Rex X Reader - Blog Posts

By The Ring

Rex Sloan x G/N Reader

18+ Minors begone! I have been rotting away for far too long and need to come back. So have my first angsty smut ever.

Summary: Rex always thought you and him were together, but to you, you guys were just a couple. Despite how awful of a partner you were, Rex always has the doubt in his mind that you do care, and you are his.

Warnings/Tags: Cheating from Rex's end, penetration but reader's genitals are kept vague. The reader is genuinely a p.o.s. reader is using Rex for sex, actively objectifies him, and doesn't care about anything else, and this isn't meant to romanticize objectification at all. I'm just practicing a new way of writing. Sex is dry af, dead bedroom, lots of angst, plastic love, literary devices cuz I'm a nerd💀, shattered relationship, hurt but no comfort yall, I'm sorry, it's 12:20 AM and I had a thought😭

You laid there bare while he slipped his way in. Your body is as hot as his charged molecules, but your moans are as loud as a dying kindle. His rough palm clutching your jaw to pepper kisses while you half-heartedly whimper. Moaning was a courtesy, not a requirement. Neither was cumming.

Moaning, begging, sucking, cumming.... it was never a requirement or a need... just formalities.

You knew from the start what kind of person Rex Sloan....or Splode.... was. A firecracker made in an assembly line designed to fizzle, flicker, explode, wow, and then tarnish to leave behind its tattered pieces. Its smell embedded into the ground and your clothes that stank of gunpowder. If there was one thing you loved about Rex.... it was his big personality. He was an ass, but he was always entertaining even in the more distasteful circumstances. He was the definition of fun and adventure.

Sometimes all you ever want is a little fun.

But too much of one's sweet indulgences will always leave a bitter taste in their mouths. Rex was a firework you loved to watch explode, fizzle, and flash vibrantly with all of his true colors. But what happens when the fireworks are too loud? What happens when the fireworks are too bold? What happens when the fireworks burst too close to your home? What happens when the fireworks are simply.... too much?

You dispose of them. Tuck them away into a closet until you get board and long to see their violent bursts again.

Rex was a skeleton in your closet. You didn't bring him up to family or friends--not because you were ashamed, moreso you didn't find it necessary. He was just a firework to watch until he fizzled away from your mind. His ambers always remained in your gyri for his body, for his face, and occassionally his personality.

But sometimes, you really wished he'd just stay in his place.

He thrusts faster into you, pounding, needy, desperate and depraved. What once felt so thrilling, so desirable, so irresistible, has become so.... so.... monotonous. It wasn't the sex that ruined things, it was him.

Assembly lines have changed the world forever. People gained jobs, capitalistic societies thrived, and consumers ate up every new appliance and car and cosmetic that released. But assembly lines were exploitative, coldly formatted to prioritize profit over people, and greedy.

Rex gained respect, Rex thrived in action-packed environments, Rex ate up every ounce of attention, and Rex.... was just a faulty firecracker designed to maximize your gratification until you decide to recall because he oversupplied, and you wanted more of him in ways that did not correspond to his ideas. Rex changed your world forever.

You couldn't care less about his job, his life, or his friends, not when he was inside of you. But now, that wasn't even enough because of course it wasn't. Rex could work in his place in line, tending to your conveyor belt for hours upon hours in a day, and you'll only ever pay him with half-hearted honeyed affirmations and the occassional peck on the cheek. Yet you'll still command more from him. You were as affectionate as Tyson Foods, or Apple, or Google, or Amazon, or whatever big wig corporation had a CEO with a warm smile and a cold way of life.

There was better than Rex. There always was and always will be.

If you desired, you could get a replacement by next evening.

Rex massaged your spot, whimpering and muttering: "Why.... why are you so quiet, baby? Is it not good enough?"

He sounded.... different from his usual cocky demeanor... scared. It was as though the entirety of his worth as a person, as a man, as Rex Splode, as Rex Sloan... rested between his thighs.

....

The fear that filled his body fueled his fiery passion further as he hoisted you up and pounded. This time, you moaned. An authentic, genuine moan that filled the room and gave Rex the validation he needed to gain that sense of machismo. The kind of masculinity that was as secure as the neglected mechanical cogs on a calculated conveyor belt. Rex was monotonous and loud, but by god did he have a use.

He slides out before slapping himself back in with a clap of flesh while he whispered....

"My baby.... my baby..." He huffs between steamy kisses and loud claps. His words synchronized with the sounds of his thrusts as he continued.... "You're my baby, say it to me...."

You bite your lip, not from pleasure--no, no, no, that candle put itself out long ago--but rather resistance, rebellion, apathy, reluctance, everything that Rex would define as "shitty." But you humored him, striking the match to light his fuse as you pant out, "I'm your baby, Rex. I'm your baby."

Rex was a firecracker you always set off when you wanted a show and you always made sure to set him off into a lake when he was too much. To bet on losing dogs is the very definition of insanity. But Rex places his stamp down and pays the price every time. He knows. He knows that what he's doing is wrong, seeing Kate behind your back, talking to Eve, touching other people, only to bury himself deep into you. He didn't deserve you. He knew that. But he loved you so, so much. You were perfect, affectionate enough to keep him coming, but distant enough that he could never worry about genuinely losing a bet. That was until he heard you laugh with him, not at him, or when you were so forgiving, and loving.... where did you go? You don't even look him in the eyes during sex.

But that night.... you did.

And it gave Rex the foreign feeling of butterfly houses populating with heat insulated.... he couldn't help but hiss at you through clenched teeth, "I wanna feel it.... you looking in my eyes when I come..."

To bet on losing dogs is the very definition of insanity. Deep beneath the depths of his hearth through the cracked stonework and sooted walls of his personhood, lied the burned letter he always sought to ignore.

You don't love him. He can tell by the way you always gaze at his body and dismiss his words, how you craved him for his looks and not his jokes, and how even after you drained him, you still commanded more. You never asked how he was doing, you just always focused on "making him feel better." Except he never did. But he loves you so.... for whatever reason, he does.

He loves you so much that he'll cry to himself over his infidelity even though you couldn't care less if he left you today. He hates himself for it but christ, he needs someone that's you but.... isn't like you. He stopped going after Rae, Kate, and Eve. He started seeking people who looked as close to you as possible. Some nights, he'd even pay a prostitute extra to let him call them by your name, or to dye their hair like yours, and so on. Or when he watches porn.... he always tries to find one where the bodies, the actors, and the sounds were as close to you as possible because he knows it will never truly happen. For once, sex was something that made Rex miserable.... how can he possibly enjoy you when he has to sleep knowing that if it weren't for his anatomy, you would leave?

If he can't make you stay with his jokes, or his meals, or his fireworks from charged coins, he only had one last thing.... his body.

He loves you so much that he actively bets on his losing dog. He sees you and he knows that you are bound to fail him everytime without trying because that's exactly your problem. You don't try.

You don't even care.

He could sit there in his car and scream how he loves you, but whether he screamed in the car alone, or screamed right there in your home you still left him alone. As long as he came back to bed bare, only then would you truly acknowledge him and hold him.

Finally, Rex reached his peak and lets go, only to make sure you reached yours, too. As you cum, it wasn't a powerful crash of waves, it was a poltergeist of pleasure that throbbed throughout your body. But Rex knew this was all he could do. He knows you're bored of him now.

........

In the middle of cuddling you, Rex finally snaps bitterly:

"Why don't you ever say my name when we fuck? You don't even look at me!"

But when he said that, he looked to see you scrolling away on your phone. Inattentive, careless, and inconsiderate as always. He bets on losing dogs.

Then he decided to tell you the truth....

"I've been seeing other people. Kate, Rae, Eve, and others." He confessed whilst firmly looking at you with those green eyes lit with determination; a faulty firework ready to blow up into the lake once more.

He sat there in silence, expecting you to get angry, cry, scream, or do something indicating that you do care about him.

When he is met with silence, he instigated further.

"You tasted her. Every time you went down on me, you tasted them, 'cause I ain't washing my sins, baby!" He exclaimed with bravado, he knew everything. He knew you were just putting on a front.... you do love him, you care for him, that you were worth losing every bet, that you were worth placing every bet down like a deranged gambler, that you weren't his losing dog, that you were his, that he'll break your heart, that he'll make you cry, and then it'll all be okay. He knew---no, he knows, everything. Even if you are dry and you can't keep up, he knows it'll hurt.

But it didn't hurt like he thought it would.

After he confessed his infidelty and clutched his plastic pride, all you did was roll over and tiredly mutter to him,

"Make sure you get tested tomorrow. I don't wanna have to take antibiotics 'cause of you."

And just like that.... you set him off and briefly witnessed his burst into the lake. He gets up, agitated and shouting at you, but you have long fell asleep. Realizing he was losing on your side, he went to the bathroom and wrapped his lips around the faucet before turning it on to the highest setting.

Through gargles, choked sobs, fizzled sorrows, and longing ambers being flooded by metallic water, he coughs up remains before pulling out the diamond ring in his pocket. It wasn't flashy, it was cheap, but it was a promise. The promise to be better, the promise to stay by your side, the promise.... to bet on another losing dog.

With a somber gaze that pawned off his emerald eyes, Rex places the ring onto the sink; ready to place down yet another stamp that's long dried after so many bets. The diamond was starting to yellow. He didn't hurt like he thought it would.... he told you the truth with the hopes of having your love at last, and all you did was reduce him to a urine sample. All Rex is left with a quiet place to scream how he loves you. He knows that the promise to stay by your side is a guarantee lose, but he's become nothing but a poor gambler.

So he fizzles into the bowl of the sink, and bursts into the lake... ready to work another shift in the assembly line that was your manufactured love. He'd bet on losing dogs anyday. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Because to bet on losing dogs, to fail by your side, to be stuck in your assembly line, was to know everything.

Hey! So this is fucking incredible!

bratty sub!rex x soft dom!mark? might be weird, sorry if u don't wanna do it😭

NOOOO it’s not weird. Thanks for the idea anon lmk what you think >.< Hope you enjoy!!

Mark is pushing him against the wall, hands at his chest as he breathes heavily in front of him. “What the hell was that, man?!” He’s seething, anger seeping from his words.

“Whatever,” Rex is responding, dismissive. But he’s also holding his breath, watching the way Mark is licking his lips, feeling the way he’s holding him against the wall.

Mark is clenching his jaw, eyes squinting at the man in front of him. How can he be so calm? “You almost put us in jeopardy,” one of Mark’s fingers poke Rex in the chest, “if I hadn’t been there, someone would’ve gotten hurt!”

“Well, it’s a good thing you were there,” Rex is muttering, suddenly feeling some heat in his chest rise. He doesn’t know if he’s angry at Mark badgering him, or if he’s just trying hard not to think about how close his lips were.

How easy it would be to capture them in a kiss.

Would he kiss him back? Rex is musing to himself, when he feels Mark’s hand move down to his hip, still keeping him flush against the wall. Rex is looking up at Mark, a bit confused when he sees the dark look in his eyes, until he realises that:

a) he’d just been staring at his lips

b) he had a hard on this entire time

Mark is scoffing, but the his pupils are blown out. “What, don’t tell me you fucking get off on this?” His words are meant to be scathing, but there’s a rasp in his voice that wasn’t there before.

Rex feels his cock throb.

Mark is watching him, experimentally moving his hand from his hip down to abdomen, just below his bellybutton, feeling his abs tense underneath his touch.

Rex is panting, suddenly not so annoyed at Mark’s lecture, and he can feel Mark’s fingers splayed out on his stomach, so close to where he needs him, that he doesn’t even think before whimpering a, “Please.”

And then Mark is kissing him.

It’s different to kissing a girl. Mark’s lips are soft, but his grip stronger, and it’s not slow, or sensual. It’s fast, it’s hard, it’s rough. They’re ripping each other’s suits off, wasting no time before exploring each other, hands grabbing and gripping and squeezing.

“Fuck, Mark. You kiss good.” Rex is teasing him, still panting from the best make-out he’s had in a while.

“I fuck better.” Is all he gets as a response, gasping when Mark is pushing him down into the bed. Mark finds his place behind him, having Rex sit in between his thighs, pinching his nipples as he bites and sucks at his neck.

His fingers move down to grasp at Rex’s dick, chuckling lowly into his ear when he feels it jump against his touch. Rex is whimpering, too sensitive, and Mark’s grip is almost too much.

The raven haired man behind him is spitting on his hand, grabbing his cock again as he pumps him, thumbing at his tip before moving his hand up and down his cock again. “F-fuck, Mark, wait-”

“Nuh-uh,” Mark is tutting, “you wanted to be a brat right?” he’s tugging at Rex’s dick harshly, like he almost wanted him to feel a bit of pain with the pleasure, and Rex is feeling all of it.

“So fucking take it.” That’s all the redhead needs to hear as he’s arching his back against Mark’s chest, ropes of come spilling readily from him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Is the mantra leaving Rex’s mouth, his hips bucking into Marks touch. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s perfect.

“Look at what a mess you made.” Mark is tutting, smearing Rex’s cum all over his abdomen, fingers coming up to suck it off, and Rex can feel Mark’s hardened length against his back.

Rex is turning around, leaning in between Mark’s thick thighs, and although Mark looks painfully hard, and his cock is moving just from Rex’s heated look, he’s muttering a, “Oh, you don’t have to-” before Rex interrupts him.

“Please. Fuck, Mark, just let me suck you off?”

He’s asking so nicely, and he sounds so strained, like he needs it, so Mark is groaning, nodding as he watches Rex part his mouth and envelope his cock into his warmth.

“Fuck, just like that.” Rex had never sucked a dick before. It was more difficult than he anticipated, and Mark was big, making it even more challenging.

He took what he could in his mouth, using his hand to attend to the rest. He’s looking up at Mark, and god, the sight was beautiful. Brown eyes staring down at him, eyebrows scrunched as he groaned lowly.

Rex would get on his knees every day if it meant Mark would look at him like that. He felt himself getting hard again, simply from the dizzying look from the man above him.

It was depraved.

“Come for me,” He’s whispering against his length, vibrations going straight down Marks core. And then he is.

And when Mark sees Rex open his mouth and loll out his tongue, come all swallowed, he’s drawing out his voice, uttering a, “Good boy.”

Hi! Was just wondering if you could do mark x rex x gn!reader hcs where reader basically are/has the personality of blue diamond (from steven universe) story/scenario can be completely up to you! :3

Note: This took me so long because I have never watched Steven Universe so I was researching it... then i got hit with being sick because of my medication.. it was a lot. Sorry for any errors I got in this, I tried my best with what I could comprehend lol.

Ship: Rex x Gn!Reader x Mark

Fandom: Invincible

Warnings: None

This is a small drabble I was able to do after rewriting this a few times.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 ✦. ✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

As the battle against a villain they had never seen before drags out, Rex is wondering where the hell Invincible is. Or, where the hell the rest of the heroes are. It’s hard when it’s only Rex on the scene, trying to keep this villain from injuring more civilians. All he can do is throw small explosions to move the villain back while trying to use the big ones to at least stun him or injure him. It feels like hours before Atom Eve and Invincible show up and have a hand in safely capturing this new villain. 

Invincible, Mark Grayson, turns to Rex with a sheepish smile and hovers down to land in front of Rex.

“Sorry about that, Eve and I-”

“Were what??” Rex snaps without even thinking about it.

Mark is taken aback before getting defensive himself, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. You and Eve aren’t even dating anymore!”

Rex can’t let the real reason slip through, he can’t let Mark know that lately he catches himself staring at Mark a little too longer than usual. How he has been slacking as a hero, because he’s distracted thinking about Mark, and secretly hoping that Invincible will come while simultaneously giving him shit saying he had it- in a joking manner of course. He can’t let him know he doesn’t want Mark dating Eve because he wants Mark. He bites his tongue and walks away, muttering about how all of this is bullshit. Mark just sighs and rants to Eve about it, he thought him and Rex were cool but as the last two weeks have been going on- it appears differently.

Rex is helping check on the civilians among the one building that was destroyed. Good news is the building was small, and caused minimal damage- and it was a work building meaning no one lost a home. Someone immediately catches his attention. They appear sad, maybe they’re hurt or worried. Something, something he should definitely check on to make sure they’re okay.

“Hey, are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?” He asks politely, while scanning over their body for obvious injuries.

“Ah no, I’m fine.” Their voice is tranquil to listen to, calming but also in a state of grieving. He wants to ask more questions, but none are coming to mind as they lift their head ever so slightly so their eyes are available to look at. 

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

That was when you met Rex. He was checking in on you every so often, to the point it would be considered weird. But he quickly clarifies that your demeanor seems blue, and he just wants to make sure you’re at least mentally okay. The thought warmed your heart and you were able to make small talk with him. You could tell that it was more than just your sorrowful yet tranquil demeanor that intrigued him however. You definitely knew when he slipped a piece of paper with several digits on it, along with his name. It was just confirmation.

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

It took you a few days before you texted him, because of several reasons. One, you were looking for a new job. Two, you were distracted and somewhat laying in bed all day. Three, he made you a little nervous. Perhaps it was a crush forming, or perhaps the man was just intimidating. However- you finally got the courage and sent the message.

You: Hi, it’s me from the other day.

Rex: Took you long enough

Rex: Jkjk

Rex: How are you doing?

After making small talk with him, he tries to call you. You jump at the notification flashing on your screen and you take several deep breaths before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hi, do you wanna go to dinner with me?”

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

At first, dinner with Rex was peaceful and good. He knew the perfect amount of talking to do, knew when you wanted to be quiet for a minute to enjoy the meal without someone talking with food in their mouth. He seemed like a genuine guy, so far- a second date was looking promising for the both of you.

That was, until halfway through the main course meal a man harshly sat down next to him. He crossed his arms like he was mad at Rex (and you couldn’t help but look at how his arms flexed in his short sleeved T-shirt.). Rex looks shocked for a moment before he grimaces. 

(In Mark’s defense, he didn’t know this was a date he was crashing)

“Are you going to tell me what’s your problem? I thought we were going good but you got mad at me? Is it jealousy, Rex?” Mark says in a demanding but angered tone. Rex matches the energy, because ain’t no way Mark just crashed on his date talking about being jealous. 

“This can wait-”

“No, because you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls. Why are you so mad? I’m not-”

“Mark, I’m in the middle of something.” He gestures to the table, food, and to you. You sit there awkwardly, and have a completely different impression of what is going on. 

“Rex, are you in an open relationship or something? Is this your boyfriend?” 

The two whip their heads around to you, stunned by the blunt question. They both talk over each other, trying to clear things up, trying to smooth things out, and trying to explain themselves. You have to calmly interrupt them, by holding up a hand.

“I don’t mind, but I would’ve preferred a heads up. Unless you were planning to tell me later during dinner, then I wouldn’t have minded.”

Rex cuts off that thought, “Mark isn’t my boyfriend.”

Mark is sitting there, connecting dots before he gasps, “Wait, were you jealous of Eve?? Do you like me?”

“WHAT”

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

This is when you enter the stage of trying to navigate Polyamory with them. It took a long talk about it, with you explaining the concept to them before they decided to try it. Mark is interested in you, but not in the same way Rex is. Rex sees you as someone who is a calming force in his life, someone who balances out everything and is very empathetic. Mark sees you as someone who can understand him a little better than most on an emotional level. Even if you don’t go through what he did, the way you take on his emotions makes him feel like you deeply understand. Who knew that you would be the bridge that helped Mark and Rex make up and see their feelings for each other- and for you?

May I please request Rex splode dating dating reader who dresses emo? 😽

Of course, of course. I wrote it for a gender neutral reader and I did make it generally emo/scene/goth/punk/alternative because it is hard for me to tell the difference completely

Reader: Gender Neutral!Reader, Gn!Reader

Fandom: Invincible

Headcanons:

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　 ✦˚　✭　 　　*　

He thinks it’s very eccentric. Your sense of style definitely makes you stand out among your peers but it’s not enough for that alone to catch his attention. What will catch his attention is when you were cutting things out that you liked from a home design magazine. He at first was annoyed, saying that magazines are expensive and shouldn’t be wasted but then he looked closer to see what you were cutting out. He calms down when you explain it’s for an art project.

The art project reflects your fashion taste and that causes him to fully appreciate your clothing in depth. After that, it took only a month of hanging out before he asked you out. 

He will listen to your genre of music without complaint. It’s not his specific type of music he’s into, but he likes it enough to listen to it with you. Plus, he likes seeing you jam out to the music. 

He would like to watch you go shopping- online or in person. He finds fashion similar in a sense to home design, liking the artistic aspect of it. 

He has to hit you with the fit checks- every time either of you will go out you have to pretty much model in front of him and he will rate your outfit.

Likes over the top outfits, with accessories and makeup (no matter your pronouns/gender identity). If you don’t like makeup, he will understand, but he will continue to encourage it. If you’re more masculine presenting, he will point out artists who wear full face makeup and still look masculine. 

It is easy to get him to dress in your clothes, he dressed in Atom Eve’s costume, so it’s very easy to get him into your clothes. No matter if the clothes are too big, too small, or just right- he will be wearing them for you. But not out in public because it may be uncomfortable material to him. 

While he is very supportive of your style, it does take some getting used to. He dated Atom Eve before and when he dated her he got her everything pink because of her hero costume. So he has to rewire his brain for it to fit the aesthetics of your room, fashion, and personality.

At first he doesn’t know what to buy so he will just buy CDs of your favorite artists/bands and hope you will have a CD player or at least like the value of the CD. You love it and he lets out a breath of relief.

If you wear platform boots, he’s trying them on every now and then and walking very awkwardly back and forth in your room. 

“See? I got this. And I look hot while doing it. Babe, you got some competition~”

Almost twisted his ankles a few times in them.

Helps decorate your room. Even if he isn’t into emo/goth/punk/alternative fashion, he loves house designs and will make your room aesthetically pleasing. 

𖦹°‧★🌹⭒💌⭒🍓★‧°𖦹

He smiles at you, confident but also a hint of warmth, as you help him with his art project. After he saw you cut out pieces you liked in the modern house design magazines, he thought about doing it himself. He just didn't know where to start, so he asked you for help.

"Remember, don't douse the paper with glue," You gently reminded him as you cut out some of the objects and furniture from the magazine with the precision he didn't have.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it hun, don't even worry about it," He he gently puts a thin outline of glue around the rim of the cut out of the couch and gently pats it onto the paper below. He had printed out a picture of an empty bedroom he thought looked cool and is gluing furniture, decorations and neccesities onto the paper like he's designing a house.

As you cut out more of the pieces he picked out, some of them remind you of what you like. It doesn't entirely fit with the theme of the bedroom, which is odd because Rex is always on theme. You don't question his creative liberty with this art project he decided on making out of the blue on a random Tuesday. Once you're finished, you pull your knees to your chest and watch him do the rest.

"I never thought you would be into art."

"I'm not- not really. But this is special."

"How so?"

"It's a dream bedroom, for when we get a house"

He lifts up the slightly wet piece of paper, showing off what he made like a kid showing their parents their finished project they made at school. It's a big bedroom that is filled with both stuff you like, and stuff he likes. He nailed all of your favorite designs, aesthetics, band posters- he put a lot of thought into this. Hell, he went through 12 magazines just to make this project. It warms your heart.

"Aw, Rex. It's beautiful. I can't wait to have this house with you"

"Me either, but don't worry. One day I will make it a reality."

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

can I request hcs for mark x reader x rex poly relationship?

Yes you may! I love them both so I was excited to write it! I wasn’t quite sure if you wanted it in a way where they both date reader and not each other, or they all date each other so I wrote it in a way where they’re all dating each other! Hope you don’t mind ^^

Mark x Reader X Rex (Poly)

Spoilers for Season 3!

Slightly suggestive topics

All three of you have never been in a polyamorous relationship before so it was a new learning experience for everyone. You were probably the first to get used to it compared to the other two- especially since they were in monogamous relationships beforehand.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sleeping Arrangements:

None of you live together (not yet) so whenever you guys have time, it’s just sleeping at each other’s place. Sleeping with the two of them is a nightmare. Mark has night terror and it leads to him screaming in his sleep and kicking or throwing his arms around. Rex has restless leg syndrome and he’s constantly kicking or moving his legs in his sleep. He doesn’t stay still, often pushing whoever is near him either off the bed, or closer to the other. He also snores as loud as fuck, if you have misophonia… it’s torture to listen to him. you’ll wake up looking like you’ve been through hell the two wake up looking like princesses that had a peaceful sleep.

Mark: “man, my body feels surprisingly rested. I think I only had one nightmare last night”

Rex: “Same! My legs aren’t as tense this morning!”

You: “…”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Protectiveness:

Mark is stronger than you and Rex, but he doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile antiques to be protected…. Most of the time. He does have his moments where if he will have a nightmare, or his teammates may get hurt and he will start acting a little overprotective for that moment. If you’re a hero, you’ll get the same amount of protection as Rex. If you’re a civilian, Mark is going to be more protective over you. This will last for either a few days or a few weeks, depending on the situation. Other than that, neither him or Rex will treat you like you need to be protected like a child.

Rex is not very particularly protective- in the sense of overdoing it. It’s just enough. Whenever Mark gets overprotective though he is quick to call it out and try to shut that shit down. He does not like being coddled.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Family:

Debbie loves you and Rex, welcoming both of you with open arms. She wants you both to feel like family. Oliver could care less honestly, he likes Rex a little more than you because he will play fight with the Rex…. And win.

If you have a good relationship with your family, both Mark and Rex will try their absolute best to make sure your family likes them. Mark is a natural at it, however Rex will overdo it to the point it sounds like he’s full of himself. Oops

If you don’t have a good relationship with your family, that is absolutely okay. They will reassure you that they’re your family now.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Movie Nights:

Because of how often it is that date nights get interrupted, it usually ends up being just casual movie nights. It usually starts with Mark and Rex arguing. Not intense or anything, just back and forth. Rex always wants to pick the movie, but Mark will often fight him on it even if he doesn’t care how much on what movie they will pick. If you have a movie in mind, Mark will intensely fight to watch that movie because he doesn’t want Rex to have his way lol. Rex will grumble and give in.

If Mark has a movie he really wants you two watch with him, he WILL be that person to pause the movie and wait for you guys to stop talking because he is slightly agitated.

Mark: “no, I’ll pause and wait for you guys to stop talking.”

Rex: “Oh my god, Mark”

Mark: “There's an important scene coming up and I swear to go Rex if you ask “what just happened?” Or state “I’m confused” I am going to tape your eyelids open”

You: “Love, we’re sorry, we’ll stop now. Now please start the movie again…”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Love Language:

For Mark, it’s physical affection. He needs one of you to have skin touching him after a long day at work. Safe to say he’s also a fan of PDA. He may rub your arm or press light kisses to your neck, or maybe just rub his face to your neck. With Rex, he will throw himself on his back, sometimes catching the other male off guard.

Rex’s love language is words of affirmation. He gets giddy if he gets a little praise for anything he does, it makes him feel completely like a good boyfriend. In a way, it’s often Acts of Service paired with Words of Affirmation. He does something for either of you and then he wants praise. Does Mark need a shoulder massage? He’ll do it. Do you need help with a task? He’s on it. He likes to act like he is annoyed first before doing anything.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Relationship Insecurities:

Rex is doing a lot better than when he was with Eve when it comes to jealousy- but sometimes it’s still there. He has FOMO, he wants to know everything that is going on when he’s not around. He’s not jealous of you and Mark being alone, it’s more of the fact that he wants to know everything that is going on in both of your lives. It gets on Mark’s nerves sometimes.

Rex: “Oh? Oliver is sick? You didn’t tell me that”

Mark: “Because he just got sick this morning…”

Mark is afraid of being a disappointment. He’s afraid he’s going to be not good enough and maybe he’ll ruin the relationship. It’s not obvious, he doesn’t make it all that known but sometimes a late night talk will get this information out of him.

You: “You can always express this Mark. We’re both here to listen”

Mark: “Thanks, I love you both.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Kisses:

Mark likes to receive kisses on his jawline. It’s a little ticklish there and he may give a slight shiver and gasp if he gets a kiss there. As for giving kisses, he’s a gentleman and likes to kiss your knuckles. Rex doesn’t like being kissed on the knuckles so Mark will kiss his cheek.

Rex loves to give out earlobe kisses. Mark is ticklish and will squirm away and he will absolutely tease him about it. If you’re ticklish as well, best believe he is not going to exclude you from the teasing as well (or as Mark likes to call it: “harassment”) As for receiving kisses, he likes kisses on his nose. It’s so gentle and affectionate to him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Habits:

If Mark isn’t going out as Invincible right away he will get up early for a morning jog. He mostly goes by himself but he will invite you and Rex to tag along sometimes. Problem is, he does not look back during the jog and he is leaving you and Rex in the dust I fear 😭 He will be back at his house like, “I didn’t even know when I lost you guys”

Rex has a habit of losing stuff at your guys place. He’ll leave socks, money, notebooks, and once even his ID. He does it a lot yet he immediately will panic and not even think to ask you or Mark if it’s at your place. “Guys I am so fucked I lost my ID. What if I dropped it while-“ You will cut him off and explain you have it on your nightstand and Mark will laugh at him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sick:

If Mark is sick, which is rarely as he has a great immune system, he is wiped out. He is curled up in bed, sleeping most of the day. Though he will try to get you and Rex to cuddle with him. Rex is a lot more hesitant to do so if Mark has the stomach flu but if not he will. Hopefully you know how to take care of him, because Rex, why he is trying, sucks at figuring out how to take care of someone who is sick. He will forget to give Mark medicine, or to check his temperature again.

Rex is kind of a brat when he is sick. He won’t tell either of you what he wants but will get mad if you can’t read his mind. Then he’ll groan about being bored, then whine a little that he’s miserable. He does want both of you around though. He will talk until he’s exhausted and then want the both of you to talk to each other to fill the quiet. Plus he likes listening to your voices.

Lord help you if you are sick. These two will somehow become dumb and dumber when trying to take care of you- it’s like them trying to be helpful is cancelling the other out. Do you want to be left alone while sick? They will not let you, they will invade your personal space. Mark is constantly checking on you and Rex won’t stop talking to the point you won’t even be able to sleep. If you get sick, it’s best to not tell them and wait until it passes over.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Angst: (spoilers for season 3)

If we are going off canon, the Invincible War was hell. At first, Mark thought it was bad enough that there were variants of him killing and destroying everything- but hearing how Rex sacrificed himself to kill a variant of him broke something inside him. No matter how much you try to comfort him it’s not enough. He will greatly distance himself- to the point it will make you wonder if the two of you are even dating, but he will come back. You’re all he has left now.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Fluff:

Mark and Rex love doing domestic life stuff with you. Doing dishes together may feel like an obnoxious chore, but they will make it fun. Rex will turn on music and dance while Mark hums along. If any of you are in a bad mood he will start playing Kesha or Katy Perry in hopes of cheering you guys up. Mark is mostly a vibe, he goes along with anything and will laugh the whole time.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Smut:

Keeping it not extremely explicit but here’s some fun facts about them in bed.

Mark is VERY vocal. To the point where you might have to put a hand over his mouth. Just loud moans and jumbled up words that immediately come to mind. First time all three of you were together he bit his lip to be “modest” and then on the second round- loudest whines ever came pouring out of him like crazy and it shellshocked both you and Rex at first. Whether Mark is on top or bottom (or both) he WILL be loud about it.

Rex loves thighs. Both you and Mark have lovely thighs and he will leave hickeys on them. He will just put his head between your thighs and stare up at you while licking over his hickey he left. With Mark sometimes he will be a little rougher- wondering if hickeys will even be left on Mark’s skin. (Answer to that is not really. They’re barely visible and fade within an hour or two) So that leads to him sometimes harshly biting on Mark. Mark will let him half the time.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Pet Names/Nicknames:

Rex will call Mark pretty boy or golden boy- depending on his mood. Pretty boy is more flirtatious and golden boy is more in a teasing manner. He tried to use the nickname puppy for Mark but it sounded like a sexual term and Mark quickly shut that down.

Rex will call you babe. Short and simple, and sometimes Mark responds to it too but it’s mostly reserved for you.

Mark uses Hun for you. It’s soft and gentle, just like him, and it carries so much affection.

He will call Rex baby, it started as baby boy but it made Rex too flustered so he shortened it. However he will call both of you “My Love”

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⠀

End Note: Hopefully you enjoyed! I liked writing for these two 🫶🏽

Spirit

Title: Spirit

Chapter: Episode 2

Previous Chapters: part 1

Fandom: Invincible

Type of Fanfic: Reader, self-insert

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　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　

Rating: Mature

Chapter Warnings: mild swearing

Chapter Summary: Being from a barren wasteland of a universe to this new one is both exciting and overwhelming and it has been proven to be a difficult obstacle to tackle.

Pairings: Mark x reader, variant!mark x reader, Rex x reader, (one-sided) Eve x reader, multi-paul x reader, Rae x reader, bulletproof x reader, to be determined…

Written By: MangoSpit

⌜Alt Universe inspired by: Fallout⌟

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your first day in your new world, your new normal, was the best day of your life since the day you were able to learn how to lockpick! Okay, to be honest, it may have been even better than the day you learned how to lockpick, but that day you were able to steal so much useful shit.

You have a place to yourself, a place that appeared to have belonged to Angstrom before, you assume so since he gave you the keys. You were able to shower without having to worry about getting poisoned or rationing clean water! You ACTUALLY smelt good! You didn’t think a good smell was ever possible but here you were. You were able to take your time to scrub the grime from your body, to massage your scalp and untangle your hair, and to wear different clothes. Yeah, you have to admit to yourself. This is the best day ever.

You had to wear the clothes that were abandoned in the closet, none of them felt right or comfortable but it was still fresh and new. You were so used to wearing the same clothes every day, and on a rare occasion getting new clothes to wear every day. But now? Now you get to wear a different outfit every day.

Going outside was a bit overwhelming at first, but still worth it. As the sun shone down on your face- it was much brighter than it was in your world. Well, I guess it would now be called your previous world, this was your new home. Looking around, you could hear strange high pitched noises. Turns out, they’re birds. Like crows and vultures but smaller and make a more pleasant sound.

Whenever someone approached you however, it was another story. They seemed friendly, but how likely was it that most of them were actually friendly? They probably were trying to kill you for your backpack. You would freeze and stare at them, blank and soulless until they left you alone. Even if you had a bad feeling about them, it was almost thrilling? Being able to see so many people, in new places and with new appearances. It almost made you giddy enough to let a small rumble of laughter come through your mouth. Not quite there yet.

It was getting late, the first day almost officially over when you finally figured out how to work the TV. You were killing this shit, maybe you could adjust to this new society after all…

“Invincible saved 20 civilians from a collapsing building-“

You perk up at the name.

That was the name of that guy!

You listen in closer as they explain his heroic actions in a positive light, showing what looked like him on the television. Was this what a recording was like? Were you being recorded? Could they hear you??

“I agree with you, Scott. His heroic acts were well thought out, and calculated in such expertise- you would think he has been doing this for over a decade”

The woman on the television laughs, not in a humorous way but as a way to fill the silence. It makes you sneer. Do these people not know of the crimes he’s committed? Of how awful of a person he is? The people he has slaughtered? Looking at his stupid fucking get up made your blood boil. What a manipulative piece of shit. He doesn’t even look trustworthy, he zips around in the sky like an oversized fly. Oh! No, more like an oversized wasp. Ready to sting.

You trust that Angstrom knows what he’s doing, that he will help bring Justice to everyone this Invincible guy has hurt. You commit his face to memory, trying to detail his jawline, lines, nose and hair to memory. This place was filled with people so you would have to burn the image of him to your brain to be able to try and pick him out from a crowd when he’s dressed like everyone else. Like a civilian.

You pull out your small notebook and write it down, as well as trying to sketch it out a bit, then write down what you heard on TV to report back to Angstrom. Your writing is sloppy at best and you completely butchered his portrait but who gives a fuck? He killed many innocents.

“Maybe I should kill you myself, Mr.Invincible…” you hum as you close your notebook. Tomorrow, tomorrow is a new day- and perhaps you will go out and look for him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Are you askin‘ for a job, kid?” The man’s gravelly voice asks you. You furrow your eyebrows at being called a kid. Could a kid lockpick a door within 5 seconds and precisely hit a target from 50 feet away?

“Yes. A job.”

“What are your qualifications?”

“Uhh…. I am good at tracking people”

….

“This is a Wendy’s”

You were having the shittiest of luck finding a job. No one was looking for a tracker? A looter? A temporary guard? How do people keep a stable life without these jobs??

“Hey, you’re standing-“

You quickly glare at the man talking to you, your eyes burning holes into his face. He seems only slightly taken aback.

“No seriously, get out of the road. You’re going to get hit!”

The fuck is he talking bout?

Suddenly the big machines that were unmoving (which you had heard or read somewhere once that they were called vehicles) started moving and making a loud noise at you. You were about to yell at the people inside the machines- vehicles- when the man pulled you out of the road.

“The hell is wrong with you?” He says in a more confused and light tone.

“I don’t need help” your voice comes out rougher than your appearance as you don’t talk much when you hardly have people to talk to. Angstrom was probably the longest you’ve ever talked to someone, other than yourself.

“Uh, excuse me? Do you need, like, mental help?”

You glare at him, your eyes wide and unmoving.

“That won’t work on me twice. Cmon, let’s get you to the hospital. Maybe you suffered a brain injury or possibly are high” he motions for you to follow but you smack his hand away.

“Okay, now let’s not-“

You push him up against the street pole, and he groans and looks like he wants to retaliate but he collects himself first.

“Don’t make me have to call backup and have the cops hall you off to be drug tested instead”

“Are you threatening me??” Is he seriously threatening to call a gang on you?? How dangerous is this gang anyways?? Cops is a dumb name for a gang anyways, maybe they’re small and insignificant.

“No, I’m not threatening you, I'm trying to get you help.”

“Help is not free.” You hiss.

“Look, I can’t control the healthcare system, don’t take it out on me!”

“Rex, what’s going on?”

A woman approaches, causing you to go rigid. Shit, when did you have time to motion for his gang?

“I was just helping- HEY!”

You run. You run down the street, diving through bodies, colliding with them if they don’t move out the way fast enough. It was enough to earn angry shouting at you but you just had to get out of there. No way you were going to die on your second day in this new world. You try to run in the direction of your home but… you can’t remember where it was. Shit.

Just your luck.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

End notes: I like to think I’m hilarious sometimes

@weponxwrites @friedcreationgalaxy @rayaaa4444

Spirit

Title: Spirit

Chapter: Episode 1

Next chapters: part 2

Fandom: Invincible

Type of Fanfic: Reader, self-insert

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　 ˚　.˚　

Rating: Mature

Chapter Warnings: death, descriptions of violence and death

Chapter Summary: You come from a universe that’s left as a wasteland, the human population constantly dwindling, as morals have gone and died, thrown aside to just survive. While you’re out to pickpocket the deceased, you find Angstrom Levy looking for Invincible- much to your confusion- as Invincible doesn’t exist here. Seeing the state of your universe, he offers you a more peaceful world- only if you do something for him in return. (set shortly before the invincible war)

Pairings: Mark x reader, variant!mark x reader, Rex x reader, (one-sided) Eve x reader, multi-paul x reader, Rae x reader, bulletproof x reader, to be determined…

Written By: MangoSpit

⌜Alt Universe inspired by: Fallout⌟

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Invincible doesn’t exist in your universe. And if viltrumites do exist, they have seemed to have left Earth alone. Maybe they would assume nothing was alive on it anymore. They didn’t even need to conquer Earth when humans had destroyed it themselves…

You walk down the broken pavement, what used to be a road years and years ago. That was before you were even born though. This is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you’ve heard stories about what clear skies looked like, what fruit tastes like, what clear lakes and oceans looked like, but you’ll never see it for yourself. Is it possible to miss something that you have never had? If so, that’s something you would feel more than you would like to admit.

Keeping down your path, you stop as you spot something at the corner of your eye. You lower your head in a fast jerking motion to see if it was a threat. No. Just a dead body. Kneeling down, you can see that the deceased woman isn’t decomposing yet. Meaning, the people who did this could be near. You look over her features, wondering what she was like.

She had a kind face, her clothing made it seem like she was guarded- but not in the way many are. She was probably one of those empaths, one that would try and teach children what morality is- even when there is slim to none left. She was probably in her 30s, and she was shot a few times in the chest. Usually you would search dead bodies for anything of use- bandages, medicine, food, clean water, weapons- but she didn’t have a bag on her. You didn’t specifically feel like checking her clothes as she didn’t have many pockets or padding on her. You hope her original soul is resting easy as you begin the sharp inhale, causing a small vacuum for her duplicated soul. Her soul was a soft peach color and it came out as a small wisp, grouping up into a ball. You quickly grab it in your hand before her duplicated soul would zip away or try to possess you. It lets out a small squeak, sounding like a mouse. The beauty of your powers.

𓉘 “047241, do you know why your veins look like that? Why your hands emit a soft yellow glow?” 

You shake your head in response, curious as to what this could mean.

“You, 047241, were chosen to become one of the divine. A weapon. Your veins are filled with divinity, you have been chosen for greatness.”𓉝 

So much for greatness. Being blessed to become divine just means they fill your veins with radiation and liquid medication as a baby so you can become a weapon for the high court. Turning you into a humanoid mutant. However, you missed the mark. Out of 34 subjects, you placed 11th place, and they picked the top 10. You were left to fend for yourself after that. 

Your divine power is complicated. You are quite literally a vacuum for souls and energy. You can vacuum up to 5 hours worth of energy out of a living creature, and can vacuum a duplicated soul out of a deceased human. Their souls usually have some sort of helpful ability to you: like living soul protection, picking up objects, dazing others, sensing others, healing, etc,. However, as soon as they are brought out of their body, they panic and try to run away or they get angry and try to possess you. And their possessions can go from 30 minutes to 12 hours if you’re not careful. They can’t talk, they're like a small animal that needs to be trained. You look at the peach colored soul as it tries to wiggle free from your grip.

“Sorry, no hard feelings.” You pull out a bottle from your bag and squeeze the soul into it as it bangs on the bottle from side to side to try and get out. You would deal with them later. Right now, you should get out of here, in case whoever killed this woman is still nearby. After adjusting your heavy backpack onto your back again, you see a figure. This figure has their back turned to you, clearly not worried about any possibility of danger behind them. You carefully scan them over, as you grab for your weapon. 

From behind, it looks like it could be a mutant, its skin is puffed up and wrinkly from the back, but when they turn around, they look normal from the front. It’s a man wearing something that doesn’t look protective or plausible for the wastelands. He seems like an anomaly almost, he feels too out of place. He looks around slightly before spotting you. You wait to see what he does, but he gives a polite smile- though you feel as though it might not be fully genuine. You tsk to yourself, looking him over before raising your voice so he can hear you.

“Are you armed?

He casually holds up his hands to show that he has nothing in them, that he’s unarmed. You can’t tell if he has something hiding in his clothes but you keep your weapon close as you approach.

“You part of a group?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m just looking for someone.”

You hum, “Oh? Bounty hunter?”

“Not exactly.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his vague answers. The way he talks makes it obvious that he is not from the deep wastelands. Maybe he’s part of the high court or some other group of people that are protected but then again, he’s out here alone. Plus, he has a scar and looks like he may be mutated. He would be kicked out in a second if he was part of a higher group. So maybe he’s been ex-communicated?

“Who you lookin’ for?”

“I’m looking for Invincible.”

You pause, giving him an odd look.

“Who?”

“So you don’t know of him?”

“Nah. Doesn’t ring a bell. Is he supposed to be a big name, cause I know a lot of big names but that ain’t one of em.”

He chuckles to himself, “I would say you are lucky to not know him, but it seems your world is already facing its own challenges.”

Own World?

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I am Angstrom Levy, I can travel dimensions.”

Before you can even ask questions, he opens up a portal with ease, emanating a bright green hue. You stare in awe, never thinking you would see something like this before. You quickly tear your eyes away and look back at Angstrom.

“And you came to this- uh, here- for this Invincible person? Why? Did he get lost in a dimension?” You doubt that theory a little as he does not seem panicked. Instead, his lip ever so slightly twitches downwards.

“Invincible is a murderer, he killed my son- he ruined the lives of millions across many of dimensions.”

You stare dumbfounded. Well, that would explain why he was looking for him. You have always heard that if you have a bond with blood relatives, you will feel a new intense feeling of adoration for them, wanting them to never be hurt. Having someone take away his son would probably trigger intense rage. You try to grasp at the concept of that intense of an emotion, but you can’t feel it.

“That must be why you’re here. You want to get revenge?”

He stares for a moment, before humming in agreement. He takes in your appearance. You do look odd, but not out of place for the wastelands. You wear a large color with a short chain on it, under it your number written: 047241. Your eyes are heavy, with prominent bags under them as you never feel relaxed and barely sleep. A big backpack stuffed to the brim with supplies you need, causing it to weigh over 100 pounds. Your shirt is a dirty forest green, paired with baggy camo pants. Underneath both your shirt and pants, you have padding underneath to act as a vest to prevent easy targets. Then, the oddest part, you have long, leather gloves on- reaching up to your elbow. He stares at your gloves, and you know what he is wondering. He’s wondering what you are hiding, because it’s even odd to wear this long of gloves in the wasteland.

“What is your name?”

“047241.”

He just stares at you, before huffing out a short laugh. Is your name one that causes humor?

“Are you happy here?”

You stay silent.

“Do you have a home here?”

You stay silent.

“Do you have loved ones here?”

Again, you stay silent.

“What if I can offer you a dimension that will give you the chance to experience all of that?”

You perk up, trying not to show off your excitement too much. However, it’s hard not to when you think of the idea of clean bodies of water, clean air, animals, fruit, sunshine, alive plants and trees, and the possibility of actually meeting and keeping in contact with new people. You have to remind yourself to not show your excitement because you don’t know what this Angstrom could be asking of you.

“What do you need in return?” Your voice comes out rough but you know that he knows he already got your attention.

“Simple, all I need in return is for you to give me updates whenever you hear about Invincible. I need to keep track of him for my… plans.” 

“Done.” You say without a moment of hesitation. You can do that no problem, and you get to potentially experience living in a world similar to yours before it became the dreaded wasteland it is today. 

“One last thing before we go. Once you get there, about a week and a half from now there may be a catastrophe, I would recommend going into hiding.”

“Can you see into the future too?”

“Something like that.”

“One more question.”

“And what is it?”

“How many days is a week and a half?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

End Note: Hope you enjoyed this story. This is chapter 1 but it kind of serves as a setup for your character, background, motivation, and powers. This will probably just be shorter compared to my future chapters. I am open to any suggestions you may have for the story!

A magical Carnival

Pairing: Rex x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nothing much just a lil kisses

A/N: hey y’all, I know it’s been ages since I posted but I’ve been enjoying my break! It took a while to write this because I completely forgot BUT! I do Hope to post more often. I hope you enjoy and sorry for the wait!

dividers by @freesia-writes

Taking one last look in the mirror, you fixed your hair and checked your Makeup. After confirming nothing was messed up, you adjusted your cost and picked up your comm. Your boyfriend Rex, was picking you up for date any second now. There was a carnival that traveled around the galaxy, jumping from one planet to the other and it just so happened to be on Coruscant, during Rex’s leave. And of course, being the lovely partner you are, you harassed Rex until he agreed to going with you. 

The loud ring of your doorbell knocked you out of your thoughts and you turned to he door, swinging your bag onto your shoulder while reaching for the panel beside it. With a quick click of a button, the door whooshed open, revealing a blonde captain, with a small smile on his face. 

With a grin, you fling your arms around your beloved soldier and he returns the gesture immediately.

“Are you ready?” He asks, pulling away before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. With a beaming smile, you nod your head and clutch his hand, pulling him down the steps of your apartment doorstep. 

“Someone’s excited” Rex notes, chuckling as you continue to tug on his arm.

“I haven’t been to one of these in ages!” You exclaim excitedly, clutching his arm as you Trottes along. 

It was still noon and a bit sunny but you know it would get dark soon; and colder. But you didn’t let that stop you, skipping along beside the amused Rex, you continued on your trek to the carnival, bouncing on your toes the whole way there. 

When the bright lights came into sight, you let out a squeal of delight and picked up your pace, dragging along a poor Rex. 

Rex was absolutely amazed, he never experienced a carnival and you were so excited to share it with him. You giggled as his jaw dropped, his mouth forming an ‘o’ as he looked from stall to stall.

“Let’s go do some games!” You decide, skipping ahead to what looked like ‘whack a Gundark. Rex trailed along after you, taking in the game as you both approached. 

“What is this?” Rex asks as you both come to a stop.

“It’s ‘whack a Gundark!’ You have to use the hammer to smack each Gundark as fast as you can when they pop up. Then, if you get enough points, you win a prize” you finish explaining and point at the prizes lining the wall; specifically the tooka plush.

“Right…” Rex nods slowly, processing what you just told him. 

“Do you wanna play?” You ask, turning to face your blonde captain. 

Rex takes one look at your excited face and the nods. 

“Sure”

You let out a small happy noise and then pass a ticket to the person behind the stall. The worker hands you the inflatable hammer and you look it over before holding it out to Rex.

“What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Handing it to you so you can play!” You grin, giving the hammer a little shake.

Rex hesitantly reaches out and takes ahold of the hammer. “Are you sure you don’t wanna play?” 

You nod enthusiastically, “I’ve played this game before. Plus, you have a better chance at winning me a prize.”

Rex let’s out a light chuckle at the last part, “alright cyare, I’ll try win you a prize” 

You grin even brighter and lean over his shoulder, watching as the lights switched on and the familiar tune starts playing. Then the game starts.

The first Gundark pops out and in the blink of an eye, Rex smacked it away. This continues throughout the whole game until the points counter dings loudly, signalling he won.

Rex turns to the worker and holds the hammer out, trying to give it back. The worker however, stands there dumbfounded, shocked at how he won. Rex raises an eyebrow, causing the worker to snap out of his trance and take the hammer back, grumbling under his breath.

“alright folks, it seems you’ve won a prize. Pick any” the worker turns back to you both.

Rex turns to you and gestures to the wall of huge, colourful plushies. You grin and point to the tooka; eyes sparkling as you watched the worker take it down and hand it to Rex.

Rex nods a thanks and turns to you as you start walking away.

“Here mesh’la” he softly pushes the plush into your hands and you squeeze it in joy.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You squeal, clutching onto his arm like it’s your lifeline.

Rex laughs; a soft sound you could listen to forever, and places a kiss to your temple.

“So, where to next cyare?” 

After dragging Rex form every stall to ride, you both finally settled down on a bench with fried Nuna legs. 

“So~ was this fun?” You ask, bumping your shoulder with his. 

Rex reaches out and wipes a bit of food off the side of your mouth; his touch featherlight, before nodding his head.

“It was amazing, especially since you were here”

At that, you blush and hang your head down, trying to hide your bright red face. But a pair of fingers touched the bottom of your chin, lifting it to face your lover.

“Thank you mesh’la for everything”

And with that, he kissed you. It was a soft, meaningful kiss. His desire evident but his gentleness overpowering it.

And as you were caught up in the captain, the sky lit up with the bright lights of fireworks; ending your night on the perfect note.

My darling I've said this before but you deserve so many more likes, every time i read one of your fics im genuinely expecting it to have thousands of likes on it and it usually has like 20? If i could like every single one of your works 100 times i would :)

Okay but imagine Rex's reactions to the reader wearing his helmet. Like, he walks in and the readers like 🧍‍♀️ and he's like 🧍‍♀️. And then everyone around them is confused bc why is this even happening in the first place (maybe its a prank? Idk 👉👈)

Also i know i said Rex but if you want to include any others please do lol i would love to see your interpretation of this with others

<3

Ahhh you’re the absolute sweetest—thank you so much for the kind words, seriously!! I couldn’t resist this prompt , so I went ahead and did the whole command batch’s reactions too.

⸻

CAPTAIN REX

He’d just finished a debrief. He was tired, armor scuffed, and brain fogged from a long string of missions. All he wanted was to collect his helmet and find a quiet place to decompress.

Instead, he opened the door to the barracks and found you standing in the middle of the room.

Wearing his helmet.

You weren’t doing anything. Just standing there, arms at your sides, posture too stiff, visor pointed directly at the door like you’d been caught red-handed.

Rex froze mid-step. His eyes flicked to your body, then to the helmet, then back again. The room was dead silent.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

It felt like some kind of unspoken standoff.

When he finally found his voice, it came out neutral but clipped. “Is there a reason you’re wearing my helmet?”

You reached up and lifted it just slightly off your head, enough to reveal your eyes. “I was trying to understand what it’s like… carrying all this responsibility. All the weight. I figured the helmet was part of it.”

Rex blinked.

He should have been annoyed. His helmet was an extension of his identity, not something he usually let anyone touch, let alone wear. But something in your voice—sincere, tinged with dry humor—softened the moment.

He exhaled through his nose. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

You slid the helmet off entirely and held it to your chest. “Yeah. I didn’t expect that.”

Rex crossed the room and took it from your hands, eyes lingering on your face a moment longer than necessary. “You can ask next time. I might still say no, but… you can ask.”

You gave him a faint smile. “Noted, Captain.”

Later, Rex would sit on the edge of his bunk, polishing the helmet with extra care, thinking about the way you’d stood there. How serious you’d looked. And how much more complicated everything felt now.

⸻

COMMANDER CODY

Cody wasn’t used to surprises. He didn’t like them.

So when he walked into the clone officer quarters and found you perched on his bunk—wearing his helmet and staring at the floor like some kind of haunted statue—his brain stalled for a moment.

You didn’t look up.

You didn’t say a word.

Cody stood in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking—likely the same thing you were: how did this situation even come to exist?

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”

You slowly lifted your head. “No. I just… wanted to know what it was like. To be you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “By wearing my helmet?”

You lifted it off, your hair a little mussed from the fit. “It felt… commanding. Intimidating. Also slightly claustrophobic.”

Cody crossed the room, took the helmet from your hands, and inspected it like you might’ve done something to compromise its integrity. “That’s about accurate.”

You stood. “Did I at least look cool?”

Cody gave a short, quiet laugh, the kind that rarely made it past his lips. “You looked like you were trying very hard to be me. But points for effort.”

He turned to go, helmet under one arm. As he walked out, he muttered, “Don’t tell Kenobi.”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

⸻

COMMANDER FOX

Fox was already in a foul mood. The Senate hearings had run late. A group of Senators had argued about appropriations for nearly three hours. The bureaucrats hadn’t approved the funding he needed, and to make things worse, someone had tried to hand him a fruit basket on the way out.

He just wanted to grab his datapad and leave.

Instead, he stepped into his office and stopped cold.

You were behind his desk, arms folded. His helmet was on your head, slightly crooked from the weight.

Fox did not say anything.

You didn’t, either.

You watched each other like two predators in a silent, high-stakes standoff.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Is this a joke?”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then explain.”

You pulled the helmet off and set it gently on the desk. “I wanted to see if it felt as heavy as it looks. Thought maybe I’d understand what it’s like… to be you.”

Fox blinked. His voice dropped lower. “That helmet’s been in more battles than most Senators have meetings.”

You met his gaze, dead serious. “Exactly. That’s why I put it on.”

He walked over and took the helmet in both hands. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stood there, the edge of the desk between you, his gloved fingers tracing a scratch across the paint.

“You look good in red,” he said at last, so quietly you barely caught it.

Then he was gone.

You stood alone, trying not to think too hard about the heat blooming in your chest.

⸻

COMMANDER WOLFFE

You’d made the mistake of trying it out in the open—when Wolffe was still around.

You thought he was in a meeting. He wasn’t.

The moment he stepped into the hallway and saw you marching in a slow circle, wearing his helmet and muttering, “I don’t trust anyone. Not even my own shadow. Jedi are the worst,” it was already too late to escape.

You froze mid-step when you noticed him watching you.

Wolffe didn’t say a word.

You pivoted awkwardly. “I was… doing a character study.”

“You were mocking me.”

“Not entirely.”

He crossed his arms, expression hard, but his voice was lighter than you expected. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You pulled the helmet off. “It’s a compliment. You’ve got presence.”

Wolffe walked forward, took the helmet, and gave you a look somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You forgot the part where I sigh and glare at everything in sight.”

You nodded, solemn. “Next time, I’ll prepare better.”

He rolled his eyes, turned to leave, and muttered over his shoulder, “Next time, do it where I can’t see you.”

But he was smiling.

⸻

COMMANDER BLY

You were crouched on the floor of the gunship hangar when Bly found you.

You hadn’t meant for him to catch you. It was supposed to be a private moment—a little playful impersonation you were going to spring on him later.

But there you were, wearing his helmet, whispering dramatically into the echoing space of the hangar, “General Secura, I would die for you. I would let the whole world burn if you asked.”

You turned and saw him standing behind you.

There was no saving this.

“Hi,” you said, voice muffled behind the helmet.

Bly stared. “What… exactly are you doing?”

You straightened, taking off the helmet. “I was… immersing myself in your worldview. For empathy purposes.”

He squinted. “You were crawling around whispering to yourself in my voice.”

You nodded. “It’s called method acting.”

Bly took the helmet from you like it was fragile. “Next time, try asking.”

“Would you have let me?”

He paused. “…Probably not.”

“Then I regret nothing.”

Bly looked at the helmet, then at you. His expression was unreadable—but his voice was warmer when he said, “Try not to let General Secura catch you doing that. Or she will ask questions.”

⸻

COMMANDER THORN

You were caught mid-spin, dramatically turning to aim Thorn’s DC-17 blaster at an imaginary threat.

His helmet covered your face, tilted slightly sideways from the weight. You didn’t realize he’d walked into the room until you heard the low, unimpressed voice behind you.

“Unless you’re planning to fight off an uprising by yourself, I’d recommend not touching my gear.”

You froze.

Lowered the blaster.

Removed the helmet slowly.

“…Hi.”

Thorn’s arms were crossed, and though his tone was flat, his eyes glittered with amusement. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I figured you’d say no.”

“I would’ve. But at least I wouldn’t have walked in on… whatever that was.”

You held up the helmet like an offering. “Do I at least get points for form?”

Thorn stepped forward, plucked the helmet from your hands, and gave you a once-over that lingered slightly too long. “You’re lucky I like chaos.”

And then he walked off, still shaking his head, muttering, “Force help me, they’re getting bolder.”

⸻

COMMANDER NEYO

You weren’t even doing anything dramatic this time. Just sitting on a crate in the hangar bay, wearing Commander Neyo’s helmet with a calmness that probably made it weirder.

He entered mid-conversation with a deck officer and paused mid-sentence when he saw you.

Neyo’s reputation was infamous—no-nonsense, silent, rarely seen without his helmet. So when you tried it on just to see what the fuss was about, you didn’t expect him to walk in.

Now he was staring at you.

Expressionless.

Silent.

Unmoving.

You slowly lifted the helmet off. “Commander.”

“Where did you find it?”

“…In your locker.”

He blinked once. “You broke into my locker?”

“…Hypothetically.”

The deck officer excused himself quickly.

Neyo walked over, took the helmet without saying a word, and stared down at you for a long moment. Then, just as you were starting to sweat—

“I hope you didn’t try the voice modulator. It’s calibrated to my pitch.”

You blinked. “…So you’re not mad?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Then he walked away.

You didn’t know if you were about to get reported or flirted with. And somehow, that was very Neyo.

⸻

COMMANDER GREE

You’d barely slipped the helmet on when Gree stepped into the staging area, datapad in hand, ready to give a mission briefing.

He stopped. His gaze snapped up.

You, standing in the center of the room in his jungle-green helmet, stared back at him like a guilty cadet.

There was a long pause.

“Is that… my helmet?” he asked, like he needed verbal confirmation of what his eyes were clearly seeing.

You nodded slowly. “It’s surprisingly comfortable.”

He tilted his head. “You know it’s loaded with recon tech calibrated to my ocular patterns?”

“…No.”

“Technically, that means it could backfire and scramble your brain if you activated it.”

“…I didn’t touch any buttons.”

Gree blinked, then grinned. “Good. I’d hate to scrape you off the floor. Again.”

You took the helmet off and passed it back. “That’s… oddly sweet.”

Gree shrugged. “Only because it’s you.”

The next day, he left a field helmet—not his own—on your bunk with a sticky note: “Test this one. Lower risk of neural frying.”

⸻

COMMANDER BACARA

You’d always known Bacara was a little intense.

So maybe wearing his helmet was a bad idea.

You didn’t expect him to walk into the armory while you were trying it on. You especially didn’t expect him to freeze mid-stride and go completely still—like a wolf spotting prey.

“Take it off,” he said, voice sharp.

You complied immediately.

“I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you added quickly, holding it out with both hands. “Just curious.”

He took it from you in silence. His expression didn’t change. But his hands moved carefully, almost reverently.

“That helmet’s been through Geonosis,” he said quietly. “Through mud and fire. My brothers died wearing helmets just like it.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

He looked up. “I know. Just… don’t try it again. Not without asking.”

You gave a small nod. “I won’t.”

As he turned to leave, he paused. “You did look decent in it, though.”

He left before you could respond.

⸻

COMMANDER DOOM

You’d slipped Doom’s helmet on while helping reorganize the command tent. He wasn’t around—or so you thought.

You were mid-sentence in a very bad impression of his voice when you heard someone behind you.

“Is that how I sound to you?”

You turned, startled, and found Doom leaning against the tent flap with one brow raised.

You straightened awkwardly. “I was, uh, trying to get into your mindset.”

He snorted. “My mindset?”

“You know. Calm. Steady. Smiling in the face of doom—ironically.”

He walked over, arms folded, and tilted his head as you pulled the helmet off. “Did it work?”

“I think I’ve achieved inner peace.”

He chuckled. “Keep the helmet. It suits you.”

You stared.

“I’m joking,” he added, already walking away.

You weren’t so sure.

⸻

Hello!!! Hopefully I won’t bother you but i loved the 501 x reader where they all are crushing on her!!! Do you think there’s the possibility that we could get a part two? I just want them all to be happy together -but a little angsty moments are great too! Thank you and i love your writing! Best clone scenario page on tumblrrr 🥰🥰🥰

Of course! A part 2 for this fic has been requested nearly 10 times.

I may need to turn this into a series. There will definitely be a part 3 at least 🫶

⸻

“Hearts of the 501st” pt.2

501st x Reader

You were still reeling from the contact.

Rex’s hand, steady at your waist, had felt like it burned through your tunic. Not with heat, but with something more dangerous—something forbidden. And it had lingered just a second too long. Enough for you to realize he wanted to hold you there. Enough for him to realize that he couldn’t.

Now he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Not during the rest of the rotation. Not at the debrief. Not even in the mess later that night.

Hardcase had gone back to his usual boisterous self, none the wiser, but Kix glanced between you and Rex with the subtle awareness of someone too observant for his own good. You tried to brush it off. Smile. Pretend. But it was like breathing around broken glass.

Later that night, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling of your quarters, eyes wide open, body still.

And then the door chimed.

You sat up fast, heart racing. “Come in,” you called, voice steady despite the storm inside.

It was Rex.

He stepped in and the door hissed shut behind him. No armor—just blacks. He looked exhausted. And maybe something else. Haunted, almost.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“I know.”

Silence stretched between you. And then he finally looked at you.

“I didn’t mean to cross a line,” he said, voice low, gravelly. “Back in the training room.”

“You didn’t,” you lied.

Because the truth was worse. He didn’t cross it—you wanted him to. You still did.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not supposed to happen like this. You’re a Jedi. I’m… I’m a soldier.”

“You’re Rex.”

That made him pause.

You stood up, crossing the small space between you, pulse thundering.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t move. But the way he looked at you—like you were the last light in the galaxy—that was enough to break you.

“We’re not allowed this,” he said, finally.

“I know.”

But you also both knew something else, something unspoken: if the war didn’t kill you, this would.

⸻

You thought things might settle after that night with Rex. But they didn’t. If anything, the tension only thickened. Because it wasn’t just Rex watching you a little too long anymore.

It was Kix, catching your arm after a mission with fingers that lingered too long on your wrist as he checked for injuries.

“You push yourself too hard,” he murmured, voice low as his eyes searched yours. “Someday, you won’t come back. And I…” He trailed off before finishing, but the weight of what he didn’t say clung to the air between you.

It was Fives, who cracked jokes louder than usual when Rex entered the room, his laugh a little too sharp. When he caught you alone, he dropped the act.

“You know he’s not the only one who cares, right?” he said, eyes dark with something more serious than you were used to seeing in him. “He’s not the only one who notices.”

It was Jesse, who always sat beside you at the mess, quietly pushing your favorite ration pack your way without saying anything. You caught him watching you once, and when you met his gaze, he didn’t look away.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, voice tight. “Better than silence. Better than having to hide.”

Hardcase didn’t hide a damn thing. He wore his affection on his sleeve—laughing too loud, standing too close, finding excuses to spar. “You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” he asked one evening, sweaty and bruised, grinning. “No questions asked.”

Tup was quieter, but it was there. In the way he always made sure you were covered. In the way he sat across from you during ship travel, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught him once, and he blushed so hard he looked like he might combust.

Then there was Dogma, who clung to rules like they were life rafts—but his devotion to you bent those rules every damn day. He flinched when others got too close. Spoke up when he thought someone pushed you too hard. And when you called him out on it, he just said, “You matter. More than they think.”

They were a unit. Brothers. But when it came to you, that unity was starting to fray.

You could feel it in the silences.

In the way they hesitated to speak freely when Rex was in the room. In the way Jesse squared off subtly when Fives stood too close. In the tension crackling in every quiet corridor.

You were the Jedi they shouldn’t have fallen for. The light they wanted to protect. But you were also one person—and they all knew that.

And maybe the worst part?

You didn’t know who you were falling for.

⸻

The op on Vanqor should’ve been simple: recon the outpost, confirm Separatist movement, exfil. No drama. No losses.

But nothing was simple anymore.

You split the squad in two. Rex led one team, you led the other. Standard formation. Except the tension was anything but standard.

From the start, Fives was running his mouth.

“Oh, so Rex gets to babysit the high ground,” he said as he checked his rifle. “How convenient.”

“Because I’m the Captain,” Rex snapped without looking up. “And because someone needs to stay focused on the mission.”

“Focused?” Jesse muttered under his breath. “That’s rich coming from you.”

You glanced at them all sharply. “Cut the chatter.”

They did—sort of. Kix shot Jesse a look. Jesse shot Fives one back. Even Tup, usually calm, was twitchier than usual. And Dogma was walking like he was seconds away from snapping someone’s neck.

Still, the op moved forward.

You took Hardcase, Tup, and Jesse with you. Rex had the others. Two klicks into the canyon, comms lit up.

Rex: “General, got movement near the ridge. Confirmed clankers. Looks like a patrol.”

You: “Copy. Proceeding to secondary overlook.”

Then static. Followed by—

Fives: “We’ve got this, General. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him from throwing himself in front of a blaster for you.”

There was a sharp click before Rex cut him off: “Fives, stay off the channel unless it’s tactical.”

Back with your team, things weren’t much better.

Hardcase was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can’t believe I missed the team with the romantic tension. You should’ve seen Rex’s face, Tup—guy’s wound tighter than a wire.”

Jesse barked a laugh. “At least he’s not pretending he’s subtle. Unlike some.”

Tup sighed. “Please don’t start again.”

You stopped in your tracks, glaring at them. “You think this is a game? You want to bicker while droids are swarming a ridge less than a klick away?”

They fell silent, shame flickering in their eyes.

Then came the ambush.

Blasterfire erupted from the cliffs. Shouts, heat, chaos.

Rex’s voice came through the comm again—sharp, controlled. “Engaging hostiles. Kix is hit but stable.”

You snapped orders, leading your squad into flanking position, instincts taking over. You caught sight of Rex across the ridge, laying down cover, Fives behind him—but they were arguing even mid-fire.

“Cover me!” Rex shouted, moving up.

“Could’ve said please,” Fives muttered, though he did as told.

Jesse nearly got clipped trying to keep you shielded. “I said I’ve got you!” he snapped when you tried to redirect him.

After the skirmish, when the smoke cleared and the ridge was secure, the tension boiled over.

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Rex growled, throwing his helmet down. “We can’t run a clean op because every one of you is too busy acting like kriffing teenagers.”

“Don’t pin this on us,” Jesse snapped. “You’re the one sneaking around with her after lights out.”

“Nothing happened,” Rex shot back.

Kix scoffed. “No, but something wants to.”

Tup looked between them, torn. “This isn’t what we’re supposed to be.”

And Dogma, silent until now, spoke with cold finality: “Feelings don’t belong on the battlefield. You’re all risking her life.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the blasterfire.

You stood there, heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between fury and grief.

This war was pulling you apart from the inside. Not from wounds or droids—but from love, jealousy, and every unspoken word between them.

The silence stretched long after Dogma’s words hit the ground like a blaster bolt.

You could see it—every line in their faces taut, wounded. The guilt. The fear. The ache.

And still, you stood tall.

Composed. Cold, maybe. But you had to be.

“I need every one of you to listen to me,” you said, voice even, sharp like a vibroblade. “And I need you to understand this the first time, because I will not say it again.”

No one spoke. Even Fives went still.

“I am a Jedi,” you continued. “And whether or not that means something to you anymore—it still means something to me. The Code forbids attachment. That isn’t a guideline. It isn’t a suggestion. It is a foundational truth of who I am and what I chose to be.”

Rex looked away. His jaw tightened.

“This war has blurred the lines between soldier and brother, between ally and… more. But that does not change the Code. It does not change the expectations I hold for myself.”

You took a breath, feeling the heat rise behind your ribs—but not letting it show.

“I am not your hope. I am not your escape. I am not something you can cling to in the middle of this chaos. I am your general. I will fight beside you. I will protect you. I care about you. But I will not—I cannot return these… feelings.”

Hardcase looked like you’d slapped him. Kix’s mouth parted, then closed again. Fives had nothing to say.

And then you said the thing none of them wanted to hear:

“If any of you truly respect me—if you truly believe in the Jedi you claim to admire—then let me go. Detach. Redirect whatever it is you feel into something that will not get one of us killed.”

Tup stepped forward, hesitant. “But you do care. We know you do.”

You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. But you answered with the quiet, unmoving weight of Jedi truth.

“Yes,” you said. “But caring is not the same as holding on.”

Another pause.

“I’m not your way out,” you finished. “I’m the one leading you into the fire. Don’t follow me with your heart. Follow me with your discipline. Or don’t follow me at all.”

And with that, you turned—cloak sweeping, boots hitting durasteel with finality.

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did… you weren’t sure the Jedi in you would win.

⸻

The moment she disappeared into the shadows of the canyon pass, the squad felt gutted. Not wounded—hollowed out.

The silence wasn’t peace. It was pressure. It built between them like a thermal detonator waiting for a trigger.

“She didn’t have to say it like that,” Hardcase muttered first, breaking the quiet. “She made it sound like we’re a liability.”

“She’s not wrong,” Dogma snapped, arms crossed tight over his chest. “We lost focus. We compromised the mission.”

Fives scoffed. “Oh, come off it, Dogma. You’re not exactly guilt-free just because you pout from a distance instead of making a move.”

“Don’t start,” Jesse growled. “We wouldn’t even be in this mess if you hadn’t made a scene during the damn firefight.”

“I wasn’t the one staring at her like a lovesick cadet while blaster bolts were flying!”

“You want to go?” Jesse stepped forward.

Kix shoved himself between them. “Enough. You’re all making this worse.”

“No,” Rex said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I’ll take it from here.”

Everyone turned. Rex’s helmet was still tucked under his arm, his face unreadable—controlled, cold, and deadly calm.

“She’s right,” he said, no hesitation. “Every word. We let our feelings get in the way. We made it personal. That’s not what we were bred for. That’s not what she needs.”

Fives shifted, jaw clenched. “So what—just pretend it doesn’t exist?”

Rex stepped closer, tone steely. “We have to. Because if we don’t, she dies. Or we do. Maybe all of us.”

Tup looked away. Jesse stared at the ground. Even Hardcase, for once, didn’t have a joke.

“You think I don’t feel it?” Rex said, quieter now. “You think I haven’t thought about what it would be like to give in? To tell her how I feel?”

He shook his head. “That’s not what love looks like. Love is discipline. Restraint. We follow her lead. We put her safety above what we want. That’s our job. That’s who we are.”

Nobody argued.

Because they all knew he was right.

⸻

They all handled it differently.

Dogma pulled back first.

He barely spoke during prep. Stood at parade rest with surgical stillness. Didn’t sit with the squad, didn’t meet your eyes. He obeyed, to the letter—but colder now, like retreating behind a regulation shield.

Fives, on the other hand, spiraled.

He picked fights. With Kix, with Jesse, even with Rex. His banter turned sour, jokes laced with venom.

“She doesn’t mean it,” he muttered to Jesse in the hangar. “You don’t just fight beside someone for years and feel nothing. She’s trying to protect us. But that doesn’t mean we stop caring.”

Jesse didn’t answer.

Because Jesse was the one pushing harder.

He wasn’t loud about it—but you noticed. He stayed closer during patrols. Walked you to your quarters even when you didn’t ask. Spoke softer. Asked if you’d eaten. You knew the intent behind it. And it terrified you.

You needed clarity. Solitude.

But the moment you stepped outside the command tent to breathe—Tup was already waiting.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just offered you a ration bar with a small, tentative smile. Like he didn’t expect you to take it, but needed you to know he’d tried.

You sat beside him anyway.

“It’s a lot,” he said after a beat, voice low. “Too much, sometimes.”

You didn’t speak.

He didn’t push.

“I’m not gonna say they’re wrong to feel it,” he added, eyes on the dirt. “But I get why you had to say what you did. It hurts. But I get it.”

You turned your head slowly. “Do you?”

He met your eyes. Soft. Steady. “Yeah. Because when you love someone… really love them… you don’t ask them to break themselves just to make you feel better.”

That quiet truth stuck in your chest like a blade.

Tup didn’t reach for your hand. He didn’t move closer. He just stayed there, beside you, letting you breathe.

And for the first time in days… you felt like maybe someone saw you—not as something to win. But as someone to understand.

You didn’t want to fall apart.

But with Tup sitting next to you, not expecting anything—not even an answer—it was hard to keep everything held together.

The ration bar stayed in your hand, unopened. You stared at it like it held answers you didn’t have the strength to look for.

“You know,” Tup said gently, “you don’t have to be the strong one all the time.”

You gave him a dry look. “That’s rich, coming from a soldier bred to never break.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah, well. We all crack different. Some of us just do it quieter.”

You laughed—soft and broken. “Is this you trying to cheer me up, Tup?”

“Maybe,” he said with a small shrug. “Maybe I just wanted to sit beside someone who makes the war feel a little less like war.”

You looked away. His words landed somewhere deep, somewhere dangerously tender.

There was a moment—just a moment—when you let your shoulders drop. When you leaned just barely toward him, not enough to cross a line, but enough to feel how close the edge really was.

And Tup’s voice, softer still: “You don’t have to be alone.”

Your breath caught. Eyes burning. Just a blink from letting it slip—just a few more seconds and you might have said something you couldn’t unsay.

But then—

“General?”

You turned sharply, straightening.

Kix.

He looked between the two of you. His gaze landed on Tup’s proximity, on your expression—cracked, vulnerable.

Too late.

“I—” He cleared his throat, eyes guarded now. “I was coming to check on you. Thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

Tup shifted, quietly rising to his feet. “She’s alright. Just needed some quiet.”

You could feel the tension coil between them—one of them arriving first, the other arriving just late enough to lose something that hadn’t even happened.

You stood too. “Thank you, Kix. I’m okay. Just tired.”

He gave a short nod, but the disappointment was unmistakable. He wasn’t angry. But he felt it.

And you knew that by tomorrow, the silence between some of them would stretch even deeper.

Because kindness had turned competitive. And comfort was starting to feel like a battlefield too.

⸻

Previous part

Hi! I love your works! I was wondering if you could write a fic about the 501st who is in love with their female Jedi general?

“Hearts of the 501st”

501st x Reader

Felucia was vibrant and lethal in equal measure—towering mushrooms filtering alien sunlight, thick air buzzing with unfamiliar insects, and a dense undergrowth that clung to your boots like molasses. You pushed aside a broad-leafed plant and stepped into a small clearing where the 501st had already begun establishing a temporary perimeter.

“General on deck,” Jesse called, half out of breath, tossing a lazy salute.

You waved him off with a faint grin. “At ease. Just scouting ahead.”

“Thought we told you we’d handle that,” Rex said as he approached, already brushing bits of foliage off your shoulder with practiced familiarity.

You smiled faintly at the gesture. “You did, and I ignored you. As usual.”

“Yeah, we’re used to that,” Fives muttered to Tup under his breath. “Still doesn’t stop us from trying to keep her alive.”

“She thinks it’s loyalty,” Jesse murmured with a chuckle. “Adorable, isn’t it?”

Hardcase, lugging a heavy case of thermal charges, barked a laugh. “More like tragic. This whole squad’s gone soft.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dogma grunted. “I’m focused.”

“Focused on what? Her ass?” Kix quipped without looking up from his medical kit.

You, of course, had no idea what they were whispering about. The clones had always been close with you—professional, dedicated, respectful. If you noticed the way conversations halted whenever you walked into the room, or how they always seemed to compete for your attention in subtle, strangely personal ways, you chalked it up to a particularly tight-knit unit. One bonded through battle. Through trust.

After all, you shared the front lines. You slept in the dirt beside them. Bled with them. Saved them—and been saved by them more times than you could count.

“General,” Tup said quietly, stepping up beside you, his cheeks dusted pink despite the heat. “Hydration. You haven’t taken a break in hours.”

You took the canteen with a grateful nod. “Thanks, Tup. You’re always looking out for me.”

He looked like he’d been knighted.

⸻

That evening, near the field base You sat cross-legged in the command tent, analyzing the terrain projections while the familiar hum of clone chatter drifted in from the campfire outside. Anakin and Ahsoka lingered near the entrance, arms crossed, watching you work.

“She really doesn’t know,” Ahsoka said quietly, shaking her head.

Anakin followed your movements with an amused glance. “Nope. Not a clue. I don’t think she even realizes she could have the entire 501st building her a temple if she asked.”

“She did ask Fives to carry her backpack last week and he nearly cried.”

“I remember. Jesse said it was ‘the most spiritual moment of his life.’”

They both stifled their laughs as you looked up. “Something funny?”

“Nope,” they said in unison.

“Just, uh…” Anakin motioned vaguely toward your datapad. “Hope that’s got better answers than the last one.”

You raised a brow, but let it go. “We’ll hit the eastern ridge at dawn. I’ll lead the recon.”

“Of course you will,” Ahsoka said, grinning.

The fire crackled low in the center of the camp. Most of the men had finished maintenance checks and settled into their usual banter.

“I swear she said my name differently today,” Jesse said, eyes half-lidded like he was remembering a song. “Like, softer.”

“She says everyone’s name soft,” Kix argued. “It’s called being kind.”

“No, she looked at me,” Jesse insisted.

“She handed me her lightsaber to inspect,” Fives cut in. “Do you hand your saber to someone you don’t trust with your life?”

“She asked me if I was sleeping enough,” Dogma added with a hint of reverence.

“Pretty sure she just worries about your death wish, brother,” Hardcase quipped.

“You lot are pathetic,” Rex muttered, but there was no bite to it. He was staring into the fire, silent for a moment. “She trusts us. That’s enough.”

But even Rex didn’t believe that—not really. Not when you laughed that easy laugh after a mission went right. Not when your shoulder brushed his during strategy briefings and his thoughts short-circuited for a full five seconds. Not when you called him by name, soft and sure, like it meant something more.

⸻

You lay awake in your tent, the soft drone of Felucia’s wild night barely louder than the murmured clone banter outside. You smiled faintly, listening to the comfort of their voices, and whispered to yourself:

“Best unit in the galaxy.”

You really had no idea.

⸻

The jungle had closed in tighter the deeper you went. Trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their bioluminescent vines casting blue and green hues across the mist. Your boots squelched through thick moss as you signaled the squad to halt, raising two fingers to point toward a cluster of Separatist patrol droids sweeping the ridge ahead.

“Fives, Jesse, flank left. I want eyes from that outcrop,” you whispered. “Dogma, with me. Kix, hang back with the heavy—just in case this gets loud.”

They all moved in sync. Always so responsive. Always so ready.

What you didn’t notice was the flicker in Jesse’s eyes when you called Fives’ name first. Or the way Dogma’s jaw tensed when you brushed close to him as you moved up the ridge. Or how Kix lingered a beat too long, watching your retreating form before shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

The skirmish was over in minutes—clean, quiet, surgical. A dozen droids scattered in pieces across the clearing.

You turned to Fives, heart still beating fast. “That was textbook work. Great movement on the flank.”

He beamed. “Just following your lead, General.”

But something about the way he said it made your stomach flutter. That grin was too… warm. Too personal.

You blinked, trying to shake it off. He’s just proud. That’s normal. Right?

⸻

You sat by a small portable lamp in the command tent, jotting down notes from the recon while the jungle buzzed around you. The flap rustled and Jesse ducked inside, holding a steaming cup.

“Thought you might want some caf,” he said, offering it with a smile—less playful than usual. Quieter.

“Thanks.” You took it, letting your fingers brush his without meaning to. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply.

You paused. The heat from the mug had nothing on the warmth spreading up your neck.

He stayed, quiet, hands tucked behind his back like a soldier at parade rest. But he didn’t leave, and you didn’t tell him to.

Not until Fives walked in.

“General,” Fives said, a little too loudly. “Just checking if you’ve eaten. You’ve got a nasty habit of forgetting.”

Jesse straightened slightly. “She’s fine. I brought her caf.”

Fives’ smile faltered. “Right. Well… I made stew. Her favorite.”

You glanced between them. “You two okay?”

“Peachy,” Jesse muttered, stepping out of the tent without another word.

Fives watched him go, lips thinning. Then he turned to you and said, “Don’t let him guilt-trip you. He gets weird about stuff.”

You looked at him sideways. “Stuff like me?”

Fives blinked, like he hadn’t expected the question to come so directly.

“I didn’t mean—nevermind. I’ll just eat later. Thanks for the stew.” You stood, grabbing your datapad and pushing past him, mind whirling.

Something was shifting. You weren’t sure what, but you weren’t imagining it anymore.

The fire was lower now, casting shadows over their faces as the clones gathered close. You sat among them, quiet, watching the way they moved. Noticing things you hadn’t before.

Jesse sat closer than usual, shoulders brushing yours. Fives kept shooting glances your way whenever you laughed at one of Kix’s jokes. Dogma didn’t say much—but his eyes barely left you the entire night. And when you stood up to grab your bedroll, Rex was already there, unfolding it with a softness that caught in your throat.

“Thanks, Rex,” you said.

He hesitated, eyes searching yours. “Of course, General.”

And that—that was what did it.

Something in his voice. The way he said your title like it hurt. Not because it was formal, but because it wasn’t enough.

You barely slept that night.

⸻

The next morning you stood at the front of the squad, explaining the route to a newly discovered Separatist supply outpost when you noticed them: Jesse, Fives, and Dogma—all standing just slightly apart. Not fighting. Not even speaking to each other. But the air between them was tense.

Kix noticed too. He leaned in as the others filed out. “You might want to watch that triangle you’ve unknowingly wandered into, Commander.”

You blinked. “Triangle?”

He gave you a long, knowing look. “More like a pentagon, if we’re being honest.”

You stared after him as he left, that fluttering in your chest blooming into something a little heavier. A little realer.

You thought you understood them. Thought they were just loyal. Just dedicated.

But maybe…

Maybe there was more to this than you let yourself see.

And now, you weren’t sure what to do about it.

⸻

Felucia hadn’t gotten any cooler overnight. The muggy heat clung to your skin like armor, but it wasn’t just the weather that had you feeling unsteady lately.

The clones had always been devoted—but now, their focus on you felt sharper. Their glances lingered longer. Their voices dropped when they spoke your name.

You weren’t imagining it anymore.

And that… scared you more than it should have.

⸻

You crouched over a portable console with Rex, fingers brushing as you both reached for the same wire.

He paused. Just a second too long.

You looked up. “You okay, Captain?”

“Fine,” Rex said. But he didn’t move. Not right away.

“I’m not fragile, you know,” you said gently, trying to smile.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “That’s… kind of the problem.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Hardcase stomped up, practically glowing with pride and holding two ration bars.

“Brought the last of the chocolate ones! And look who I’m giving it to,” he said with a wink, tossing you one.

“You’re too good to me, Hardcase,” you laughed, catching it.

“I try,” he said, puffing out his chest before flicking his gaze toward Rex. “Captain looked like he needed one too, but I figured you deserved it more.”

“Subtle,” Rex muttered.

Hardcase just grinned wider.

⸻

Later that night you paid a visit to the medical tent. Your wrist was bruised. Not bad—just a scuffle with a tangle of thornvine—but the medics insisted on a check-up.

“I told you not to block a shot with your arm,” Kix muttered, gently applying salve as you sat on the edge of a cot.

“I didn’t block it. I intercepted it creatively.”

He snorted, soft. “You know you scare the hell out of us sometimes?”

You looked up. “Us?”

“All of us,” he admitted, quieter now. “Rex won’t say it, but he barely sleeps when you’re on mission. Fives gets twitchy if he can’t see you in his line of sight. Jesse doesn’t even pretend to hide it anymore.”

You blinked at him.

“You too?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Kix held your gaze. “Would it really surprise you?”

You didn’t answer. Because it did. And it didn’t. And that was… confusing.

Before he could say more, Coric stepped into the tent.

“Everything good?” he asked, glancing between the two of you.

“Fine,” Kix said shortly. “She’s taken care of.”

Coric raised a brow but said nothing, just gave you a faint smile and left.

The silence afterward buzzed like static.

⸻

The morning started off normally enough.

Warm-up sparring. Partner rotations. But when you paired off with Rex, things shifted.

He was precise, careful, calculated. He always had been. But when your saber skimmed a little too close, and he reached out to stop your momentum—

His hand settled at your waist. Not for balance. Not for combat.

You froze.

So did he.

“…Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse, withdrawing quickly.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Because your heart was pounding.

And then came Hardcase, throwing himself between you two, laughing as he tossed you a training staff. “Mind if I cut in?”

Rex stepped back without a word.

You sparred with Hardcase next, but the smile you gave him didn’t quite reach your eyes. Not anymore.

Next chapter

“Armor for the Skin”

501st x Reader

The overhead lumens slam on like artillery. Groans ripple through the barracks, but you roll out of your bunk already gathering your contraband caddy—a slim duraplast kit labeled “Mk‑III MedPatch”

Fives, half‑dressed and wholly curious, nods at the kit. “Alright, mystery box—you packing bacta or blasters in there?”

You flick the latch. Bottles, tubes, and sachets unfold like a miniature armory—just shinier and pastel‑colored.

“Moisturizer,” you say, dotting cream onto your cheeks. “SPF 50. Sun in space still finds a way.”

Fives blinks. “You’re lotion‑plating your face before breakfast?”

You smile. “Armor for the skin.”

As you pat the sunscreen in, Fives watches, fascinated. “How long does all that take? We get, like, sixty seconds to hit the refresher.”

“Practice,” you reply, capping the tube. “And a bit of multitasking.”

Across the aisle, Jesse mutters, “She’s waxing her cheeks?”—which earns him a smack from Kix.

The medic tilts his head, curious. “Actually, hydrating the epidermis reduces micro‑tears that form when helmets chafe. Fewer micro‑tears, fewer infections.”

Fives groans. “Kix, not you too!”

Tup perks up. “Will it stop my forehead from peeling on desert drops?”

“Only if you commit,” you reply, tossing him a travel‑size tube.

Tup bobbles it. “Commit to… face goop?”

“Commit to self‑care, shiny,” Jesse teases, but he secretly dabs a fingertip of cream on the scar running over his temple when he thinks no one’s watching.

Hardcase flips down from the top bunk, dangling upside‑down. “What about night routine? Can we weaponize it?”

You laugh. “Weaponize hydration?”

You begin to rattle off the list for your routines while shoving items back into the caddy.

Jesse whistles. “That’s more steps than disassembling a DC‑17.”

“It’s upkeep,” you say, snapping the kit shut. “Blasters, armor, skin. Treat them right and they won’t fail mid‑mission.”

Kix, ever the medic, hums thoughtfully. “Prevention over cure—sound protocol.”

Rex marches past the doorway, barking for PT. He notices the cluster around your bunk, eyes the lotions, then decides he’s not paid enough to investigate at 0500. “Five minutes to muster. Whatever you’re doing—do it faster.”

The squad scrambles. You close your caddy with a click, satisfied. Step one: curiosity planted.

As you pass Fives he murmurs, “Armor for the skin, huh?”

“Exactly, vod,” you grin, tapping his chest plate. “And just like yours—it’s personal issue.”

He barks a laugh, then jogs after the others—already plotting how to requisition micellar water under “optical clarity supplies.”

Curiosity piqued, routine revealed. Now the real fun begins.

⸻

An hour later, after PT and standard mess rations, the 501st files toward the strategy room. You’re meant to present local intel, but you duck into the refresher first to rinse sweat and slap on a leave‑in hair mask.

Inside, Tup stares at his reflection, damp curls drooping. “How tight is the towel supposed to be?”

“Snug, not suffocating.” You demonstrate the twist‑and‑tuck, shaping his towel into a tidy turban. He looks like a spa holo‑ad—if spa ads featured wide‑eyed clone troopers in duty blacks.

Rex storms in mid‑lesson. The captain’s expression cycles through confusion, exasperation, acceptance in under a second. “Explain.”

“Deep‑conditioning,” you answer. “Helmet hair’s a war crime.”

Dogma, arms folded behind Rex, scowls. “Regulation headgear only.”

You pat the towel. “Technically, still a head covering.”

Hardcase bursts from a stall, face covered in neon‑green clay. “I CAN’T MOVE MY MOUTH! THIS STUFF SETS LIKE DURASTEEL!”

Kix swoops in with a damp cloth. “That’s the detox mask, vod. Rinse at four minutes, not forty.”

Fives leans in the doorway, filming everything. “Historical documentation, Rex. Posterity.”

Rex pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have two minutes to look like soldiers before General Skywalker arrives.”

Tup whispers, “Uh… do I rinse or…?”

You yank the towel free with a flourish; his curls bounce, glossy. “Ready for battle,” you declare.

Rex sighs. “One minute forty‑five.”

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along. You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along.

You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Jesse paints Dogma’s clay mask into perfect camo stripes; Dogma tries to protest, fails, secretly loves it.

Rex sighs as you smooth the sheet onto his face. “If this vid leaks, I’m demoting everyone.”

Tup giggles when the nerf‑printed mask squeaks. Fives records the sound bite for future memes.

Everyone reclines on mesh webbing strung between crates.

The timer pings. Masks come off—revealing eight glowing, ridiculously refreshed faces.

Hardcase flexes. “Feel like I could head‑butt a super tactical droid and leave an imprint.”

Fives snaps a holo of Rex’s newfound radiance. “Captain, you’re shining.”

Rex grumbles, but his skin does glow under the fluorescents. “Get some rack time, troopers. 0600 briefing. And… keep the extra packets. Field supply, understood?”

A chorus of cheerful “Yes, sir!”

You watch them file out, each tucking a sheet‑mask packet into utility belts like contraband. Mission accomplished: the 501st is combat‑ready—and complexion‑ready—for whatever tomorrow throws at them.

⸻

Obi‑Wan strolls through the hangar, robe billowing. He pauses mid‑conversation with Cody, eyes widening at the radiant 501st lined up for deployment.

“My word, gentlemen, you’re positively effulgent.”

Jesse grins—dazzling. “Training and discipline, General.”

Cody side‑eyes Rex. “Whatever you’re doing, send the regimen to the 212th.”

Anakin trots up, spying a stash of leftover masks tucked behind Rex’s pauldron. He plucks one. “Charcoal detox? Padmé swears by these.” He pockets it with a conspiratorial wink.

Rex mutters, “Necessary field supplies, General.”

You walk by, sling a go‑cup of caf into Rex’s free hand. “Don’t forget SPF,” you remind, tapping his helmet.

Rex looked over to Cody, Deadpan “Non‑negotiable, apparently.”

⸻

Blaster fire and powdered sand fill the air. Jesse dives behind a ridge. “Double‑cleanse tonight—this dust is murder on my pores!”

Fives snorts through the comms. “Copy, gorgeous. Bring the aloe.”

Hardcase detonates a bunker, cheers, then yelps, “Mask first, explosions later—got it!”

Rex stands, sand sifting off armor, skin protected under a sheer layer of sunscreen that miraculously survived the firefight. He shakes his head but can’t hide the small smile.

“Alright, 501st,” he calls. “Let’s finish this op—tonight we rehydrate, tomorrow we conquer.”

You chuckle, loading a fresh power‑cell. The war may rage on, but for this legion, victory now comes with a healthy glow.

⸻

A/N

This was a request, however I accidentally deleted the request in my inbox.

Hiiiii

I had an idea for a Rex x reader where he's very obviously in love with her and everyone around him can tell but he doesn't want to admit it bc he's afraid she wont feel the same. And its basically just him being completely in love with her and everyone mercilessly teasing him about it.

(and maybe she overhears this teasing and just walks into the conversation like, "you know im in love with you too right?")

I just got this idea into my head and i needed someone to write it ok bye my darling :)

“501st Confidential (Except It’s Not)”

Captain Rex x Reader

You were, in the words of Fives, “the reason Rex turns into an emotionally repressed marshmallow with a death wish.”

The captain of the 501st was an impeccable soldier—composed, sharp, calm under fire. Until you walked into the room.

Then? He forgot how doors worked. Forgot how his voice worked. Forgot how to exist like a functioning adult.

Like this morning.

“Hey, Captain,” you called, brushing past him in the mess. “Sleep okay?”

Rex nearly dropped his tray. “Yeah. I mean—yes. Slept. I slept.”

You gave him a soft little smile. “Good.”

Fives watched the exchange with his spoon frozen in the air, like he’d just witnessed a holo-drama plot twist.

The second you left, Jesse leaned in. “Was that a stroke or a confession?”

“Shut it,” Rex muttered, flustered.

“Come on, Captain Crush,” Kix snorted. “You smiled so hard you got an extra forehead line.”

“I did not,” Rex snapped.

“It twitched,” Echo deadpanned.

“Just admit it,” Fives drawled, draping himself across the table. “You’re in love with her.”

Rex didn’t answer, which—by 501st standards—was practically a marriage proposal.

“Oh no,” Jesse whispered. “He’s so far gone. He’s at the ‘she smiled at me and I heard music’ phase.”

Rex ran a hand down his face. “I hate all of you.”

“Affectionately,” Echo added.

⸻

Later, in the hangar, the teasing reached critical mass.

Rex was checking the gunships. He thought he was alone.

He was wrong.

“Y’know,” came Fives’ voice from behind him, “the last time you stared at someone that long, you were planning a tactical assault.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh? My bad. Meditating on the meaning of her eyes, then?”

Jesse joined them, arms crossed. “Pretty sure he’s composing poetry in his head.”

“I don’t write poetry,” Rex grumbled.

“Then what’s this?” Fives produced a crumpled piece of flimsi. “‘Her voice is like a thermal detonator to my self-control—’”

Rex lunged for it. “Give me that—!”

“—detonating everything in me but discipline. Wow. Wow.”

“I will demote you.”

Fives grinned. “You’d have to catch me first—”

“What’s going on here?” Anakin’s voice cut in as he strolled over, arms folded, suspicious.

“Captain’s in love,” Jesse reported instantly.

“Painfully,” Echo added helpfully.

“Unprofessionally,” Kix muttered as he passed, shaking his head.

Anakin raised a brow at Rex. “Really?”

Rex, red-faced, said, “It’s nothing. They’re being ridiculous.”

“You know you’re terrible at hiding it, right?” Anakin said, half-laughing.

Fives leaned over like he’d been waiting for this. “Oh, and you’re one to talk?”

The group roared.

Rex folded his arms, finally smiling. “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah,” Jesse added. “We’ve got bets on how long before you and Senator Secret Marriage finally kiss in front of Obi-Wan.”

“I will write all of you up,” Anakin threatened weakly.

“Sure, General,” Fives smirked. “You can fill out the paperwork on your next secret rendezvous.”

Anakin muttered something under his breath and stormed off. Echo saluted his retreating back. “True love never hides well.”

Unbeknownst to them all, you had heard every word.

You had paused just behind the stacks of crates when you heard your name—and then just… stood there, eyes wide, heart pounding, as your entire crush was dissected and laid bare by a group of very loud, very meddling clone troopers.

You waited until Rex tried to escape the roasting.

And then you stepped into view.

“…Hey,” you said sweetly.

Six heads whipped around. Fives looked like he was about to choke.

“(Y/N),” Rex breathed, stunned.

“Just dropping off the new tactical rotation schedules.” You held up a datapad, then let your eyes drift casually toward Rex. “But, uh… I heard a very interesting conversation.”

Fives whispered, “Oh no.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You boys gossip more than the Senators.”

Rex looked like he might pass out. “I—we didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” You walked toward him, stopping just close enough to see the panic in his eyes soften into something gentler.

“I just figured I should say something before one of them exploded from holding it in.”

“Say what?” Rex asked, barely above a whisper.

You reached out, tugging lightly at the edge of his kama. “That I’m in love with you, too.”

The silence was immediate.

Then chaos.

“WHOOO—”

Fives dropped to the floor like he’d been sniped.

Jesse started clapping. “About time!”

“I am a trained medic,” Kix muttered, pointing at Rex. “And even I don’t know if his heart can take this.”

Rex was frozen, then slowly—so slowly—his expression melted into the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“…Really?” he asked.

You nodded, brushing your fingers against his gloved hand. “Really.”

He glanced at the others. “Do we… have to have this moment with them here?”

“Yes,” Fives said, still on the floor. “Yes, you do.”

You grinned, lacing your fingers with Rex’s. “Well, Captain? What do we do now?”

Rex looked at you like you were the first sunrise he’d ever seen.

“…I’m going to take you to get caf. And not drop my tray this time.”

And with your hand in his, he turned to the squad—flushed, proud, and finally not hiding anything.

Jesse saluted with two fingers. “Permission to say ’called it’?”

“No.”

“Denied,” Fives chimed. “We’re saying it anyway.”

Hiya! Since you do song fic requests I was wondering if you could do a Rex X reader with the song Smile by Uncle Kracker? Hope this is ok! You’re the best! Xx -🤍

“Smile”

Captain Rex x Reader

The battle was over, the stars above silent witnesses to the quiet aftermath. The field lights flickered, the hum of med droids and murmurs of relief blending into a lullaby of war’s end — at least for tonight.

You found him alone near the gunship, helmet off, back turned, shoulders tight with exhaustion. Captain Rex. Leader. Brother. Soldier. And lately… something more.

“Hey,” you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm as you stepped beside him.

He turned, and despite the dirt smudged across his face, the faint blood along his jaw, and the deep shadows beneath his eyes — he smiled.

A slow, crooked thing. Honest. Rare.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” he said.

“I could say the same for you.”

You watched each other in silence for a breath, the night pressing close around you both. You’d seen that look before — not pain, not exactly. More like weariness that went bone-deep. The kind that made you want to reach in and hold someone’s soul together.

“You’re always around when I need it most,” Rex said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve told you how much that means.”

You smiled, heart tugging.

“You don’t have to,” you replied. “I know.”

He took a half-step closer, eyes searching yours like he was afraid the war would take you too if he blinked. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not tonight.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Someone who makes me forget… even if just for a moment.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently, thumb brushing the edge of the scar near his eye.

“You don’t have to forget,” you said. “Just… let me be the good part.”

Rex leaned into your touch. For once, he let go of the weight, let you be the anchor.

“You make me smile,” he murmured, voice cracking like it surprised even him. “Without even trying.”

Your heart ached and lifted at once. That song you’d played for him once — just once — on a shared night off at 79’s, came back to you. He hadn’t said a word when it played. But you’d seen it: the way his fingers stilled around his drink, the flicker in his eyes. He’d been listening.

And now he remembered.

“I’m not going to promise I’ll always be okay,” Rex said, brow furrowing slightly. “But I want to try. With you.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“We’ll be okay together,” you said.

And there, under the stars and the dust of a hundred wars, Rex smiled again.

Just for you.

⸻

501st Material List 💙🦋🛋️🥶

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

Overall

- “The Warmth Between Wars”🏡

- “Your What?!"🏡

- “Armour for the Skin” 🏡

- “Hearts of the 501st” ❤️

Arc Trooper Fives

- x bounty hunter reader pt.1❤️

- x bounty hunter reader pt.2 ❤️

- x reader “This Life”❤️

- x reader “Name First, Then Trouble”🌶️

- x Sith!Reader “The Worst Luck”❤️

Captain Rex

- x Jedi Reader❤️

- x Villager Reader ❤️

- x reader “what remains”❤️

- x Sith Assassin Reader “only one target”❤️

- x Reader “Ghosts of the Game”

- x Bounty Hunter Reader “Crossfire” multiple characters ❤️

- x Jedi Reader “War On Two Fronts” multiple parts

- “Smile”❤️

- “501st Confidential (Except it’s Not)” ❤️

Arc Trooper Echo

- x Old Republic Jedi Reader❤️

- x Old Republic Jedi Reader pt.2❤️

- “A Ghost in the Circuit” 🏡❤️

Hardcase

- x medic reader ❤️

Kix

- x Jedi reader “stitches & secrets”❤️

- “First Name Basis” ❤️

Overall Material List

“War on Two Fronts” pt.8 (Final Part)

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The cantina had never felt so alive.

Over the last several weeks, she had joined the Bad Batch on a few of Cid’s more difficult jobs. Recovery runs, extractions, a few tight infiltration missions—each one forging a subtle bond between them. She and Hunter found common ground in silent understanding, Wrecker made her laugh despite herself, and even Tech, with his logic and curiosity, had started asking her opinion more often than not.

Cid still didn’t know her full story. The Trandoshan just assumed she was another burned-out merc who’d gone to ground after the war, hiding her past in the quiet monotony of bar work. And that suited the her just fine. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone was.

But on one mission—one where they’d helped two bold sisters named Rafa and Trace Martez—she’d felt it again. That familiar pull in the Force, that reminder of what she used to be. Rafa had seen it too, maybe not for what it was, but she’d looked at her like someone who knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Trace had even asked if they’d ever met before.

She had only shaken her head. “Not in this lifetime.”

Now, back at Cid’s, sweaty and aching and dusty from another run, the Batch filed in ahead of her. Her boots dragged slightly, exhaustion settling in her bones like old echoes. She was about to hang her blaster at the rack when her breath caught—sharp, immediate, deep.

She felt him before she saw him.

The Force surged like a wave just under her skin. A presence wrapped in memory and loyalty and grief. Her head snapped up.

Standing in the corner of Cid’s parlor, talking low with Hunter, was Captain Rex.

He hadn’t changed much—still clad in familiar white and blue armor, cloak drawn over one shoulder, a little more wear on his face, a little more heaviness behind his eyes. His gaze was sharp as ever.

And then his eyes locked with hers.

The world fell away.

She didn’t breathe. Neither did he.

“Rex?” she said, barely a whisper.

Cid squinted at her. “Wait—you two know each other?”

Neither answered.

“Holy kriff,” Wrecker muttered.

The room fell into silence. Even Tech looked up from his scanner, blinking rapidly.

She took a step forward, heart in her throat. He took one too.

“…You’re alive,” Rex finally said.

“So are you,” she whispered back.

Rex’s voice broke just slightly. “I thought I lost you on Mygeeto.”

She wanted to say a thousand things. She wanted to cry. Or maybe scream. Instead, she smiled—tight and aching.

“You almost did.”

“You were reported dead,” Rex said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “The logs said your ship was shot down before it cleared Mygeeto’s atmosphere. That you never made it off-world.”

She blinked, her mouth parting as if to speak, but nothing came at first. Her throat tightened.

“No,” she said finally. “That… never happened. I made it out clean. No damage. No one even fired at my ship.”

Rex stared at her, confusion shadowing his face. “That doesn’t make sense. That kind of discrepancy… someone altered the report.”

Her heart began to pound harder now, a slow, rising pressure like air being sucked out of the room.

A beat passed.

“…Bacara,” she said aloud, but not to Rex—more like to herself. The name slipped out like a bitter taste on her tongue.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, it did. The moment on the battlefield, when his blaster had locked on her with terrifying precision—then hesitated. Just for a breath. And she had felt something underneath the chip-induced obedience. A pause. A struggle.

And then the fake report.

Did he lie? The thought whispered through her like a crack of light through stormclouds. Did he lie to protect me?

But the thought was gone as quickly as it came—burned out by the searing heat of Rex’s presence.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, shaking it off, forcing herself back to the now. “I survived. That’s what matters.”

Rex wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, to the others.

To the rest of the Batch.

His body tensed, like a wire pulled too tight.

“…You haven’t removed your chips,” Rex said suddenly, voice sharp and cold as a vibroblade.

The Bad Batch stilled.

“What?” Echo stepped forward. “Rex—”

“I said,” Rex growled, stepping into the middle of the group, “you haven’t removed your inhibitor chips. After everything we’ve seen—after what happened to her—you’re still walking around with those things in your heads?”

“We haven’t had an episode,” Tech offered calmly. “We believe our mutation suppresses its effectiveness.”

Rex’s hand hovered near his blaster now.

“Belief isn’t good enough. You’re a threat to her.”

The reader stepped between them, her heart in her throat.

“Rex—”

“No,” he said, not to her, but about her. “She barely survived the last time a squad turned on her. You really want to gamble her life again?”

Hunter met Rex’s fury head-on, calm but firm. “We’re not your enemy.”

“Not yet,” Rex snapped. “But I’ve seen what those chips do. I felt it tear my mind apart. You think just because you haven’t activated, it won’t happen? You don’t get to risk her.”

The reader put a hand on his chest, stopping him, grounding him.

“I can take care of myself,” she said quietly. “They’ve had plenty of chances. And they haven’t.”

But Rex’s gaze didn’t soften. Not yet.

“I lost everything,” he said, finally looking at her again. “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch it happen again. Not to you.”

⸻

The makeshift medbay in the old star cruiser felt colder than the cantina ever had. The surgical pod hissed softly as Tech monitored the vitals, his face pale in the glow of the console.

Wrecker sat on the edge of the table, visibly uneasy.

“I really don’t like this, guys,” he muttered, voice strained. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hunter stepped forward, voice calm. “You’ll be okay. We’ve all done it now, Wreck. You’re the last one.”

The reader stood to the side, hands clasped tightly. She had helped on this mission, grown close to them over the weeks. The thought of any of them hurting her—or Omega—was almost impossible. But she’d seen what the chip could do. She had lived it.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Omega asked softly, standing near Wrecker’s knee.

Wrecker gave her a pained smile. “’Course I do, kid.”

She left his side reluctantly as Tech activated the procedure.

Then it began.

Sparks of pain registered on the screen—neural surges, error readings. Wrecker groaned, clutching his head.

The reader’s breath hitched.

“Tech?” Echo stepped forward. “That’s not normal—”

Wrecker’s growl cut through the room. His hands gripped the edges of the table until they bent under his strength.

He lunged.

Tech hit the emergency release—but too late. Wrecker was up, snarling, wild-eyed.

“You’re all traitors!” he shouted.

Hunter shoved Omega behind him. “Wrecker, fight it!”

“In violation of Order 66!” he bellowed, locking eyes with the reader.

She barely had time to ignite her saber as he charged.

They clashed hard—fist to blade. Sparks flew. Her heart pounded. He was trying to kill her.

He wasn’t Wrecker anymore.

“You don’t want to do this!” she cried, dodging as he smashed a console.

Echo and Hunter tried to flank him, but he threw them aside effortlessly. He moved toward Omega next—drawn to the Jedi-adjacent signature she carried.

“No!” the reader screamed, hurling him back with the Force.

That dazed him just long enough for Tech to line up the stun shot—two bursts of blue light—and Wrecker dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The silence afterward felt deafening.

Omega rushed into the reader’s arms, trembling.

“I-It wasn’t him,” she whispered. “That wasn’t Wrecker…”

The reader just held her tightly, blinking away her own tears.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The cruiser’s medbay was quiet again, the hum of the equipment the only sound as Wrecker stirred.

He groaned, eyes fluttering open, then blinked blearily at the harsh lighting above. The reader stood near the far wall, arms crossed, eyes guarded. Omega was asleep in a nearby chair, curled up beneath a blanket.

Wrecker sat up slowly, then immediately winced. “Urgh… what happened?”

Hunter leaned forward, cautious. “You don’t remember?”

Wrecker rubbed his temple. “Just… pain. Then nothing.”

Tech stood near the console. “Your inhibitor chip activated. We had to stun you to prevent serious harm.”

Wrecker glanced around, gaze slowly landing on the reader. His heart dropped.

“I—I hurt you, didn’t I?” he rasped.

She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white where they gripped her sleeves.

“You tried to kill me,” she said quietly. “Tried to kill Omega.”

Wrecker’s shoulders slumped, devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “I couldn’t stop it… I wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you. Or her.”

The reader finally stepped closer. “I know,” she said. “It wasn’t you. It was the chip.”

“But it was me,” Wrecker insisted. “It was my hands. My voice. I said those things…”

Omega stirred then, blinking awake. She saw Wrecker sitting up and scrambled over, hugging him fiercely before anyone could stop her.

He held her gently, cradling her as if she were made of glass. His voice cracked when he whispered, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“I forgive you,” she murmured.

The room went still.

The reader watched them, throat tight. The bruises on her arms still throbbed. But the sincerity in Wrecker’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it reached something inside her.

She gave a small nod. “So do I.”

Wrecker looked up, eyes glassy. “Really?”

She stepped closer, touching his shoulder. “You were the last one with that thing in your head. It’s over now. You’re still Wrecker.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

Echo gave him a nod. “You’re one of us. Always.”

Tech cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all… unchipped, we can begin operating more freely. No more sudden execution protocols.”

Hunter placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm. “We move forward together.”

Wrecker nodded slowly, and Omega curled back up beside him, calmer now.

The reader stepped back, quietly observing them.

Something had changed in her too. Watching them risk everything for one another, seeing how hard they fought to stay together, to be together—it stirred something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time:

Hope.

⸻

Ord Mantell’s night air was thick with the scent of dust and ion fuel, the stars low and heavy above the cluttered skyline.

She stood alone on the overlook behind Cid’s parlor, arms folded against the breeze, her lightsaber weighing heavy at her side. It was the first time she’d clipped it there in months.

She didn’t flinch when Rex approached. She felt him before she heard him.

“You sure?” he asked, stopping beside her.

She nodded, slow. “Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a long time. The clatter of cantina noise bled faintly through the walls. Somewhere below, Wrecker was likely teaching Omega how to throw a punch without breaking her wrist. Echo would be reading. Hunter brooding. Tech lecturing some poor soul who made the mistake of asking a question.

They’d become a strange sort of family. And that made this harder.

“I’m not running,” she finally said. “Not from them. But I can’t keep hiding in a bar like the war never happened.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Rex said quietly.

She turned to look at him, really look at him—his expression weary, but his posture still sharp. There was always weight behind his gaze, but now it was heavier. Lonelier. She recognized it. She felt it too.

“I think I owe them a goodbye,” she said.

⸻

Inside, the Batch were gathered around the table. She stood before them, her saber now visibly clipped to her hip.

They all turned. Omega was the first to speak. “You’re leaving?”

“I am,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “With Rex.”

A beat of silence.

Hunter stood. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “You all gave me something I didn’t realize I needed. But I can’t stay here while there’s still a fight out there.”

Tech removed his goggles briefly, nodding with rare sincerity. “You’ve always been capable. I suspected it the moment I saw you cleaning barstools like you’d rather stab someone.”

That earned a faint laugh, even from her.

Wrecker stepped forward, wrapping her in a careful, crushing hug. “Just don’t get shot or anything.”

“I’ll try not to,” she muttered into his chestplate.

Echo approached last, meeting her gaze with quiet understanding. “Stay safe. And if you ever need us—”

“I’ll find you,” she said. “I promise.”

Omega flung herself into her arms, teary-eyed but brave. “Will you visit?”

“If I can,” she whispered. “I’ll try.”

⸻

Outside again, Rex waited by the speeder. She joined him in silence, the saber at her hip now humming softly against her side.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’m going anyway.”

Rex smirked faintly. “Good answer.”

They mounted the speeder, and as it took off into the dark, she didn’t look back.

Not because she didn’t care.

But because it hurt too much.

And because the future waited.

⸻

*Time Skip*

The AT-TE creaked in the dry wind, its repurposed hull groaning like an old man settling into bed. Panels of mismatched metal were welded over the gaps, creating a patchwork home that had weathered years of storms, dust, and silence. A line of vapor-trapped cables ran down from a salvaged power generator, and the front cannon had long since been converted into a lookout perch—with an old caf pot hanging just beneath it.

Out here on Seelos, nothing moved fast—except time.

She sat alone atop the forward deck, legs dangling over the edge, her lightsaber in a locked case at her feet. She hadn’t opened it in years. Some days she forgot it was even there. Other days, her hand would rest on it unconsciously, like a phantom limb that still itched.

Behind her, laughter echoed from inside—Gregor’s wild cackle, Wolffe grumbling that something in the stew “smelled too fresh,” and Rex… softer now, slower in his step, but still unmistakably him.

He didn’t wear armor anymore. Not really. The old pauldrons were used as patch plates on the AT-TE, and his helmet rested on a shelf with a layer of dust thick enough to write in. His hair was white now, and his back bent a little more with each passing year. She could see the toll the war had taken on his body—clones weren’t built for longevity. But his eyes? Those still held that sharp, earnest fire when he looked at her.

They had made a quiet life together. A small garden. A stripped-down comm dish for the occasional transmission. She cooked. He read. Some mornings they sat in silence with caf, the sun rising red over the Seelos horizon like blood on sand.

And yet, there were moments—when the wind howled just so, or when night came too quiet—when her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To him.

To Bacara.

She hadn’t seen him since Mygeeto. Since she watched him gun down Master Mundi without hesitation—since he turned on her with no emotion at all, like a stranger wearing a familiar face. But sometimes, she wondered. He’d lied in his report. She was sure of it. He said her ship was shot down before it breached the atmosphere… but it wasn’t. He let her go.

Why?

And where was he now?

Did he ever think about her? Did the chip ever break like it did in Rex? Or did he die a soldier, still bound to the Empire? Still hunting Jedi in the shadows of a life that used to mean more?

She shook the thought away.

She had Rex.

And this peace… this was real.

The perimeter alarm chirped—one long tone, then two short. A ship. Small. Civilian or rebel-modified. Old programming still made her spine go rigid.

She stood, heart steady but alert, as the vessel descended into view. The dust curled beneath it, kicking up into the dusk-lit sky.

By the time it touched down, she was already at the foot of the AT-TE, hand hovering instinctively near the saber case tucked behind the front hatch.

Then the ramp lowered.

She felt it.

The Force.

Before they even stepped out.

Two Jedi.

A Mandalorian.

And a Lasat.

Ezra Bridger emerged first, cautious and respectful. Sabine Wren followed, helmet in hand, and Zeb let out a low grunt of approval at the sight of the old war walker.

And then him.

The Jedi.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Not because he was a stranger.

Because he wasn’t.

Caleb Dume.

He didn’t look the same—not exactly. Older now, guarded. His hair longer, beard fuller, movements tighter like someone who had lived on the edge too long.

But she knew those eyes.

“Kanan Jarrus,” he introduced himself, stepping forward.

She didn’t return the greeting immediately. Her voice was quiet. “I knew you as Caleb.”

He stiffened, face unreadable. The others exchanged a glance. The Lasat’s hand twitched near his weapon, but Hera gently put a hand on his arm.

Kanan didn’t deny it. “Then you’re…?”

“I was with Master Mace Windus second padawan,” she said. “I remember you at the Temple. You were small. Loud. You used to sneak into the archives to look at holos of war reports.”

His expression softened. “That sounds like me.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The past stretched like a shadow between them.

Ezra finally stepped in. “Do the numbers CT-7567 mean anything to you? Ashoka Tano said he might help us establish a network… fight back against the Empire.”

Behind her, footsteps thudded—Rex stepping out of the AT-TE, wiping his hands with a rag, eyebrows raised as he spotted the group.

“Told ya they’d find us eventually,” Gregor called from the hatch, cheerful as ever.

The reader didn’t take her eyes off Kanan.

He was studying Rex, but his focus kept flicking back to her.

She could feel the tension like a storm behind his eyes. The chip. Order 66. Old scars. Unspoken pain.

She understood. But this wasn’t about the past anymore.

This was the beginning of something new.

A new hope.

⸻

Previous Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.6

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

⸻

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

Lights moved. Ships passed. Life carried on.

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

Her breathing had finally steadied.

But the storm inside hadn’t.

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

And for a moment, she hated them both.

Not just for what they did.

But for making her feel small.

For making her doubt herself.

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

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

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

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

Were either of them truly what she wanted?

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

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

And quietly, bitterly, she whispered to herself—

“Maybe I don’t want either of them.”

Maybe she wanted peace.

Maybe she wanted clarity.

Maybe she wanted herself back.

A knock startled her—sharp and fast.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet.

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming in,” he said plainly.

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.” Her voice was too quick.

He said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

Something in her broke at that. Just a crack.

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

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

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

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

That struck something deep.

She stared at the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks… Master”

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

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

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

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

⸻

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

And then came the knock.

Not sharp. Not gentle. Just… steady.

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t deserve what happened earlier.”

The silence that followed was thick.

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

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

She turned to face him, arms crossed.

“You don’t do apologies, Bacara.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I can try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath hitched.

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

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

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

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

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

“You kissed me,” she whispered.

“I’d do it again.”

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

He did.

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

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

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

Hopeful.

⸻

He knew before she said anything.

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

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

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

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

He gave a small, sad smile. “I know.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

“I know that too.”

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

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

“I know.”

“But you’re better with him?”

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

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

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

She blinked fast. Tears clung to her lashes.

“Rex…”

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

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

When he stepped back, something in her chest fractured.

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

And then he was gone.

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

⸻

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

This was heartbreak.

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

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

She chose Bacara.

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

He didn’t hate Bacara. Not really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Ahsoka.

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka folded her arms. “She picked Bacara.”

It wasn’t a question.

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“No,” Rex said. “It doesn’t.”

There was a long silence between them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe, someday, he would be.

But not tonight.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.5

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The Council chamber lights dimmed as the debrief concluded. Bacara and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi exited in synchronized silence, the General’s long strides matching the Commander’s clipped, militant pace. Their boots echoed through the empty corridor.

They didn’t speak until the door to Mundi’s private quarters hissed closed behind them.

“I expected more restraint from her,” Mundi said, lowering his hood and brushing dust from the hem of his robe. “She continues to act with more heart than mind.”

“She held the position,” Bacara answered, standing still, helmet tucked under his arm. “Her plan worked.”

“Despite contradicting my orders. Again.”

Bacara’s brow twitched.

“She isn’t your padawan, Master Jedi.”

Mundi turned, eyes narrowing. “She is not yours either.”

A beat passed between them—tense, unsaid.

Bacara continued evenly. “With all due respect, General, her instincts saved lives. She has a rapport with native systems we lack. That’s why she was sent.”

Mundi stepped closer. “Her defiance encourages division. Among the men. Between us. If she continues to override my command in the field, I will petition for her removal.”

Bacara’s jaw tightened. “Petition it, then.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Mundi’s features—but he said nothing further. The door opened behind them without warning.

“Interesting conversation,” Mace Windu said calmly, stepping into the threshold with arms folded behind his back. “Especially in my temple.”

Mundi straightened. Bacara turned slightly, his posture still.

“Mace,” Mundi said tersely, “I wasn’t aware you were within earshot.”

“You weren’t.” Mace’s gaze was unreadable. “But I am now.”

Bacara shifted subtly as Mundi excused himself with a nod. The door shut behind him, leaving Windu and the Marshal Commander alone.

“I assume that wasn’t the first time he’s said something like that.”

“No, General.”

Mace studied Bacara in silence for a long time.

“She frustrates you.”

“Yes.”

“She challenges you.”

“She challenges everyone.”

Mace didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth moved. “Good.”

Bacara blinked.

“You were eavesdropping on my conversation with her,”Windu said. “She told me.”

Bacara gave no excuse.

“You took offense.”

Still no reply.

“I’m not asking you to like her, Commander,” Windu continued. “But I trained her. I know every strength and every flaw. And I sent her out there not just to win battles—but to become something more than what the war wants her to be.”

Bacara’s eyes finally lifted to meet his.

“She’ll never become that if everyone keeps expecting her to fit a mold she was never made for.”

Mace turned to leave, then paused.

“She thinks you hate her.”

“I don’t.”

“You should tell her that.”

“I’ll consider it, sir.”

Mace nodded once, sharp and precise. “You’re dismissed, Commander.”

As Bacara stepped into the corridor, he felt the weight of the conversation settle heavier than any armor.

He didn’t hate her. He wasn’t sure what he felt at all.

But he knew something had shifted—and Mace Windu was watching it unfold.

⸻

Coruscant was loud in a way Aleen could never be. Mechanical hums. Shuttles roaring overhead. The ever-present press of voices—clones, officers, droids, senators.

You hated how quickly it swallowed everything you’d just worked for.

The campaign on Aleen had ended with fewer casualties than projected, the native population protected, and General Mundi oddly… complimentary during debriefings. A rare win.

But here, back in the sterile hallways of Republic infrastructure, you felt the shift. The ripple of tension that had nothing to do with the war.

You leaned against the wall outside a conference room, arms crossed, still half in your field gear, watching clone officers file past.

Bacara was across from you, just as silent as ever, helmet clipped to his side.

Not speaking. Not glaring. Not walking away, either.

“I figured you’d vanish again,” you said finally. “Go back to pretending you tolerate me out of obligation.”

He didn’t look over, but his voice was quieter than usual. “I don’t pretend.”

You glanced at him, heart already threatening to betray you by skipping ahead. “No?”

“I told you. I don’t hate you.”

You chuckled softly. “That’s not quite the same as liking me.”

He met your gaze. “No. It’s not.”

Before you could answer, heavy boots rounded the corner—familiar, steady, a presence that always made your chest twist.

Rex.

He paused when he saw you, a half-smile forming. “General.”

“Captain.” You stood straighter, smile automatic.

His eyes flicked briefly to Bacara. The air thickened.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” Rex added, his voice just a little too calm.

“Neither did I. Aleen wrapped early. Mundi actually gave me something resembling a compliment.”

“That’s a headline,” Rex joked. But his eyes didn’t leave Bacara.

The other clone commander said nothing. Just stood at your side, unreadable as always.

Ahsoka rounded the corner next, blue-and-white montrals catching the light. She stopped, blinking at the scene—then gave a little nod, as if the Force had just whispered something to her.

“Uh oh,” she said lightly.

You arched a brow. “Uh oh?”

“I think you three need a minute.”

She all but dragged Rex away, glancing back once, her expression somewhere between amusement and concern.

You turned to Bacara, who hadn’t moved.

“Well,” you said, too casually. “That’s going to be awkward later.”

Bacara exhaled slowly. “He’s important to you.”

You frowned. “So are you.”

That made him flinch. Just barely. A breath, a twitch of his jaw.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he said.

“You don’t have to know how. You just have to try.”

He looked at you again—really looked. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m trying.”

You smiled, a bit softer than before. “Good.”

In the distance, you could feel Rex’s presence like a steady pulse. Familiar. Safe.

And beside you, Bacara. Solid. Controlled. Finally cracking open just a little.

Two men. Opposite hearts. And you, suspended in the gravity between them.

⸻

You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking the halls of the base, looking for somewhere quiet. It was one of those nights where sleep hovered but never landed—your thoughts full of too many voices, too many faces.

Rex’s door was open.

He was sitting at the edge of his bunk, still in partial armor, head low, hands loosely clasped. A man built for war—always steady, always composed.

You knocked on the doorframe.

He looked up, unsurprised. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You stepped inside. “I don’t know if I even tried.”

A pause, then a small smile. “Me neither.”

He motioned to the empty bunk across from him. You sat, the air quiet between you. Close, but not too close. Not yet.

“I keep thinking about Aleen,” you said eventually. “And Bacara. And the way I keep orbiting around people I shouldn’t.”

Rex didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on the floor.

“I didn’t think you and Bacara were…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You want it to.”

His eyes met yours—raw, honest. “Yeah. I do.”

It was like oxygen filled the room again.

You rose from the bunk, stepped closer, until there was barely a breath between you. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t back away.

“I don’t know how to do this either,” you whispered. “Not with clones. Not with Jedi codes looming over everything. Not with… you.”

He stood slowly. “I don’t care about codes.”

Your heart beat wildly in your chest as he lifted a hand, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

“Rex,” you breathed. “I—”

The door slid open.

You both jumped apart.

Anakin stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched.

There was a beat of charged silence before he said, completely deadpan, “Well. Don’t stop on my account.”

You stared, flustered. Rex was already stepping back, straightening like he’d been caught sneaking out of class.

Anakin smirked, stepping into the room. “Relax. I’m not one to judge about… attachments.” The word practically dripped sarcasm.

You glared at him. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to consider knocking. Decided against it.”

Rex cleared his throat. “General—”

Anakin held up a hand. “You’re both adults. You’ve survived more battles than I can count. Just… try not to get caught by someone less forgiving than me.”

You crossed your arms. “Like Master Windu?”

Anakin shrugged, amused. “Exactly.”

And then, his expression softened just a little. “Just be careful, okay? Both of you. This war doesn’t make room for many second chances.”

With that, he turned and left, the door hissing shut behind him.

You and Rex stood in the silence that followed, hearts still racing.

“Next time,” Rex said, voice lower, rougher, “I’m locking the door.”

You smiled—because of course he would.

And yet, the moment had shifted. It hadn’t broken… but it had changed.

Still, you took a step closer.

“Next time,” you whispered, “don’t stop.”

⸻

Mace Windu stood at the high window of the Council chamber, watching Coruscant sprawl beneath him in endless lines of light. His hands were folded behind his back, posture rigid, gaze unreadable.

He had been quiet during the last half of the briefing. Even Yoda had glanced his way once or twice, sensing his distraction.

The briefing ended. The chamber emptied. Only Obi-Wan lingered.

“You’re distracted,” Obi-Wan said casually, tone light, but not mocking.

Mace didn’t turn. “She’s hiding something.”

Obi-Wan didn’t need to ask who she was.

“Your former Padawan is a Knight now. Independent. Capable. Perhaps you’re reading too much into it.”

“She’s… different,” Mace said slowly, frowning. “Something’s shifted. Not in battle. Not in duty. But in her presence. The Force around her feels… pulled.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You think she’s forming attachments?”

“I know she is.”

That earned a quiet sigh from Kenobi. “And this is a problem because…?”

Mace turned then, expression flat. “Because she’s too much like Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan barked a short laugh before he could stop himself. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“She walks the line,” Mace said, voice low. “Emotion, impulse, recklessness. I accepted it as her master. I even respected it. But I didn’t teach her to love—I taught her to survive.”

here was silence for a moment.

“And yet…” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “she still smiles when you’re around. Still calls you her family.”

Mace looked away.

“I’m not condemning her,” he said. “I just… I can feel it. The way she holds herself. Like there’s someone else she’s protecting now. Like she’s already chosen someone.”

“You know who?”

“No,” Mace admitted. “Not yet. But I will.”

⸻

You sat alone beneath one of the massive trees, hood pulled up, trying to meditate but failing.

You felt him before you heard him.

“I taught you not to slouch,” Mace said behind you.

You smirked. “I distinctly remember you teaching me how to disarm a Dathomirian assassin at the age of eleven. Posture didn’t come up.”

Mace sat beside you with a long, deep sigh. “You’ve changed.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m not angry,” he continued, tone unreadable. “But I sense a disturbance around you. Like the Force is being… shared.”

Your stomach dropped. Not because you were guilty—not exactly—but because you knew he’d never bring this up unless he felt it deeply.

“I’m not in danger,” you said quietly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You looked at him, then away. “I’ve seen so many die, Master. It’s hard to not care. To not feel.”

“You can care,” Mace said. “But if your feelings endanger your clarity, or the mission—”

“They don’t,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I haven’t broken. I haven’t fallen.”

Mace was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m not asking for names,” he said eventually. “But if it’s a clone… be careful. You already live in a world built to destroy everything you care about. Don’t give the war something else to take from you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’ll always be your family,” he added, voice softer. “But I can’t protect you from your own heart.”

And with that, he stood and left, the shadows of the Temple stretching long behind him.

⸻

You stood on the edge of the Temple’s landing platform, overlooking the city lights that shimmered like restless stars. The night was thick with soundless wind, your cloak pulled tight around you as the Force stirred in warning—familiar, heavy footsteps approaching.

You didn’t need to turn. “I thought you’d gone back to GAR Command.”

Bacara stopped a few paces behind you. Silence clung to him, like it always did, but this time it pulsed with something unsaid—uneasy, unrelenting.

“I should have,” he said finally. “But I didn’t.”

You turned, arms folded, studying the commander who had never looked more torn—still in his blacks, helmet in hand, jaw tight with restraint. His eyes didn’t meet yours at first.

“Why are you here, Bacara?”

“I overheard Windu talking to Kenobi,” he said, stepping forward, voice strained. “About you. About something changing in you.”

“And you came to see if it was about you?” you asked, more bitter than you meant.

“And you came to see if it was about you?” you asked, more bitter than you meant.

His eyes snapped to yours. “No. I came because… I needed to know.”

The silence stretched.

You exhaled slowly. “Know what?”

He took another step, until you were within arm’s reach. “Why you’re in my head. Why I haven’t slept since we left Aleen. Why the idea of you with him—Rex—makes me want to break protocol, orders, everything.”

You froze.

“I don’t hate you,” Bacara said, the words sounding like they’d been ripped from somewhere deep and long-buried. “I’ve never hated you. You just… get under my skin.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” you whispered.

“I know,” he snapped, and then faltered, jaw working. “You were just being… you. Loud. Impulsive. Always standing up for the men, even when it meant challenging Jedi. Even when it meant challenging me.”

Your heart pounded.

“I didn’t know what to do with someone like you,” he admitted, voice low now. “I still don’t.”

You reached up slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of his vambrace. “Then don’t think. Just feel.”

His eyes searched yours—dark, tormented, warring with everything he was taught to suppress.

And then he moved.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was raw, unfiltered, all heat and tension and fire. His hand curled around the back of your neck, yours gripped his sleeve as your cloaks whipped in the night air. It was a kiss born of war and silence, of frustration and longing, and the impossibility of it all.

When you broke apart, both breathless, he didn’t speak at first.

But his forehead pressed to yours, and for the first time since you met him, Bacara let himself be still in your presence.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he said quietly.

You almost smiled. “Then we’re even.”

⸻

You were restless.

The training droids lay in sparking heaps around you. Sweat clung to your skin, your lightsaber still humming faintly as you tried to outpace the storm brewing in your mind.

Rex’s quiet steadiness.

Bacara’s raw, barely-contained hunger.

The kiss haunted you.

Bacara had torn a piece of himself open for you—just for a moment. And that moment had scorched you.

But Rex? He saw you. Understood you. Listened. Respected you. And you felt safe in his shadow.

But do you want safety? Or something that burns?

You didn’t get to dwell. The door to the training room hissed open.

Rex stood in the threshold, eyes scanning the wreckage, then finding you. He looked tired. Tense. His shoulders tight beneath his armor.

“I figured I’d find you here,” he said.

You deactivated your saber. “Not hiding, just… thinking.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but something underneath it—a quiet, almost desperate undertone.

“I’ve had a lot to think about.”

He stepped closer, stopping just a breath away. “Was it him?”

You met his eyes. “Rex—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he cut in, voice controlled. Too controlled. “But I need to know what I’m walking into.”

Your breath caught.

“He kissed you.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

He looked away, jaw working. Then:

“Did you kiss him back?”

The silence between you was louder than any battle you’d fought.

“Yes,” you whispered.

The answer struck him like a blow. His eyes closed, just for a second. “And what does that mean? For us?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I wish I did.”

Before he could speak again, the door hissed open again.

Bacara.

You felt the energy in the room shift—like a lightsaber igniting in a dry field.

His gaze went immediately to Rex. Then to you. The unspoken claim in his stance was unmistakable.

“Captain,” he said coolly.

“Commander,” Rex returned, just as cold.

Neither moved. Neither blinked.

You stepped between them instinctively. “Stop.”

“She can choose for herself, you know,” Rex said, eyes never leaving Bacara’s.

“I don’t recall asking you,” Bacara said sharply, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not some object you two get to fight over,” you snapped. “I’m a Jedi. Your general. And I deserve better than this.”

Both men quieted.

But the air between them crackled with something toxic. Territorial. Like two wolves circling the same prey.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said, voice softer now. “I didn’t want any of it to get this messy.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Rex said. “Some things just… happen.”

“And some things,” Bacara said, stepping forward, voice firm, “are worth fighting for.”

You stared between them, breath shallow.

You had no answers. No clarity. Only chaos.

And two men willing to burn for you.

The silence was oppressive. No one spoke, but the weight of unspoken things pressed against your chest like a closing fist.

You stepped back, eyes moving between the two of them. Their postures were rigid—pride, anger, jealousy… possession. You hadn’t seen it before, not like this. Not so raw.

But now it was ugly.

“Do you two even hear yourselves?” Your voice was sharp—cutting like shattered glass. “You’re acting like I’m a trophy. Like I’m something to win.”

Neither answered.

That was worse.

You could feel it coming off them in waves—territoriality, rivalry, something primal.

“You think I want this? You think I asked for it? You think watching the two of you size each other up like animals is what I dreamed of when I became a Jedi?”

You hated the way your voice cracked. The hurt that leaked through the fury.

Rex’s brows furrowed—his mouth opened slightly, as if to explain, to offer some gentle word to ground the fire—but you didn’t give him the chance.

And Bacara—Bacara just stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight, refusing to retreat, refusing to feel. That wall was back, stronger than ever, and it felt like a slap.

“I’ve fought beside you. I’ve nearly died beside you. Both of you. And still—you can’t see me. Not really. You only see each other. This—” you gestured between them, “—this pissing contest? It’s not love. It’s not loyalty. It’s not even care. It’s ego. And it makes me sick.”

The hurt was hot now, crawling up your throat.

“I thought you were different,” you said softly to Rex.

He flinched. Just barely.

Then your gaze snapped to Bacara. “And you—maybe I wanted to believe there was more under the armor. But if this is what’s beneath it?” Your lip curled. “Maybe I was wrong.”

You pushed past them, the door hissing open at your approach.

Neither followed.

You didn’t want them to.

For the first time in months, you wanted out.

Out of this room.

Out of their war.

Out of whatever twisted, tangled thing was growing between the three of you.

You didn’t even know what you felt anymore.

You just knew this wasn’t what love was supposed to look like.

And right now, the idea of either of them touching you—holding you—felt like ash in your mouth.

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving only the quiet hum of the training room’s systems—and the echo of everything she said.

Rex stood still, breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides. Bacara hadn’t moved either, like he was carved from stone.

The silence didn’t last.

“You gonna throw a punch, or just stand there brooding?” Rex muttered, without looking at him.

Bacara’s jaw twitched. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

“You’re proving her right, you know.”

That got him. Bacara’s head turned sharply, a flicker of fire behind his eyes. “I don’t need a lecture from a clone who couldn’t keep his feelings in check.”

Rex stepped forward, shoulders squared. “And you think you did? You think shutting her out, giving her crumbs of emotion, and then snapping the second someone else showed interest—that’s any better?”

Bacara’s fists curled.

“I don’t talk,” he said flatly. “I act. I protect. I don’t have time for your soft Republic niceties.”

“No,” Rex snapped, “you have time to throw your weight around. You have time to glare and scowl and push people away until it’s too late.”

That hit harder than intended.

For a second, Rex almost backed down—but the look in Bacara’s eyes was enough to push him forward again.

“You think this is about me stealing her from you? She walked out, Commander. On both of us. Because we made her feel like a thing to fight over. Not a person.”

Bacara turned his back, pacing. “You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

There was a long beat. Bacara’s hands were on his hips now, his head low, voice rough.

“I don’t know how to… do this,” he admitted, bitter. “I’m trained for war. For tactics. Not…” He shook his head. “Not feelings. Not wanting something I’m not supposed to want.”

“She’s not a mission,” Rex said. “She’s a person. And maybe if we’d both remembered that earlier…”

Bacara turned, face hard again. “You’re still talking like it’s over.”

There was silence.

Then Rex looked away. “Isn’t it?”

The quiet returned—cold, heavy, and full of the ache of something breaking.

Both of them knew they’d pushed her away.

Neither of them knew how to fix it.

But worse—deep down—they weren’t sure they deserved to.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.4

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The skies of Aleen burned amber with the coming dusk. Ashen winds carried whispers through the forests — voices of a people you’d once sworn to protect. Now you were back again, years older, far more jaded, but somehow still the same.

Your boots pressed into soft moss as you walked alone through the dense forest paths. Lanterns swung overhead, casting warm halos across carved stone shrines and winding wooden bridges. You knew every bend of this land—every whisper between the trees.

It was surreal returning here without a battalion behind you. No clones. No Jedi. No command structure. Just you, your words, and your past with these people.

You passed a familiar tree with painted markings—children had once drawn them when you’d last been stationed here. A flutter of warmth struck you as an elder spotted you.

“Master Jedi,” their leader said with a soft smile.

You bowed your head. “It’s good to see you again.”

Your mission was simple in theory: rekindle an alliance with the people before Separatist influence reached them again. But nothing about this place, or this war, was ever simple.

And as the nights stretched on, you missed… them.

Bacara. Rex. Each so different. One who rarely spoke but always saw. One who listened, even when you didn’t speak. Neither here. Just you—and the echo of everything unspoken.

⸻

Commander Bacara stood at parade rest beside Master Ki-Adi-Mundi as mission projections flickered across the holotable. Opposite them, Rex stood beside Anakin and Ahsoka, arms folded, helmet tucked under one arm.

None of them spoke at first. The map of the outer rim planet hovered between them—a quiet reminder of who wasn’t in the room.

“She’s managing well on her own,” Ahsoka said lightly, breaking the silence. “The locals trust her. That’s half the battle already won.”

Mundi offered a nod, but Bacara’s gaze never shifted from the holo. “It’s dangerous. Alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Rex said, just a little too sharply.

Anakin caught it.

So did Mundi.

A beat passed before Ki-Adi-Mundi turned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Commander Bacara, has General [Y/N] reported any signs of Separatist movement?”

“Negative,” Bacara said without pause. “But she’s a Jedi, not a negotiator. These types of missions require—”

“She’s handled far more volatile diplomacy than this,” Rex interrupted. “And better than some council members.”

Mundi raised a brow. “Careful, Captain.”

Rex’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.

Ahsoka looked between the two clones, then stepped forward, trying to ease the tension. “She’ll be fine. She’s got that Windu resilience.”

Bacara’s shoulders barely moved, but Anakin noticed the tick in his jaw. “You don’t agree?” Skywalker asked.

“She’s not indestructible,” Bacara said.

“No,” Anakin replied, coolly. “But she’s not your burden, Commander.”

The room quieted again. Cold. Sharp-edged.

Finally, Mundi spoke. “Personal entanglements have no place in war. This is why Jedi do not form attachments.”

Neither Rex nor Bacara responded.

But Ahsoka’s eyes flicked between them—both still as stone, both burning with something just beneath the surface.

The kind of storm you didn’t see until it was already overhead.

⸻

You hated caves.

You hated the stale air, the way sound echoed wrong, the weight of stone pressing down on your shoulders like a ghost. The Aleena had guided you this deep to show the root of the problem—something poisoning the waters, causing tremors in their cities, and killing their sacred roots.

You knelt beside the cracked fissure, reaching out with the Force. What answered was not nature.

Something foreign slithered beneath. Something droid.

You rose quickly, turning to the elder at your side. “The Separatists are here,” you said. “Or they were.”

The elder clicked his tongue anxiously. “Many of our kind are trapped deeper down. The tremors sealed the path. We can’t reach them. We cannot fight.”

Of course. That was why you were here. No army. No squad. Just you.

You weren’t enough this time.

You stepped away, pulling out your comm and staring down at it for a long moment.

Your gut said Rex. He’d listen. He’d come. He’d believe you.

But this… this wasn’t a clone problem. This wasn’t about blaster fire or tactics.

This was about digging, about seismic shifts and local customs. This was about the Force.

You hated what came next.

You toggled to the channel you never used.

“Master Mundi.”

A pause.

“Yes, General?”

“I need assistance on Aleen.”

A beat passed. Long enough for you to imagine his smug expression. But when he replied, his voice was firm, professional.

“What’s the situation?”

You relayed the details quickly, keeping emotion out of your tone. You didn’t need him judging your fear or frustration.

“I’ll divert reinforcements immediately,” he said. “Commander Bacara is with me. He’ll lead the extraction.”

Of course he would.

“Understood,” you replied. “Coordinates sent. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

“You won’t have to for long.”

You hated that he sounded almost… kind.

You ended the call and stood still, listening to the rumble of distant tunnels. Soon, Bacara would be back in your orbit. And despite everything between you, you were more afraid of what you might feel than what you’d face below ground.

⸻

The gunship kicked up waves of dust and gravel as it touched down on Aleen’s rocky surface. Commander Bacara descended the ramp first, helmet sealed, pauldron stiff against his broad shoulders. Behind him strode Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, robes whipping in the wind, brows drawn tight as he surveyed the landscape.

“Where is she?” Mundi asked, stepping up beside Bacara as clone troopers fanned out to secure the perimeter.

Bacara didn’t answer right away. He was already scanning the data feed on his wrist, synced to the coordinates you had sent. When he finally spoke, it was short and clipped. “She went in alone.”

Mundi’s tone sharpened. “Of course she did.”

The tension between the two men crackled like static in the charged Aleen air. Bacara said nothing more, but the slight shift in his stance suggested something deeper than frustration. He’d read the logs. He’d heard the tail end of your conversation with Windu. He’d heard everything.

“Troopers!” Bacara barked. “Sub-level breach—two klicks east. Move out.”

The team entered the caverns in formation. The air was thick, choked with the scent of burning oil and scorched stone. Laserfire echoed ahead.

Then, they found you.

You stood alone at the center of a collapsed chamber, half your robes burned, saber lit and crackling. At your feet were the remains of a Separatist tunneling droid. Around you, the wounded Aleena were huddled in the shadows, their eyes wide with awe and fear.

Bacara moved first.

He didn’t speak—just stepped forward, rifle raised as another wave of droids charged through a side tunnel. You looked back only briefly, the flicker of recognition passing quickly.

“Finally,” you said, flicking your saber back up. “Miss me?”

Bacara didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

He opened fire.

Mundi moved next, stepping past you with deliberate purpose. “You disobeyed protocol,” he said, even as he slashed down a droid mid-step.

You parried a blow, spun, and exhaled. “Tell me after we survive this.”

The last droid fell. The smoke lingered.

You sat on a low stone, wiping your bloodied hand with a torn sleeve. Bacara stood nearby, silent as always, his armor dusted with ash and black carbon scoring.

He finally turned to you.

“You should’ve waited.”

You didn’t look at him. “I didn’t have time.”

“You could’ve died.”

You finally met his eyes.

“And you would’ve what? Reassigned me posthumously?”

He stiffened, jaw flexing behind the helmet. Mundi, overhearing, shot you both a look of utter exhaustion.

Bacara didn’t answer your jab. Instead, he just said:

“You held the line. Noted.”

He walked off, leaving you staring after him with a knot in your stomach—and a question in your chest you weren’t ready to ask.

⸻

The camp was quiet under the fractured sky. Fires burned low in shielded pits, and the wounded slept in narrow tents beneath emergency tarps. You sat apart from the clone medics and Jedi tents, nursing a shallow burn on your forearm with a stim salve. The adrenaline had worn off; all that was left now was the ache and the silence.

Heavy footfalls crunched the dirt behind you. You didn’t look. You already knew it was him.

“Commander,” you said softly, eyes still on your bandaged arm.

“General.”

A beat passed. You waited for him to walk away. He didn’t.

You finally turned to see Bacara standing there, helmet off, held against his side. His expression was as unreadable as ever—sharp eyes, tighter lips, a soldier carved from ice and iron.

“You need something?” you asked, voice thinner than you wanted.

He studied you. Not in the way a soldier sized up a threat—but in the way someone searched for a word they weren’t used to saying.

“You did well.”

You raised a brow. “Is that praise?”

“It’s an observation,” he replied.

You didn’t look up. “If you’re here to defend your spying again, don’t. We already did that.”

“No,” Bacara said. His voice was calm. Flat. “I’m not here for that.”

You glanced up at him. “Then what?”

He stood for a beat too long before finally sitting down on the opposite crate, across the fire from you. No one else was nearby. The clones had given you space—not out of fear, but respect. You’d earned that today. Even if Bacara hadn’t said a word about it.

You sighed. “You gonna judge me for my actions like Mundi too?”

“No.”

You finally looked at him properly. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t closed off, exactly. Just guarded. Like a soldier on unfamiliar terrain.

“What then?”

“I don’t think he sees what you see,” Bacara said, eyes flicking to the fire. “But you’re right about one thing—he sees potential in you that he’s never been able to define. That’s what makes him so… rigid around you.”

You blinked. “That sounds almost like an apology.”

He met your eyes. “It’s not. Just honesty.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You ever think about just saying what you mean without flanking it like an airstrike?”

“Too dangerous.”

You smiled, but only a little. “So what do you mean now?”

“I mean,” he said, voice lower now, “you’re reckless. Frustrating. You talk too much and question everything.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. This is going well.”

“But,” he added, and you stilled, “your instincts are good. Better than most Jedi I’ve fought beside.”

A pause. You stared at him.

“And,” he added again, almost like it hurt, “you weren’t wrong to call for help.”

You tilted your head. “You mean from Mundi, or from you?”

He didn’t answer. That was an answer in itself.

You softened a little, let yourself lean forward over the fire. “I was alone. Outnumbered. You would’ve done the same thing.”

“Probably,” Bacara admitted.

“But you’d still call me reckless for doing it.”

“Yes.”

You gave him a long look. “I said worse things about you to Mace, you know.”

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean all of it,” you said.

“I know that too.”

Another silence.

Then, from him, just barely audible:

“You’re not what I expected.”

You sat back, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. “You either, Commander.”

The silence settled between you again, less like tension this time—and more like something trying to become peace.

⸻

Back on Coruscant, The city-world glittered below, a sea of metal and movement. But inside the Temple, it was unusually quiet.

Rex stood just outside the Council Chambers, arms crossed behind his back, helmet off. His posture was military-perfect, but his eyes flicked to the arched window at the far end of the corridor every few seconds.

The last time he’d stood here, you were beside him, teasing him about being too stiff, too formal. He’d barely responded, but the corner of his mouth had twitched.

“Waiting for someone?”

Rex turned. Ahsoka approached, arms folded. She wasn’t smiling—just curious.

“General Skywalker asked me to debrief after the Christophis campaign,” Rex replied. “He’s late.”

Ahsoka stopped beside him and glanced up. “You seem… off.”

Rex gave her a sidelong look. “Do I?”

“You always do that thing with your jaw when you’re annoyed.” She mimicked him poorly, exaggerating the motion. “It’s like you’re chewing invisible rations.”

Rex chuckled, just barely. “That obvious, huh?”

Ahsoka leaned against the wall. “This about the General?”

Rex didn’t answer at first. Then: “Which one?”

Her smile faded. “So her.”

He looked down at his helmet. “Something changed on Aleen. I can’t explain it. But the way she looked when we saw her at the base… something’s different.”

“She looked tired,” Ahsoka said quietly. “And like she was holding something back.”

“Bacara was watching her the entire time,” Rex said, sharper now. “Like he was waiting for something.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly. “And you were doing the same.”

The silence stretched. Rex didn’t deny it.

“I’ve felt something,” Ahsoka said, lowering her voice. “A kind of… ripple in the Force. Like she’s a pebble that hit water and the waves are just now reaching us.”

Rex turned toward her. “You think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t know.” Ahsoka’s brow furrowed. “But something’s pulling at her. Pulling her toward something big. Or breaking.”

Rex stared ahead, jaw tight again. “If she gets reassigned again without warning—”

“She won’t tell you if she does,” Ahsoka said gently. “You know that.”

“I should’ve said something when I had the chance.”

“Maybe.” She hesitated. “But she knows. Trust me—she knows.”

The doors to the Council chamber finally hissed open. Anakin stepped out, waving them both in. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to Rex for a beat too long.

Even he had noticed.

As they stepped inside, neither of them said it aloud—but something was coming. And she was at the center of it.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“War on Two Fronts” pt.3

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The Jedi Council chamber was cold, even in the glow of the Coruscant skyline. The debriefing had gone as expected: Ki-Adi Mundi gave a terse account of the victory, Master Yoda nodded gravely at the intel retrieved, and Master Windu—your master—remained silent, arms crossed, dark eyes steady.

It was only after the others had filtered out that he spoke.

“You’re making waves,” Mace said simply.

You dropped your formal posture and let out a sigh. “That’s what I’m best at, apparently.”

He stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back, regarding you not as the strict Council member—but as the father figure you’d missed for weeks. “You were chosen for that campaign for a reason. You understand people, not just the Force. But you also understand the cost of disobedience.”

You frowned. “If I hadn’t stepped in on that first op, Bacara’s squad would’ve been cut down.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe he had it handled in a way that wasn’t apparent to you.”

You bristled, but he continued before you could speak.

“I’m not saying you were wrong. But war isn’t just about what’s right. It’s about cohesion. Trust. And I can see it’s wearing on you.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “I didn’t come here to cry on your robe, Master.”

“No,” Mace said softly. “You came here because you wanted someone to tell you that you’re not crazy. That it’s okay to be angry. Conflicted. Even… confused.”

You exhaled slowly. “He overheard us. Bacara. That night.”

Mace arched a brow. “And?”

“And now he won’t even look at me the same way. I mean—he barely looked at me before, but now it’s like I’m just… insubordinate and loud and—”

“You are insubordinate and loud.”

You gaped at him, offended.

But then he smirked. Smirked. A rare thing on his face. “You’re also brave. And stubborn. And too much for men like Bacara to understand—until they do.”

You blinked, unsure what to do with that. “So what? Wait for him to catch up?”

“No,” Mace said. “Live your life. He’ll either keep pace or fall behind.”

There was something final in his tone. Like the matter was settled.

You nodded and turned to go—but paused at the door.

“Thanks, Master,” you said. “For being on my side. Always.”

“I’m not on your side,” he said, but his voice was low, warm. “I am your side.”

⸻

That night, the base was quiet.

The city lights outside flickered like static, and the low hum of the barracks ventilation system was the only sound as you walked the hall in your off-duty robes.

You didn’t mean to pass the 501st’s barracks. Didn’t mean to pause. But there he was—Rex. Sitting outside on one of the stone ledges, helmet on the bench beside him, elbows on his knees.

He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked.

“Didn’t try,” he answered, gaze still on the skyline. “You?”

You shook your head and sat beside him. “Been doing a lot of thinking.”

“About the campaign?”

You hesitated. “About a lot of things.”

Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The kind that existed between two people who didn’t have to fill space with noise.

“They’ve reassigned me again. The Council’s spreading me thin.”

“I figured,” Rex replied. “It’s what they do with the ones they trust most.”

You looked at him, frowning slightly. “You don’t sound like you agree.”

“I’ve just seen what it does to people. To Jedi.” His voice was steady. But when he looked at you—really looked—you saw something vulnerable, unguarded.

“You seemed… close to him,” he said finally. “Bacara.”

You flinched. “He barely tolerates me.”

Rex looked down at his hands. “That might be why it bothers me.”

You inhaled sharply.

There it was.

Not said explicitly. Not a confession. But something just as dangerous.

Your voice was softer now. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” Rex murmured. “Me neither.”

You sat together in silence, the city breathing below, the war pressing in around you. Neither of you moved.

⸻

The Coruscant base was unusually quiet. War never truly paused, but the brief interlude between deployments lent a strange stillness to the barracks — as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Commander Bacara sat alone at one of the durasteel tables in the mess hall, untouched rations on his tray, helmet on the table beside him. He looked like he belonged more to the battlefield than this sterile, quiet place — broad-shouldered, scarred, always watching.

Captain Rex spotted him on the way out.

He paused, almost kept walking — but something made him stop.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.

He walked over and sat down across from him without waiting for permission.

Bacara looked up, impassive. “Captain.”

“Commander,” Rex said coolly.

A long pause.

“You’re usually on the frontlines,” Rex noted, more observation than question.

“So are you,” Bacara returned.

Another pause. They weren’t men built for small talk.

Finally, Rex exhaled and leaned back slightly. “I heard she’s being reassigned again. Away from you.”

Bacara’s jaw flexed, just once. “So did I.”

“That bother you?”

Bacara’s eyes lifted slowly to meet his. “No. Why would it?”

Rex gave a half-smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”

A muscle twitched under Bacara’s eye. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Good,” Rex said, not missing a beat. “Because I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

Another beat of silence. Tension curled in the air like static before a storm.

“She’s not like the others,” Rex said eventually, more quietly. “You know that.”

Bacara’s voice was colder now. “She’s reckless. Disruptive. Emotional.”

“She’s a Jedi,” Rex said firmly. “You’ve fought beside Jedi. You know they’re not all the same. And she’s more than that.”

Bacara’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly do you think she is to you?”

Rex didn’t flinch. “That’s not your concern.”

There was a long, brittle silence between them. The kind that dared one of them to make the next move.

Finally, Bacara looked away.

“You think I’m the one standing in her way,” he said. “But the truth is, she’s always been on the edge of something bigger than both of us.”

Rex’s expression shifted. “And you don’t want to be there with her?”

Bacara’s voice was low. Flat. “I don’t get to want things.”

Rex stood slowly, pushing his chair back with a controlled scrape. He leaned on the table just enough to close the space between them.

“Then you’ll lose her,” Rex said. “Because I do.”

And with that, he turned and walked out — leaving Bacara alone in the silence he seemed to prefer, and now couldn’t escape.

Bacara didn’t move for a long time after Rex left.

He sat in the stillness of the mess, half in shadow, staring through his untouched rations like they were a battlefield map. He replayed every word. Every expression. The way Rex spoke like someone who knew her — not just as a General or an officer. But her.

He should have let it go. Should have pushed it down and moved on like always.

But something in him bristled.

Not because Rex was wrong — but because he might’ve been right.

He stood, shoved the tray aside, and left the mess with clipped strides. He didn’t need food. He needed space. Or quiet. Or a sparring mat.

His boots echoed down the hallway, past quarters and security checkpoints. Troopers passed him and gave quick salutes, and he returned them with curt nods. His expression remained unreadable, his jaw set like duracrete.

But inside his head, it wasn’t silent.

He could still hear her laughing with the squad around the campfire that last night on the front. Her voice — all heat and light, challenging him even when she didn’t mean to. The way she moved, the way she saw people — not just as soldiers or pawns in the field, but people.

And how she’d looked at him when he snapped at her. Like she wanted to understand him — and that frustrated him more than anything.

She was everything he’d been trained not to trust.

Unpredictable.

Emotional.

Compassionate.

Too much heart for a war like this.

Too much heart for him.

And yet…

He ended up in the training ring without realizing it. The lights were dim, the room empty, just how he preferred it. He stepped into the center and let the helmet seal around his head with a soft hiss. Gloves on. Mind blank.

He activated one of the combat droids.

It rushed him in the next second.

He didn’t hold back. Not this time. Every strike he landed echoed like thunder. Every dodge was surgical. Methodical. Brutal. A clean release of everything he didn’t have the words for.

It was only after the third droid dropped, sparking and twitching on the ground, that he paused. He stood over it, chest heaving slightly beneath the armor.

He didn’t understand her.

And he hated that.

Because something about the way she smiled at him like he was still human had started to unmake everything the war had shaped him into.

And now, Rex — kriffing Rex — was standing in the middle of that same storm.

Bacara powered down the remaining droids and left the ring in silence.

He didn’t believe in feelings. But he did believe in instincts.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t trust his own.

⸻

You didn’t like the quiet.

Not this kind of quiet. Not the sterile hum of Coruscant’s military wing, not the half-hearted warmth of your small assigned quarters. Not when you were about to be sent back out.

You moved through your room restlessly — tucking gear into a pack, checking and rechecking the contents, fingers twitching against the fabric of your cloak.

The debrief from the Council had been brief. Too brief. No details, just an assignment: diplomatic assistance to a neutral system teetering toward Separatist influence. Jedi mission, yes. But they wanted someone… adaptable.

You, apparently.

You were still muttering about the phrasing when a soft chime came at the door.

“Yeah,” you called distractedly, expecting a messenger.

The door slid open.

“General,” came Rex’s familiar voice.

You turned — and instantly smiled, your posture easing. “Captain.”

He stepped inside with his helmet tucked under his arm, a slight smirk on his face. “Heard you were shipping out again.”

“You know me. Can’t stay in one place too long or I start throwing furniture.”

He laughed — and it wasn’t forced. Rex was good like that. Steady, grounded. He had this rare way of being present without pressing too much.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping in a little closer.

You gave a half-shrug, then nodded. “It’s better than being stuck in strategy meetings with Mundi and his ‘visionary foresight.’”

Rex grinned. “I’d take blaster fire over that.”

You grinned back.

And that’s when the second chime hit the door.

You blinked. “Expecting someone else?”

“No,” you said slowly.

The door slid open again.

Commander Bacara stood in the hallway, arms behind his back, helmet on, armor scuffed — looking like he’d just walked out of a warzone and right into a social situation he didn’t know how to navigate.

You stiffened instinctively. “Commander.”

“General.” His voice was flat.

Rex, ever the professional, nodded politely. “Commander Bacara.”

“Captain,” Bacara said, equally neutral.

The tension in the room thickened immediately.

You cleared your throat and gestured toward your half-packed gear. “Wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Bacara didn’t move from the doorway. “I came to… check in. Before your departure.”

You blinked. He hadn’t spoken more than a sentence to you at a time in weeks. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“I don’t do ‘thoughtful,’” he said stiffly. “Just wanted to ensure you were briefed properly.”

“I am,” you said gently. “But thank you.”

A long pause.

Rex glanced between the two of you. His brow furrowed just slightly.

You watched Bacara’s shoulders shift — only barely, but enough. He was about to say something else.

And then he saw Rex’s hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk. The proximity. The quiet ease in your posture. The subtle, familiar tension between people who understood each other.

Whatever Bacara had come to say died behind the visor.

“If you’re adequately prepared, I won’t take more of your time,” he said crisply.

You almost said something — but then he gave you a short nod and turned on his heel.

The door slid shut behind him.

You exhaled.

Rex didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, a small furrow between his brows.

“You okay?” he asked again — this time quieter.

You gave a strained smile. “Never better.”

But your eyes were still on the door.

And something about the way Bacara hadn’t looked back left you more shaken than you wanted to admit.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“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)

“War On Two Fronts” pt.1

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

(A/N, this fic is purely for my own amusement, enjoy it if you must. I simply wanted to create the most random, somewhat unhinged, love triangle I could think of)

The Jedi Temple stood still that morning.

Even with the war breathing down the galaxy’s neck, even with whispers of clones and Kamino and Separatist strongholds, the Temple had not forgotten how to hold its silence.

A rare breeze swept through the Pillars of the hall, rustling the gold-edged tapestries that hung like memories between the columns. The high, vaulted ceiling glowed dimly from the skylights overhead—no harsh illumination today. Just solemn sun and shadow.

You knelt at the center of it all, the marble cool beneath your knees, the hem of your robes curled slightly from movement. Your hands, for once, were still.

Before you stood Master Windu.

And as always, he was a wall.

A composed, unmoving force of principle and power—yet even now, in his rigid stance and unreadable expression, you could feel it. That slight shift in his presence. That guarded warmth he never allowed the others to see. His version of pride was like his version of affection: precise. Controlled. But real.

“You’ve grown into a warrior the Council did not expect,” he said quietly. His voice echoed through the chamber, flat but grounded. “That is both your strength… and your warning.”

A wry smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “That sounds like you, Master.”

“Former Master,” Mace corrected, though the corner of his mouth almost twitched. “As of today.”

You glanced sideways, just enough to catch a glimpse of Master Yoda seated beside the ceremonial flame, nodding with quiet approval. A few other Masters flanked the hall—Plo Koon, Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan. Anakin was here too, arms crossed, a smirk barely hidden. Of course he would be. He’d want to see someone else screw with the rules for once.

Mace raised his amethyst saber.

The room fell into breathless quiet, save for the snap-hiss of energy igniting.

“For your skill in battle,” he said. “For your persistence in training. For your commitment to the Force—despite your unorthodox methods.”

You heard the faintest beat of amusement in his voice, even as the blade hovered above your right shoulder.

“I name you Jedi Knight.”

The saber passed over your left shoulder, then extinguished in a smooth hiss. The light faded.

So did the weight.

You rose to your feet, your chest oddly tight.

You’d imagined this moment a thousand times. You thought you’d grin. You thought you’d make a joke. Maybe wink at Anakin, toss your braid in celebration.

But instead, you looked at Mace.

And for the first time since you’d been a reckless thirteen-year-old hurling training sabers at his back in the practice ring… you saw the crack in his armor.

Pride.

Not spoken. Never spoken.

But it was there.

He stepped forward and quietly handed you your old braid, cut clean through and wrapped carefully in cloth. His gloved hand lingered a second too long as you took it.

“You’ll never be like me,” he said, low enough for only you to hear.

You looked up at him, caught off-guard.

“And that is the greatest relief I’ve known in some time.”

Your throat tightened, emotion flashing hot behind your eyes, but you swallowed it.

“I learned from the best,” you managed, voice rough.

He didn’t smile. But he gave you a look that you would remember when the sky fell—when the war bled through every part of your soul. A look that said: I see who you are. I will always see it.

And then the moment passed.

Yoda called the next words.

The crowd shifted. Masters murmured. A few clones, newly commissioned, stood near the archway in pristine armor. The air already smelled like smoke. War was coming, and peace was being written into the margins of your life.

You were a Jedi Knight now.

And you were already being sent to assist the Galactic Marines on Mygeeto.

⸻

The Venator-class cruiser was silent in the way warships always were before deployment—tense, mechanical, full of breath held in systems and lungs alike.

You stepped onto the hangar deck with your boots echoing, the hem of your new robes catching the gust from a passing LAAT. The smell of oil and ozone hit like a punch. The air was cooler than the Temple. Less forgiving.

The Galactic Marines didn’t look your way when you passed.

They didn’t need to.

Their reputation had preceded them—shock troopers bred for winter warfare and brutal sieges, trained under a commander who was as known for his silence as he was for his kill count.

Commander Bacara.

You spotted him almost immediately near the forward transport: broad frame, maroon-striped armor, helmet on. He didn’t salute. Didn’t approach. Just stood, arms crossed over his DC-15, as if sizing you up from thirty paces.

You let the moment hang before making your way to him, slow and purposeful.

“Commander Bacara,” you greeted, offering a nod. “I’m [Y/N], attached to this campaign per Council orders.”

Silence.

Not a word. Not even a hum of acknowledgment.

You arched a brow.

“Right. Strong, silent type. Got it.”

Still nothing. His visor remained locked on you, unreadable.

“Did the clones get assigned vocal cords or are you just allergic to Jedi in general?”

That got a reaction—a tilt of the helmet, ever so slight. Then, at last, a gravel-thick voice rumbled from the vocoder:

“Only the loud ones.”

Your mouth quirked into something halfway between irritation and amusement. “Guess it’s your lucky day.”

Before he could reply—or walk off, which you sensed he very much wanted to do—a voice cut in behind you.

“[Last Name].”

You turned, spine stiffening.

Ki-Adi-Mundi stood at the foot of the boarding ramp, flanked by two clone officers. His long fingers were clasped behind his back, face pinched in that constant mix of detachment and disdain.

You bowed, briefly.

“Master Mundi.”

“I’ve been reviewing the battle plan for Mygeeto,” he said, skipping any preamble. “We’ll be launching a three-pronged assault on the main Separatist refinery. Bacara will lead the frontal push with his battalion, supported by armor units and orbital fire.”

Your jaw clenched.

“With all due respect, Master, a frontal push against entrenched droid cannons is going to get a lot of men killed.”

Ki-Adi blinked at you, calmly. “That is war. They are soldiers. They understand the risks.”

“They understand orders. Not suicidal tactics.” Your voice rose just slightly, heat creeping in. “If we reroute half the armor for flanking and force the droids to split, we could avoid heavy losses and push them off the ridge before nightfall.”

“I did not ask for a tactical critique,” Mundi said, tone sharpening. “And I trust Commander Bacara’s ability to execute the current plan.”

You glanced at Bacara. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Just stared.

Of course he agreed with Mundi. They were cut from the same ice.

“I didn’t realize Jedi Master meant immune to input.”

Silence fell over the deck. The clones nearby tensed. Bacara’s helmet shifted an inch toward you.

Mundi stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You are newly knighted, [Last Name]. This war will demand obedience, not bravado.”

You took a slow breath.

Then offered the barest, tightest smile. “Then it’s a good thing I never had much of either.”

Mundi turned and strode up the ramp without another word.

You exhaled once he was gone, rolling your shoulders like you could shrug off the frustration. You could feel Bacara still watching.

“What?” you snapped without looking at him.

There was a beat of silence.

“You better be half as good as you think you are.”

You turned. “Or what?”

“I’ll be requesting a reassignment.”

Your laugh came out bitter. “Better men have tried.”

He paused. Then, with a tilt of his head, said lowly: “I’m not a better man. I’m a soldier.”

Then he turned and walked away.

You stood there a moment longer, heat buzzing under your skin. You weren’t sure if it was from anger—or something worse.

⸻

The descent onto Mygeeto was chaos.

Even through the LAAT’s thick hull, you could feel the storm—icy wind slicing across the city’s skeletal towers, artillery screaming through clouds of smoke and crystalline ash. The Separatists had fortified every corner of the industrial sector, their cannon fire lighting up the skyline like a cursed sunrise.

As the dropship pitched, the clones inside with you braced without a word. Focused. Ready. Not afraid—just used to dying.

Your hand gripped the support bar as the doors peeled open mid-hover, revealing a battlefield straight from a nightmare. Turbolaser fire scorched the skyline. Glimmering bridges of ice and shattered durasteel crumbled beneath the weight of battle tanks. Somewhere far below, you saw a battalion caught in a choke point—blaster bolts raining down from enemy artillery nested in a half-collapsed tower.

Your stomach turned.

“Is that Bacara’s forward unit?” you shouted over the roar.

“Yes, sir!” one of the clone gunners confirmed. “Pinned since the last push!”

You turned to the pilot. “Drop me there. Now.”

The pilot hesitated. “But orders—”

“Now.”

The gunship banked sharply, the icy wind slamming into you as you leapt onto the fractured platform below, lightsaber already blazing to life.

It took less than ten minutes.

Droids fell in pieces, turrets melted under redirected blaster bolts, and you pushed your way to the trapped Marines like a blade through frost. You helped them retreat behind makeshift cover, shielding them with the Force and your saber, yelling for them to move. Not all of them made it.

But more than would have.

When the smoke cleared, and the men were medevaced out, you stood amid the wreckage, panting, cut along one shoulder and streaked with soot.

And Bacara was waiting for you.

He stormed toward you from the north ridge, visor locked onto yours, stride like a thunderhead.

You straightened, chin high, refusing to flinch.

“You disobeyed direct chain-of-command,” he growled, voice deep and cold. “That was my operation.”

“Your men were dying,” you snapped. “I made a call.”

“It wasn’t your call to make. I had them.”

“They were pinned with zero cover, Bacara! If you had a plan, it was to bury them in ice!”

His helmet came off in one sharp motion.

You hadn’t seen his face until now.

Shaved head. Sharp scar across the side of his cheekbone. And a scowl that looked carved from stone.

“Don’t pretend you know my men better than I do, Jedi.”

You stepped forward. “And don’t pretend that your silence is strategy. You may be good at war, but you’re not the only one fighting it.”

Before he could reply, another voice cut through the comms.

“Commander Bacara. Young [Last Name]. Report to the north command post immediately.”

It was Mundi.

The command post was a hollowed-out transport, half-frozen and lit by dim tactical screens. Ki-Adi-Mundi stood in the center, flanked by officers.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“You endangered the mission with your reckless disobedience.”

“I saved your troopers.”

“You undermined your commander. You undermined me.”

You stared at him, jaw locked.

Mundi finally turned, his tone colder than the planet itself. “You may carry a lightsaber, but you are not exempt from consequence. Effective immediately, you are being reassigned.”

“What?” you breathed. “You can’t be serious.”

“You will report to General Skywalker and the 501st at once. They’ve requested Jedi support. You’re clearly more suited to their methods.”

You laughed once, bitter. “You mean chaos? No rules? You’d get rid of me in an instant?”

“If it will keep you from sabotaging another campaign, then yes.”

You looked to Bacara.

He said nothing. Didn’t even look at you.

It stung more than it should have.

Mundi turned away, already dismissing you. “Dismissed.”

You stood there a moment longer, anger a low drum in your ribs.

Then you turned sharply and left—your boots loud, your breath hot, and the ice of Mygeeto clinging to your back like regret.

⸻

The drop onto Christophis was smoother than Mygeeto.

No bitter wind. No ice underfoot. Just the blue-tinged glass of a besieged city glowing beneath your boots, and the hum of LAAT engines fading into the dusk.

You exhaled slowly.

For once, it didn’t fog the air.

The 501st was already dug in—half-built barricades, mounted cannons, troopers weaving through lines of duracrete rubble and smoldering droid parts. The camp smelled like burned plastoid and caf. And somehow… it didn’t feel like death.

Not yet.

You adjusted your gear and crossed into the center of the forward line, where a knot of officers stood around a portable holo table. A tall familiar figure turned toward you before you could announce yourself.

“General [Last Name], I presume?” the man asked with a bright smirk and a heavy Core accent. “You’re just in time. Dinner’s still warm—if you like ration bricks and bad company.”

General Anakin Skywalker. He grinned at you like an old friend.

You blinked. “I… wasn’t expecting a warm welcome.”

“You’re not coming from the High Council,” Anakin replied, clearly picking up on your edge. “You’re here to fight. That’s more than enough for us.”

A few troopers nearby chuckled. One even offered a small wave before returning to repairs on a nearby speeder. You weren’t used to clones acting so… relaxed.

Anakin slung an arm across the shoulders of the nearest officer, a clone with a blond buzz cut, blue markings on his pauldron, and eyes sharp with experience.

“This is Captain Rex,” Anakin said. “He keeps me alive and makes sure I don’t get court-martialed.”

Rex offered his hand. “It’s good to have another General on the line. The men could use someone steady. Master Skywalker tends to… improvise.”

“I prefer the term creative solutionist.”

You shook Rex’s hand firmly. “I’ve been assigned to assist for the duration of this campaign. Support, field command, and lightsaber damage control, apparently.”

“Don’t let the last bit worry you,” Rex said, voice warm but measured. “Most of us like having a Jedi around. Just don’t get yourself shot trying to do everything alone.”

You hesitated. That’s the only way I’ve ever done it.

But instead, you said, “Copy that, Captain.”

Anakin returned with two ration packs and tossed one at you.

“Come on,” he said. “Briefing starts in ten. Might as well eat something before the next artillery barrage.”

You caught the ration and followed him into the makeshift war room. The 501st felt… alive. Not like a machine, or a tool. Like people. Clones joked with each other between shifts. Someone was fixing a vibro-guitar in a corner. Laughter drifted through the halls of war like smoke.

He studied you for a moment while chewing a bite of compressed stew.

“So,” he said, grinning. “You’re Windu’s kid.”

You blinked. “I’m not his kid.”

“Please,” Anakin scoffed. “You practically are. He used to lecture me about setting a better example because you were watching.”

You smirked despite yourself. “He does that with everyone. It’s how he shows affection. Judgement equals love.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of affection,” Anakin said, half-muttering into his rations. “But you? You’re the exception.”

You leaned back against the wall, tone softening. “He trained me to be better. Sharper. Not just strong with a saber, but… clear. Even when I didn’t want to be.”

Anakin tilted his head. “He proud of you?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Not that he says it, but… yeah. I think so.”

He grinned. “Bet he didn’t love you getting assigned to me.”

You laughed under your breath. “Not exactly. He said, ‘Skywalker needs someone with both instinct and control. Be that someone.’ Then he stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.”

Anakin chuckled. “Yep. That sounds like Mace.”

You took another bite of your ration and glanced around the lively camp—clones talking, techs laughing, life humming even in the lull before battle.

“Feels different here,” you said.

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Good different?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It feels like… they’re not just soldiers.”

He offered a quiet smile. “They’re not. You’ll see.”

And you would.

But not before the war reached its cold fingers toward you once again.

You ate in silence while Skywalker outlined the next assault—tight push through Separatist-occupied towers, with limited casualties expected. He spoke quickly, clearly, and didn’t interrupt you when you pointed out structural weak points or alternate flanking positions. In fact, he nodded along, visibly impressed.

Anakin raised a brow. “Did you and Mace ever clash?”

You hesitated. “He sees obedience as strength. I’ve always… leaned more toward instinct.”

Skywalker grinned. “Good. You’ll fit in just fine here.”

And for the first time in weeks—since the icy silence of Bacara’s helmet and Mundi’s cold dismissal—you felt the tension in your chest loosen. Just a little.

⸻

The Separatists had fortified the western spires overnight, turning crystalline towers into sniper nests and droid chokepoints. A slow siege was no longer an option. The 501st was going in—fast, loud, and all in.

“Your unit’s with me,” Rex said, voice clipped as he secured his helmet. “Skywalker and Torrent Squad are flanking left. We punch through the center, collapse the staging platform, and pull back before reinforcements converge.”

You adjusted the grip on your lightsaber hilt, watching the blue blade snap to life with a hum. “You lead. I follow.”

Rex gave a short nod, visor glinting in the low light. He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. He moved with the weight of trust already earned—his men mirrored his focus, his readiness.

You hadn’t seen command like this on Mygeeto. Not from Ki-Adi-Mundi. And definitely not from Bacara.

The gunships roared over the skyline.

“Drop in ten!” a trooper shouted, clinging to the side rail of the LAAT. You stood beside Rex as the bay doors opened, revealing the shimmering battlefield below—glass and stone, fire and blue lightning crashing from tower to tower.

The LAAT banked hard and you leapt, landing in the center of a collapsing avenue as blaster fire rained down from the towers above. Rex hit the ground a second later, blasters up, already shouting to his men.

“Push forward! Second squad—cover the left lane!”

You spun your saber, deflecting bolts as the first wave of droids charged. The 501st advanced in perfect coordination—like flowing water, shifting and reforming around obstacles as if they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

You slipped into the rhythm with them, striking hard through advancing B1s, clearing the rooftops with mid-air leaps, redirecting sniper fire with narrow, deliberate swings. The clones covered you, trusted you, fell into sync with you like you’d been fighting beside them for years.

No hesitation. No resistance.

Just trust.

You didn’t know what that felt like until now.

At the front of the charge, Rex cleared the last of the droid forces on the platform with brutal efficiency. You landed beside him, both of you breathing hard but steady, the wind howling through broken towers.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

“Good work,” he said, like it was fact, not flattery.

“You too,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

A pause stretched between you. Not silence, not in the middle of war—but something else. A mutual understanding. The beginning of something… not yet defined.

The comm crackled.

“501st—fall back to Rally Point Aurek. Enemy movement on the east ridge.”

“Copy,” Rex said, turning away. “Let’s move.”

You followed without hesitation, eyes scanning the horizon.

War didn’t allow time for reflection. But as you fell into step with Rex—side by side—you couldn’t help but think:

This felt different.

⸻

The sky over Christophis had finally quieted.

The battle was won—for now. The towers no longer pulsed with enemy fire, the droids had retreated deeper into the city’s core, and the crystals that jutted from the landscape reflected nothing but the dull orange haze of a weary sunrise.

You walked side-by-side with Rex, the only sound between you the soft crunch of shattered glass beneath boots and armor. This was your fourth perimeter sweep since the offensive. He didn’t talk much. You didn’t either.

Still, it wasn’t silence. It was… companionable.

“I thought Jedi preferred peace,” Rex said after a while, his voice muffled through his helmet.

“I do,” you replied, stepping over a cracked durasteel beam. “But I’m good at war.”

Rex turned slightly to look at you. “You don’t sound proud of that.”

You shrugged. “I’m not.”

Another beat passed. You slowed your pace, scanning an alley where the shadows felt too thick. Just scavengers. Nothing moved.

“You were better in battle than I expected,” Rex added. “The way you covered the west flank—that was clean. Calculated.”

You snorted. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to be calculating.”

He paused at the edge of a shattered courtyard. “You’re not like the others I’ve seen.”

You tilted your head. “That a compliment?”

Rex didn’t answer right away. He just looked out over the city, where blue light still shimmered in the air like a war that refused to die completely.

“I don’t think you care whether it is or not,” he said eventually.

That earned a quiet laugh from you. “Now that sounds like a compliment.”

The moment stretched a little longer this time. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just a thread of something starting to pull taut between you, quiet and unspoken.

Then the comms chirped.

:: This is General Kenobi. 212th battalion has entered the theater. Coordinates sent. ::

Rex exhaled through his nose. “Great. The cavalry.”

You smirked. “Not a fan of the beard?”

“He’s fine. His men are loud.”

From the high ridge, you could already see them—yellow-marked troops of the 212th fanning out like wildfire, Obi-Wan walking ahead with the patient authority of someone used to saving the galaxy before breakfast.

“General Kenobi,” you called as you approached. “You’re late.”

Kenobi raised a brow. “Fashionably. You’re holding up well, Padawan.”

“Knight, actually,” you said, quirking a brow. “But thanks for the demotion.”

Rex nodded politely as Cody jogged up beside him. The two commanders exchanged a quick, wordless handshake—the kind only shared between soldiers who’d bled on similar soil.

“Looks like things just got louder,” you murmured.

Rex glanced sideways at you. “You sure that’s a bad thing?”

You didn’t answer.

⸻

Next Chapter

“Brothers in the Making” pt.3

Command Squad x Reader

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

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

Anakin was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen.

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

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

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

They all nodded.

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

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

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No loud noises.”

“Fine.”

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

Everyone froze.

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

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

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

A siren wailed.

Turrets rotated.

Searchlights snapped to life and started scanning the cliffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenobi raised an eyebrow.

You added: “And they bite.”

————

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

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

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

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

“They’re kids.”

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

“They’re kids.”

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

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

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

That stopped you cold.

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

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

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

“They won’t.”

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

Fox raised a hand. “Like—?”

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

The cadets nodded, suddenly a lot more serious.

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

Obi-Wan glanced at you. “Shall we?”

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

———

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

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

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

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

You were already unlocking the panel.

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

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

She stared up at you. “Who are you?”

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

———

Elsewhere, it was less smooth.

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

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

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

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

“THIS IS NOT STEALTH!” Fox screamed.

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

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

You could hear the tank before you even saw them.

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

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

———

The escape was… a mess.

They made it out, of course. Somehow.

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone was quiet.

Even Anakin.

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

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

Fox hadn’t said a word.

Bacara was still grinning, but it was thinner now.

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

Five pairs of eyes turned to you.

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

Wolffe swallowed, eyes flicking to the floor.

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

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

There was silence again.

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

He glanced at you. “They will be.”

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

He didn’t blink. “Mysterious failure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sabotage, maybe.”

“Right.”

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

You sighed. “You Jedi are the worst.”

“I get that a lot.”

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cut in smoothly. “Foundlings. Mine.”

A pause.

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

“Lucky genes,” you said, smiling coolly.

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

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

Your blood went cold.

But you smiled anyway.

“I’ll think about it.”

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

You filed it away. Another warning.

They were not ready to be seen.

Not yet.

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

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

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

You said nothing at first.

Then, softly: “You did good.”

Five sets of eyes flicked up.

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

“Yes, buir,” they all said at once.

And you didn’t correct them.

Not this time.

————

Kamino had never felt this quiet.

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

Because they were.

The cadets noticed it first.

Extra cameras in the mess hall.

Silent observers hovering near the training chambers.

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

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

Rex, Cody, Bacara, Fox, and Wolffe.

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

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

“Think they’re better than us.”

“Just ‘cause they left Kamino.”

Bacara caught a shove in the hallway.

Fox started training harder, angrier.

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

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

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

You followed.

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

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

You didn’t need to ask who.

“The Kaminoans?”

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

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

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

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

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

You looked down at the floor, teeth clenched.

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

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

————

Later that day, it happened.

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

Fox didn’t fight back.

But Wolffe did.

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

The whole training floor went dead silent.

You walked into the middle of it.

And no one said a word.

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

“Line up.”

They did.

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

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

“I’ve been too soft on you.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

You raised your voice.

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

You started to pace, slow and sharp.

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

A pause.

“Not to me. To each other.”

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

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

You stopped walking, facing them head-on.

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

A long, steady beat.

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

No one moved.

No one dared.

You dropped your voice just enough.

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

You turned on your heel and walked out.

Behind you, they stood taller.

Silent.

Together.

————

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“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.

“Crossfire” pt.7

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The camp was quiet now. The chaos had died down into murmurs, tired footsteps, the clatter of armor being stripped off and stacked beside sleeping mats. She wandered through it like a ghost, feeling out of place but… not unwelcome. Not entirely.

She spotted him near the supply crates, still in his blacks, helmet off, hair mussed from the fight. Rex looked up as she approached, his posture straightening slightly like muscle memory kicked in before the rest of him caught up.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t smile, but his expression softened—just enough.

“Didn’t expect you to come find me,” Rex said. “Figured you’d be off the minute your boots cooled.”

“Yeah, well…” she kicked a rock with the toe of her boot. “Running hasn’t exactly worked out great for me lately.”

Rex folded his arms, waiting.

“I wanted to check on you,” she added. “See how you were holding up. After today.”

“After everything, you mean?”

She met his eyes. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, not uncomfortable, just… heavy. She leaned against a crate beside him and crossed her arms to match his posture, head tilted up to the stars.

“You still got that scar?” she asked casually. “The one on your jaw. From the skirmish on Felucia?”

He gave her a look. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things about you, Captain.”

She offered him a crooked smirk, the kind she used to wear like armor. Playful. A little bold. A spark in the rubble.

Rex didn’t return the smile—but the way he looked at her made her throat tighten.

“You think flirting with me is going to fix this?” he asked quietly.

She lost her grin.

“No,” she said. “It’s just… easier. Than everything else.”

His shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame even if the rest stayed knotted. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.

“I missed you,” she admitted, more earnest than she meant to be. “Even when I was running. Especially then.”

Rex looked down at her—really looked—and she saw the conflict written across his face like ink on skin.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said, voice rough. “Didn’t know if you were alive. If you were working for the Chancellor still, if you were working for anyone. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t know if they’re already gone.”

That one hit. She nodded, eyes flicking away for a moment.

“I was scared,” she said. “Of what I was doing. Who I was becoming. Of what you’d see if you looked at me too long.”

“I saw someone who gave a damn,” Rex said. “Still do.”

She looked at him then, and for a moment, everything else—Palpatine, the Council, Cody, the kid—blurred out into silence.

He stepped closer, just slightly. She didn’t move away.

“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” he said lowly. “But I’m still here.”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his hand, testing the water like she was scared it would burn her. He let her.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

They stood there for a while, in that silence. The tension still coiled, still unresolved—but different now. Softer.

The kind that might, with time, unravel into something real.

⸻

The shuttle touched down on Coruscant with a low hum, metallic feet clunking into the hangar platform. The ramp hissed open, revealing the cold blue glow of the Senate District skyline in the distance. She breathed it in—familiar and suffocating all at once.

Rex had disappeared into a sea of 501st troopers. Anakin and Ahsoka had gone to debrief. The kid—the kid—was somewhere out there now, no longer hers to protect, though the phantom weight of responsibility still clung to her shoulders like wet armor.

And Cody…

Cody had been quiet the whole way back. Not cold, not rude—just restrained. Professional. Distant.

She knew that look. It was the same one she wore when she was hurt but too proud to bleed out in public.

So she went looking for him.

The GAR barracks were quiet this time of day, most men off-duty or in mess. She spotted Cody’s armor first, piled neat outside a side room, the door half-cracked. She knocked once—light—and pushed the door further open.

Cody was sitting on the edge of his bunk, bare-chested, arms braced on his knees, deep in thought. He looked up, startled at first, and then his mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You look like you’re about to deliver bad news,” he said, voice low and wry.

“I’m not,” she said. “I just wanted to talk.”

He nodded, gestured to the spot beside him on the bunk.

They sat in silence for a beat. The air between them tense but not hostile.

“I don’t want things to be weird,” she said. “Between us.”

“Kind of hard for them not to be,” Cody replied, tone not sharp, just… tired.

“I know,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I’m trying. I’m done running. I just—I want to fix things. Or at least make it so we can be in the same room without all the oxygen leaving it.”

Cody huffed a small breath. “You don’t need to fix things. Just stop acting like you can flirt your way out of every mess you cause.”

That one stung, but she accepted it.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

He turned to her. His eyes didn’t hold anger. They held ache. And something else—something deeper. Something he wasn’t saying.

She opened her mouth to say more—

—and the door slammed open.

“There you are!” Quinlan Vos strode in like a tide, full of unfiltered charisma and absolutely no awareness of personal boundaries.

Obi-Wan followed, much slower, brow furrowed with concern. “Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve been looking for you.”

Cody stood, arms folding tightly across his chest, clearly not thrilled.

She didn’t move from the bed. “I’m a little busy.”

“So it seems,” Obi-Wan remarked mildly, eyes flicking between her and Cody.

Quinlan plopped down on Cody’s empty chair like he owned the place. “The Council wants to talk. They’ve got questions. About Palpatine. About the kid. About you and your… pattern of disappearing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m constantly on trial.”

“Because you kind of are,” Quinlan said with a grin.

Obi-Wan sighed. “We’re not your enemies. But we do need to understand why you made the choices you did.”

She stood up now, shoulders stiff. “And I’m trying to explain those choices—to the people who matter to me. But you keep showing up like two banthas at a tea party.”

Cody, behind her, almost smiled.

“Can it wait?” she asked Obi-Wan directly.

He hesitated.

“…Fine,” he said at last. “But not long.”

He and Quinlan left with far more noise than they entered.

She sighed and turned back to Cody.

“…See what I mean? Never a quiet moment.”

Cody studied her, his expression unreadable. “You don’t owe them your soul.”

“No,” she said. “But maybe I owe them a piece of the truth. Just… not before I say what I need to say to you.”

Cody gave her a slow nod. “Then say it.”

She looked at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the words that clawed to the surface.

But for once—maybe for the first time—she let them stay unspoken. Let them sit there in the space between them, heavy and real and understood.

The door had long since shut behind Obi-Wan and Quinlan, the echo of their presence still lingering. But now, it was quiet again. Just her and Cody. And the weight of what she hadn’t said.

She looked up at him, heart hammering harder than it had in any firefight.

“Cody,” she began, voice low, almost unsure. “I need to say something. And it’s not fair, but it’s honest.”

He raised a brow, still standing a few feet away. Guarded, but listening.

“I love you.”

That stopped him. His arms slowly uncrossed.

“But—” she continued before he could react, “I love Rex too.”

Cody’s face didn’t shift. Didn’t wince. Didn’t soften. Just—stilled.

She took a step closer. “And I don’t know what that says about me, or what it means, but I’m tired of pretending I only feel one thing at a time. I tried to choose. I did. But every time I think I have, I see the other one and it just—breaks something in me.”

He let out a long, quiet breath.

“I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” she added quickly. “I’m not even asking you for anything. I just needed to say it. To stop lying about how I feel and hoping it’ll get easier if I just shove it down hard enough.”

A long silence passed.

Then Cody finally spoke. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“But it’s real.” His voice had softened, barely above a whisper. “And I’d rather have your truth than someone else’s lie.”

Tears burned her eyes, sudden and hot. She didn’t cry. Not for years. But this—this kind of vulnerability? This was harder than bleeding out in the field.

Cody stepped forward, gently touching her cheek with a calloused hand. “You deserve a love that doesn’t make you choose.”

She leaned into his touch, even as guilt twisted inside her.

“Rex deserves to hear it too,” Cody added after a beat. “But for now—just… thank you. For being honest.”

⸻

The Jedi Council chamber was quiet in the way only heavy judgment could make it.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the room where the Masters sat in their semi-circle. Windu, Yoda, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara, Kit Fisto, and Obi-Wan.

She stood in the center, still dressed in half of her mission gear, the other half forgotten in the chaos of being summoned straight off the landing pad.

Mace Windu leaned forward first. “We appreciate your cooperation, though your presence here is long overdue.”

“I didn’t think I was a priority,” she said dryly.

“You’ve been a priority since the moment you vanished with a Force-sensitive child under mysterious circumstances,” Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped.

She raised her chin. “I didn’t kidnap him. I saved him.”

“From whom?” Luminara pressed. “From the Chancellor himself?”

“No,” she lied smoothly. “From a bounty. Someone—anonymous—put a price on the kid’s head. I took the job, found the kid, couldn’t go through with it. So I ran.”

Windu’s gaze was steel. “You expect us to believe a bounty hunter with personal access to the Chancellor just happened to take that contract?”

“I was close to Palpatine,” she admitted. “He trusted me. I never asked why. But I’m not loyal to him—not anymore. I saw enough to know I was a pawn. I just didn’t know what kind of game.”

“And the child?” Yoda asked softly.

“I gave him up. To the Republic. He’s safer now than he ever was with me. But I won’t apologize for keeping him alive.”

Kit Fisto watched her with new eyes. Quieter than before. Maybe… less suspicious. Maybe not.

“You told me once you feared the Chancellor,” Windu said, looking at her directly. “Do you still?”

“I fear what he’s capable of,” she said. “But I fear myself more. I made too many decisions in his shadow. I want to start making my own.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then Yoda turned to the others. “Much darkness clouds the future, but truth… glimpses of it, I sense in her words.”

Windu nodded. “We will deliberate. In the meantime, you are not to leave the planet. Is that understood?”

“Crystal,” she said, and turned to walk out, her heart thudding.

She had told some truth, enough to avoid chains—but not enough to put the game to rest. Not yet.

⸻

The summons came before sunrise.

No official escort this time. Just a short, encrypted message on her private channel—a voice she knew too well, cold and commanding:

“Come. Now.”

She hadn’t slept anyway. After the Council interrogation, after saying too much to Cody—and not enough to Rex—her nerves were frayed like wires sparking against metal.

The Senate building was quiet when she arrived, its corridors dim and eerie. Palpatine’s chambers were even darker—lit only by the soft red of Coruscanti dawn bleeding through heavy curtains and the low hum of security panels locking behind her.

He was waiting, seated in his throne-like chair, hands folded, hood drawn low over his brow.

“You lied to the Council,” he said without preamble. His tone held no accusation—only satisfaction.

She didn’t respond.

“You said nothing of my involvement. Not a single hint. You protected me.” A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “That kind of loyalty is… rare.”

She shifted her weight, unsettled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“But you did it well.” He stood slowly, walking toward her with quiet, measured steps. “The Jedi are grasping at shadows. And now they trust you just enough to leave their guard down. Perfect positioning, wouldn’t you say?”

“I didn’t come here to be your spy.”

He chuckled. “No. You came here to survive. And you’ve done that—exceptionally.”

She said nothing, jaw tight.

Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back. “The child you so kindly spared… he will serve a greater purpose than you could ever imagine. The Force hums in him—volatile, angry, raw. He will be an excellent assassin one day.”

Her throat went dry. “He’s not a weapon.”

“He’s an asset,” he corrected coolly.

“He has a name,” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “Kes. His name is Kes.”

Palpatine paused. Then, slowly, he turned to face her fully. “Names,” he said, voice lower now, more dangerous. “Names are tools. Just like loyalty. Just like you.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“I spared him,” she said, steadying her voice. “I hid him. I protected him. That doesn’t make me loyal to you.”

“No,” he said, almost fondly. “But it proves you can be used. Even against your will.”

She flinched. Because it was true.

Palpatine leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “The boy will be trained. Molded. And when the time comes, he will take a life with his own hands. You will see.”

She met his gaze. “Over my dead body.”

The Sith Lord only smiled. “If necessary.”

⸻

She didn’t remember much of the walk back from the Senate building. The city buzzed around her, speeder traffic whipping by overhead, durasteel walkways trembling with the movement of life, but she moved through it all like a ghost.

Palpatine’s words still burned behind her eyes.

He will take a life with his own hands. You will see.

No. No, not if she could help it.

She barely registered her fists slamming against the barracks door until it opened. Rex stood there, still half-dressed in blacks and greys, fresh from training. His expression shifted from surprise to something more serious the moment he saw her face.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, pushing past him into the room.

He closed the door slowly behind her. “I figured.”

She paced the floor, hands on her hips. “I told Cody I loved him.”

Rex blinked, stiffening slightly. “Okay…”

She turned toward him, eyes sharp, voice louder now—heated. “And I love you, too. I love you, Rex. Not in some vague, flirty way. I mean it. I feel it in my chest like a damn explosion.”

He stared at her, caught off guard. “You’re angry.”

“I am angry,” she said, voice cracking. “But not at you.”

He stepped closer, expression softening as he tried to piece her together. “What’s wrong with you?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. The breath that came out after was shaky, jagged. “It’s the kid. It’s Kes. I don’t trust he’s safe.”

“I thought—he’s with the Republic now, right?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Safe? From him?” Her voice dropped. “He wants to train him. Turn him into some twisted weapon. He called him an asset, Rex.”

Rex’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“He’s not a tool. He’s a child. And I think… I might be the only person who can actually keep him safe.”

Rex looked at her for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes. “You still working for the Chancellor?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not in the way I used to. But I can’t just walk away from this, not now. I know too much. And I know what he’s planning.”

Rex reached out, gently taking her arm. “Then what are you going to do?”

She looked at his hand, then into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whatever it is… I don’t think I’m coming back from it.”

⸻

The barracks were still, the artificial lights dimmed to simulate night. Most of the 501st were out or asleep, and for once, no one was shouting over a game of sabacc or sparring in the hall.

Rex sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, her words echoing in his skull like distant artillery.

I love you, Rex.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. There were thousands of things he wanted to feel about it—pride, warmth, something like victory. But it came with a storm he didn’t know how to name.

She’d told Cody the same thing. She didn’t want just one of them.

He could’ve handled that. Maybe. They were soldiers—brothers—used to sharing everything. But this wasn’t a blaster or a battlefield.

This was her.

What kept him anchored to the floor, instead of pacing the room or sending a message to Cody to yell at him for no good reason, was the other thing she said. The thing that mattered more than love or jealousy or pride.

He called him an asset. I think I’m the only one who can keep him safe.

Kes. The kid. The Force-sensitive child she’d stolen, protected, run with, lied for.

And now she was talking like she’d disappear again. Like she had to.

Rex leaned back, exhaling slowly, head resting against the cool durasteel wall. He stared at the ceiling, mind ticking over the gaps. She hadn’t just been a pawn. Not really. She’d been close to Palpatine. Trusted. Useful. And now she was unraveling from the inside out, spiraling between duty, guilt, and love.

He didn’t blame her for loving Cody.

Didn’t even blame her for loving him, if he was being honest.

But what was killing him was the way she looked when she said she might not come back. Like it was already decided.

Rex sat forward again, elbows digging into his thighs. He could still smell her on his skin—warmth and dust and a hint of whatever Corellian brandy she’d drowned herself in last night.

He didn’t know what scared him more.

That she’d leave again.

Or that she wouldn’t.

And when she finally did make her move—when she ran headfirst into whatever hell she was walking toward—he wasn’t sure if he’d chase after her, or let her go.

But he was sure of one thing.

She didn’t have to face it alone.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

⸻

Cody stood in the shadow of the veranda outside the Jedi Temple. It was late. Not quite night, not quite morning—the sky caught in that soft, silver pre-dawn hue. And Coruscant, the city that never truly slept, hummed below like it didn’t care about anyone’s heartbreak.

He hadn’t gone back to his quarters. Couldn’t. Not after what she’d said.

I love you.

And then—I love Rex too.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the railing, the wind tugging at the edges of his armour.

The words weren’t what haunted him. Not really. He knew her. Knew how fiercely she loved—how wildly her loyalty curved into everything she touched. Of course she’d fall for Rex too. Of course it wouldn’t be clean, or easy, or fair.

He didn’t even blame her for it.

But it stung, deeper than blaster fire. Not because she loved them both—but because even now, after everything, she still looked like she was halfway out the door. Like her mind had already started packing bags she didn’t plan to unpack again.

Kes.

Cody’s fingers flexed on the railing.

The boy’s name hadn’t been spoken when she’d told her lie to the Council—but he’d heard the truth in her voice, beneath every beat of it. She’d kept him alive. Protected him. Cared for him in a way no bounty hunter had any right to.

Palpatine’s orders or not, she’d chosen the kid. Chosen to lie, run, risk everything.

That terrified him.

Because if she was willing to walk away from him for the kid… she’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

And he didn’t know if he could survive her leaving twice.

He exhaled slowly, the wind catching the breath like smoke. He could see himself from the outside—Commander Cody, poised, sharp, unreadable. A model soldier.

But inside? He was chaos.

He wanted to go to her room. Say something—anything. Ask her to choose him. Or don’t. Or promise to come back. Or stay.

But he wouldn’t beg.

She had enough people trying to pull her in opposite directions. She didn’t need another weight on her shoulders.

Still… he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about him now. If she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just as lost.

Don’t run again, he thought. Not from this. Not from me.

And if she did?

He’d find her.

And bring her home himself.

⸻

The air in her apartment was heavy.

It was always quiet before a storm. Before chaos. Before death.

She moved like a shadow, deliberate and silent, pulling her gear piece by piece from beneath the floorboards. Her knives. Her blaster. Her comm jammer. Her datapad with every possible layout of the facility burned into its memory.

She was going in alone.

There was no other way.

Kes was being held somewhere deep within the restricted levels of the Republic Intelligence Annex—a place so far off the grid it didn’t technically exist. He hadn’t shown up on any of the usual rosters. No holos. No files. Just whispers. Rumors.

She didn’t trust anyone else to get him out.

And the Chancellor… Palpatine.

She didn’t care if it was madness. She didn’t care if it meant her own death. The moment he’d looked at Kes like he was a tool, a weapon, an asset, something in her broke.

She wasn’t a Jedi. She didn’t have to play by their rules.

She’d already made up her mind.

The door panel chirped, breaking the silence.

She froze.

One hand gripped the vibroblade still resting on the kitchen bench. Her heart pounded hard, but her face remained unreadable.

Another chime. This time more insistent.

She took a breath. Stepped toward the door.

It slid open.

And there they were.

Cody. Rex.

She should’ve known.

Both of them stood just outside, dressed like they hadn’t had time to change out of their armor. Faces hard, eyes flicking past her to the gear stacked on the counter behind her.

Cody spoke first. “You’re leaving.”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. She turned her back on them both, walking toward her gear like she hadn’t just been caught mid-plan.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she said as she fastened her utility belt.

“We figured,” Rex said. “So explain on the way.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, steel underneath. “You don’t get to follow me this time.”

Cody stepped inside. “We didn’t follow you. We found you. Big difference.”

She spun, eyes locking onto Cody. “You don’t get to be the voice of reason right now, Cody. Not when I’m going to kill your Chancellor.”

The silence hit like a thermal detonator.

Rex looked at her like he hadn’t expected to hear her say it aloud.

Cody didn’t flinch.

“I’m going to get Kes out,” she said, quieter now. “And then I’m going to end this. Before it starts.”

“You think assassinating the Chancellor is going to stop what’s coming?” Rex’s voice was tight. “Do you even know what that’ll unleash?”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “He’s using that kid. He’s manipulating all of us. And the longer I wait, the worse it gets.”

Cody took a single step closer. Not threatening—just there. Solid. Like he always was.

“You’ll die,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”

Rex stepped forward now, voice low, fierce. “Then let us help. Let us at least stand with you.”

She stared at them both. Her throat tightened.

She wanted to say yes. Stars, she wanted to say yes so badly.

But—

“If either of you die because of me,” she said, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“We’re soldiers,” Cody said. “We’ve already made peace with dying.”

“But not with you dying alone,” Rex added.

The silence stretched long. Her eyes burned.

She turned away, back to her weapons. She was shaking, just slightly.

And then… she spoke.

“No.”

They both stilled.

She faced them now, eyes sharper than either had ever seen. “I can’t let either of you come with me.”

“Why?” Rex asked. “Because it’s dangerous? We live in danger. That’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not about danger,” she said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “It’s about you. About him. About both of you. I love you—both of you—and I will not be the reason your stories end in a hallway you were never meant to be in.”

Cody stepped closer. “That’s not your choice to make.”

“It is this time,” she said. “Because if I lose either of you, I don’t just lose a soldier. I lose the only damn thing I’ve got left in this kriffed-up galaxy.”

Neither of them spoke.

And then, gently, she picked up her blaster, slid it into its holster, and looked at them for what might’ve been the last time.

“You don’t have to understand it,” she said. “Just… let me do this. Alone.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t want to hear them fight her on it.

She just stepped out the back door, into the night.

And left them both behind.

⸻

She didn’t go to the facility alone.

Not exactly.

She had a contact.

Someone who didn’t care for the Republic, the Jedi, or much of anything beyond credits and personal satisfaction.

Cad Bane.

She hated him.

He’d say the feeling was mutual.

But she also knew he’d show up if the job was dirty enough, personal enough—and promised to make things just complicated enough to be interesting.

So, when she stood in the shadows near the Coruscant underworld comm relay, keyed in the frequency and said nothing but “I’m cashing it in”, there was a beat of silence, followed by his dry, smug voice.

“Took you long enough. Where’s the target?”

She sent him the encrypted drop zone coordinates, along with a note:

If I’m not there by this time tomorrow, I’m dead. Take the kid somewhere safe.

He didn’t respond. That meant he understood.

She climbed the side of the Republic Intelligence Annex like she had done it a thousand times before.

Because she had.

Not this exact building, no. But enough like it. Enough to know how their sensor blind spots layered. Enough to know the door panels ran off an old auxiliary power line she could override with a reprogrammed comlink. Enough to slip past the outer perimeter before anyone ever saw her coming.

The inside was colder. Cleaner. Sharp-edged metal and flickering overhead lights. It wasn’t meant to feel human. It was meant to strip identity. The place was surgical in its cruelty.

She moved like smoke. Swift. Silent. Lethal.

Floor by floor, she moved through the corridors.

Until she saw it.

The hallway. The black-glass door with the lock system coded to bioscans. The child’s name wasn’t on any sign, but she knew he was behind it.

She cracked her knuckles, pulled a thumb-sized detonator from her belt, and slipped it into the seam of the scanner.

A flicker. A soft click. And then—

Boom.

The door gave.

She sprinted in through smoke and static.

There he was.

Kes.

Slumped on the floor, eyes wide, body curled up like he was used to expecting violence. His force signature was alive—but dimmed. Buried.

She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

He looked up at her. “You came.”

“Of course I did.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

She took out a stimpak and injected it into his arm. “We have to move. Can you walk?”

He nodded. She didn’t wait. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped his small arm around her neck.

The sirens started.

Of course they did.

Guards stormed the lower halls.

Blaster fire lit up behind them, but she didn’t stop. She ran, dragging the kid through maintenance shafts, down an auxiliary lift, bursting into the speeder bay just in time to hijack a transport and shoot out into the traffic lanes above the city.

She weaved and twisted through Coruscant’s sky, sirens behind her, and a fragile hope burning in her chest.

Kes was safe.

For now.

They landed in a scrap yard on the edge of the underworld district, just near the slums. The air was thick with fuel and metal and smoke. She tucked Kes behind a decaying repulsor rig and handed him a stolen ration bar.

“If I don’t come back by tomorrow,” she said, crouching beside him, “Cad Bane will find you. He has the coordinates. You run. You survive. You hear me?”

“You’re not gonna die,” Kes whispered.

She smirked faintly. “Kid, I’ve been trying to die for years. But you… you’re different. You’ve got a future.”

She squeezed his shoulder, then vanished into the shadows.

She had one more stop to make.

And Palpatine wouldn’t see it coming.

⸻

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t need to.

The side entrance to the Chancellor’s private chambers peeled open after her third override attempt, a hiss of smoke and whirring gears inviting her into the lion’s den. Every step she took echoed like thunder through the polished marbled halls, golden-red light casting long, terrible shadows over everything.

It felt wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone.

He never was.

But the throne sat empty in the center of the chamber—its occupant standing by the wide viewport, hands clasped behind his back, city lights dancing across his reflection.

“You’re late,” Palpatine said without turning.

She drew her blaster.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t hesitate.

She fired.

The bolt twisted in midair—curved—like the space between her and him had turned to oil. It splashed against the wall, leaving a crater, and Palpatine finally turned to face her, slow and measured.

He was smiling.

“Predictable,” he whispered.

Lightning surged from his fingers before she could blink.

It hit her like a wrecking ball.

She hit the ground screaming, bones screaming with her. Her blaster flew out of reach. Her limbs convulsed—vision swimming. The pain was like drowning in fire.

“You think yourself above your role? A pawn with a little sentiment?” Palpatine hissed, walking toward her, cloak dragging behind him like smoke.

He leaned down.

“I gave you purpose. I gave you everything.”

Her hand slipped to her boot. Blade.

“You gave me rot,” she spat, and slashed.

The blade caught his cheek.

He didn’t even flinch.

But he bled.

That was enough.

He threw her across the room with a flick of his wrist. She shattered a statue. She couldn’t breathe.

The alarms began to blare.

Corrie Guard. Jedi. Everyone was coming.

“You won’t get far,” he said, voice like thunder, like prophecy. “Run, girl. Run until the stars burn out. They’ll all be hunting you now.”

She didn’t answer.

She crawled, dragged herself to her feet, one hand clutching her ribs. She didn’t even remember how she escaped—smoke bombs, a hidden exit route, a chase through skylanes with every siren screaming her name. The Guard was relentless. She saw Cody. She saw Fox. She even saw Kit—his face torn between duty and disbelief.

She didn’t have time to process it.

She just ran.

By the time she reached the rendezvous point—blood in her mouth, cloak torn, and the weight of failure dragging behind her like a corpse—Cad Bane was already there. So was Kes.

“You look like hell,” Bane drawled.

“Bite me,” she rasped, grabbing Kes’s hand. “We’re leaving.”

Bane handed her coordinates to a small craft already programmed and pre-fueled. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.

They jumped into hyperspace an hour later.

⸻

The stars faded into the dusty pink of dawn as they crested over the hill that led to the farm.

It hadn’t changed.

Still crooked fences. Still half-dead crops. Still peace in its imperfection.

Kes looked up at her, his big eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Why the farm?” he asked softly.

She breathed in the air, cracked and burned and hers.

“We have our Loth cat to find,” she said.

Kes blinked. “That’s… that’s it?”

She half-smiled. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

The war had followed her.

Death had nearly claimed her.

But for now, in this quiet stretch of forgotten land, with the boy she’d risked everything for beside her, she finally let herself breathe.

Just once.

Before the storm returned.

⸻

The silence in the Jedi High Council chamber was so dense it felt like suffocation.

The doors had shut behind Master Windu with a hiss. He remained standing for a moment before stepping into the center, his brow tight with what could only be called restrained fury. Around him, the Masters sat in their usual solemn arrangement—Yoda, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto, and the rest. The air was thick with tension, laced with the sharp edges of disbelief and bitter revelation.

“She tried to kill the Chancellor,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said first. Cold. Certain. “This is beyond treason. It’s an act of war.”

“She also escaped,” Master Shaak Ti added, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “From a secure facility. With a child Palpatine has repeatedly refused to explain.”

“The same child she risked her life to hide for months,” Kit said calmly, though his gaze flickered toward Yoda, seeking his temperature on this. “She did not kill him. She ran. Hid. Protected him.”

“She lied to this Council,” Mundi snapped. “On multiple occasions.”

“As do many who fear the truth will be used against them,” Kit countered.

Windu raised a hand. Silence reclaimed the room.

Obi-Wan leaned forward then, voice calm but lined with suspicion. “What was she doing in the Chancellor’s private tower in the first place? Without clearance. Without authorization.”

“She was summoned,” Windu answered.

That landed like a blow.

Even Yoda stirred at that, tapping his gimer stick once against the floor. “Truth, this is?”

Windu nodded once. “The Chancellor requested her presence. Privately. No report filed. No witnesses. Just hours before the attempt.”

A heavy silence followed.

“She did not go there to kill him,” Kit said. “Not originally.”

“She still tried,” Plo Koon said softly. “But perhaps not without cause.”

Yoda closed his eyes. For a moment, the ancient Jedi looked every bit as old as the war.

“Seen much, we have. But seen enough, we have not.”

“Agreed,” Windu said. “The fact that she is still alive… it complicates this. If she had truly wanted him dead, if she had planned this with precision—she wouldn’t have failed.”

“She wasn’t aiming to succeed,” Obi-Wan murmured. “She was desperate.”

“And she escaped with the child,” Shaak Ti added. “Which the Chancellor has referred to, multiple times, as an asset. Not a person.”

Yoda’s eyes opened.

“Uncover the truth, we must. Speak to the Chancellor… again, we shall.”

Mundi stood, disbelief etched across his face. “You cannot be suggesting that he is the problem.”

Yoda met his gaze.

“The Force suggests… many things.”

⸻

The barracks were quiet for once. No drills, no blaster fire, no shouting across bunks. Just the buzz of overhead lights and the low hum of Coruscant’s cityscape outside the narrow windows.

Cody sat on the edge of a durasteel bench, still in partial armor, helmet discarded at his feet. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like an hour.

Rex stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly. There was a long, bitter silence between them—one that came after too many emotions had been left unsaid for far too long.

“She almost died,” Rex said finally, voice low.

“She should be dead,” Cody answered without looking at him. “Attempting to assassinate the Chancellor? Alone? That’s suicide.”

“She’s alive,” Rex replied, softer now. “But she ran. Again.”

Cody let out a tired exhale, dragging a hand through his short hair. “She always runs.”

There was no malice in his voice. Just grief.

They were quiet again before Cody finally broke it.

“You loved her.”

Rex didn’t flinch. “Yeah. You did too.”

Cody nodded once, jaw tight. “I kept telling myself it was duty. Obsession. That I could let her go. But I never really wanted to.”

Rex stared at the floor. “She told me she loved me. Right before she disappeared.”

“She told me the same.” Cody gave a humorless laugh. “Then said she wanted both of us.”

Rex looked up. Their eyes met, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.

“And if things were different?” Rex asked.

Cody shook his head. “If things were different, we wouldn’t be in this war. We wouldn’t be soldiers. She wouldn’t be a target. That kid wouldn’t be hunted.”

Silence again.

“She was trying to do the right thing,” Rex said. “Even when it meant becoming the villain in everyone’s eyes.”

“Even ours,” Cody added quietly. “And now she’s out there. Hunted. Alone. Again.”

Rex stepped forward, tension rolling off him like a crashing tide. “I want to go after her.”

“So do I,” Cody said, standing.

The two commanders stared at one another—two halves of the same loyalty.

But they both knew the truth: chasing her meant turning against everything they’d been raised to serve.

The Republic. The Jedi. The Chancellor.

Everything.

“She’s worth it,” Rex said eventually.

Cody didn’t answer right away.

But the look in his eyes said everything.

⸻

The Chancellor’s office was dimmed, blinds drawn. Only Coruscant’s dull, flickering lights spilled shadows against the walls, mixing with the warm glow of red and gold decor.

Palpatine sat with folded hands, the lines in his face calm, unreadable.

Mace Windu stood at the center of the room, flanked by Yoda and Ki-Adi-Mundi. Plo Koon lingered near the window. Kit Fisto remained closer to the rear, saying nothing, watching everything.

“She nearly assassinated you,” Windu said. “And yet you still refuse to pursue her with the full force of the Republic?”

Palpatine offered a diplomatic smile. “She was misguided. Broken. This was the action of a lost, frightened woman.”

“Frightened women don’t break into highly classified facilities with bounty hunters and walk out with a Force-sensitive child,” Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in.

“Nor do they try to kill the Supreme Chancellor,” Windu added.

“Attempt to,” Palpatine corrected softly.

The silence that followed was sharp.

“Tell us, Chancellor,” Yoda finally spoke, his voice calm but piercing. “This woman. Long known to you, she is. Trusted her, you have. But trust her still, do you?”

Palpatine’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She was once loyal. Brave. Unafraid to do what others would not. I used her, yes. But perhaps I was mistaken in believing she could survive the strain of such secrets.”

“Secrets you still refuse to share,” Kit spoke for the first time. “You gave her access to military intel. Brought her into council-level missions. And yet she was never a Jedi, never Republic command, never even vetted. Why?”

Palpatine’s expression darkened, just for a moment. “Because she was effective. Because she could go where others could not. Because she understood what was at stake.”

“And now?” Windu asked.

“She’s dangerous,” Palpatine answered flatly. “And broken. Likely unstable. If she comes for the child again, she will be dealt with accordingly.”

“The child is safe now,” Yoda said.

“Is he?” Palpatine asked mildly. “With a mark on his back and half the galaxy looking for him?”

“You put that mark on him,” Windu said. “You sent her after him to begin with.”

For a moment, silence cracked like ice between them.

Palpatine didn’t blink. “That accusation is as reckless as it is unfounded.”

“We’re done playing blind,” Kit said. “You’ve kept her under your protection long enough. Whatever game you were playing, it’s cost lives.”

Palpatine stood. “I have no more information to offer you. If she resurfaces, she will be arrested. Until then, the matter is closed.”

The Jedi exchanged glances.

But no one believed that.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Crossfire” pt.6

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The night air was still, too quiet for Coruscant. As if the city itself held its breath. The reader sat on the stone edge of a koi pond in the Jedi Temple gardens, picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve.

She hadn’t come here to pray. Or meditate. She came because she couldn’t breathe in her apartment anymore.

Kit Fisto approached silently, boots barely making a sound against the stones. She didn’t flinch when he spoke.

“You found the quietest corner of the Temple.”

“I didn’t think Jedi gardens were known for wild parties.”

He chuckled, easing down beside her, his presence—warm, calm, steady. It was infuriating how grounded he always was.

“You look better than this morning,” he said.

“I look like someone who kissed two men, woke up next to a Jedi Master, and has no idea what the hell she’s doing with her life.”

Kit’s smile widened. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“I didn’t do it for thanks.”

They sat in silence, the pond rippling as a fish darted beneath the surface.

She sighed. “Do I seem like a monster to you?”

“No.”

“Even after everything?”

“I think you’ve been carrying too many secrets for too long. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you tired.”

She looked at him. “Do you tell that to all the girls who stumble into your arms drunk off their head?”

“No,” he said. “Only the ones who cry about clone commanders in their sleep.”

Her throat tightened. “Of course I did.”

“You said you love them both.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “Stars, I’m a mess.”

“That’s not news.”

They both laughed, but it faded quickly.

Kit’s voice turned more serious. “You trust the Chancellor. But you fear him.”

“I do,” she whispered. “More than anything.”

Before Kit could respond, another voice echoed softly from behind.

“You’re not the only one.”

She turned sharply to see Mace Windu standing a few steps away, arms crossed, his gaze steady but not unkind.

“Didn’t realize this was going to be a group therapy session,” she muttered.

Windu stepped forward. “Kit told me what you said last night. About your fear. Your confusion. Your… feelings for the clones.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

“I’m not here to scold you,” Windu said. “But I need to understand. Why do you keep aligning yourself with the Chancellor if you don’t trust him?”

“Because I don’t know what happens if I don’t,” she admitted. “He knows everything about me. He saved me once—or at least made me think he did. I’ve done things for him I can’t take back. And I’m scared if I stop playing the part, he’ll destroy me.”

Kit’s hand rested gently on her back. Windu’s expression softened—not pity, but something close.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Windu said. “We may not know what you are to him, but you’re not just his anymore. You’re part of something else now. The clones trust you. Some of the Jedi trust you. Don’t waste that.”

She met his eyes. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I’ve been.”

“Then start small,” Kit said. “Be honest.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Most truths are.”

Windu gave a slight nod, then turned to leave.

Before he did, he added, “You’ve still got a choice. Don’t wait until it’s taken from you.”

She sat there for a while after he left, Kit still beside her.

“Truth hurts,” she murmured.

Kit gave a small smile. “So does love.”

⸻

She didn’t take the main lift. Didn’t want to run into anyone. After her talk with Kit and Windu, she was raw—peeling open layers she’d kept tightly shut for years. Now, every footstep echoed like a secret she hadn’t meant to tell.

She was halfway through the lower halls when a voice pulled her to a stop.

“You always run off when things get real?”

She froze.

Rex.

He stepped out of the shadows near the archway, arms crossed, helmet in hand, dressed down in fatigues. No armor. No rank. Just him. And that was the problem.

“I wasn’t running,” she said quietly.

“You never are,” he replied. “You disappear. You lie. You kiss me, then you kiss Cody, then you run again and act like none of it ever happened.”

She turned toward him, lips parted in protest—but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care about what happened at 79’s,” he said. “Not like that. I care that I don’t know where I stand with you. And I don’t think you know either.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No. What’s not fair is you looking at me like you want to stay, then leaving before I can ask you to.”

She looked away. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” Rex said, stepping closer. “But you’ve got it. All of it. You have me. And Cody. And the damn Jedi Council watching your every move. And that kid you saved, even if he’s gone now. You’ve got hearts in your hands, and you’re squeezing them like you don’t realize they’re breakable.”

She flinched.

“You don’t get to keep pushing us away and pulling us close when it suits you,” he added, softer this time. “Pick something. Anyone. Or don’t. Just stop pretending it doesn’t mean something.”

The silence settled between them, heavy and sharp.

“I’m trying,” she finally whispered. “I’m not used to being wanted. Not like this. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Rex stepped closer. Close enough she could feel the heat from him, the frustration in the way he held his jaw so tight.

“Start by not lying,” he said. “To me. To Cody. To yourself.”

She met his eyes. “If I tell you I’m scared of what happens if I choose one of you…?”

“I’d say you’re human.”

“What if I choose wrong?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you already know who it is,” he said, and for once, he didn’t say anything more. Didn’t push. Just looked at her like he was waiting for her to catch up.

She blinked, her mouth opening to speak—but footsteps echoed behind them.

Cody.

He stepped into the corridor, freezing at the sight of them. His eyes flicked between them, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Rex didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“You two done?” Cody asked coolly.

“Not even close,” Rex said.

Cody’s gaze locked with hers. “Then maybe it’s time I had a turn.”

The hallway felt too small for the weight in the air.

She looked between them—Rex, steady and wounded, and Cody, cold and unreadable, his arms crossed like a shield.

Cody broke the silence first.

“So,” he said, voice low. “What’s your excuse this time?”

“Cody—” she started.

“No, really. I want to know. You ran off, again. Lied to the Jedi Council. Lied to us. And you show back up at 79’s like nothing happened.” His tone was calm, but there was something brittle underneath. “So what is it this time?”

She exhaled, stepping forward. “I didn’t know what else to do. I had to protect that kid. And if I told anyone—even you—it would’ve put him in more danger.”

“You think I wouldn’t have protected him?” Cody asked, hurt flashing behind his eyes. “You think we wouldn’t have helped you?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“You didn’t trust us.”

“I didn’t trust anyone.”

That landed heavier than she expected.

Rex shifted, jaw clenched. “She didn’t even answer my comms, Cody. Not once.”

“I know.”

The silence swelled again—until she took a step closer to both of them.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were small, but real. Fragile, like they might shatter if she tried to backtrack.

Cody’s posture eased, just slightly. “We’re not looking for perfect,” he said quietly. “We’re just tired of being temporary.”

Her heart cracked open—again.

And then—

“Well isn’t this cozy.”

Quinlan Vos strolled around the corner like he was walking into a lounge instead of an emotional standoff.

“Oh great,” Cody muttered under his breath.

Right behind Quinlan came Kenobi, hands folded in front of him like he hadn’t just walked in on the messiest love triangle in the Temple.

“I sensed tension,” Kenobi said lightly. “But I wasn’t expecting it to be this personal.”

“Obi-Wan,” she said with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This really isn’t your kind of conversation.”

“And yet here I am,” he replied smoothly.

Quinlan leaned against the wall, eyes dancing with mischief. “So who’s it gonna be? Helmet One or Helmet Two?”

Rex looked like he was about to start throwing punches.

Cody sighed. “I will actually kill you, Vos.”

Vos raised his hands. “Hey, no need for violence. Unless it’s a duel for affection. In which case, I’ve got credits on the shiny one.”

“I swear to the stars—” she started.

Kenobi held up a hand, stepping between them. “Enough. We’re not here for… whatever this is. The Council requested an update on the three of you. We came to ensure you’re not tearing each other apart.”

Quinlan smirked. “Looks like she’s doing the emotional tearing, Obi.”

“Quinlan.”

“Alright, alright,” Vos said, grinning as he backed away. “But if someone gets stabbed over this? I better be invited.”

“Out,” she said, pointing. “Both of you.”

Kenobi gave a soft chuckle and turned to leave, but not before glancing over his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, tone more serious now, “sometimes the hardest thing isn’t choosing between two people—it’s choosing yourself. Just don’t take too long. Wars don’t wait for hearts to decide.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, dragging Quinlan along with him like an annoying older brother babysitting a younger one hopped up on spice.

The hallway fell quiet again.

Cody looked at her.

Rex didn’t move.

She let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to choose.”

“You don’t have to right now,” Cody said, stepping closer. “But stop pretending we don’t matter to you.”

“You do,” she whispered. “You both do.”

Rex finally spoke. “Then stop running.”

⸻

The air in her apartment was too still.

It felt wrong, being somewhere safe. Somewhere silent. Somewhere without the constant hum of danger or the weight of another lie slung over her shoulders like armor.

She sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, the lights dimmed.

A glass of something strong sat untouched on the nearby table.

Her thoughts weren’t on Rex. Or Cody. Not really. Not even on the awkward, lingering heat of Kit Fisto’s presence that still clung to the corners of her memory like steam on glass.

They kept drifting—to the kid.

To the boy with the too-serious eyes and the hands that fidgeted when he thought she wasn’t looking. Who had followed her across half the galaxy, trusting her with a kind of blind faith she didn’t think she deserved.

To the one she couldn’t kill.

To the one she’d almost raised.

She could still hear his voice, the way he’d called her “boss” like it was a title and a joke all in one. The way he looked when they’d watched the suns set over Kashyyyk, his feet dangling off a root bridge too high for a child to be comfortable on.

“Why do people kill people like me?” he’d asked once.

She didn’t answer then.

She didn’t have an answer now.

She rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of every choice she’d made—every body she’d stepped over, every path she’d walked blindly, every whispered promise to herself that she could control this, steer it, fix it.

And now the boy was back in Republic custody.

Safer, maybe.

But she didn’t believe that—not really.

Palpatine had plans again. She could feel it. The shadows were curling inward, and she knew enough to know his approval was just another kind of leash.

Maybe Windu was right to be wary.

Maybe Kit was a fool for softening.

Maybe she’d always been a weapon. Just one that had gone a little bit rogue.

She stood up, slowly. Restless.

The floor was cold under her feet.

She wandered to the window. Coruscant glowed like a promise she never believed in.

And still… her hand went to her chest, fingers brushing the chain she wore. The one the boy had made her. Twisted wire and beads and a piece of scrap metal etched with a crude smiley face.

He’d given it to her after their first week on the farm.

“For luck,” he’d said.

She should have thrown it away. Burned it.

But she never did.

And as the lights of the city blinked in rhythm with her quiet regret, she found herself whispering into the night.

“I hope they’re being kind to you, kid.”

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him… or to the ghosts that never stopped following her.

⸻

The transmission came through at dawn. She hadn’t slept.

Palpatine’s voice was calm, syrupy sweet as always. “There’s a matter requiring your unique talents,” he said. “You’ll rendezvous with General Skywalker and his battalion. Details will follow.”

No time to think. No time to refuse.

So she didn’t.

⸻

The hangar was already buzzing when she arrived, helmet under her arm, armor pieced together hastily, mismatched from past missions. The 501st was preparing for deployment, their blue-striped armor shining like blades in the rising sun.

She caught Rex’s gaze across the room. He looked tired. He always did lately.

Anakin stood with a datapad, barking orders. Ahsoka stood near him, arms crossed, lekku twitching with unease the moment the reader approached.

“You’re late,” Skywalker said without looking up.

“I’m here,” she replied coolly.

“Then suit up and get ready. We leave in ten.”

She moved to prep her gear, but Ahsoka intercepted her with a tone too casual to be friendly. “Still working for the Chancellor, huh?”

The reader didn’t answer, just gave her a sideways glance and kept walking.

“I mean,” Ahsoka continued, following, “after everything that’s happened—you being gone, the Jedi Council questioning your motives, Palpatine conveniently keeping you around while trusting no one else. Doesn’t any of that seem off to you?”

The reader paused, slowly turning toward her. Her voice was quiet, but heavy. “You think I don’t ask myself the same questions?”

“Then maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re above all of this,” Ahsoka snapped. “You play all sides. You lie. You vanish. And now you’re back like nothing happened.”

The reader took a step forward, gaze locked on the younger woman. “You think I want this? You think this is a game to me? You were raised in this war. Trained for it. You have people who believe in you, a name that means something. I was bought. I was used. You want to give me a reality check, kid? I live in it.”

Ahsoka blinked, momentarily stunned.

“You’re lucky,” the reader added. “You still think there’s a clean side to stand on.”

With that, she brushed past Ahsoka and made her way toward the LAAT gunship.

Rex was already inside, waiting.

She sat across from him, eyes closed, palms resting on her knees as if trying to keep her heart from falling out of her chest.

“You alright?” he asked after a while.

“No,” she said honestly.

He nodded like that answer made perfect sense. Like he wasn’t alright either.

The gunship lifted. The world blurred outside.

Another mission. Another role to play.

But this time, the pawn wasn’t so willing. And she was starting to learn how to bite.

⸻

The LAAT rocked hard as it breached atmosphere, the roar of wind and engines loud enough to drown out thoughts, fears—names she couldn’t stop saying in her head. Cody. Rex. The kid.

But beside her, General Skywalker sat unfazed, legs spread, arms braced loosely on his knees, like he was born for turbulence. He glanced at her mid-bounce and smirked.

“Bet you missed this,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the rumble.

She scoffed, tucking a few loose strands of hair under her helmet. “Missed being shot at? Only thing I miss more is spice mines and low-rent bounty gigs.”

Anakin grinned. “See? I knew you were fun.”

And to her own surprise… she laughed.

He didn’t ask where she’d been, didn’t pry about the Chancellor, didn’t even hint at what everyone else couldn’t shut up about. Just treated her like a soldier. Like a comrade.

When they hit the ground—dust choking the air, blaster fire already echoing in the distance—he took point without hesitation. She fell in beside him, blasters drawn, movements fluid, practiced. They didn’t need to speak to understand one another.

Flank, move, clear. He gave hand signals, and she followed instinctively. His saber lit up the smoke like a beacon, cutting through battle droids as easily as breath.

They moved through a warzone like ghosts—an unlikely but effective pair. She covered his blind spots, he powered through hers. The 501st swept behind them like a blue tide, and for the first time in months, she felt something almost like useful again.

At the edge of the battlefield, they ducked behind a crumbling wall to regroup.

Anakin exhaled. “You know, I get it,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him, brow furrowed under her helmet.

“Running. Hiding. Playing a part so big you forget who you actually are underneath it.”

A long pause. She stared out over the smoke-covered field, unsure of how to respond.

“You ever think about leaving it all behind?” he asked. “Just… disappearing?”

She glanced over at him, lips twitching. “I did disappear.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. But not the way you wanted to.”

She didn’t respond, but the truth of it burned behind her ribs.

A voice came crackling through comms—Rex, coordinating the rear line. The reader’s pulse skipped without reason. She forced herself to focus.

“Let’s go,” Anakin said, pushing up from cover and drawing his saber again. “Back to the chaos.”

She followed, silently grateful for the moment.

He hadn’t asked about Cody. Or Rex. Or the kid.

He hadn’t made her explain herself.

And for now, that made him the easiest person in the galaxy to be around.

⸻

The adrenaline was still thrumming in her blood as she pulled off her helmet and leaned against a sun-scorched wall. The air smelled like ash and ion discharge, and her armor was coated in dust and dried blood—not all of it hers.

She barely had a second to exhale before Ahsoka appeared like a shadow in the corner of her eye.

“You’re not going to disappear again, are you?” Ahsoka asked flatly.

The reader blinked, slow and tired. “Not planning on it.”

Ahsoka folded her arms, her lekku twitching ever so slightly. “I don’t get it. You show up, cause chaos—emotionally and otherwise—leave, then come back like nothing happened.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” Ahsoka agreed, “but you owe someone one. Cody? Rex? The Council? The Chancellor? You burned every side of the board and expect to keep playing the game.”

The reader narrowed her eyes, pushing off the wall. “I don’t expect anything.”

“I can’t tell if you’re loyal or just really good at pretending.”

Before she could snap something cutting back, a calm voice intervened behind them.

“That’s enough, Snips.”

Anakin strode into view, hands on his belt, expression unreadable. Ahsoka glanced between the two of them, jaw tight, but ultimately nodded and walked off with a muttered, “Fine. But she’s not off the hook.”

Once she was gone, the reader exhaled through her nose. “She’s got a mean right hook. Bet she’s even worse when she’s got words.”

“She’s protective,” Anakin said with a shrug. “But she’s not wrong. Just… a little blunt.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching the twilight settle in soft purples and oranges across the broken landscape. She looked over at him, surprised to see him still there, just… waiting.

“No lecture?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“No cryptic Jedi wisdom?”

“I’m fresh out,” he said with a smirk. “You want some unsolicited advice instead?”

She gave him a dry look. “Why not. Go for it.”

Anakin leaned against the same wall she had been using as support. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“But so is everyone. That’s the secret no one talks about. We’re all running on fumes, bad decisions, and half-formed ideas of what we think is right.”

She let out a breath of a laugh. “And here I thought you Jedi were supposed to be the poster boy of moral certainty.”

He shrugged. “Not me. Never was.”

Silence again. This time, more comfortable.

“I liked fighting with you today,” she admitted, surprising herself more than him.

He smiled. “I like fighting with you too.”

She studied his profile. “You’re not like the others.”

“That’s probably both a compliment and an insult.”

“Take it however you want.”

They both chuckled softly.

“Thanks for not asking about the Chancellor. Or the others. Or—”

“You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to,” Anakin said simply. “Not with me.”

She looked down at her hands, cut up and shaking slightly. “I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“Then don’t say anything yet,” he said. “Just… be here. For once.”

Her chest ached at the simplicity of it. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And for a moment, just a moment, she was someone without secrets.

⸻

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