Areyoufuckingcrazy - The Walking Apocalypse

“Side Streets and Solitude”

Commander Neyo x Reader

You saw him before he ever ordered a drink.

Most clones came into 79’s loud, rowdy, aching for some distraction. But he walked in alone—always alone—helmet tucked under his arm. He wore that long coat like armor, even off duty, shoulders squared like he was ready for a fight no one else could see. He never smiled. Not once.

You didn’t ask his name. You just called him “the usual?” and he’d nod once, wordless. Whisky. Neat. Never touched the beer.

He sat at the far end of the bar, not too close to anyone, but never hiding. Just… existing in the silence between laughs and music and the rest of the Guard forgetting the war for five minutes. He never joined them. Just drank. Eyes heavy. Face unreadable.

You learned to stop wiping the counter when you passed him. He didn’t like the sudden movement. You figured that out after the first night, when his hand twitched toward the blaster holstered at his side.

Some clones called him Neyo. Commander. You didn’t use it. He didn’t correct you either way.

“You ever smile?” you asked once, half-joking, late in the night when the place had thinned out and the hum of the room softened. You were stacking glasses, looking at him across the lip of the bar.

He didn’t look up. “Not much to smile about.”

You let that hang. You knew a man carrying ghosts when you saw one.

“Yeah. I get that.”

He glanced at you then, just once. A flicker. Like he didn’t expect to be understood. You didn’t need to tell him your story—he didn’t want it, probably—but that look said he clocked it. That you weren’t like the others either.

You lived in the same city, drank the same watered-down liquor, but both of you were walking some kind of empty road no one else could see.

For a long time, you just stood in silence. Him with his drink. You with your rag and your thoughts.

Finally, he said, “I come here because it’s quiet. Even when it’s loud. You know?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It’s a good place to feel alone. But not… completely.”

He blinked, slow. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He didn’t say thank you. You didn’t expect him to. But he came back the next night. And the next.

Always alone. Always quiet. But now, when he sat down, he looked at you first.

Not a smile. But maybe something close.

⸻

He didn’t come back for two weeks.

You didn’t ask where he went. You knew better than to ask questions like that. Especially with the GAR—especially with him.

But when he came back, he had blood on his gloves. Not his. You could tell by the way he moved.

You poured his drink before he reached the bar.

“Rough one?” you asked, voice low, like if you spoke too loud it might break whatever fragile tether kept him standing upright.

He sat. Took the glass. Didn’t answer right away.

“Lost a good man.”

You nodded. “They always are.”

A long silence followed. The kind that settled in your chest.

“They say we’re not supposed to get attached.” His voice was flat, but his hands were tight around the glass. “Doesn’t matter. You feel it anyway.”

You didn’t say I’m sorry. That phrase meant nothing in a place like this. Instead, you grabbed another glass and poured one for yourself.

“To the good ones,” you said, raising it halfway.

He didn’t lift his, just looked at you. Then, after a second, knocked it back.

That became a new ritual. Not every time. Just sometimes. When the grief sat too heavy in his coat.

Over time, you learned the little things.

He preferred the quiet of the back booth when the place wasn’t packed. He never danced, never flirted, didn’t touch the food. When the music got too loud or too fast, he’d drift outside for air. You started meeting him out there with a second drink, standing beside him under the flickering streetlamp, neither of you talking unless the silence needed it.

“Most people see clones as one thing,” you said once, after a few too many customers had made too many dumb jokes about regs. “But you’re all different. You especially.”

He stared ahead, helmet under his arm again, jaw tight. “Doesn’t matter if we are. Not to the people who give the orders.”

You looked at him. “Does it matter to you?”

That made him pause.

“Yes,” he said finally. Then added, “I remember every face I’ve lost. That’s how I know I’m still me.”

And that—more than any long-winded speech—told you everything you needed to know about him.

He wasn’t a man of many words. But what he gave, he meant.

And still, he never stayed long. One night here, three days gone. A week of silence, then another appearance. No promises. No warnings.

But when he did come in, he’d glance toward the bar before scanning the room. Like maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you’d still be there.

You always were.

One night, close to closing, the place was empty. Rain tapped at the windows, slow and rhythmic. Neyo was sitting at his usual spot, coat slung over the chair.

You brought him his drink, and this time, slid a datapad across the bar.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A list,” you said. “Of my shifts. So you don’t have to wonder.”

He looked at it. Then at you.

That unreadable look again.

You smiled. “I know you won’t always show up. But if you do… I’ll be here.”

His fingers grazed the pad, slow. He didn’t smile. But he held your gaze a little longer this time.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. A rare thing, that word.

You poured him another drink and stood across from him, matching his silence.

The war hadn’t ended. The streets were still cracked. The dreams were still broken. But for now, in this little corner of the galaxy, you both had somewhere to walk that wasn’t so lonely.

⸻

Neyo wasn’t the kind of man who noticed absence.

He was trained to move forward. To endure loss like gravity—constant, inevitable, unavoidable.

But when he walked into 79’s that night and saw someone else behind the bar, something shifted.

She was too talkative. Young. Smiled too much. Had never poured him a drink before, and made it obvious by asking, “What’ll it be, sir?”

Sir.

He blinked. Something cold crept up his spine, not fear, not anger—just dissonance.

He sat down anyway. Same stool. Same spot.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

She nodded, turned, poured. A splash too much.

He looked at the drink. Didn’t touch it.

You never asked what he wanted. You already knew.

“Is [Y/N] around?” he asked, voice low, forced casual.

The bartender blinked. “Oh—they called in sick tonight. First time I’ve worked with their section, actually.”

Called in sick.

He sat back slowly, fingers tightening just slightly on the glass. He told himself it didn’t matter. People got sick. People missed shifts.

But you never had before.

He stayed longer than usual that night, even though everything felt… wrong. The lights too bright. The music too upbeat. He didn’t finish his drink. Just let it sit there, the amber catching light, untouched and warm.

The new bartender tried to make conversation once—asked something about the war. He ignored her.

Eventually, he stood, paid without a word, and walked out into the rain.

He didn’t know where he was going until he got there—corner street, flickering streetlamp, just outside the side entrance. Where you used to stand with him when it got too loud.

You weren’t there, of course.

He leaned against the wall anyway.

Rain pattered onto his shoulders. Steam curled off the street like breath.

He didn’t understand it—why the night felt heavier without you in it. He didn’t have the words for that kind of absence. But it gnawed at him, that sudden space you left behind. The silence you weren’t filling.

He looked down at the datapad in his coat. The one with your shift list, still saved.

Tomorrow, you’d be back. Probably.

And if you weren’t… he didn’t want to think about that.

⸻

You came back on a quiet night.

No fanfare. No apology. Just walked in through the back door, tied your apron, and started cleaning a glass like you hadn’t missed a beat.

But Neyo saw it.

The way your eyes didn’t search for him first. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

When he took his usual seat, you were already pouring his drink. But your hands moved slower.

“You were gone,” he said, voice steady.

You nodded. “Yeah. Needed a night.”

He didn’t reply. Just watched you slide the glass across to him, fingers brushing, not quite touching.

Then you said it—quietly, like it was a confession.

“I handed in my resignation.”

He blinked once. “What?”

“I start somewhere new next week. Smaller place. Little more out of the way. Less noise.” You looked at him, trying to read him like you always did, but his expression didn’t shift. “I just… I needed a change.”

A long silence followed. You hated the way it stretched.

Finally, he asked, “Where?”

You told him the name of the place. A lounge bar tucked into one of the upper levels—not exactly seedy, but not exactly clone-friendly either.

He stared at his drink. “They don’t serve clones there.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah, I know.”

Another silence.

“I didn’t choose it because of that,” you said quickly. “It’s just… different. It’s quiet. Thought maybe I’d try something new.”

He didn’t look at you.

“You won’t see me there,” he said plainly. Not cruel. Just fact.

You nodded. “I figured.”

You wanted to say more—to explain that it wasn’t about him, that you weren’t abandoning him, that the weight of every war-worn story and every heavy silence was starting to drown you. But you didn’t. Because that would be unfair. Because you knew what he’d say.

He lifted the glass and drank. Then sat it back down with a soft clink.

“When?”

“Three days.”

He gave a short nod.

You looked at him for a long time. “I’ll miss this.”

He didn’t answer.

But his jaw clenched. Just barely.

Then, softer than you’d ever heard from him: “So will I.”

That was the closest thing to goodbye you were ever going to get.

And somehow… it hurt more than if he’d said nothing at all.

⸻

It was your last shift.

The bar felt the same, but you didn’t. Everything had a weight to it now. The laughter, the music, even the way you wiped down the counter—it all carried finality.

And he was there.

Neyo showed up just before midnight. Sat at the end of the bar like always, helmet on the counter, armor dull with wear. He didn’t say anything when you slid him his drink. Just gave you a long look.

You didn’t need words tonight.

You served your last table, handed over the till, and untied your apron with tired fingers. The place was quieter than usual. The other bartender took over, giving you a soft wave as you shrugged into your coat.

You turned to leave—and saw him waiting at the door.

Outside, the street was cool and quiet. Your boots echoed against the duracrete. Neyo walked beside you, silent as a shadow.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you said softly.

He glanced over. “Didn’t want you walking alone.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “You’re sweet when you’re trying not to be.”

He didn’t respond—but you could’ve sworn his jaw loosened, just a bit.

You walked in companionable silence, the kind that only came from two people who had said more in silence than they ever could aloud.

When you reached your building, you stopped at the steps and turned to him.

“If you ever need a drink…” you started, watching his face, “you’re welcome to come around.”

He stared at you. Not in the usual guarded way, but with something else in his eyes—something uncertain, almost… longing.

Then you added, “Want to come up?”

It hung there, a gentle offer, nothing more.

For a moment, you thought he’d refuse. It was written in his posture—the way he stood like he might turn away.

But then… he nodded.

You didn’t smile. Just opened the door and led the way.

Your apartment was small, cluttered, warm. You threw your coat over the back of the couch and kicked off your boots.

Neyo stood just inside the door, helmet under his arm like a shield he didn’t know where to put.

“You can sit,” you offered.

He did—hesitantly, armor creaking as he lowered himself onto the couch. You poured two drinks from a half-finished bottle on the counter and handed him one.

“You sure you’re off duty?” you teased lightly.

His eyes met yours over the rim of the glass. “I’m never off duty.”

You sat beside him, the air thick with things unsaid. His knee brushed yours. Neither of you moved.

“Why’d you really wait for me?” you asked, voice softer now.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I didn’t want to regret not saying goodbye.”

You swallowed. “You saying goodbye now?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or practiced—it was urgent, restrained, the way a man kisses when he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance again. Your fingers curled into his blacks, and his gloves dropped to the floor. The helmet followed. You pulled him closer, and for once, he didn’t resist.

His hands were calloused, unsure, but when they found your skin, they lingered like he was memorizing every inch. You guided him, slow but certain, until his barriers fell—not just the armor, but the weight he carried behind his eyes.

He wasn’t a soldier in that moment.

He was a man. Tired. Raw. Desperate for something real.

And you gave it to him.

Bittersweet. Fleeting.

The kind of night that lingers like the echo of a song you almost forgot—until it finds you again in the quiet.

His mouth was still warm against yours when he pulled back, breath shallow, eyes unreadable.

You stayed close, barely inches apart, your fingers still resting against the edge of his undersuit.

“Neyo,” you whispered, searching his face. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

His jaw clenched. Not in anger—just habit. A response to something he didn’t know how to process.

He looked away, eyes dragging across the room like he was already retreating. Like he had to remind himself where he was. Who he was.

“I don’t get to stay,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “I don’t have that kind of life.”

You leaned in again, gently, slowly, your hand coming up to rest against the side of his face. He didn’t pull away.

“I’m not asking for forever,” you said. “Just… don’t shut the door before you’ve even walked through it.”

He looked at you again, and something flickered behind his eyes. It wasn’t hope—but it was something close.

“I don’t want to leave and forget this ever happened,” you added. “I don’t want to pretend like you never came in out of the rain, like we didn’t sit under that streetlight all those nights like we were the only two people left in the world.”

His breath hitched—but barely.

“You don’t talk much,” you said softly, brushing your thumb just beneath his eye. “But you stayed. You showed up. Every time. That’s gotta mean something.”

Neyo closed his eyes, just for a second. When he opened them again, he didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours.

It wasn’t a promise.

But it wasn’t a goodbye either.

And for someone like him, that was more than enough.

You stayed like that for a while—still dressed, still halfway caught in that space between war and peace, silence and what could be.

Then, finally, he spoke. A whisper. A truth you weren’t expecting.

“I’ll come find you.”

You nodded, even as your chest tightened. “Good.”

Because you weren’t sure when—or if—he would. But you believed him.

And maybe, for one of the first times in his life, so did he.

omega

this place sucks im gonna drink six beers and jack off

“Red and Loyal” pt.4

Commander Fox x Senator Reader

They brought her out at dusk.

The sky above the capital bled violet and gold, and the light made her look almost ethereal as she was marched up the execution platform. Chained. Stoic. Dignified even in ruin.

Crowds were forced to gather—citizens herded into the central square at blaster-point. Droids lined the rooftops. Separatist banners hung in place of the planet’s colors, waving like a threat in the wind.

She climbed the steps herself. Unassisted.

And when she reached the top, she paused—not for fear. But to look at them. Her People.

Their eyes were wide with despair, faces hollow from weeks of fear. Some wept. Others stood still. Waiting. Hoping. A broadcast droid hovered beside the stage, recording every breath. Streaming it across the planet.

A voice crackled through the speakers: “The prisoner has been granted final words.”

And that’s when she stepped forward.

Back straight. Chin raised. Wrists still bound in front of her.

The wind caught her hair as she spoke.

Clear. Commanding. Unshaken.

“To those watching—this is not the end. Not of me, and not of our world.”

“The Separatists think that by putting me to death, they are ending our resistance. But they have forgotten something: power taken by force is fragile. It fears truth. It fears unity. It fears voices like mine, and hearts like yours.”

“They want me to kneel. They want me to beg. But I will not.”

“I will not validate tyranny with silence.”

“You are not alone. You are not broken. And this planet—my home—is not theirs to take.”

“Let my death be the last one they claim. Let it mark the moment we stop fearing them.”

“Let it mark the beginning.”

The droids shifted.

The crowd held its breath.

She smiled, just a little—chin still raised, defiant.

“Now do what you came to do.”

⸻

Inside the lead gunship, the air was thick with silence—not calm. No one dared speak.

General Kenobi stood near the holoprojector at the center of the cabin, his arms crossed, lips pressed into a grim line. The flickering holo-feed of the senator’s execution streamed in front of him, unstable from planetary interference—but still very real.

Commander Cody stood beside him, helmet in the crook of his arm, eyes fixed.

The Senator stood tall at the execution stage, her final words still ringing through the feed like a siren in every clone’s chest.

Then—movement.

A droid officer stepped forward. The executioner. Mechanical. Cold. Lifting the electro-guillotine’s lever with clinical efficiency.

A hush fell over the crowd in the square. And the gunship. Cody’s hand curled tight around his helmet.

Kenobi’s voice was low, nearly a whisper “Punch it. Full speed. No stealth.”

“Sir, we’re still—”

“I said punch it.”

The gunship lurched forward, engines screaming. Through the cockpit, the capital city loomed on the horizon—flames and smoke rising in dark plumes, Separatist cruisers blotting the sky.

The other ships of the 212th fell into formation behind them.

Then— Back on the holo, the droid’s hand reached for the trigger.

Cody spoke, rough and urgent:

“ETA?!”

“Forty-five seconds!”

“That’s too long!” Cody snapped, slamming his helmet on.

Kenobi looked at him.

And Cody looked back, voice hard and cracking.

“We’re not losing her. Not today.”

The droid’s arm lifted. The crowd gasped—some screamed. The Senator did not flinch.

And then— A shriek cut through the sky.

Not from the crowd. But from the air above.

Gunships.

The sky erupted in sound and fire. The first blaster bolts rained down on the droid ranks from above—precision strikes that sent sparks and scrap flying. Clones rappelled from hatches, dropping in formation onto the stage and into the square, weapons drawn.

The executioner droid turned its head toward the noise—too slow.

Cody landed hard, blaster raised, shot clean through its neck.

“Move!” he barked, before even touching ground fully.

He was at her side in seconds, cutting her binders off with a vibroblade, catching her by the elbow as explosions tore through the square.

She stared at him, breathless—confused, stunned.

“Told a friend I’d bring you home,” he said, already pulling her toward the evac point.

She could barely hear over the thunder of battle, but—

“Fox?” she managed to ask.

Cody gave her a sharp look.

“He’s waiting.”

The capital was a storm.

The skies above roared with the thunder of Republic gunships, a flurry of blaster fire lighting up the heavens. Clones dropped from the ships like falling stars, armor gleaming through the smoke. The ground was a mess of war cries and destruction. Explosions lit up the streets as they tore through the Separatist droids, reclaiming what had once been the heart of a peaceful planet.

Commander Cody led the charge through the square, his blaster spitting rapid fire as he moved with precision. The 212th behind him was a wall of determined soldiers, every step driven by the need to push back the invaders.

The Senator was not far behind, protected now by Cody and a handful of soldiers. She had been silent after their initial exchange, still catching up to the fact that she had not just been freed, but had escaped. That moment, the seconds between life and death, still played in her mind. But now, her survival was in her hands—her people were counting on her to lead.

Cody’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Keep moving! We retake the streets, now!”

He fired again, taking down a B1 battle droid that had been lining up to fire on them. The clatter of its parts hitting the ground was quickly drowned out by the next round of blaster fire.

The droids were falling fast—at first, it had been a gamble, a sudden drop on the city with the 212th spearheading the attack. The Separatists had been too scattered, too slow to adapt.

Kenobi’s gunship circled low, dodging enemy fire, as the General looked toward the street where Cody had just led a successful push.

“Cody, report,” Kenobi called over comms, his voice calm but laced with urgency.

“We’re advancing into the city center, General,” Cody’s voice crackled through the comm.

“The Separatists are holding strong, but we’re pushing through. We have Senator [Y/N] with us.”

Kenobi paused, a hint of something like relief crossing his face.

“Understood. We’ll clear the way from here. Hold your position.”

The Senator was breathless but unwavering as they moved. She could feel her pulse pounding in her chest as they cut through alleyways and streets, the sounds of blaster fire and explosions echoing around them.

“We’re close,” Cody said, glancing over his shoulder. He had a protective edge in his eyes now, the intensity in his posture evident. “We’ll get you to safety, but you need to stay down.”

She nodded, moving faster, more instinctive than ever. She had always been a symbol of hope, but now, in the face of overwhelming danger, her defiance turned into raw strength.

Her eyes flashed as she scanned the buildings ahead of them.

“We must take back the government building. We need to signal the people of this planet.”

Cody didn’t argue. There was no time for it. They continued their advance, cutting through Separatist forces as they went.

As they neared the government building, they were met with resistance.

A small battalion of droids stood guard, the tallest among them a heavily armored AAT. The droid commander barked orders as blaster fire erupted in every direction.

“Cover fire!” Cody yelled.

The squad spread out, with Thire, Stone, and the others taking positions to cover the senator. The sound of blaster fire echoed back and forth, the crash of explosions reverberating in the streets.

Cody moved first, leaping into the fray with blaster raised, cutting through the advancing droids. His men followed suit, the ground littered with the bodies of fallen droids and debris.

And then, from above—the unmistakable roar of an incoming Republic ship.

The 212th’s gunship descended rapidly, flanking the droids from the rear and creating chaos in their ranks.

Kenobi’s voice rang out over comms, firm and commanding.

“Cody, the building is clear. Move the senator there. We’ll handle the remaining forces.”

Without hesitation, Cody gestured to the senator.

“This way, Senator,” he said, his tone softer now.

She nodded, allowing herself to be guided into the government building’s entrance. The sounds of the battle faded for a moment as they crossed the threshold.

The Republic forces held their ground.

Minutes later, the Separatists began to retreat, their lines weakening under the relentless pressure from Kenobi and his men.

As the last of the droids fell and the gunships circled overhead, the city slowly began to settle. The fires still burned, the sky still blackened with smoke—but for the first time in weeks, there was something that felt like hope.

Cody took a moment, his blaster still at the ready, scanning the surroundings for any remaining threats. The senator stood tall beside him, her eyes locked on the city outside the window.

“We’ve done it,” she murmured, though her voice lacked the triumph one might expect.

“Not yet,” Cody said, his gaze steady. “But we will.”

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Hello! I saw that you do song fics and I had the idea for a Cody X Reader with the song “I think they call this love” by Elliot James. Been obsessed over this song for awhile and I think it would be really cute! Xxx (and if it’s possible to add a few of the others clones teasing Cody even obi wan?)

“I Think They Call This Love”

Commander Cody x Reader

Coruscant at night was too loud for someone trying not to fall in love.

Cody wasn’t even sure when it started. It might’ve been the day you were transferred to his unit. Might’ve been the first time you fixed the aim on a malfunctioning turret like it was nothing. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the first time he heard you hum.

You always did that—murmured little melodies under your breath when you thought no one was paying attention. You’d tap your fingers along your belt or your mug, shoulders swaying lightly to some old Core World tune. It was never full-on singing—just enough to hook in Cody’s brain like a memory.

And tonight? You were humming that one again.

“I think they call this love… I think they call this love…”

You were dancing with Waxer near the bar at 79’s, laughing so hard your drink almost spilled, one hand gripping his vambrace as he attempted to twirl you—poorly. Boil leaned against the counter, snickering into his glass.

“I swear, she’s gonna break your neck,” Boil said. “And then Cody’s gonna have to fill out the paperwork.”

Cody sat a few stools down, arms crossed, pretending very hard that he wasn’t staring.

“You know,” Boil added loudly, “if Cody glared any harder, he’d melt the floor.”

“Shut up,” Cody muttered.

“Yeah, sure. Real subtle, Commander,” Waxer called over, catching your hand before you nearly toppled him over. “You’ve been watching her like she’s a walking war crime.”

Wolffe chuckled beside Cody, taking a long sip of his drink. “He gets like this every time. We’ve placed bets. So far, Obi-Wan’s winning.”

Cody turned slowly. “Obi-Wan’s betting on me?”

As if summoned by sass, Obi-Wan appeared behind them, raising a glass like he’d been lurking all night. “Only because I believe in you, Cody. Also because I know how utterly incapable you are at expressing your feelings.”

“Fantastic.”

“Don’t worry,” Rex added dryly. “You’ve got time. She only flirts with you every time she breathes.”

Cody groaned and looked back toward the dancefloor—and you were already walking his way.

Boots light, smile glowing, music catching the end of your latest hum as you slid into the stool beside him. You didn’t look at the others. Just him.

“You okay there, Commander?” you asked, head tilted. “Or should I get you a medic for whatever emotional crisis you’re currently going through?”

Cody blinked. “I—what?”

You leaned closer, voice lower now. “They’re not exactly subtle,” you said with a smile. “And neither are you.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were,” Boil chimed in behind you.

Waxer raised his hand. “Respectfully, he’s been staring for about four months.”

You laughed under your breath and turned fully to Cody, your knees brushing his. “You gonna keep letting them talk for you?”

Cody exhaled slowly. You were so close. Your eyes searched his, not playfully now—but curiously. Hopefully. The hum of the bar faded as your presence filled his whole damn world.

“I think…” he started, voice a little hoarse. “I think I’m in love with you.”

A pause.

Then you grinned. Not surprised. Not mocking. Just relieved.

“That’s funny,” you said softly. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

And then—you kissed him.

Quick, warm, but everything changed in that second. His hand slid to your waist before he could stop it, and you smiled against his lips like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

Behind you, cheers erupted.

“Finally!” Waxer crowed.

“You owe me twenty credits!” Rex shouted at Wolffe.

Boil let out a low whistle. “Hope you’re ready to be the only thing Cody stares at now.”

Obi-Wan raised his glass and added, “It’s about time our fearless Commander admitted he had a heart.”

You didn’t even look back. You just pressed your forehead to Cody’s and whispered, “Don’t let go of me, okay?”

He didn’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

The music swelled again behind you, and for once, Cody let himself listen.

“If this is what they call love…”

He smiled.

Then he wanted all of it—with you.

Only happy Tech memories today on this blog.

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Arc Trooper Fives x Bounty Hunter Reader

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, you said hangar, genius."

"I said rec room, actually."

You turned slowly to face them, expression unreadable.

"You're late."

They froze like kids caught slicing into a security terminal.

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

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

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

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

"Did too!"

"I said we should check the mess hall—"

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

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

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

These kids were a walking tactical disaster.

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

Silence.

You stepped forward, boots echoing against the durasteel floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded once.

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

"Unfortunate name," you muttered.

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

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

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

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

You liked him already.

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

"CT-5555. Fives."

You blinked. "Seriously?"

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

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

His grin widened. "Better late than dead."

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

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

Especially with that one.

Fives.

You didn't smile.

Not yet.

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

---

The simulation room smelled like ozone and bruised pride.

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

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

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

Cutup coughed. "It was under two minutes?"

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

Hevy swore softly.

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

You turned slowly. "You let me what?"

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

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

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

There it was. The line.

The others groaned behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bit back a laugh.

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

You stood, stepping over him to address the squad.

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

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

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

A few of them snorted.

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

"Again."

"Now?" Echo asked, winded.

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

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

---

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

"Back for round four?" you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him for a long beat.

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

His grin faltered—just for a second.

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

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

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

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

"And me?" he asked, quieter.

You blinked.

"What about you?"

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

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

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

His eyebrows lifted. "Oh yeah?"

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

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

"Be better tomorrow, cadet," you called.

He turned to watch you go, smirking despite himself.

"Oh, I will."

---

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

And you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're welcome."

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

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

He winked. "Only with the deadly ones."

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

"Oh, I'm into danger."

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

That got a low *ooooh* from the squad.

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

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

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

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

"Shut up," Fives wheezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grinned. "But I'm climbing."

You just smirked and let him believe it.

---

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

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

"You don't sleep either, huh?"

Fives.

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, amused despite yourself.

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

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

You looked over at him, surprised.

He wasn't grinning anymore. Not really.

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

You watched him for a beat.

"You want the honest answer?"

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

---

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

Bric scowled. "They're not ready."

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

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

"Not enough."

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

They had heart.

But heart only got you so far.

---

It started strong.

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

Hevy went off plan.

Droidbait hesitated.

Cutup tripped.

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

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

The blast sent them sprawling. Timer hit red.

"Simulation failed," the droid voice droned.

Silence.

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

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

Disappointed.

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

Bric scoffed. "They're without skill."

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all stared.

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

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

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

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

---

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

Domino Squad hit the field. Silent. Steady.

They moved like a unit.

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

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

They didn't fall apart.

They didn't fall at all.

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

Bric said nothing. El-Les smiled.

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

---

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

Pride. Real pride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat.

Then two.

The entire squad: *"OOOOHHHHHHH—"*

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

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

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

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

Then you turned. "Until we meet again."

"Wait—" he called after you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

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

You grinned. "I already do."

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

And Fives?

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

———

Part 2

A/N

For more clones please check out my Wattpad account or my material list

Thranduil weekly bitch mood 🫣

i’m sorry i said my character was morally gray. i was trying to sound normal. he’s actually a feral prophet who speaks in riddles and collects teeth.