Commando Gregor - Blog Posts

Command Batch and other clones/characters Material List 🏆

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

Gregor

X Reader “The Brightest Flame”❤️

- x Reader “Synaptic Sparks”❤️

Commander Doom

- x Jedi Reader❤️

Jango Fett

- x reader “cats in the cradle”❤️

Commander Bacara

- x Reader “Cold Front”❤️

- x Reader “War on Two Fronts” multiple parts

Commander Bly

- x Jedi reader “it’s on again”❤️

- x Twi’lek Reader “Painted in Gold”❤️

Commander Neyo

- x Senator Reader “Rules of Engagement”❤️

- x Reader “Solitude and Street Lights”❤️

Command Batch (Clone Commanders)

- x Reader “My Boys, My Warriors” multiple parts 🏡

- x Reader “Steele & Stardust” ❤️

- x “Brothers in the Making” multiple chapters 🏡

- Helmet Chaos ❤️🏡

Overall Material List

Happy friday! Or whatever day you see this 😄 your gregor story was so sweet 🥹 I was wondering if I could request something with bad batch era gregor and a reader who also has some memory problems or similar head trauma issues to him and they bond and click over that? Kind of like your wolffe village crazy reader hut with gregor? Thank you! 🫶🏻🥹🩷

Happy Friday!

“Synaptic Sparks”

Gregor x Reader

The kettle was screaming again.

So was Gregor.

Not out of pain or fear—just because it matched the vibe.

You, meanwhile, were crouched on top of the kitchen counter, staring at a half-eaten ration bar and muttering like a mystic. “It’s not food. It’s compressed war crimes in foil.”

Gregor—wearing one boot, one sock, and a pair of cargo shorts that definitely belonged to someone else—pointed at it with the intensity of a man who hadn’t slept in 36 hours.

“Lick it. Maybe it’ll bring back a memory.”

You blinked. “You first.”

“No way. Last time I licked something weird, I forgot how to blink for a week.”

You both burst out laughing, which rapidly devolved into wheezing. Gregor collapsed onto the floor, hand on his chest. “Kr—kriff, I think I pulled something. Brain muscle. The left one.”

You slid down from the counter, your hand trailing across the cabinets like they were handholds on a starship mid-crash. “They said head trauma would make things difficult. They didn’t say it would make things entertaining.”

Gregor grinned up at you from the floor, that familiar deranged glint in his eyes. “It’s like being haunted by yourself.”

You sat beside him. “I forget people’s names, but I remember the sound blasters make when they tear through durasteel. That seems fair.”

“I forgot how to open a door last week. Just stared at it. Thought it was mocking me.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Was it?”

“Oh yeah. Bastard was smug.”

There was a moment of quiet, broken only by the groan of the aging outpost walls and the occasional kettle death-wail. Gregor’s hand found yours—messy, calloused fingers, twitchy and warm.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “sometimes I think the only reason I’m still kicking is because I don’t remember how to stop.”

“That’s poetic,” you murmured. “In a way that makes me concerned for both of us.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m real inspirational. Clone propaganda poster level.”

You turned to look at him. “Gregor?”

“Yeah?”

“If I forget who you are someday…”

“I’ll just remind you,” he said simply. “Over and over. ‘Til it sticks again. Or until I forget too, and we can introduce ourselves like strangers every morning.”

You smiled. It hurt your face, but it was real.

“That sounds nice,” you said.

“We could make a game of it. Day seventy-eight: You think I’m a bounty hunter. Day eighty-five: I think you’re a hallucination.”

You laughed so hard you nearly fell backward. Gregor caught you—barely—and pulled you into a messy half-hug that turned into a full one, both of you on the floor, limbs tangled like tossed laundry.

It was insane. It was unstable.

But it was home.

⸻

Outside, the sky cracked with thunder.

Inside, you and Gregor planned a tea party for your imaginary friends and discussed the philosophical implications of soup.

Memory was a shaky thing. But whatever this was between you?

It stuck.

Even if nothing else did.

“The Brightest Flame”

Gregor x Fem!Reader

Inspired by “The Last Goodbye” by Billy Boyd

The desert winds of Seelos whispered through the rusted bones of the old Republic walker.

Gregor sat at the top of a jagged ridge, legs dangling over the edge like a boy far younger than the years he wore in his bones. You sat beside him in silence, watching the sun fall slowly into the red horizon. The heat clung to your skin, but his shoulder was warm in a different way.

You glanced at him. He was smiling, a faint, tired little thing.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Gregor hummed, voice gravelly but calm. “Guess I’ve said all the crazy things already.”

You chuckled softly. “Not all of them.”

He turned to you then—eyes bright, clear. Not like they used to be. Not the dazed flicker of a soldier half-lost in his own mind. These days, there were more good hours than bad ones. More memory than confusion.

You reached over, brushing a curl of silvered hair from his brow. “You’ve come a long way, you know.”

“So have you.”

“I didn’t have to claw my way out of an explosion and then survive a war I barely remember,” you said.

He tilted his head. “No, you just chose to stay. With me. That’s a different kind of hard.”

The wind picked up. A low, lonely sound that echoed like old battlefields buried in the sand.

Gregor’s smile faded, just a little.

“I think about them sometimes,” he admitted. “My brothers. Darman. Niner. The others I can’t remember.”

You didn’t speak. You just let him.

“I remember fire. And noise. And… laughing. I think I laughed a lot back then.”

“You still do.”

He shook his head gently. “No. Not the same. That laugh back then—it didn’t have so many ghosts in it.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his calloused ones.

“I love your laugh now. Even when it’s haunted.”

He turned to you, really turned, and the ache in his expression nearly undid you.

“You know what scares me?” he asked softly.

You waited.

“That I’ll forget everything. That one day, I’ll wake up, and your name will be gone. Your face. This moment.”

You gripped his hand tighter. “Then I’ll remind you.”

He let out a shaky breath, lips curving into something fragile. “You’d do that?”

You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder, heart aching in the quiet.

“Every single time.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke.

The sky bled into twilight—soft, violet hues kissing the edges of the wrecked cruiser below. It was beautiful in a way only something broken could be.

Gregor broke the silence with a whisper.

“You know that song you sing sometimes? About farewells?”

You nodded slowly. “‘The Last Goodbye.’”

He tilted his head against yours. “Sing it again?”

Your voice was soft, barely above the wind. The words carried into the dark like starlight.

“I saw the light fade from the sky

On the wind I heard a sigh…”

Gregor closed his eyes.

You didn’t sing to fix him. You sang because he deserved to be remembered. To have beauty tethered to his broken edges.

You sang until your voice trembled.

Until the stars blinked awake above you.

Until his breathing slowed and steadied, his hand never leaving yours.

And when the final verse faded—

“Though I leave, I’ve gone too soon

I am not leaving you…”

Gregor whispered, voice rough:

“I love you.”

You smiled through tears. “I love you, too.”

And in the stillness, wrapped in the ghosts of his past and the promise of your presence, Gregor held on.

To the moment.

To you.

To what little peace he had left.