neatly — Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He stood beside the Kaminoan administrator, Taun We, as she gestured down the corridor, her voice echoing in that soft, ethereal way.

You blinked. “Well, well.”

Obi-Wan turned at the sound of your voice, brow arching in surprise.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, smirking lightly.

“Likewise,” Kenobi said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Though I should’ve known—where there’s chaos, you’re never far behind.”

You walked up to him, nodding politely to Taun We, who dipped her head and continued speaking about clone maturation cycles.

“Nice robes,” you said. “Still playing Jedi or are you finally moonlighting as a diplomat?”

“Depends on the day,” he quipped. “And you? Still collecting foundlings?”

That made you pause.

You glanced at the clone cadets moving through the hall up ahead — your boys. Young, serious, sharp-eyed. Already starting to look like soldiers.

“They’re not foundlings anymore,” you said, quieter now. “They never were.”

Kenobi’s smile faded slightly. “They’re… the clones?”

You nodded. “Each one.”

“And you’ve been… training them?”

You looked back at him. “Raising them.”

That gave him pause.

He walked a few paces in silence before saying, “And what do you think of them?”

You smiled to yourself. “Braver than most warriors I’ve met. Fiercer than any squad I’ve served with. Smarter than they get credit for. Loyal to a fault.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened. “They’re children.”

“Not anymore,” you said. “They don’t get the chance to be.”

He studied you a long moment. “They trust you.”

“I’d die for them,” you said simply. “They know that.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned in, voice lower. “I need to ask you something.”

You met his eyes.

“A man named Jango Fett,” he said. “He’s been identified as the clone template. The Kaminoans say he was recruited by a Jedi. But no Jedi I know would authorize a clone army in secret.”

You held his gaze. “Jango’s a good man.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

You exhaled. “He’s… complicated. He believes in strength. In legacy. In survival. He was proud to be chosen.”

Kenobi tilted his head. “And now?”

You looked down the corridor, where the rain slashed against the long window.

“Now?” you said. “He’s been taking jobs that… don’t sit right with me. His clients are powerful. Dangerous.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms. “Separatists?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you said, “Jango’s alone in what he’s made. But not in the burden. He just won’t let anyone carry it with him.”

Obi-Wan looked at you, long and careful. “And if he’s working for Dooku?”

“Then I’ll stop him,” you said. Quiet. Unshakable. “Even if it breaks everything.”

There was silence between you for a moment. Only the soft hum of the lights and the sound of rain.

Then Kenobi said, “We may all be asked to choose sides soon.”

You gave him a faint smile. “I already did.”

And with that, you turned and walked down the corridor — toward the cadets. Toward your boys. Toward the storm you could feel coming.

————

The hangar was alive with the sound of marching boots and humming gunships. The Kaminoan platforms gleamed under the harsh light of early morning, and the storm above was quieter than usual — almost like Kamino itself was holding its breath.

You stood near the gunships with your helmet tucked under your arm, the rain catching in your hair, your armor polished but worn. This was it.

Your boys — your commanders and captains — were suiting up, double-checking blasters, loading onto transports in units of ten, fifty, a hundred. The moment they’d been bred for was finally here.

And you hated every second of it.

“Buir!”

You turned as Cody jogged up to you, followed quickly by Fox, Rex, Wolffe, Bacara, Bly, Gree, Keeli, Doom, Appo, Thorn, Neyo, Monk, Stone, Ponds — all of them. Every one of them now bearing their names. Every one of them about to step into a galaxy on fire.

“You’re not coming with us?” Rex asked, brow furrowed beneath his helmet.

“No,” you said softly. “Not this time.”

They exchanged looks. Several stepped closer.

“Why?” Wolffe asked.

You smiled faintly. “Because I’ve fulfilled my contract. My time here is done.”

“But we still need you,” Bly said. “You’re our—”

“I’m your buir,” you interrupted, voice firm. “And that means knowing when to let you stand on your own.”

They fell quiet.

You stepped forward and looked at each one of them — your gaze lingering on every face you had once taught to punch, to shoot, to think, to feel. They were men now. Soldiers. Leaders.

And still, in your heart, they were the boys who once snuck into your quarters late at night, scared of their own future.

“You’re ready,” you told them. “I’ve seen it. You’ve trained for this. Bled for this. Earned this. You are commanders and captains of the Grand Army of the Republic. You are the best this galaxy will ever see.”

Cody stepped forward, his voice tight. “Where will you go?”

You looked up at the storm.

“Where I’m needed.”

A beat passed.

“Don’t think for a second I won’t be watching,” you said, flicking your commlink. “I’ll be on a secure line the whole time. Monitoring every channel, every order. I’ll know the second you misbehave.”

That drew a few smiles. Even a quiet chuckle from Thorn.

Fox stepped forward, standing at attention. “Permission to hug the buir?”

You rolled your eyes, but opened your arms anyway.

They came in like a wave.

Armor scraped armor as they all stepped in — clumsy and loud and warm, a heap of brothers trying to act tough but holding on just long enough to not feel like kids again.

You held them all.

And then, like true soldiers, they pulled back — each nodding once before heading to their ships. Helmets on. Rifles in hand.

Cody was the last to go. He looked back at you as the ramp began to rise.

“Stay safe,” he said.

You gave a small nod.

“We’ll make you proud.”

“You already did.”

Then the gunships roared, rising one by one into the sky, and disappeared into the storm.

And you were left on the platform, alone.

But not really.

Because your voice was already tuned into their frequencies, your eyes scanning the holo feeds.

And your heart — your heart went with them.

————

She never returned to Kamino.

The rain still haunted her dreams sometimes, the echo of thunder over steel platforms, the scent of blaster oil and sea salt clinging to her skin. But when she left, she left for good.

The cadets she had raised — the ones who had once looked to her like a sister, a mentor, a buir — were no longer wide-eyed boys in numbered armor.

They were commanders now. Captains. Leaders of men.

And the war made them legends.

From the shadows of Coruscant to the deserts of Ryloth, from Umbara’s twisted jungles to the burning fields of Saleucami — she watched. She listened. She followed every mission report she could intercept, every coded message she wasn’t supposed to hear.

She couldn’t be with them. But she knew where they were. Every. Single. Day.

Bacara led brutal campaigns on Mygeeto.

Fox walked a knife’s edge keeping peace in the heart of chaos on Coruscant.

Cody fought with unwavering precision at Kenobi’s side.

Wolffe’s transmissions grew fewer, rougher. He was changing — harder, colder.

Rex’s loyalty to his General turned to quiet defiance. She recognized it in his voice. She’d taught him to think for himself.

Keeli, Thorn, Gree, Ponds, Neyo, Doom, Bly, Stone, Monk, Appo… all of them. She tracked them, stored every piece of data, every victory, every loss. Not as a commander. Not as a strategist.

As their buir.

She moved from system to system — never settling. Always watching. A ghost in the shadows of the war she helped raise. Never interfering. Just there.

But she knew.

She knew when Rex's tone cracked after Umbara.

She knew when Cody stopped speaking on open comms.

She knew when Pond’s name was pulled from a casualty list, but no one would say what happened.

She knew when Thorn’s file was locked behind High Council access.

And one by one, her boys began to fall silent.

Not dead. Not gone.

Just… lost.

To the war. To the darkness creeping into the cracks.

She sat in silence some nights, the old helmet resting beside her. Their names etched into the inside — 23 in total.

They weren’t clones to her. They were sons. Brothers. The best of the best.

She had given them names.

But the galaxy had given them numbers again.

So she remembered.

She remembered who they were before the armor, before the orders, before the war took their laughter and turned it into steel.

She remembered their first sparring matches. Their mess hall brawls. Their ridiculous, stupid banter.

She remembered Fox making them salute her.

She remembered Wolffe biting her hand like a brat and earning his name.

She remembered all of it.

Because someone had to.

Because one day, when the war ended — if any of them were left — she would find them.

And she would say the names again.

Out loud.

And remind them of who they really were.

——————

Previous Chapter

Directive Breach

Boss (Delta Squad) x Reader

Warnings: injuries, suggestive content,l

⸻

The jungle was thick with steam and smoke, the scent of burning metal and charred flesh choking the air. Delta Squad’s evac had been shot down. You were the only survivor from your recon team. Boss had taken command of the op—naturally.

“Stick close,” he ordered, his voice rasping through the modulator, sharp like durasteel dragged across stone.

You rolled your eyes, already moving. “I didn’t survive a crashing gunship to get babysat by a buckethead.”

He turned just enough to look at you, that T-shaped visor catching the fading light. “I don’t babysit. I lead.”

“And I slice,” you shot back, shouldering your pack. “Let me do my job.”

“We already have a slicer” he respond, before he turned forward again. But you could feel him watching you—tracking your movements with that eerie commando focus. It had been two days of this now: evading patrols, patching up your leg, sleeping back-to-back under foliage so thick you couldn’t see the stars.

Tonight, it rained. Not the cooling kind—this rain was warm, heavy, pressing the jungle into silence. You sat in a hollowed-out tree, tuning your equipment while Boss kept watch. When he finally returned to your makeshift camp, you didn’t look up.

“How bad’s your leg?”

“Fine.”

“You’re limping harder than yesterday.”

“You’re observant. I’m touched.”

“Stop being stubborn,” he muttered, kneeling in front of you. His gauntlet brushed your knee as he examined the torn fabric and swelling underneath. “You need rest.”

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” you whispered.

Silence stretched. You met his gaze, even if you couldn’t see his eyes behind the visor. Something heavy passed between you. Maybe it was the danger. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the way he’d hauled you out of that wreckage, swearing he’d get you home.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, voice lower. “You’re not one of us.”

“No. I’m not. But I’m here now.” You leaned closer, your voice daring. “And so are you.”

His breath caught, almost imperceptible beneath the rain. Then—he reached up and disengaged the seal on his helmet. The hiss of depressurization was drowned out by your heartbeat.

And when he took it off, you saw him—finally. Tanned skin streaked with grime and blood. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on yours like they were burning through you.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t. You leaned in.

He kissed you hard—like everything he’d been holding back had snapped. His gloves were rough on your skin, tugging you closer, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear. You curled your fingers into the collar of his armor and pulled until you could feel the heat of his body beneath the plastoid.

“I’ve got one night,” he murmured against your throat. “One night before I’m a soldier again.”

“Then make it count,” you whispered.

And he did.

⸻

The war would keep going. The Republic would keep taking. But in a jungle no one would remember, under a rain no one would care about, Boss let himself be something other than a number—and you let yourself fall for a soldier who wasn’t supposed to love.

⸻

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.

Material Lists 🩵

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

Star Wars

The Clone Wars

501st Material List🩵💙

212th Material List🧡

104th Material List🐺

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Corrie Guard Material List ❤️

Other Clones/Characters

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“Crimson Huntress”

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Disclaimer!!!!!

I personally prefer not to write smut, however if requested I am happy to do so. depending on what you have requested.

Arc Trooper Fives x Bounty Hunter Reader pt.2

Some battles hit close to home—others hit the home itself.

Kamino—the birthplace of the Grand Army—was once considered untouchable. But the Separatists didn't care about sentiment or sacred ground. They wanted to strike at the heart, where the Republic bled.

A scrambled transmission had come through less than forty-eight hours ago: Kamino was next.

The birthplace of the clones. The very artery of the Republic war machine. If Kamino fell, so did everything they fought for.

Every hand was called back to defend it—including Echo and Fives.

"Feels weird being back," Echo said, eyes flicking up toward the grey Kaminoan ceiling.

"Yeah," Fives replied. "It's like coming back to visit an ex who once shot you in the face for blinking too loud."

"...You sure we're talking about Kamino and not her?"

Fives smirked, but didn't answer.

Fives was the first to notice her.

He'd just made some smartass comment to Echo about how all the regs still walked like they had sticks up their shebs when something made him stop mid-step.

A voice. That voice.

Playful. Sharp-edged. Familiar.

He turned—and there she was.

Sitting on a bunk with a cadet. Helmet off, body relaxed, back propped against the wall like she owned the place. Her fingers flicked lazily at a datapad while the cadet beside her looked one cough away from combusting.

Her laugh rang out, low and smug. "You zap a training droid like that again and the I'm gonna use your head for target practice."

The cadet groaned. "You said it was fine!"

"I said try it, not fry it. There's a difference, sunshine."

Echo stopped beside Fives, following his line of sight. His expression flattened.

"She hasn't changed."

"She got hotter," Fives said, then winced as Echo elbowed him. "Kidding. Kidding."

They watched a moment longer. She hadn't noticed them yet, too busy teasing the poor kid who looked like he might pass out from either embarrassment or adoration.

Fives smirked. "Place just got a hell of a lot more interesting."

Fives and Echo didn't move. Just watched. Like spectators waiting for a grenade to go off.

Another cadet on the adjacent bunk stood up, then jumped onto the mattress, trying to show off—springing up and down with dramatic, exaggerated bounces. The bedframe groaned beneath his boots, plastoid rattling.

"Cadet!" she snapped, not even looking up from her datapad. "Quit jumping on the bed!"

The cadet didn't listen.

Of course he didn't.

He landed with a loud creak, then flung his arms out theatrically. "C'mon, you're not as scary as everyone says you are."

Fives winced.

Echo muttered under his breath. "Dead man walking."

Still leaning back against the wall, she finally lifted her eyes to the bouncing cadet. Calm. Lazy. Almost bored.

"You sure about that?" she asked.

The kid gave a half-laugh. "What're you gonna do? Glare me into submission?"

Without breaking eye contact, she reached into her belt, pulled her blaster, flicked it to stun—and fired. One clean shot.

The cadet seized midair like he hit an invisible wall. Then he collapsed, limp and unconscious, mid-jump.

Chaos erupted. The other cadets scrambled to catch him before he crashed to the floor. They caught him by the chestplate, barely avoiding a loud thud. His head lolled, tongue out, stunned to the void and back.

She holstered her blaster like it was just another Tuesday.

"That'll teach you to bounce around when I'm trying to teach someone how not to get shot."

From across the room, Fives cupped both hands around his mouth. "You stunning cadets again?" he shouted. "That's bringing back some real traumatic memories, sweetheart!"

Her head whipped around.

The casual posture straightened. That lazy look sharpened into something a little more dangerous, a little more feral.

Then she smirked. "Fives."

"Missed me?"

She jumped down and stepped over the still-unconscious cadet like he was nothing more than an inconvenient floor lamp. The others made space quick—none of them made eye contact.

Fives and Echo were already waiting for her near the bunks. Fives leaned against the wall, arms folded, helmet clipped to his belt. Smirking like he hadn't aged a day. Like seeing her again didn't just punch the air out of his lungs.

She stopped in front of them, one brow arched.

"Didn't expect to see you two," she said, voice smooth but edged. "Last I heard, you were off doing very classified things in very important places."

Fives gave a mock shrug. "Separatists don't care much for my schedule. Thought I'd swing by, relive some trauma, and see if you were still casually beating up cadets for fun in your free time."

She smiled—too sharp to be sweet.

"They bounce on my bed, they get stunned. Rules haven't changed."

Fives tilted his head, grin widening. "I missed your charming hospitality."

She stepped a little closer, just inside his space. "You missed a lot of things."

"Oh?" His eyes flicked over her, slow, searching. "Anything worth catching up on?"

She looked him up and down, then tapped his chestplate lightly with two fingers. "You still talk too much."

He caught her hand before she could drop it. Held it there for half a second longer than necessary.

"And you still shoot first."

She leaned in, just a little. "That's why I'm still alive."

Echo cleared his throat behind them—pointedly.

They both turned.

"What?" she said.

Echo just gave a dry look. "Should I leave you two to flirt or are we going to address the fact that the outer perimeter is about to be hit in less than 24 hours?"

She blinked, then sighed. "Right. That."

Fives leaned a little closer to her ear, voice lower now. "Raincheck on the verbal sparring?"

She smirked. "You'd better survive the next 24 hours, then."

He winked. "For you? I'll try."

__ __ __ __

The war room was tense. Holograms flickered with incoming scans of Separatist movement, ships breaching the upper atmosphere, debris fields thickening around Kamino like a noose. The reader stood beside General Skywalker, arms folded, gaze narrowed.

"You'll be assisting General Skywalker during the space assault," Master Shaak Ti said, her calm voice cutting through the static hum of the tactical map. "The Separatists are attempting a full-scale assault."

"Finally," the reader muttered, strapping her gloves tighter.

Skywalker cracked a grin. "You just want an excuse to blow something up."

She smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Skywalker glanced at the reader, a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. "You good with a starfighter, or am I going to have to babysit?"

She smirked. "I'll race you up there"

They launched fast—fighter squadrons tearing up through the storm clouds. Kamino's airspace was a firestorm of blaster bolts and explosions, enemy ships descending in coordinated waves. She and Skywalker split off, weaving through Vultures and skimming the wreckage fields that circled the planet.

"That's a lot of debris..." she muttered, eyes narrowing. "Not bad," she murmured, spinning her fighter between the smoking hulls of fallen debris. "We might actually win this one."

"You sound disappointed," Anakin said over comms, grinning through the channel.

Kenobi's voice cut through the comms, sharp and strained: "They're using the debris."

The channel went silent for a second.

"What?" She asked.

"They're using the debris fields to disguise troop transports," Kenobi repeated, irritation rising.

"He's just being dramatic," she muttered.

"Probably jealous we've been mopping them up faster than he has." Anakin added.

But then another "chunk" of floating debris broke open right in front of her, revealing a fully operational droid deployment pod. Her sensors screamed. The pod fired its boosters and shot down toward the city.

"Okay, that's new."

"Kenobi's right," Anakin growled. "They're already inside the city."

The reader gritted her teeth, flipped her ship into a steep dive, and kicked the throttle.

"Tipoca's about to get very crowded."

__ _ _ __

The city shook as another pod hit the platform. Rain pelted the metal walkways as she leapt out of her fighter and sprinted through the Kaminoan halls, Anakin just ahead. Sirens wailed. Clones and droids clashed at every turn. She ducked under blasterfire, slid around a corner—only to skid to a halt.

General Grievous stood just down the corridor, his cloak billowing, metal feet clanking on the floor. He turned his head toward her with that bone-white grin and a low, guttural laugh.

"Well, well..." he rasped, stepping into the light. "Who do we have here?"

Her blaster was up before he finished the sentence. The first few shots sparked off his plating, and then his sabers ignited—four in a blur of green and blue light. He charged.

She dove sideways, rolling under his sweeping strikes. One saber missed her by inches, slashing the wall and sending sparks flying. She came up low and kicked at his leg, only to get thrown back into a wall by one of his secondary arms.

Pain cracked through her ribs. She coughed and spat blood—but she was grinning.

She waited for the swing—and then moved. A twist, a duck, a slam of her vambrace against his wrist. Sparks flew, and one of his sabers dropped. She kicked it away before flipping up, landing a punch straight into his chest plate.

Another saber fell. His remaining blades whirled around her, but she was too fast, too close. Grievous lunged, but she met him head-on. Her forearm armor hissed—and from the sides of her gauntlets, twin knives slid out with a sharp metallic snap.

Her next punch drove the blade into one of his arms. His screech was guttural, inhuman. She ducked under a swing, came up behind him, and drove both blades into his back, carving a sharp X before twisting away again.

"Do you bleed, General," she breathed.

"You will," he spat.

—and then a blaster bolt cracked through the air, slamming into the floor between them.

Kenobi launched himself into the corridor, saber blazing.

"Get out of here!" he shouted.

She hesitated, still breathing hard, soaked in rain and blood and satisfaction.

Grievous roared and charged Kenobi. Their blades collided in a thunderous crash of energy. She turned and ran—dodging blasterfire, sliding through smoke-filled hallways.

She rounded another corner and practically crashed into Echo and Fives, weapons drawn, flanked by Cody and Rex.

"Hey!" Fives barked. "You alive?"

"Barely," she panted, smirking. "You miss me?"

"Always," Fives grinned, even as he loaded another power pack. "You bringing all the drama or just some of it?"

She rolled her shoulder, blood dripping from a cut at her temple.

"Grievous is back there. Kenobi's dancing with him."

Rex cursed under his breath. Cody looked grim.

_ _ _ _

Blaster bolts flew past in every direction, lighting the darkened barracks in flashes of red and blue. Cadets, barely out of training, were taking cover behind flipped bunks, returning fire with borrowed rifles. They were tired, scorched, but holding.

Fives and Echo moved through the smoke-filled corridor, flanking Captain Rex and Commander Cody. The reader was with them, blaster still hot from earlier skirmishes, armor scorched and dented. She was limping slightly, but there was a grin on her face.

"Clear that hall!" Rex ordered.

Blaster bolts seared the air as B1s and B2s advanced through the shattered entry.

One cadet ducked to reload, glanced over at the reader.

"General Grievous. You just fought him, didn't you?"

She exhaled, still crouched. "Yeah."

"You didn't even have a saber."

"Didn't need one."

"You survived?"

She cocked her head mid-firefight, casually. "There's a reason they had me training commandos."

A B2 burst into the doorway—she spun and hit it point blank with a bolt that sent it sparking back through the frame.

Echo ducked behind cover beside her. "How'd it go?"

"Hand-to-hand," she said between shots.

Fives peeked out from behind a flipped bunk. "You punched Grievous?"

"With knives."

"Where the hell did the knives come from?" Echo asked.

"Forearm compartment," she said casually. "He didn't seem to like it."

"You're insane," Fives muttered, watching her with a crooked smile. "Kind of hot, not gonna lie."

"Don't flirt in front of the cadets," she replied dryly, but her tone was lighter now.

"Probably didn't even break a sweat."Fives said, shooting her a lopsided grin.

She flashed a crooked smile back at him. "Wouldn't want to make the general feel bad."

"He still breathing?" one of the cadets asked, checking his ammo.

"For now," she said. "Kenobi stepped in before I could finish it."

"Of course he did," Cody muttered.

Another wave of droids pushed through—cadets and troopers moved as one.

"Let 'em come!" Fives shouted. "This is what we trained for!"

"You're training them now?" she teased, ducking beside him to fire.

"Only the ones that survive."

"Then you better hope I don't shoot you first."

Echo groaned behind them. "Are we seriously doing this now?"

They all ducked as an explosion shook the barracks, smoke flooding through the corridor. Screams, fire, more blaster fire. Cadets held tight, not a single one backing down.

Through the chaos, 99 appeared, hauling ammo crates toward the front lines, barely flinching as a bolt slammed into the wall beside him.

"Here!" 99 called, setting another crate down with a grunt. "Take these—don't let up!"

The reader ducked behind the cover of a half-melted support beam, reloading as she shouted, "You've done enough, 99! Get to safety!"

But he didn't stop. He never did.

Fives broke cover to grab more ammo, dragging the crate back toward the cadets. "We're low! Keep moving!"

"99!" Echo called, "Fall back!"

A B2 unit turned the corner—heavy cannon glowing.

It fired.

The shot slammed into the wall behind 99. He staggered, then dropped to one knee. Another blast hit nearby, sending shrapnel into his chest.

"No!" Fives shouted, blasting the B2 down. Echo and the reader rushed to 99's side.

She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulder gently. His breathing was shallow.

"You're gonna be alright, 99," Echo said, voice tight.

Fives crouched beside them, eyes locked on the old clone's face. "You did good. You did real good, soldier."

99 gave a weak smile. "I... I was trying to help..."

"You did help," the reader said softly. "You saved lives today."

"W-was... I a good soldier?" 99 rasped, blinking slowly.

"The best," Fives whispered. "You were one of us."

His hand fell limp. The light in his eyes faded.

The hallway quieted. Even the cadets paused—every one of them frozen in respect.

No one spoke. The only sound was the fading echo of distant blaster fire.

Rex approached slowly, helmet in hand, eyes lowered. "He didn't have to go out like this."

"But he chose to," Cody said. "He chose to stand."

The reader stood, jaw tight, fists clenched. "Let's make sure his death means something."

Fives looked up at her. "We will."

Then the comm crackled. Anakin's voice filtered through. "Commanders—we need reinforcements near the south platform. We're being overrun."

Cody clicked on his receiver. "Copy that. Moving now."

The group turned to move out. But for one moment longer, they looked back at 99—at the clone who had no number, no war name, but all the heart in the world.

Then they left the hall, blasters drawn, ready to fight in his honor.

_ _ _ _

The ceremony was simple, but it held so much weight. The clones stood in formation, their pristine armor gleaming under the lights of the command center. The air was charged with pride and anticipation as the two cadets who had proven themselves time and time again were about to be promoted to ARC Troopers.

Fives and Echo stood at attention, looking sharp as ever, despite the weight of their past battles. The reader stood off to the side, arms crossed and her eyes scanning the room, though she was focused mostly on Fives. Her lips twitched into a smile as she watched him stand there—so confident now, but she knew the struggle it had taken for him to get here.

Rex stood before them, his voice strong as he spoke to the gathered men.

"Today, we promote two of the finest soldiers I've ever had the honor to serve with. Echo and Fives, you've proven yourselves time and time again. You've earned this. And from now on, you will lead with us, shoulder to shoulder."

He paused, nodding at each of them. "Congratulations, gentlemen. You are both now ARC Troopers"

Fives and Echo exchanged glances, a look of both disbelief and excitement crossing their faces. Then, they stood tall as Rex handed them the ARC Trooper insignias.

The two men saluted, their chests swelling with pride. The rest of the clones clapped, the sound echoing in the hall.

The reader stepped forward, a smirk curling on her lips. She reached out to give Fives a solid clap on the shoulder, her voice low enough only for him to hear.

"Nice work, Fives. You didn't screw it up after all," she teased.

He shot her a grin, leaning in closer. "I told you I'd make it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to make it with your head still attached to your shoulders," she shot back, her smile playful. "Guess that's worth a reward."

The rest of the clones dispersed, leaving Fives and the reader standing near the edge of the room. Echo had already disappeared into the crowd, no doubt celebrating with the others. But Fives stayed close to the reader, a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Fives replied

"You're getting dangerously confident now, huh?"

"Maybe," Fives said with a grin.

The reader leaned in, and with a playful gleam in her eyes, she brushed a hand against his cheek, before kissing him quickly on the lips. It was brief, but the lingering heat between them made it clear they both felt the weight of that moment.

Pulling away just slightly, the reader met his eyes, her voice soft and teasing. "Don't let it go to your head. I might just have to knock you down a peg again."

Fives's grin widened, though there was a spark of something serious in his expression now. "I'll be careful. I'll be back before you know it."

"Better be," she replied, her tone playful, but her eyes holding a trace of something more sincere.

Fives nodded, stepping back with his usual swagger. "I'll hold you to that."

He turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her one last look. The reader watched him disappear into the crowd, a part of her wishing she could hold onto that moment a little longer, but knowing that it was only the beginning of something bigger.

_ _ _ _

Part 1

Arc Trooper Fives x Bounty Hunter Reader

Summary: Domino Squad is a disaster, and you're the trainer stuck trying to fix them. They're cocky, chaotic, and hanging by a thread—especially Fives. But somewhere between the bruises, barking orders, and late-night drills, something starts to change. Maybe even you.

———

Kamino always smelled like wet metal and too much polish. The kind of place that made your trigger finger itch just to remind yourself you were still alive.

You stood alone in the empty training room, arms crossed, helmet hooked on your hip, waiting.

Fifteen minutes. You weren't used to waiting. Especially not for kids.

Domino Squad. Shak Ti's special case. Her voice still echoed in your ear from the briefing: "They have potential... but they lack unity. I believe a different kind of instructor might help."

You weren't sure if she meant your experience training commandos... or the fact that you had the patience of a womp rat with a blaster wound.

The door finally hissed open, and five clone cadets filtered in—already mid-argument.

"I told you she'd be here," one snapped.

"No, you said hangar, genius."

"I said rec room, actually."

You turned slowly to face them, expression unreadable.

"You're late."

They froze like kids caught slicing into a security terminal.

One of them—broad-shouldered, short hair, an attitude problem already radiating off him—stepped forward. "Ma'am, we were told to meet you in the hangar."

You stared him down. "Why the hell would I meet you in the hangar for live combat drills? That's where people go to leave. Not get their shebs handed to them."

Another chimed in, confused. "CT-782 told us the mess hall."

The tall one groaned. "I never said that!"

"Did too!"

"I said we should check the mess hall—"

"Why would she train us in a cafeteria?!"

They were full-on bickering now. Voices overlapping, fingers pointing, logic disappearing with every word.

You just stared. Shak Ti hadn't been exaggerating.

These kids were a walking tactical disaster.

You let them go another three seconds before barking, "Enough!"

Silence.

You stepped forward, boots echoing against the durasteel floor.

"You think this is funny? Cute? You think this is how squads survive out there in the field? Getting your coordinates mixed and your shebs blown off because nobody can get their story straight?"

They said nothing. At least they had the sense to look guilty.

You exhaled through your nose, less angry now. More tired.

"Alright. Names. One by one. And don't kriffing lie."

The one who'd spoken first crossed his arms. "CT-782. Hevy."

You gave him a look. Accurate. He was the one with the mess hall theory.

The next was shorter, more nervous. "CT-4040. Cutup."

You nodded once.

Then came a cadet with a perpetually sour expression. "CT-00-2010. Droidbait."

"Unfortunate name," you muttered.

He shrugged. "I didn't pick it."

Then came the silent one—stiff posture, emotion locked down like a vault. "CT-1409. Echo."

You raised a brow. "Because you repeat yourself?"

"Because I follow orders," he replied, a little too sharp.

You liked him already.

And finally... the fifth cadet. His armor was slightly looser, hair a little unruly, grin already forming.

"CT-5555. Fives."

You blinked. "Seriously?"

He gave you a cheeky salute. "I take training very seriously, ma'am."

You folded your arms. "And yet you still ended up fifteen minutes late to a scheduled ass-kicking."

His grin widened. "Better late than dead."

Force help me, you thought. This one's going to be a handful.

But as the squad fell into a loose formation, shoulders brushing, complaints subsiding—you saw it. The spark. They were disorganized, sure. Rough around the edges. But there was something under all that chaos.

Especially with that one.

Fives.

You didn't smile.

Not yet.

But you already knew you'd have your eye on him.

---

The simulation room smelled like ozone and bruised pride.

Smoke curled from a spent training turret. The floor was littered with foam stun bolts. And Domino Squad? Lying in a tangled heap of limbs, groaning and stunned after getting their collective asses handed to them. Again.

You stood over them, blaster still warm in your hand, utterly unimpressed.

"You know," you said, holstering your weapon, "the point of the exercise was *not* to see how many of you could trip over each other while a single assailant takes you all out in under two minutes."

Cutup coughed. "It was under two minutes?"

"I'm generous. It was forty-two seconds."

Hevy swore softly.

Fives pushed himself up onto one elbow, panting. "Okay, so—hear me out—we *let* you win. Morale-boosting strategy."

You turned slowly. "You let me what?"

He gave you that same lopsided grin from yesterday, hair mussed, lip split. "Had to make sure your ego was intact. Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Oh," you said sweetly. "Is that what this is? You playing nice?"

Fives dragged himself to his feet, still grinning. "Wouldn't want to upset someone who looks that good while kicking my ass."

There it was. The line.

The others groaned behind him.

Echo muttered, "Maker, Fives, not again."

You stepped into his space. Fives barely flinched, even with you nose to nose.

"You know what's funny?" you said, eyes locked on his.

"Me, I'm hilarious," he offered.

You slammed the butt of your blaster into the back of his knee. He dropped like a sack of supplies, flat on his back with a surprised grunt.

You knelt beside him, elbow resting on your knee, casual. "Commandos don't flirt during training."

He blinked up at you. "Maybe they should."

You bit back a laugh.

It was infuriating. It was charming. It was a problem.

You stood, stepping over him to address the squad.

"You've got potential," you said flatly. "But potential doesn't mean anything if you can't get your heads out of your own shebs long enough to function like a unit. Commandos are sharp. Focused. They move like a single weapon."

Droidbait raised a hand from the floor. "So... we're more like a broken vibroblade?"

You stared down at him. "Right now? You're a butter knife."

A few of them snorted.

You rolled your shoulders, then hit the reset on the simulation. The room flickered. Walls shifted. Obstacles reformed.

"Again."

"Now?" Echo asked, winded.

"Yes, now. You think clankers are gonna give you a breather 'cause you're winded? Again."

The lights flickered red, and the first wave of simulated droids poured in.

---

The squad filed out of the training room, grumbling and limping, drenched in sweat and ego damage. You stayed behind, checking the scoring logs. You didn't look up when footsteps returned behind you.

"Back for round four?" you asked.

Fives leaned against the doorway, arms folded, nursing a fresh bruise on his jaw.

"Thought you might want some company while you reviewed our failure."

You arched a brow. "That's sweet. But I prefer my pity parties without commentary."

He grinned. "Not pity. Just... curiosity."

You turned toward him fully, arms crossed now. "About what?"

He shrugged. "Why you took this assignment. You're a bounty hunter. You train clone commandos. So what are you doing babysitting a bunch of squad rejects?"

You stared at him for a long beat.

"I don't babysit," you said finally. "I break bad habits. Yours just happen to be louder and dumber than most."

His grin faltered—just for a second.

But then he stepped closer. Not quite in your space, but almost.

"You think we've got no shot, huh?"

"I think you've got no discipline. No unity. No idea how to shut up and listen. You've got heart, sure. Fire. But fire without direction burns out fast."

Fives looked at you differently then. The grin softened. The smartass faded, just a little.

"And me?" he asked, quieter.

You blinked.

"What about you?"

He shrugged again, casual and reckless. "Where do *I* fall on your little critique list?"

You stepped closer, leaned in with a smirk of your own.

"You? You're the most dangerous one of all."

His eyebrows lifted. "Oh yeah?"

"Because you've got the spark. But you'd throw your life away in a second for someone who doesn't even like you yet."

Fives opened his mouth to reply, but you were already walking out past him.

"Be better tomorrow, cadet," you called.

He turned to watch you go, smirking despite himself.

"Oh, I will."

---

The lights were low in the training dome. It was well past curfew. The Kaminoan facility echoed with rain and distant alarms. Most cadets were asleep—except Domino Squad.

And you.

The moment you'd walked into the barracks and barked, *"Up. Now. You've got five minutes,"* they knew better than to ask questions.

Cutup groaned as he jogged alongside you toward the dome. "You realize some of us like sleeping, right?"

"You can sleep when you're competent," you shot back.

"Guess I'll be dead first," Droidbait muttered.

Fives, ever the golden retriever with a blaster, nudged Hevy. "Come on. This'll be good."

"You say that every time," Echo said, deadpan. "And every time, you eat dirt."

"Yeah," Fives grinned. "But at least I look good doing it."

You rolled your eyes but hid the smile tugging at your mouth as you keyed in the sim code. The floor shifted. A close-quarters layout, reduced visibility, enemy droids loaded for full-speed pursuit. No stuns. They had to think. Move fast. Adapt.

"Alright," you said. "You've improved. Slightly. So now we make it harder."

Droidbait groaned. "I liked it better when you just yelled at us."

"You're welcome."

You turned to Fives as he checked his blaster, already flashing you that boyish, too-easy smile. "So what's the challenge this time, boss? Try not to fall in love with you mid-firefight?"

You tilted your head. "That happen to you often, cadet?"

He winked. "Only with the deadly ones."

Your smirk was slow and wicked. "Careful, pretty boy. That flirting'll get you shot."

"Oh, I'm into danger."

"Good," you purred. "I'll make it hurt."

That got a low *ooooh* from the squad.

Fives faltered—just for a second. It was enough.

The droid in the corner of the sim fired. Fives barely turned in time before the stun bolt caught him square in the chest and sent him sprawling to the floor with a *thud.*

You crossed your arms, standing over him with a grin. "Lesson number one: distractions on the battlefield get you *killed.*"

Cutup leaned over him. "Damn, man. She really *floored* you."

"Shut up," Fives wheezed.

You turned back to the rest of them. "Get up. Formation. Now."

As they fell into line, Echo muttered under his breath, "This feels like bullying."

"You all volunteered to be here," you called over your shoulder. "This is mercy."

Fives finally staggered upright, cheeks flushed—maybe from the stun, maybe not.

He jogged to catch up, falling in step beside you.

"I'm still your favorite," he said under his breath.

"You're on a very long list, cadet."

He grinned. "But I'm climbing."

You just smirked and let him believe it.

---

The squad had been dismissed and were off licking their wounds (and egos). But you were still in the dome, reviewing footage, adjusting the next sim's layout.

You didn't look up when the door hissed open.

"You don't sleep either, huh?"

Fives.

He walked in slow, still in training gear, bruised, towel slung around his neck like some cocky prizefighter.

"Couldn't sleep," he said. "Thought I'd come get a private lesson."

You raised a brow. "Need help falling on your face again?"

"Thought I'd try doing it *on purpose* this time," he shot back, stepping up beside you.

You shook your head, amused despite yourself.

The silence stretched for a moment—comfortable. Weirdly so.

Then he asked, quieter, "Do you think we're gonna make it?"

You looked over at him, surprised.

He wasn't grinning anymore. Not really.

"I mean," he added, "Domino Squad. We screw everything up. Shak Ti thinks we're hopeless. Our last trainer quit after two weeks. You're the only one who hasn't given up on us yet."

You watched him for a beat.

"You want the honest answer?"

He nodded.

"You will. But not because of some miracle. Not because someone fixes you. You'll make it because you stop trying to be five separate heroes and start fighting like one team."

He looked at you like you'd said something *important.*

Then, because it was Fives: "Also probably because I look so good in armor."

You rolled your eyes. "And you were *so* close to having a character moment."

He chuckled, easy and low. "I like you."

You turned back to the screen, not smiling, but not not-smiling either.

"I know."

---

You stood with arms crossed in the control room above the Citadel, staring down at the training ground. The room was cold, sterile—just like the expressions on the two bounty hunter instructors beside you.

Bric scowled. "They're not ready."

El-Les sighed, gentler, but still resigned. "Too fractured. They'll fall apart under pressure."

You clenched your jaw. "They've improved."

"Not enough."

Down below, Domino Squad prepped for the exam. They looked... okay. Not perfect. Not polished. But their footing was better. Their eyes sharper. Even Hevy wasn't muttering complaints under his breath. You'd drilled them to exhaustion over the past week.

They had heart.

But heart only got you so far.

---

It started strong.

Tight formation, decent communication. Droid targets were taken down efficiently, if a bit loud. But then the turret fired.

Hevy went off plan.

Droidbait hesitated.

Cutup tripped.

Echo tried to rally them—but it was too late.

Fives shouted over the chaos. "Fall back, *together!*" but no one was listening anymore.

The blast sent them sprawling. Timer hit red.

"Simulation failed," the droid voice droned.

Silence.

You looked down at them through the glass, jaw clenched.

Below, the boys didn't even argue. They just stood there, stunned.

Disappointed.

Shak Ti's voice was calm, as always, from beside you. "They're not without merit."

Bric scoffed. "They're without skill."

You bristled. "They're not without *potential.*"

But it didn't matter. The test was failed. Domino Squad walked off the field with heavy steps and heavier hearts.

---

You found them later, back in their barracks, silent for once.

"I've seen worse squads," you said, leaning against the wall.

Echo didn't look up. "You've trained worse squads?"

"No," you admitted. "But I've seen them. You want pity, or you want another shot?"

Fives finally looked at you. "They're not gonna let us retake it."

You tossed a datapad onto the table. "Shak Ti overruled Bric. Said you were worth the gamble."

They all stared.

Hevy slowly blinked. "...You serious?"

You gave him a sharp nod. "Final shot. Pass, and you graduate. Fail, and I'm not gonna waste my time making your funerals look nice."

Fives grinned, eyes gleaming. "You do care."

You shoved a practice baton into his chest. "I care about not wasting good talent. Let's go, squad. Again."

---

You watched from the same control room, this time with arms folded, jaw tense, heart stubbornly in your throat.

Domino Squad hit the field. Silent. Steady.

They moved like a unit.

When Hevy took the high ground, Echo and Cutup covered the flank. Fives ran point, calling out shots, focused, fast, precise.

When the turrets came, no one panicked. When Droidbait hesitated, Fives yanked him out of the way without missing a beat.

They didn't fall apart.

They didn't fall at all.

The simulation ended with the squad fully intact, the objective secured, and the droid voice confirming: "Simulation complete. Pass."

Bric said nothing. El-Les smiled.

You? You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

---

You met them outside the dome, arms crossed again—but this time your eyes betrayed you.

Pride. Real pride.

They were grinning, sweaty, bruised, but *standing taller* than they ever had.

"Well?" you said. "You gonna thank me, or what?"

Cutup smirked. "Thank you for the emotional trauma?"

Hevy laughed. "Wouldn't be the same without it."

You looked at Fives. He looked back, eyes softer than you'd ever seen them.

And then, without thinking, you stepped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

A beat.

Then two.

The entire squad: *"OOOOHHHHHHH—"*

Fives flushed crimson, frozen in place. "Did—Did anyone else feel the room spin or—?"

You smirked, stepping back. "Don't let it go to your head, pretty boy. You're still just a cadet."

He blinked. "A cadet who *just graduated.*"

You held his gaze a moment longer, something unsaid between you.

Then you turned. "Until we meet again."

"Wait—" he called after you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

He smiled, still a little dazed. "You're gonna miss me."

You grinned. "I already do."

And then you were gone, leaving Domino Squad behind to bask in their victory.

And Fives?

Well, he touched his cheek for a suspiciously long time that day.

———

Part 2

A/N

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