Captain Rex X Jedi Reader

"it's all in your head" correct! unfortunately I am also in there

“Theoretical Feelings”

Tech x Female Reader

⸻

“Tech, you’re smarter than you look,” you said, fingers flying across the datapad as you recalibrated the long-range scanner’s neural relays.

Tech didn’t even glance up. “Is that a compliment for my intelligence or an insult for my appearance?”

You smirked, biting the inside of your cheek. “Maybe both. You’ll never know.”

That got him. He looked at you over the rim of his goggles, blinking once. “You are remarkably cryptic for someone so precise in data analysis.”

“And you’re remarkably dense for someone with a photographic memory.”

He opened his mouth—no doubt to deliver a factually loaded rebuttal—but Omega’s groan from the doorway cut him off.

“Ugh, will you two just kiss already?”

Wrecker let out a bark of laughter from the other side of the room. “They’re both so smart and yet so stupid. It’s kinda impressive, honestly.”

Hunter passed by without even looking up from his weapon check. “I give it three more arguments before one of them short-circuits.”

Echo, lounging at the gunner’s console, rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen better communication from malfunctioning droids.”

You turned bright red. “We’re not—! I mean, it’s not like that.”

Tech, completely deadpan: “I fail to see the logic in a kiss solving anything.”

“Oh my stars,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’d think two geniuses wouldn’t be so emotionally… constipated.”

Omega laughed as she flopped into a chair. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Yes,” you said, shooting Tech a sidelong glance. “He’s got a whole datacard full of tactical strategy, but apparently no folder for feelings.”

“I have folders,” Tech protested, indignant. “I just haven’t… opened them.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back in your seat. “Well, maybe you should. Before I go flirt with Echo just to see if he can keep up.”

Tech’s goggles glinted as he straightened, spine stiff. “That would be inefficient. Echo’s humor is marginally less compatible with yours. Statistically, I am the superior match.”

The room went dead silent.

Even Hunter looked up.

“…What?” Tech asked, genuinely confused. “Was that not the correct response?”

You blinked, lips parting, but nothing came out at first. Finally, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table.

“Tech,” you said slowly. “Are you… trying to court me via statistics?”

“Well, that is the language I am most fluent in,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have also calculated the probability of your reciprocal affection to be relatively high, based on prolonged eye contact, increased heart rate during proximity, and your tendency to brush your hair back when speaking to me.”

Your face went completely warm. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you,” he said plainly. “I simply haven’t known what to do with the information.”

Your heart stuttered—because for all his clinical language, there was vulnerability behind it. Soft. Honest. Tech didn’t lie. He just struggled to feel out loud.

You offered a small smile. “You don’t have to do anything… except meet me halfway.”

He tilted his head. “Can you define halfway in this context?”

You stood up, stepped in front of him, and placed your hand gently on the side of his face—just enough pressure for his breath to catch. He froze like a statue.

“This,” you whispered, “is halfway.”

“Oh,” Tech said softly, eyes wide behind his goggles. “I see.”

And then—slowly, cautiously, with all the finesse of a man defusing a bomb—he leaned forward and kissed you.

Echo let out a low whistle. Wrecker whooped. Omega cheered.

Hunter smirked to himself. “About time.”

When you pulled back, Tech looked dazed. Awestruck.

You grinned and nudged his shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Tech adjusted his goggles. “I must say… I found it remarkably agreeable.”

“You’re so weird,” you whispered, grinning.

He smiled back. “Yes. But apparently, I am your kind of weird.”

⸻

Rebels Wolffe x Reader

Summary: Wolffe x Medic!Reader set post-Order 66 during the Rebels era. Listened to the song “somewhere only we know” by Keane and made me think of old man Wolffe.

⸻

The sky of Seelos burned orange as another sun dipped beneath the jagged horizon. The Ghost had landed hours ago, stirring the sand, dust, and old ghosts from their resting places.

You stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, scanning the ramshackle AT-TE turned-home ahead. Your breath caught when you saw him—helmet under one arm, same eye scar, same heavy gait. But time had added weight to his shoulders and silver to his hair.

Wolffe.

He hadn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he had and just didn’t believe it. You smiled.

“Well, kark me,” you called, stepping forward, “either I’m dreaming or the years have not been kind to you, old man.”

He froze mid-step. His one eye widened, flickering with something too raw to be masked. His voice was gravel when he finally spoke.

“Medic?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Still calling me that after all this time? Not even a ‘hey, great to see you, thought you were dead’?”

He dropped his helmet, closing the distance in long, heavy steps. You didn’t realize you were trembling until he reached you—until his gloved hand gently took your arm like he wasn’t sure if you’d disappear.

“You left,” he said. Not accusing. Just fact.

“So did you,” you whispered. “War ended. Republic died. So many of us died with it.”

A moment passed where neither of you breathed. The wind whistled over cracked metal and dry earth. The sun dipped a little lower.

Wolffe’s eye searched your face like it had answers to questions he never dared to ask. “Why now?” he said. “Why here?”

You glanced back toward the Ghost, where Sabine and Zeb were offloading supplies, Hera and Kanan deep in discussion. “I’m with them now. The Ghost crew. Ezra brought us out here. Said there were… good men worth finding.”

Wolffe looked away. “Not sure that’s true anymore.”

You touched his cheek—scarred, weathered, familiar. “Still wearing your guilt like a second set of armor, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“I remember when you used to smile,” you murmured. “Used to fight like hell, patch your brothers up, then sit with me under stars on Ryloth like the war wasn’t chewing us to pieces.”

His silence was heavy, but he didn’t pull away. Just watched you with that quiet intensity he always had.

“I’ve thought about you,” you said. “Over the years. Wondered if you made it. Wondered if you found peace somewhere.”

“This is the closest I got,” he said, glancing back at the AT-TE. “It’s not much.”

“It’s something,” you offered. “Somewhere only we know.”

A tired smirk tugged at his lips. “Still quoting that old song you used to hum in the medbay?”

You shrugged. “Catchy. And depressing. Fit the vibe.”

He chuckled—actually chuckled. It was a rare sound, worn and dry but still alive. “You really haven’t changed.”

You leaned in, nudging his shoulder. “You have. More lines. More grump. Less hair.”

“I shaved it.”

“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.”

He shook his head, muttering a fond “damn smartass” under his breath.

The sun was nearly gone now, and the stars began to appear, faint and blinking like the ghosts of all you’d lost.

You stepped closer, chest brushing his armor. “You think we could find that peace again?” you asked, soft. “Maybe not like before, but… something close?”

He didn’t answer right away. But his hand found yours—calloused, warm, grounding.

“Stay a while,” he said. “Just… stay.”

You squeezed his hand.

“For now,” you said. “I’ll stay.”

And under a Seelos sky, two remnants of a broken galaxy found the smallest sliver of something whole. A memory made real. A place only you two remembered.

Somewhere only you knew.

⸻

once again i love how star wars takes place in a massive galaxy with thousands of planets and billions of people, and yet every bounty hunter knows each other personally

Sargent Hunter x Mandalorian Reader pt.1

---

The sound of blaster fire echoed through the narrow alleyways of the war-torn city. The Republic had been fighting for years, but the true cost of war weighed heavily on everyone—soldiers and civilians alike. Sergeant Hunter and his squad were on a mission: to extract a high-ranking separatist official, someone who held vital intelligence. But things had gone awry, as they often did.

"Alright, boys, spread out," Hunter said, his voice calm but commanding. "We're on a tight timeline."

The Bad Batch—Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair—moved with precision, their enhanced skills making them unmatched on the battlefield. As they advanced through the streets, a shadow flickered at the corner of his vision. A figure clad in Mandalorian armor stood silently against a crumbling wall, watching them.

Hunter's instincts kicked in immediately. He had seen many soldiers and mercenaries, but there was something about this one—a presence, a coldness that didn't quite fit the norm of the typical bounty hunter. She wasn't in full view, but even from a distance, he could tell she was skilled. Her helmet was shaped with the distinct Mandalorian T-visor, and her armor bore the unmistakable dents and scratches of someone who had seen too many battles.

He motioned to Echo, signaling him to take point. "Cover me."

The rest of the squad adjusted their positions, but Hunter moved toward the alley, cautious but intrigued. The Mandalorian's eyes never left him. She didn't reach for a weapon, but she was clearly ready for one if needed. He approached slowly, his blaster at his side.

"Are you lost, soldier?" her voice was low and guarded, but there was an undeniable strength to it.

"Just looking for someone," Hunter replied, studying her carefully. "You?"

"Same," she said with a slight tilt of her head. There was an unreadable expression beneath her helmet, but Hunter could hear the slight hint of amusement in her voice. "But I don't think you're the one I'm after."

Hunter furrowed his brow. "Then you're not a threat?"

She chuckled, and it was a sound that made his instincts flare. "Not to you, no. I'm just trying to survive, same as everyone else."

He took a cautious step closer. "I don't know many who would wear Mandalorian armor and not fight for a cause."

The Mandalorian paused, her posture shifting slightly as she adjusted her stance. "My cause is my own, Sergeant," she said. "I'm no different from you, except I work alone."

Hunter tilted his head, studying her. "You don't seem like someone who works alone."

The Mandalorian's hand subtly rested on the hilt of her blaster, but she didn't draw it. "What do you know about me, Sergeant Hunter?"

Hunter's gaze narrowed slightly. She knew his name. It was strange—he hadn't told her, and yet her tone had a knowing edge. It piqued his curiosity even further.

"I know you're a mercenary of some kind," Hunter said, testing the waters.

"Close enough," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "But I'm no mere merc. I'm a bounty hunter. And I have my own code to follow."

Hunter nodded slowly. He'd encountered bounty hunters before, but there was something about her—her confidence, her skills—that set her apart from the usual hired guns.

The two stood in silence for a moment, the distant sounds of war barely breaking the stillness between them.

Hunter wasn't sure why he felt so drawn to this woman, this Mandalorian. Maybe it was the way her presence seemed to hold steady in the chaos. Maybe it was the way she didn't back down, didn't flinch under the weight of the situation. But something in him—the soldier, the leader, the man—couldn't help but want to know more.

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly, his tone more personal than he intended.

Her voice softened slightly as she answered, "Same reason as you, Sergeant. I'm looking for someone... or something. And maybe, just maybe, we're both after the same thing."

Hunter's interest peaked. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say," she began, "I've been hunting a certain individual who's not exactly on the Republic's side. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to bring him down."

Hunter's gaze hardened as he considered her words. "I get that. But the Republic's not going to take kindly to a bounty hunter crossing their path. Especially a Mandalorian."

The Mandalorian gave him a wry smile. "I've never been one to follow the rules."

Hunter couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, I've noticed."

They stood there, exchanging glances, understanding the complexity of the situation. For a moment, there was a quiet understanding between them—two warriors, both driven by duty, yet standing on opposite sides of the battlefield.

"So," Hunter said, "what happens now?"

The Mandalorian's gaze flickered toward the distant sounds of blaster fire and explosions. "Now? We finish the mission. But don't get too attached, Sergeant. My code is my own."

"I don't plan on getting attached," Hunter said, though he couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, an unspoken connection between two soldiers caught in a war that neither fully understood.

They exchanged one last look before turning back to their separate paths. The mission was still at hand, and neither of them had time to deal with distractions—at least, not yet. But as Hunter moved back to join his squad, he couldn't shake the thought of the mysterious Mandalorian bounty hunter, wondering just how much she was hiding beneath that cold exterior.

And maybe, just maybe, their paths would cross again. The war had a way of bringing people together, even when they didn't want to be.

“Grizzer’s Choice”

Sergeant Hound x Reader

Coruscant’s upper levels were all steel and structure, but down here—beneath the polished platforms and Senate façades—was the Coruscant Guard’s territory. Order in chaos. The pulse of the city was felt more than seen, vibrating faintly under your boots as you stepped into the Guard kennel compound for the first time.

You took a slow breath. It smelled of durasteel, sanitizing agents, and wet fur.

Perfect.

You’d worked with animals your whole life. Big ones. Aggressive ones. Ones people gave up on, called dangerous or impossible. That’s how you landed the job—new mastiff handler for the Coruscant Guard’s prized unit.

A few troopers passed you with curious looks—some respectful, some dismissive. It wasn’t common for civilians to be embedded here. It was rarer still for one to be given a job involving him.

Grizzer.

The massiff lay in the shadowed corner of the compound, head lifted, ears twitching. His yellow eyes locked on you immediately.

The massiff was a fixture in Guard circles. A creature bred for control, raised on structure, trained in pain response and patrol aggression. He wasn’t a pet. He wasn’t a soldier, either. He was something in between—lethal and loyal, the way a war dog should be.

And he didn’t like anyone but his handler. The clone in crimson-striped armor waiting for you outside the kennels stood with arms folded, helmet clipped to his belt, posture sharp as a vibroblade.

“[Y/N]?” he asked, voice clipped.

“Yes, sir. Reporting for assignment.”

“Sergeant Hound,” he introduced. No small talk, no smile. “You’ll be assisting with behavioral oversight and training reinforcement for the precinct’s massiffs. That doesn’t mean taking liberties. You observe. You follow orders. You stay out of the way.”

Not exactly a welcome mat.

You nodded. “Understood.”

He turned on his heel and led you inside.

The kennels were quiet—clean, organized. The soft shuffle of claws on durasteel echoed from a side corridor. Grizzer was massive—thick-muscled, scarred, and alert. His hackles rose the moment his yellow eyes landed on you. His lip twitched in a soundless growl.

You kept your posture loose but grounded. Not threatening. Not submissive.

“Don’t speak,” Hound said quietly. “Just kneel. Hands visible.”

You obeyed without hesitation.

Grizzer approached—slow, ears rotating slightly. You didn’t reach out. You simply held your ground, steady, and let him scent the air between you.

Then, to Hound’s quiet surprise, Grizzer sat. Not completely relaxed. But watching you, calm.

Hound blinked.

“He doesn’t do that,” he muttered.

You finally glanced up. “He does now.””

⸻

Grizzer had taken to you faster than anyone expected. It was subtle—he didn’t become affectionate or eager—but he tolerated your touch, followed your directions, even mirrored your body language during patrol drills. The clone officers noticed. Fox himself dropped a comment during one of the rotation briefings.

“Grizzer’s got a new favorite,” he muttered as he passed you.

You caught Hound watching you more often now—sometimes in silence during shift changes, sometimes while adjusting Grizzer’s gear. Not hostile. Just… thoughtful. Assessing.

That night, while off-duty, you found yourself sitting on the edge of a service stairwell overlooking the lower hangar levels. A small moment of quiet between patrols.

Boots echoed behind you.

“You’re off duty,” Hound said, approaching. “You could be sleeping.”

You smirked without looking back. “You could be too.”

He stood beside you for a moment, then sat—grudgingly, like it offended him to admit he needed rest.

Silence lingered. But not heavy this time. Companionable.

“I’ve seen Grizzer bite men for less than standing too close to me,” he said eventually.

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” He paused. “That’s what’s strange.”

A beat passed.

“He trusts you,” Hound continued. “That’s not something I trained into him. That’s something he chose.”

You studied him—his scarred knuckles, the stiffness in his shoulders that never fully eased. A soldier first. A handler second. A man… somewhere beneath all of that.

“Then I guess he’s smarter than both of us,” you said softly.

Hound looked at you.

Not sharply. Not critically.

Just looked. And for the first time, you saw something tired in him. Not weak. Just worn down from too many deployments, too many arrests, too many shifting rules in a galaxy that didn’t make sense anymore.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “Or maybe he just sees what I’m too used to ignoring.”

You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

“You care. And you don’t ask for anything in return.”

Another pause. A flicker of something in his gaze.

“That’s rare in this job,” he added.

Grizzer padded over from the shadows and laid his heavy head on your lap, letting out a slow sigh.

Hound stared at the massiff, then at you again.

“I was wrong about you,” he said simply. “You’re not here to handle the animals.”

You raised a brow.

“You’re here to remind us we’re more than just uniforms.”

You didn’t respond.

Grizzer’s weight was comforting. His head rested on your lap, massive chest rising and falling in sync with your breathing. You absently scratched behind his coarse ears, your fingers finding the notch from some old skirmish or riot bite. Hound had gone quiet beside you, his elbows resting on his knees, head slightly bowed.

He was still wearing half his armor—greaves, chestplate, the red markings catching the glow from the hangar lights below. He looked tired. But not worn down. Just quiet.

The kind of quiet soldiers earned, not feared.

“You always this silent off-duty?” you asked gently.

Hound exhaled a faint laugh—just enough breath to make it real. “Only when I’m trying not to ruin something.”

You turned toward him slightly. “Ruin what?”

He met your gaze. And something about it—about the lack of armor in his eyes—made the silence between you shift. He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his hand lifted—callused and gloved—almost as if to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. But he stopped, fingers hovering just near your cheek.

“I’m not good at this,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “You don’t have to be.”

A breath passed.

He leaned in—barely. The kind of lean that spoke of hesitation, of a soldier measuring risk, calculating damage, even here. Even now.

And you leaned in, too.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not yet. But the space between you narrowed to a thread, the kind you didn’t want to break. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up.

Then—

“Sergeant.”

The voice cracked the moment apart like a blaster round through glass.

Both of you jerked slightly apart, tension resetting in your shoulders. Grizzer lifted his head from your lap, a low rumble forming deep in his throat.

Commander Fox stood at the top of the stairwell, arms folded, expression unreadable. His helmet was clipped to his belt, and his voice was flat.

“We’re short a patrol on Sector C-14. I need you on rotation, now.”

Hound’s jaw clenched, but he nodded once, efficient and emotionless.

“Copy that.”

Fox’s gaze slid to you, then to Grizzer—who was now fully on his feet, hackles half-raised, eyes locked on the Commander like he was prey. A low growl echoed across the steel.

“Call off your mutt,” Fox said sharply.

“He’s not a mutt,” you said before thinking, standing slowly and resting a hand on Grizzer’s flank. “He just doesn’t like people who interrupt.”

Fox’s brow twitched. Hound gave you the faintest side-glance—half warning, half impressed.

“See that he’s leashed and off the hangar levels by 2200,” Fox added, then turned and walked off without another word.

Silence returned, but it wasn’t the same.

Hound rose to his feet beside you. Grizzer stayed close to your leg, still staring toward the stairwell.

You broke the quiet first. “Almost.”

He nodded, quiet.

“Yeah.”

Neither of you said it. You didn’t need to.

But as he stepped away, pausing just long enough for one last look, you caught the faintest flicker of something in his voice—something that sounded like hope.

“I’m on rotation ‘til 0300,” he said. “But I’ll be back.”

You nodded once, heart steady but loud. “I’ll wait.”

Grizzer huffed.

Hound gave the massiff a rare half-smile.

“Try not to bite Fox next time,” he muttered.

But even you could tell… he wasn’t entirely serious.

⸻

You were still awake.

The barracks were quiet. You’d been sitting on a folded crate just outside the kennel med bay, a stim-caf growing cold between your hands, eyes scanning the darkened corridor.

When the outer hatch hissed open, your breath caught.

Hound stepped through first—helmet on, armor dulled with soot and carbon scuffs. But it wasn’t him your eyes locked on.

It was Grizzer.

He limped in beside his handler, front right paw curled tight to avoid weight, blood drying in a jagged smear up his shoulder. His thick tail was low but not tucked—still alert, still proud, but hurting.

“Blaster graze,” Hound said as he approached, voice clipped, too calm.

You were already moving.

“I’m not a vet, but—bring him in. Now.”

Hound didn’t argue.

He followed you through the kennel’s side hall into the back medical stall—one of the few areas with proper light and clean storage drawers. You cleared the low bench, grabbing antiseptic, gauze, a med-spray from your locker.

Grizzer lay down without command, eyes tracking you but not fighting. You took that as trust.

You worked in silence. Gently shaving back the singed fur, dabbing the graze clean. It wasn’t deep, but it had burned skin—angry, red, raw.

You caught Hound’s hands twitching at his sides more than once.

“He’ll be okay,” you said softly. “No nerve damage. He’ll walk it off in two days.”

Hound crouched beside Grizzer, resting one hand on the massiff’s uninjured shoulder, his other brushing through the thick fur behind his ear.

The silence that settled wasn’t empty—it was full.

Full of the sound of breath evening out. Of blood pressure lowering. Of armor creaking as a soldier finally let go.

“You care about him like he’s more than a partner,” you said, not as a question.

“He’s the only constant I’ve had since Kamino.”

The way he said it—low, quiet, unsentimental—landed heavy.

“I get that,” you replied. “You lose enough people, the ones who stay matter more.”

Grizzer let out a tired huff and nudged your wrist with his nose.

You smiled. “And he’s got good taste in people.”

Hound looked up at you.

Not guarded this time. Not assessing. Just looking.

“You stayed up,” he said.

“I said I’d wait.”

He stood slowly, watching you as you finished wrapping the bandage. The space between you narrowed again—this time in quiet exhaustion, quiet care.

You didn’t flinch when he reached up—just brushed a hand over your cheek, gentle, almost reverent.

He exhaled.

Then you leaned into him.

And he kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate or sharp—just honest. The kind of kiss that says I trust you, the kind that follows after weeks of tension and hours of worry. You melted into it, letting your hand rest over the back of his neckplate, letting him feel that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Then—

Grizzer groaned and shifted between your legs, snout nudging the both of you apart. He pushed his head under your arm and leaned hard into your ribs, jealous and affectionate all at once.

You laughed, breathless. “You little saboteur.”

“He’s worse than Fox,” Hound muttered.

You and Hound both turned as the side hall door hissed open again.

“Oh for kriff’s—”

Commander Thorn stood in the doorway, a datapad in hand, brows raised.

He took one look at the scene—Grizzer crammed between the two of you like a possessive third wheel, Hound with his hand still at your waist, you flushed and tousled.

There was a long pause.

Thorn blinked once. Then he pivoted neatly on his heel.

“I don’t wanna know about it,” he said, walking off.

The door hissed shut again behind him.

Silence.

Then Hound let out a low chuckle—just a puff of breath, really, but it was genuine. He looked down at you, still holding your waist.

“At least it wasn’t Fox.”

You smiled. “I’ll take it.”

Grizzer gave one last grunt of satisfaction and nosed between you both again.

Hound shook his head, but his hand didn’t leave your side.

Not this time.

Dominoes fall, but no one ever tells you what happens to the last one. Lyrics from: Wait for Me - Hadestown (2:47-3:11) ...with a little lyric change at the end. Beep beep, emotional damage truck coming through! Also this is the result of my WIP featured on my Last Line Challenge.

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.”

“The Lesser of Two Wars” pt.9

Commander Fox x Reader X Commander Thorn

The senator had just finished brushing out her hair when the knock sounded on her door. Not urgent. Not protocol. A familiar rhythm.

She smirked before she even opened it.

“Kenobi.”

“Senator,” he greeted smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He wore civilian robes again, lighter and less formal than the ones for Council meetings. He looked tired but amused.

She poured him a drink without asking.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Vos got you in trouble again?”

Obi-Wan laughed as he accepted the glass. “Not this time. Surprisingly. I’m here for a bit of… tea.”

Her brow lifted. “You’re bringing gossip now? I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he said, sipping. “But Commander Cody is. And as it turns out, your favorite Marshal Commander had quite the dramatic evening.”

Her smirk faltered. “Fox?”

“Mhm. Got into a full-on barracks brawl with Commander Thorn. It took Stone, Thire, Hound—and Grizzer, apparently—to break it up. Neyo had to drag Fox out by his collar and gave him a verbal lashing so brutal Cody said even he winced.”

She blinked. “What?”

Obi-Wan leaned casually against the back of her sofa. “Cody said it was over a woman. A senator. Tall. Sharp-tongued. Dangerous past. Ringing any bells?”

She rolled her eyes and finished her drink. “I thought Jedi were above this sort of drama.”

He smiled at her over the rim of his glass. “Not when we served alongside the subject of said drama during a war that’s still mostly classified.”

That shut her up.

“You always knew how to turn a knife with a smile,” she muttered, setting the glass down.

Obi-Wan’s face gentled. “They care about you. Both of them. Deeply.”

“And I didn’t ask for that.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you earned it. The good and the bad of that kind of loyalty.”

She sighed, suddenly tired. “Did Vos tell them anything?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, then answered honestly. “No. Not really. Just implied. He knows better than to break sealed records. But they’re not stupid, either. Thorn saw the way you moved before you even said a word. Fox… saw something else.”

She didn’t respond.

He set the empty glass down beside hers. “I told Vos to stay out of it. I doubt he listened. But if you want this kept quiet… you might want to speak with the commanders yourself. Before someone else decides to dig deeper.”

Her voice was soft now. “What would you do?”

Obi-Wan gave a small shrug. “I’d probably lie. But I’m not sure that’s your style anymore.”

They shared a long look—one soldier to another, stripped of titles.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

He smiled. “Of course. You always did keep the battlefield interesting.”

As he turned to go, she called after him, dry as sand.

“Tell Cody if he wants to gossip, he should at least have the nerve to come see me himself.”

Obi-Wan chuckled all the way to the door. “Careful what you wish for.”

⸻

The senator had just settled into her chair, datapad in hand, when a familiar and entirely unwelcome sound echoed from her balcony—three sharp knocks, the rattle of the door handle, and then—

“Don’t pretend you’re not home. I saw the lights on.”

She sighed through her teeth. “Vos…”

Opening the door, she found the Jedi standing there with his usual self-satisfied smirk and not a single ounce of shame.

“You ever heard of calling first?” she asked flatly.

“I don’t believe in unnecessary formalities between old war buddies,” he said, brushing past her like he owned the place. “Besides, I’ve got juicy gossip and a bottle of Corellian red.”

She shut the door with a click. “Kenobi beat you to it.”

Vos froze mid-step. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Came by earlier. Looked annoyingly smug the whole time.”

“Dammit,” Vos muttered. “I was hoping to be the one to tell you about the Fox and Thorn Brawl.”

She smirked and took the bottle from him anyway. “Nice try. Obi-Wan already filled me in on the punches, the growling, the whole squad pile-up.”

Vos flopped into her armchair, legs over the arm like a delinquent. “Alright, but did he tell you the best part?”

She gave him a look.

Vos wiggled his eyebrows. “Fox apologized.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “To his men?”

Vos pointed at her with a grin. “There it is. That face. Knew you didn’t hear that part.”

She blinked. “Fox. Marshal Commander Fox. The same man who’d rather choke on his own pride than admit he even has feelings, much less regret?”

“The very same,” Vos said cheerfully. “Apparently gave Hound a bone for his mastiff and everything. I think it actually threw the Guard into a full existential crisis.”

She laughed softly. “Neyo must’ve really given it to him.”

“Oh, he did,” Vos said, eyes twinkling. “Word is, Neyo’s dressing down was so intense, Fox was halfway convinced he’d be reassigned to latrine duty.”

She snorted and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to him.

“Maybe,” she drawled, “I’ve been flirting with the wrong commanders.”

Vos choked on his sip, grinning over the rim of his glass. “Oh no, sweetheart. Even you couldn’t break Neyo.”

She raised her brows. “Is that a challenge?”

“Not unless you’re into men who quote the regs during intimate moments.”

She laughed harder than she had in days.

As the amusement settled, Vos looked at her with a little more seriousness than usual. “You alright, really?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared into her glass.

“I don’t regret anything I did back then,” she said. “But I hate how it’s all resurfacing. Like that version of me is still dragging shadows into every room I walk into.”

Vos leaned forward, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You survived a civil war, ended it, and turned your planet toward peace. And now you’re sitting here, sipping wine in the Senate instead of burning in some bunker. That’s not a shadow. That’s a story. And no one tells it better than you.”

She gave him a long look.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

He winked. “Still not letting you off the hook for kissing both your bodyguards though. That’s just messy.”

She threw a pillow at him.

⸻

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm, amber hue across the polished floors of her apartment when the soft buzz of her door alerted her to a visitor.

She didn’t expect him.

Not after everything.

When the door slid open, Thorn stood there in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm. His expression was unreadable, guarded in that way soldiers perfected when they didn’t want their emotions to show—except in his eyes. His eyes betrayed something deeper.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated… just long enough for him to notice.

Then she stepped aside.

They didn’t speak at first. She returned to her small table where a glass of wine still sat half-drunk, and Vos’ laughter still lingered faintly in the air, as if the apartment hadn’t fully exhaled him yet.

Thorn remained near the doorway, not quite relaxed, not quite tense.

“You don’t have to say it,” she finally murmured, watching the wine swirl in her glass. “I know. You were right.”

He furrowed his brows. “Right about what?”

She gave a soft, dry laugh. “That this was a mistake. All of it.”

Thorn exhaled sharply, stepping closer. “That’s not what I meant. Not really.”

“You kissed me.”

“You pushed me,” he said with a flicker of that fire that always simmered under his calm. “And I wanted to be kissed.”

She looked up at him. “And then Fox sent you back like a cadet who got caught sneaking out.”

His jaw flexed. “Because I let my feelings show. Because I let him see something he didn’t want to see.”

She stood slowly, her voice gentle but firm. “Thorn… this is dangerous. For both of us. And not just because of rank.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still here.”

He nodded. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Even after the fight. Even after watching Fox—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening.

She stepped closer now, mere inches between them. “You’re jealous.”

He didn’t deny it. “I’m angry. Because I tried to walk away. I tried to be the one who did the right thing.”

“And I ruined that for you?”

He looked at her—really looked at her—and in that moment there was no senator, no clone, no war. Just two people with too much history already bleeding into every breath.

“No,” he said quietly. “You made it impossible for me to pretend I didn’t care.”

There was silence.

Then she reached out and touched his chestplate with her fingers, barely grazing it.

“Then stop pretending,” she said.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them stepped closer.

Not yet.

Not until the next moment demanded it.

Thorn stood still, looking at her hand on his chest like it burned. Maybe it did. Maybe it branded him in a way his armor couldn’t protect against. His voice was low, raw. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why?” she asked, just as softly. “Because you might believe me?”

He set his helmet down on the table with a heavy thud and finally stepped into her space—close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the tension wound tight beneath his skin. She thought he might kiss her again, but he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he reached up and gently ran his knuckles along her cheek, like she might vanish if he touched her too firmly. “You terrify me,” he murmured.

She didn’t laugh. “You don’t scare easy.”

“I’ve marched into blaster fire. Held the line when we were outnumbered twenty to one. I’ve watched brothers die and kept moving.” He shook his head slowly. “But I’ve never wanted anything I wasn’t supposed to have. Until you.”

The words were quiet. Devastating.

Her hand slid up his chestplate, then around the back of his neck, pulling him closer—slowly, as if giving him a chance to step away.

He didn’t.

Their lips met with a quiet kind of urgency, like a dam that had finally cracked. It wasn’t the heat of two people caught in lust—it was aching, it was slow, it was raw with everything they’d tried to suppress. His hands found her waist, pulling her in gently, like he couldn’t believe she was really there.

She guided him out of the armor piece by piece, fingers steady, eyes never leaving his. When he pulled her to the bedroom, it wasn’t with dominance or control, but with reverence.

There, stripped of titles, armor, and pretense, they became something fragile and real.

He kissed her like a man desperate to remember softness.

She held him like someone who hadn’t been touched without expectation in years.

And when they lay tangled afterward, skin to skin in the stillness, his fingers traced the scars on her shoulder without asking about them. She didn’t offer the stories. Not yet. But she turned her head to rest against his chest and felt his heartbeat settle under her cheek.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then he said, almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t know how to protect you from this. From Fox. From me.”

She closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered. “Just stay.”

And he did.

⸻

Thorn woke first.

For a moment, he didn’t move—afraid that if he did, it would break whatever fragile illusion he was trapped in. The room was bathed in soft morning light, filtered through sheer curtains that swayed ever so slightly in the Coruscant breeze. Outside, speeders hummed far below, distant and dull. But inside…

Peace.

Real, disarming peace.

She was still asleep, curled against him, her breathing even and steady. Her hand was draped lightly over his stomach, and her leg was tangled with his beneath the covers. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him without urgency. No missions. No blood. No orders. Just… this.

Serenity.

And it terrified him more than battle ever could.

His hand moved on its own, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, then resting against her bare back. The warmth of her skin anchored him. Her scent lingered faintly—clean, soft, a little sweet—and he closed his eyes just to soak in the feeling a little longer.

She stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent before blinking awake.

“Mmm… you’re still here,” she said softly, her voice half-sleep, half-smile.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, “I am.”

Her hand slid up his chest, fingers tracing a small scar near his collarbone. “You always this quiet in the morning?”

“Not usually awake this long without an alert blaring in my ear.”

She chuckled lightly. “Well… no alarms here.”

He nodded slowly, gaze drifting to the ceiling, as though trying to memorize the silence. “It’s strange. This—” he glanced down at her “—all of it. Quiet. Safe. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked, teasing gently, but there was something vulnerable beneath it.

“I didn’t say that.” He met her eyes. “I just… don’t know how to trust it. Or how long it’ll last.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips softly over the scar on his jaw. “Maybe that’s what makes it worth having.”

For a long time, they stayed there. No rushing. No secrets. Just breath and skin and warmth.

He never thought he’d have something like this—however brief.

⸻

Fox stood outside the senator’s residence, helmet tucked under his arm.

He’d been pacing for ten minutes.

It was ridiculous. He’d faced death, treason, riots, bombs—Jedi. And yet nothing left him this gutted. This unsure.

Just say it. Say something. Anything.

She deserved to know. After everything. After the tension, the stolen glances, the fights, and—Force help him—the kiss. Thorn might have made his move first, but Fox wasn’t going to keep his silence anymore.

His fist hovered near the door chime.

He didn’t press it.

“Standing there long enough to grow roots, Commander?” Hound’s voice cut in, casual and amused.

Fox turned sharply to find Hound leaning against the nearest pillar with his arms crossed, Grizzer panting beside him, tail wagging lazily. Thire stood just behind, arms behind his back in mock-formal stance, an insufferable little smirk tugging at his lips.

“I swear,” Fox muttered, “the two of you have the worst timing.”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Thire said, trying and failing to look innocent. “We just figured we’d keep an eye on our ever-composed Marshal Commander before he does something insane like… confess feelings.”

Fox gave him a glare that could have melted phrik plating.

“Just don’t bite anyone this time,” Hound added with a sidelong glance at Grizzer, who barked once and licked Fox’s hand.

“I didn’t bite anyone,” Fox growled.

“No, you didn’t,” Thire said under his breath.

Fox was about to fire back a very direct suggestion when—

“Oh, what is this delightful little pow-wow?” came a voice from behind them, smug and syrupy smooth.

All four turned just in time to see Quinlan Vos lounging in the hallway, arms crossed, leaning like he owned the building.

Fox clenched his jaw.

Vos looked far too pleased with himself. “Let me guess… someone was finally going to admit they’re hopelessly in love with the senator? Or was it going to be another punch-up over who gets to carry her datapad?”

“Vos,” Fox said in warning, already half-drawing himself up to full height.

Vos waved a hand. “Relax, Commander Killjoy. I’m just here to observe. Gossip from Kenobi is delicious lately. Honestly, I’m just trying to keep up with all the drama.”

Thire bit back a laugh.

Fox sighed through his nose and muttered, “I’m going to regret not stunning him.”

Vos gave him a wink. “You already do.”

Fox turned back toward the door and this time raised his hand again.

Then lowered it.

Vos raised an eyebrow. “Need me to knock for you?”

Fox turned and walked away.

⸻

Quinlan Vos strolled into the senator’s apartment like he owned the place. He didn’t knock. He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t ask. Naturally.

That wasn’t the Vos way.

He’d barely made it three steps past the threshold when a shape rounded the corner from the hallway—bare chest, tousled hair, pants only halfway buttoned, a blaster slung low on one hip like he’d half expected a fight.

Commander Thorn froze.

Vos grinned.

“Oh,” Vos said, voice all sunshine and sin. “Well this explains why Fox has been spiraling.”

Thorn blinked, assessing, a quiet, burning calculation forming in his eyes. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Vos gestured vaguely at the security panel. “I’ve got my ways. Jedi and their spooky talents, you know.”

“That’s not an answer,” Thorn replied coolly, stepping forward, muscles taut like coiled wire beneath sun-kissed skin. “This is a secure residence.”

“And yet…” Vos made a sweeping gesture around the room. “Here I am.”

Thorn glared.

“Relax, soldier boy. I didn’t see anything,” Vos said, though his smirk implied otherwise. “Well… not everything. Just enough to put together why Fox looked like he was going to snap a durasteel beam in half.”

“You here for a reason or just looking to get punched again?” Thorn said, folding his arms across his bare chest.

Vos’s eyes drifted—not subtly—to Thorn’s arms, then his jaw, then back to his eyes. “Tempting. But no.”

He took a lazy step further into the apartment. “I came to drop some news, actually. Then maybe raid her liquor cabinet, trade some gossip, and go back to annoying every clone I’ve ever met.”

Thorn didn’t move. “She’s not here.”

Vos cocked his head. “She usually is around this hour. Let me guess—you wore her out?”

The look Thorn gave him could’ve killed a man if it had weight.

“Fine, fine,” Vos said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll wait. Shirtless hostility aside, I do like you, Thorn. You’ve got a nice left hook.”

“You try me again, you’ll meet the right one.”

Vos grinned, utterly unbothered.

“And for the record,” Thorn added, tone low and steely, “if you ever break into this apartment again—Jedi or not—I’ll throw you off the balcony.”

Vos tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What floor is this again?”

“High enough.”

Vos clapped his hands once. “Noted.”

He wandered to the couch, dropped onto it like he lived there, and propped his boots up on the table.

Thorn watched him like one might a wild nexu.

⸻

She wasn’t expecting anyone when the lift doors opened on her floor.

She certainly wasn’t expecting him.

Fox.

Full armor. Helmet off. That sharp, unreadable expression carved into his face like durasteel. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The corridor lights hummed low between them. His eyes—dark, stormy, and too honest—met hers.

Behind him, lingering at a respectful distance, were Hound, Thire… and Grizzer, sitting dutifully by Hound’s side, tongue lolling, tail tapping quietly against the floor.

She blinked. “Fox?”

His jaw flexed. “Senator.”

She stepped out of the lift slowly, feeling the air shift between them. Vos was still upstairs—gods help her—but seeing Fox like this, seeing the way he looked at her, like he had something on the tip of his tongue and couldn’t let it go, sent her pulse thrumming.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, softer than she meant.

“I was going to…” He trailed off, mouth pressing into a firm line. He glanced over his shoulder toward Hound and Thire, who were doing their absolute best to not look like they were listening—while very much listening.

Grizzer gave a low grumble.

Fox sighed. “I was going to talk to you.”

The senator tilted her head slightly. “About?”

He shook his head, gaze sharp, searching her face. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I knew what I wanted to say but… seeing you now…”

There was something in his eyes. Regret. Hunger. Guilt.

“You’ve already seen me,” she said gently. “That’s not the part you’re afraid of.”

He breathed in through his nose, like he wanted to steady himself—but it didn’t work. “You’re not making this easy.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

Behind him, Hound cleared his throat. Loudly.

Fox’s eye twitched.

She stepped closer, brushing past him deliberately slow as she whispered near his ear, “If you have something to say, Marshal Commander, say it. Before someone else does first.”

His breath hitched.

Grizzer barked softly, tail thumping louder now. A silent warning. Or encouragement. Hard to tell.

Fox straightened, but didn’t follow her as she walked past him toward her door.

He stood still, watching.

And then—finally—he turned and walked away.

⸻

Fox had barely turned the corner when his men caught up with him. The quiet corridor buzzed with tension and discontent. Hound and Thire exchanged knowing looks as they trailed close behind.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Fox?” Hound demanded in a low voice, eyes narrowing.

“You had the chance—” Thire piped in, his tone laced with exasperated disbelief.

“A commander should speak when it matters. We expected more from you.”

Hound scoffed. “You were standing there like a malfunctioning protocol droid. What the hell happened to your plan?”

“I had a plan,” Fox muttered. “Then she looked at me.”

Fox’s jaw was set, and his silence only fueled the growing argument. He kept walking, head bowed, but the clones weren’t having it. Voices rose, accusations bounced around the corridor like stray blaster fire, until suddenly a commotion broke the standoff.

Fox’s eye twitched. “Not helping.”

“I am helping,” Hound insisted. “You’re just being—Grizzer, no!”

It was too late.

The mastiff had leapt up on his hind legs, snatched Fox’s helmet clean out of his arms with his teeth, and sprinted off like a warhound possessed.

Fox stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, hells no,” Thire groaned, taking off after him. “That helmet’s got tracking tech and encryption!”

“He’s headed back toward—oh kriff—”

The three of them took off after Grizzer, who had already bounded back into the senator’s building. He knew exactly where he was going.

“Hound,” Fox wheezed as they rounded the stairwell. “If that animal gets us court-martialed, I’m taking you with me.”

Up another flight. And another.

They reached her apartment door just in time to see Grizzer’s large paws scratching at it, tail wagging like this was the most normal thing he’d ever done.

Before anyone could knock or grab the hound, the door swung open.

The senator stood there, blinking.

Grizzer barreled in, tail high, helmet still in his mouth. And—because clearly this day wasn’t chaotic enough—the three clones followed him in before she could even speak.

“Grizzer!” Hound hissed. “Drop it—”

The senator raised a brow, calmly closing the door behind them as she looked around.

Thorn stepped into view from the hallway, half-buttoning up a shirt that still hung open on his chest, a faint bite mark peeking near his collarbone.

Fox blinked and looked anywhere but there.

“Thorn,” he greeted flatly.

“Fox,” Thorn said, with a faint smirk. “Hound. Thire.”

And then—“Fid you scale my balcony again?” the senator called out, walking toward the living room.

“Technically no,” came a familiar, smug voice. “I came in the actual door this time.”

Vos was sprawled on the couch, feet up, eating something from her fruit bowl. A communicator was open in his palm.

“Kenobi says hi,” Vos added, holding up the comm.

“Why is Kenobi—” the senator stopped, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Never mind. Of course he is.”

Fox was still standing near the threshold, utterly still, face redder than a Coruscanti sunset.

Grizzer trotted up to him and finally, finally dropped the helmet at his feet like a trophy.

“Thanks,” Fox muttered.

“You’re welcome,” the senator said, tone dry.

Vos grinned. “You boys want drinks or…?”

“No,” all three clones snapped in unison.

The senator crossed her arms, her expression flat with just a hint of amusement.

“Anyone else planning to enter uninvited?” she asked. “Any Jedi lurking in the vents? More clones rappelling down from the roof?”

Vos didn’t even look up from his seat. “I think Kenobi and Cody are fine where they are,” he said casually, waving the comm. “Say hi, boys.”

“Hello, Senator,” Kenobi’s voice came through crystal-clear. “Lovely morning. Very dramatic. Please continue.”

“Cody’s listening too,” Vos added. “He’s muted. He wants the unedited drama.”

Fox closed his eyes briefly, clearly regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

Meanwhile, Thire nudged Fox hard with an elbow. “You gonna tell her or not?”

“Tell her what?” Thorn asked, stepping into the living room, now actually buttoning his shirt. “We’ve all made enough of a scene this week—what’s another confession?”

Hound, in the corner, was crouched with Grizzer. “You’re on thin ice, you little thief,” he muttered as Grizzer panted happily, tongue lolling and proud of himself.

“Fox has something to say,” Thire announced helpfully, louder this time.

Fox shot him a glare that could’ve cut durasteel. “I will demote you.”

“From what?” Thire smirked. “From one of your only friends? Go ahead, Marshal Commander.”

The senator arched a brow. “You’ve been trying to tell me something, Commander?”

Fox cleared his throat, suddenly stiff. “I—it’s not exactly the right moment.”

“Oh, no, now it is,” Thorn said, folding his arms. “You ran off this morning. You stood outside the door for five minutes. You let a dog start this diplomatic crisis. Now you’re here, with an audience. No better time.”

Vos, lounging like he was poolside, grinned wider. “He’s right. Go on. Tell the pretty senator how much you want to kiss her boots or whatever it is that’s making you punch your own men in the jaw.”

“I didn’t punch him over—” Fox stopped himself. His voice dropped. “You know what? Fine.”

He stepped forward.

All the clones went quiet. Even Grizzer stopped panting.

The senator met his eyes, unreadable.

“I care about you,” Fox said, low and raw, like every word was an uphill battle. “More than I should. I’ve tried to be professional. I’ve tried to respect the fact that you’re a senator, and I’m a soldier—but I’ve failed. I’ve failed spectacularly. And I’m tired of pretending I haven’t.”

Silence fell like a hammer.

Kenobi’s voice broke it.

“Finally,” he muttered. “That’s been excruciating.”

Vos cackled. “Cody says he owes me twenty credits. I told him you’d say it first.”

Fox looked like he might combust on the spot. The senator, for once, seemed genuinely speechless.

Thorn’s jaw tightened.

“So what now?” he asked, his tone flat but his eyes stormy. “You said it. What changes?”

Fox looked at him directly. “I don’t know.”

The tension in the room twisted tighter, like a drawn bow.

The senator sighed and turned away, pouring herself a drink—one for her, one for Fox, and, hesitantly, one for Thorn.

“Congratulations,” she said dryly, handing the glass to Fox. “You all ruined a perfectly quiet morning.”

Vos raised his own glass from the couch. “To chaos. And confessions.”

“Shut up, Vos,” Thorn and Fox said at the same time.

⸻

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, sipping his tea on the Temple balcony, “that was messier than I expected.”

Cody chuckled from where he leaned against the railing. “You expected something else? Fox, Thorn, a senator, a mastiff, and Vos all in one room? You should’ve known better.”

Obi-Wan gave him a wry look. “I do know better. But I still hold out hope for dignity.”

Cody snorted. “No dignity left in that room. Pretty sure Vos filmed it. He’s probably editing the holo as we speak.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Obi-Wan muttered.

Cody paused, glancing down at the datapad he’d been half-scrolling through. “Honestly, I never thought Fox would crack. The man’s a walking fortress. But after everything, I guess… even he has limits.”

“Of course he does,” Obi-Wan said. “They all do. They were never meant to hold in so much for so long.”

A heavy silence settled between them, not somber—but thoughtful. Until—

“He shouldn’t be cracking.”

Both men turned their heads.

Marshal Commander Neyo had approached silently, his armor immaculate, posture as rigid as durasteel. He stood with his hands behind his back, his expression as frosted as ever.

“Fox is unfit,” Neyo said coolly. “He’s lost control of his unit, he’s fraternizing with a senator, and his judgment is compromised. He should’ve been relieved of command cycles ago.”

Cody straightened, not quite defensive yet, but no longer relaxed. “He’s had it hard, Neyo. You know that.”

“We’ve all had it hard,” Neyo snapped. “That’s not an excuse. The Guard isn’t a soap opera. It isn’t some… emotional playground. What he’s doing compromises the entire integrity of the Guard. And by extension, the Chancellor’s security.”

Obi-Wan’s brow lifted. “You’re saying a man who’s devoted his life to that very cause is now a liability because he’s caught feelings?”

“I’m saying he’s made it personal,” Neyo replied coldly. “And personal costs lives.”

Cody’s jaw tensed. “He’s not a droid, Neyo. He’s a soldier. A man. He’s not perfect, but he’s held the line longer than most of us could.”

Neyo’s expression didn’t shift. “Then maybe it’s time someone else held the line.”

He turned on his heel and walked off without another word.

Obi-Wan watched him go, then sighed into his cup. “Do you ever wonder what it would take to get Neyo to actually crack?”

Cody muttered, “Yeah. But I think even then, he’d just shatter quietly and judge everyone else for crying.”

Obi-Wan let out a soft laugh. “What about Fox?”

Cody was quiet for a beat too long. Then, with rare honesty: “He won’t shatter. He’ll burn.”

⸻

The senator hadn’t slept.

Her apartment was quiet now, the chaos from earlier a memory reduced to half-drunk tea, a discarded clone pauldron by the couch, and Vos’s lingering laughter echoing faintly in her ears. He’d long since vanished—probably off to stir up more drama with a HoloNet gossip blog or Jedi Council member who didn’t ask to be looped into romantic entanglements.

She sat curled up on the edge of her window seat, the city stretching far below, wrapped in the blue shimmer of Coruscant’s dusk.

The door chimed once.

She didn’t answer.

It slid open anyway.

“Senator,” Thorn’s voice came first, soft but firm.

She turned her head to see both of them—Thorn and Fox—standing side by side but somehow miles apart. They looked battle-ready in posture but stripped bare in the eyes. Thorn held his helmet in one hand, arms stiff at his sides. Fox stood with his arms behind his back, jaw clenched, shadows around his eyes making him look ten years older.

Neither looked like they wanted to be the one to speak first.

So she did. “If this is about earlier—”

“It is,” Fox said, cutting in, voice sharp but not cruel. “It has to be.”

Thorn glanced at him, then at her. “We can’t keep dancing around it.”

She folded her hands in her lap, brows pulling together. “I didn’t ask either of you to—”

“No,” Thorn interrupted gently. “You didn’t. But we’re here anyway.”

Fox moved a step forward, his tone tighter. “You’ve made space for both of us, and I know it wasn’t your intention, but—” He paused, exhaled hard. “It’s tearing everything apart.”

Her eyes widened, throat tightening. “Fox—”

“You have to choose,” he said flatly.

The silence afterward felt like a vacuum.

Thorn didn’t speak up to disagree.

He looked at her, gaze softer but no less serious. “I know what we’ve shared. I don’t regret any of it. But I can’t… I won’t keep putting you in the middle. Not if it’s hurting you.”

She stood slowly, her hands falling to her sides, eyes bouncing between them—Fox in his red and black, expression restrained but brimming. Thorn, still rumpled from their quiet morning, eyes carrying the weight of every soft moment they hadn’t dared name.

“I care for both of you,” she admitted, voice raw. “But this—this isn’t fair to any of us. You want me to choose like it’s easy. Like it’s a battle strategy. But this isn’t war. This is my heart.”

Fox’s jaw ticked. Thorn dropped his gaze.

“I’ve spent years making impossible decisions,” she continued. “And most of them got people killed or broken. But this? I don’t want to choose between two people who’ve risked everything to protect me. Two people I trust.” Her voice cracked. “Two people I never meant to hurt.”

Fox looked at the floor. Thorn looked away.

“I can’t choose,” she whispered. “Not now.”

Neither man spoke.

And for the first time in a long time, she wished someone would just give her an order.

⸻

Previous Part | Next Part

Decided to try writing fan fiction again, let’s see how long it last this time ahaha