“Heat Index”

“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.

Tech. ⚡️💀⚡️

Got the inspo from Sana. Kinda figured

he mostly yells this phrase at Wrecker.

Commander Fox x Singer/PA Reader pt. 2

There was an unspoken tradition at the Coruscant Guard offices: the moment you showed up, coffee cups paused mid-air, datapads lowered, and someone inevitably muttered, "Oh look, she's still alive."

You strolled in two weeks late, absolutely glowing.

"Didn't know we were giving out extended vacations now," Trina said, her words clipped like a blaster bolt. "Maybe I should fake a spiritual awakening and disappear too."

You peeled off your sunglasses and smiled sweetly. "You should. Maybe they'll find your personality out there."

Snickers echoed through the hall.

Trina's eyes narrowed into twin black holes of corporate rage. "Commander Fox has been asking where you were."

That gave you the slightest pause. "Oh? Worried I was dead?"

She shrugged. "Or hoping."

You shot her a wink and breezed past, fully aware your hair looked too perfect for someone who just "found herself in nature."

---

Fox found you twenty minutes later, posted up at your desk with your boots on said desk, sipping caf and flipping through a holo-mag like someone who was not, in fact, two weeks behind on reports.

He stood silently at your side until you acknowledged him.

"Commander," you said brightly. "Miss me?"

"You disappeared. Again."

You looked up at him with the most innocent expression in the galaxy. "Went on a spiritual retreat."

He raised an eyebrow. "To where?"

"Kashyyyk. Hung out with some Wookiees. Meditated. Learned how to nap in trees."

Fox stared. You kept sipping your caf.

"They're big on inner peace," you added, deadpan. "Also, apparently I snore."

He didn't smile. But he also didn't press. Just that slow blink of his, the way his gaze lingered a little too long like he was cataloguing bruises or new scars.

"You weren't hurt?" he asked.

You softened. Just a little. "No, Commander. I wasn't hurt."

He nodded once and walked away.

*He cared.*

He'd never say it. But it was there.

---

Later that week, you returned from your mandatory ethics seminar—snoozefest—only to find your desk had been mysteriously moved... into the hallway.

Trina passed by with a smug little strut. "You missed a lot of meetings. We needed the space."

You leaned back in your new spot. "You know, if this is your way of flirting, I'm flattered."

"I'd rather kiss a Hutt."

You gasped. "Don't tempt me with a good time."

---

That night, you sang again at 79's. A slower set this time. Sadder. You weren't sure why—maybe something about Fox's voice that day still stuck with you.

And just like always... he was there.

Helmet off. Silent in the corner.

You sang to him without saying it. And when you left the club through the back again, this time you didn't get far before his voice stopped you.

"Wait."

You turned. "Following me again?"

He stepped closer. Not quite in your space. But close enough that you could see the faint tension in his jaw.

"I thought something happened," he said quietly.

You swallowed. "Fox—"

"Next time, just tell someone."

You blinked. "Why?"

A long pause.

"Because if something *did* happen," he said, "I'd want to know."

And then, like he couldn't bear to say more, he turned and walked into the night.

You watched him go, heart tight, a laugh threatening to rise in your throat just to cover the way your chest ached.

Aurra Sing had said you were valuable.

Fox... made you feel seen.

And somewhere in the distance, under the glow of Coruscant's neon skyline, a shadow watched.

Waiting.

---

The next morning, your desk was still in the hallway.

Trina had redecorated the spot where it used to be with a potted plant and a framed motivational poster that read "Discipline Defines You." You were considering setting it on fire.

"Morning, Sunshine," you chirped as you walked past her with your caf. "How's the tyrannical dictatorship going?"

Trina didn't even flinch. "At least I show up for work."

"Oh, please. If you were a droid, you'd overheat from micromanaging."

And there it was—that smirk from the other assistant.

Kess.

She leaned over her desk like she was watching a drama unfold in real time. "Okay, okay, play nice, girls. It's not even second caf yet."

Trina rolled her eyes. "Pick a side, Kess."

Kess grinned. "I like the view from the middle."

You narrowed your eyes. "You said Trina once threatened to replace your shampoo with grease trap water."

"She was joking," Kess said quickly.

"I was not," Trina snapped.

"I mean... still better than your perfume," you added under your breath.

Kess audibly choked on her tea.

---

Later that day, Commander Fox called you into his office.

The tension in the room dropped the moment you stepped inside, replaced by something electric and quiet. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at you like he was trying to decide if you were a puzzle or a headache.

"You vanished for two weeks," he finally said. "Now your overdue reports are two months overdue."

"I'll get to them," you said lightly, flopping into the chair opposite him. "Eventually."

Fox pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Also," you added, "Trina moved my desk into the hallway. Which I'm 80% sure is illegal."

"I'll talk to her."

You blinked. "You will?"

"She's not your superior."

A strange warmth bloomed in your chest. You masked it with sarcasm. "So chivalrous, Commander."

He gave you a look, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Just don't give me a reason to regret it."

---

That night at 79's the lights were low and your voice was velvet as you sang something slow and sultry. The bar was busy, but you spotted him—Fox, helmet off again, watching like he always did. Quiet. Unmoving. Yours, just for the length of a song.

You left through the back after your set, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself as the cool Coruscant air bit at your skin.

You didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late.

A hand slammed against the wall near your head, and a sharp voice coiled around you like a whip.

"Well, well. Songbirds off duty again."

Aurra Sing.

Her chalk-white skin shimmered in the streetlight, that deadly antenna gleaming above her forehead. She smiled without warmth.

"I've been watching you," she said. "You've got... potential."

You stepped back, heart hammering. "I'm not interested."

"No?" She clicked her tongue. "You work with the Guard. You're close with the Marshal Commander. You wander the galaxy without ever leaving a trace. I could use someone like that."

"I'm not a bounty hunter."

She leaned in closer, voice dropping. "Yet."

Your fingers twitched near your concealed weapon. Aurra's eyes flicked down and back, amused.

"Relax. I'm not here to kill you," she said. "Just... reminding you that people are watching. And not just me."

She melted back into the shadows before you could respond.

You stood alone in the alley, breath shaky, heart pounding.

You weren't scared.

But you were very, very awake.

---

The next morning, Trina took one look at you dragging yourself into work late with dark circles under your eyes and said, "Did the retreat monks kick you out for being annoying?"

Kess tried to stifle her laugh and failed.

You just smirked. "If you must know, I was nearly murdered by a galactic legend last night. What did *you* do, Trina? Color-code the caf pods again?"

Fox passed by just as you said it, pausing only to glance at you—an unreadable look in his eyes.

You gave him a half-smile.

He didn't return it.

But his hand twitched near his blaster.

He'd heard. And that meant he knew something was off.

You were starting to wonder if you were the one being watched… or the one being protected.

---

@melodicwriter I'm borrowing your meme to start a tag post, hope that's okay! 😁

So, my writer friends...

What's a line/scene you've written that you're REALLY proud of?

(Doesn't have to be Shakespeare, just one that makes you feel like everything you've written to get to that point in the story is worth it 😄)

No pressure tags: @lifblogs @niobiumao3 @kybercrystals94 @archivewriter1ont @gonky-kong @indigofyrebird @fanfoolishness @ireadwithmyears @royallykt @apocalyp-tech-a and anyone else who wants to share!!!

*********

For me, the first one that comes to mind is a specific exchange between (Star Wars) Bad Batch's Hunter and Crosshair. Picturing this scene - and hitting on the last few sentences shared here (in bold) - is what convinced me to turn some of my post-season 3 finale Hunter headcanons into a full fanfic. (I'm including some of the initial dialogue from the scene for further context.)

“I wasn’t there for him.”

Crosshair spoke quietly, and Hunter almost flinched at the words – he could guess where this was going. “Crosshair, don’t…”

“I’m the sniper. I’m supposed to watch your backs. I wasn’t there to watch his.”

“His death was not your fault,” Hunter insisted.

“I… I know that now,” Crosshair said, briefly dropping his gaze before looking up again at the memorial, though now not seeming to really see it. “Even if I had been there to help you all find Hemlock, Tech might have died anyway. Still, I failed all of you. I’m trying to make up for it. Omega says Tech wanted us to live and be happy, so… I’m trying. I’m trying to live up to what he sacrificed himself for. But that doesn’t change the fact that I failed him, I wasn’t there for him, and now he’s gone, I can’t make it up to him, and I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Crosshair was relating his own personal thoughts and feelings; yet it was as if he had reached into Hunter’s brain and pulled out all the darkest thoughts lurking there, giving them substance in words. But those thoughts shouldn’t belong to Crosshair, those words shouldn’t be coming from Crosshair’s mouth; that guilt was Hunter’s to own, and Hunter’s alone.

“Crosshair, I am – was – the sergeant. I’m supposed to lead. Protecting you all is my responsibility.”

“And you have,” the other replied, now looking Hunter square in the face. “You still do. You’re not watching just our backs, either – you’re… you’re everywhere all at once, all the time, protecting us. We’re going to make our own decisions, Hunter, and you couldn’t stop Tech from making his; but you were there for him all the time. You were there with him. And that matters.”

“Storm and Starlight”

Sev x Jedi Reader

It had been twenty-nine days since she went missing.

Sev knew the exact count, though he never said it aloud. He didn’t like counting things unless they were kills. Death was predictable. Comfortable. But her? She was something else.

They lost contact with her squad during an op on Felucia. Dense jungle. Hostile locals. Separatist interference. Command called it. KIA, presumed.

Sev didn’t believe it. Not because of some Jedi faith, but because she was the one thing in his life that didn’t shatter under pressure.

She annoyed the hell out of him. Bubbly, bright, constantly chirping about “hope” and “trust in the Force.” It should have driven him up the walls. But somehow, it worked. She worked.

And now she was gone.

So when the door to the debriefing room slid open and he saw her silhouette—filthy robes, a torn sleeve, a limp in her step—his mind blanked.

She paused in the doorway. Her hair was caked in mud and ash, but her smile still hit like a thermal detonator.

“Miss me?”

There was a beat.

Then another.

Sev crossed his arms and exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. “I had wondered where my headache went.”

She laughed—light and unexpected, like rain in a war zone—and limped closer. “Is that how you greet everyone who comes back from the dead?”

“I’ve only seen you do it. Once.” He eyed her up and down. “You look like hell.”

“Hell’s got better lighting.”

Sev reached out, pulled her closer by the belt of her torn robe. “Where the kriff were you?”

“Trapped. Separatist scout patrol hit us hard. I got out, the others didn’t. I’ve been trekking across half the jungle, dodging droids and eating… well, I think it was fruit. Could’ve been eggs.”

“Should’ve been you that got eaten.”

She leaned her forehead against his chest plate. “Aw. You did miss me.”

Sev went still.

Her warmth, her voice, even the scent of jungle rot clinging to her—none of it should’ve made his heart stutter like that. And yet.

“I didn’t miss you,” he said, voice lower. “I just got used to the quiet.”

She looked up, eyes glittering like starlight. “Liar.”

And he was.

Because for twenty-nine days, he hadn’t slept right. The jokes didn’t land. The blood didn’t thrill. He kept expecting her voice in his comm, her humming in the medbay, her absolutely infuriating habit of giving everyone in Delta Squad an encouraging nickname.

Now she was back. Cracked and bruised—but still sunshine, somehow.

“You’re gonna die smiling one day,” he muttered. “And I’ll be the one dragging your corpse back just so I can punch it.”

She smiled, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll die knowing you cared.”

Sev sighed and pulled her fully into his arms. “Next time you disappear, I’m tying a tracking beacon to your ankle.”

“Promise?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Crossfire” pt.6

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The night air was still, too quiet for Coruscant. As if the city itself held its breath. The reader sat on the stone edge of a koi pond in the Jedi Temple gardens, picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve.

She hadn’t come here to pray. Or meditate. She came because she couldn’t breathe in her apartment anymore.

Kit Fisto approached silently, boots barely making a sound against the stones. She didn’t flinch when he spoke.

“You found the quietest corner of the Temple.”

“I didn’t think Jedi gardens were known for wild parties.”

He chuckled, easing down beside her, his presence—warm, calm, steady. It was infuriating how grounded he always was.

“You look better than this morning,” he said.

“I look like someone who kissed two men, woke up next to a Jedi Master, and has no idea what the hell she’s doing with her life.”

Kit’s smile widened. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“I didn’t do it for thanks.”

They sat in silence, the pond rippling as a fish darted beneath the surface.

She sighed. “Do I seem like a monster to you?”

“No.”

“Even after everything?”

“I think you’ve been carrying too many secrets for too long. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you tired.”

She looked at him. “Do you tell that to all the girls who stumble into your arms drunk off their head?”

“No,” he said. “Only the ones who cry about clone commanders in their sleep.”

Her throat tightened. “Of course I did.”

“You said you love them both.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “Stars, I’m a mess.”

“That’s not news.”

They both laughed, but it faded quickly.

Kit’s voice turned more serious. “You trust the Chancellor. But you fear him.”

“I do,” she whispered. “More than anything.”

Before Kit could respond, another voice echoed softly from behind.

“You’re not the only one.”

She turned sharply to see Mace Windu standing a few steps away, arms crossed, his gaze steady but not unkind.

“Didn’t realize this was going to be a group therapy session,” she muttered.

Windu stepped forward. “Kit told me what you said last night. About your fear. Your confusion. Your… feelings for the clones.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

“I’m not here to scold you,” Windu said. “But I need to understand. Why do you keep aligning yourself with the Chancellor if you don’t trust him?”

“Because I don’t know what happens if I don’t,” she admitted. “He knows everything about me. He saved me once—or at least made me think he did. I’ve done things for him I can’t take back. And I’m scared if I stop playing the part, he’ll destroy me.”

Kit’s hand rested gently on her back. Windu’s expression softened—not pity, but something close.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Windu said. “We may not know what you are to him, but you’re not just his anymore. You’re part of something else now. The clones trust you. Some of the Jedi trust you. Don’t waste that.”

She met his eyes. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I’ve been.”

“Then start small,” Kit said. “Be honest.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Most truths are.”

Windu gave a slight nod, then turned to leave.

Before he did, he added, “You’ve still got a choice. Don’t wait until it’s taken from you.”

She sat there for a while after he left, Kit still beside her.

“Truth hurts,” she murmured.

Kit gave a small smile. “So does love.”

⸻

She didn’t take the main lift. Didn’t want to run into anyone. After her talk with Kit and Windu, she was raw—peeling open layers she’d kept tightly shut for years. Now, every footstep echoed like a secret she hadn’t meant to tell.

She was halfway through the lower halls when a voice pulled her to a stop.

“You always run off when things get real?”

She froze.

Rex.

He stepped out of the shadows near the archway, arms crossed, helmet in hand, dressed down in fatigues. No armor. No rank. Just him. And that was the problem.

“I wasn’t running,” she said quietly.

“You never are,” he replied. “You disappear. You lie. You kiss me, then you kiss Cody, then you run again and act like none of it ever happened.”

She turned toward him, lips parted in protest—but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care about what happened at 79’s,” he said. “Not like that. I care that I don’t know where I stand with you. And I don’t think you know either.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No. What’s not fair is you looking at me like you want to stay, then leaving before I can ask you to.”

She looked away. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” Rex said, stepping closer. “But you’ve got it. All of it. You have me. And Cody. And the damn Jedi Council watching your every move. And that kid you saved, even if he’s gone now. You’ve got hearts in your hands, and you’re squeezing them like you don’t realize they’re breakable.”

She flinched.

“You don’t get to keep pushing us away and pulling us close when it suits you,” he added, softer this time. “Pick something. Anyone. Or don’t. Just stop pretending it doesn’t mean something.”

The silence settled between them, heavy and sharp.

“I’m trying,” she finally whispered. “I’m not used to being wanted. Not like this. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Rex stepped closer. Close enough she could feel the heat from him, the frustration in the way he held his jaw so tight.

“Start by not lying,” he said. “To me. To Cody. To yourself.”

She met his eyes. “If I tell you I’m scared of what happens if I choose one of you…?”

“I’d say you’re human.”

“What if I choose wrong?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you already know who it is,” he said, and for once, he didn’t say anything more. Didn’t push. Just looked at her like he was waiting for her to catch up.

She blinked, her mouth opening to speak—but footsteps echoed behind them.

Cody.

He stepped into the corridor, freezing at the sight of them. His eyes flicked between them, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Rex didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“You two done?” Cody asked coolly.

“Not even close,” Rex said.

Cody’s gaze locked with hers. “Then maybe it’s time I had a turn.”

The hallway felt too small for the weight in the air.

She looked between them—Rex, steady and wounded, and Cody, cold and unreadable, his arms crossed like a shield.

Cody broke the silence first.

“So,” he said, voice low. “What’s your excuse this time?”

“Cody—” she started.

“No, really. I want to know. You ran off, again. Lied to the Jedi Council. Lied to us. And you show back up at 79’s like nothing happened.” His tone was calm, but there was something brittle underneath. “So what is it this time?”

She exhaled, stepping forward. “I didn’t know what else to do. I had to protect that kid. And if I told anyone—even you—it would’ve put him in more danger.”

“You think I wouldn’t have protected him?” Cody asked, hurt flashing behind his eyes. “You think we wouldn’t have helped you?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“You didn’t trust us.”

“I didn’t trust anyone.”

That landed heavier than she expected.

Rex shifted, jaw clenched. “She didn’t even answer my comms, Cody. Not once.”

“I know.”

The silence swelled again—until she took a step closer to both of them.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were small, but real. Fragile, like they might shatter if she tried to backtrack.

Cody’s posture eased, just slightly. “We’re not looking for perfect,” he said quietly. “We’re just tired of being temporary.”

Her heart cracked open—again.

And then—

“Well isn’t this cozy.”

Quinlan Vos strolled around the corner like he was walking into a lounge instead of an emotional standoff.

“Oh great,” Cody muttered under his breath.

Right behind Quinlan came Kenobi, hands folded in front of him like he hadn’t just walked in on the messiest love triangle in the Temple.

“I sensed tension,” Kenobi said lightly. “But I wasn’t expecting it to be this personal.”

“Obi-Wan,” she said with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This really isn’t your kind of conversation.”

“And yet here I am,” he replied smoothly.

Quinlan leaned against the wall, eyes dancing with mischief. “So who’s it gonna be? Helmet One or Helmet Two?”

Rex looked like he was about to start throwing punches.

Cody sighed. “I will actually kill you, Vos.”

Vos raised his hands. “Hey, no need for violence. Unless it’s a duel for affection. In which case, I’ve got credits on the shiny one.”

“I swear to the stars—” she started.

Kenobi held up a hand, stepping between them. “Enough. We’re not here for… whatever this is. The Council requested an update on the three of you. We came to ensure you’re not tearing each other apart.”

Quinlan smirked. “Looks like she’s doing the emotional tearing, Obi.”

“Quinlan.”

“Alright, alright,” Vos said, grinning as he backed away. “But if someone gets stabbed over this? I better be invited.”

“Out,” she said, pointing. “Both of you.”

Kenobi gave a soft chuckle and turned to leave, but not before glancing over his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, tone more serious now, “sometimes the hardest thing isn’t choosing between two people—it’s choosing yourself. Just don’t take too long. Wars don’t wait for hearts to decide.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, dragging Quinlan along with him like an annoying older brother babysitting a younger one hopped up on spice.

The hallway fell quiet again.

Cody looked at her.

Rex didn’t move.

She let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to choose.”

“You don’t have to right now,” Cody said, stepping closer. “But stop pretending we don’t matter to you.”

“You do,” she whispered. “You both do.”

Rex finally spoke. “Then stop running.”

⸻

The air in her apartment was too still.

It felt wrong, being somewhere safe. Somewhere silent. Somewhere without the constant hum of danger or the weight of another lie slung over her shoulders like armor.

She sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, the lights dimmed.

A glass of something strong sat untouched on the nearby table.

Her thoughts weren’t on Rex. Or Cody. Not really. Not even on the awkward, lingering heat of Kit Fisto’s presence that still clung to the corners of her memory like steam on glass.

They kept drifting—to the kid.

To the boy with the too-serious eyes and the hands that fidgeted when he thought she wasn’t looking. Who had followed her across half the galaxy, trusting her with a kind of blind faith she didn’t think she deserved.

To the one she couldn’t kill.

To the one she’d almost raised.

She could still hear his voice, the way he’d called her “boss” like it was a title and a joke all in one. The way he looked when they’d watched the suns set over Kashyyyk, his feet dangling off a root bridge too high for a child to be comfortable on.

“Why do people kill people like me?” he’d asked once.

She didn’t answer then.

She didn’t have an answer now.

She rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of every choice she’d made—every body she’d stepped over, every path she’d walked blindly, every whispered promise to herself that she could control this, steer it, fix it.

And now the boy was back in Republic custody.

Safer, maybe.

But she didn’t believe that—not really.

Palpatine had plans again. She could feel it. The shadows were curling inward, and she knew enough to know his approval was just another kind of leash.

Maybe Windu was right to be wary.

Maybe Kit was a fool for softening.

Maybe she’d always been a weapon. Just one that had gone a little bit rogue.

She stood up, slowly. Restless.

The floor was cold under her feet.

She wandered to the window. Coruscant glowed like a promise she never believed in.

And still… her hand went to her chest, fingers brushing the chain she wore. The one the boy had made her. Twisted wire and beads and a piece of scrap metal etched with a crude smiley face.

He’d given it to her after their first week on the farm.

“For luck,” he’d said.

She should have thrown it away. Burned it.

But she never did.

And as the lights of the city blinked in rhythm with her quiet regret, she found herself whispering into the night.

“I hope they’re being kind to you, kid.”

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him… or to the ghosts that never stopped following her.

⸻

The transmission came through at dawn. She hadn’t slept.

Palpatine’s voice was calm, syrupy sweet as always. “There’s a matter requiring your unique talents,” he said. “You’ll rendezvous with General Skywalker and his battalion. Details will follow.”

No time to think. No time to refuse.

So she didn’t.

⸻

The hangar was already buzzing when she arrived, helmet under her arm, armor pieced together hastily, mismatched from past missions. The 501st was preparing for deployment, their blue-striped armor shining like blades in the rising sun.

She caught Rex’s gaze across the room. He looked tired. He always did lately.

Anakin stood with a datapad, barking orders. Ahsoka stood near him, arms crossed, lekku twitching with unease the moment the reader approached.

“You’re late,” Skywalker said without looking up.

“I’m here,” she replied coolly.

“Then suit up and get ready. We leave in ten.”

She moved to prep her gear, but Ahsoka intercepted her with a tone too casual to be friendly. “Still working for the Chancellor, huh?”

The reader didn’t answer, just gave her a sideways glance and kept walking.

“I mean,” Ahsoka continued, following, “after everything that’s happened—you being gone, the Jedi Council questioning your motives, Palpatine conveniently keeping you around while trusting no one else. Doesn’t any of that seem off to you?”

The reader paused, slowly turning toward her. Her voice was quiet, but heavy. “You think I don’t ask myself the same questions?”

“Then maybe it’s time you stop pretending you’re above all of this,” Ahsoka snapped. “You play all sides. You lie. You vanish. And now you’re back like nothing happened.”

The reader took a step forward, gaze locked on the younger woman. “You think I want this? You think this is a game to me? You were raised in this war. Trained for it. You have people who believe in you, a name that means something. I was bought. I was used. You want to give me a reality check, kid? I live in it.”

Ahsoka blinked, momentarily stunned.

“You’re lucky,” the reader added. “You still think there’s a clean side to stand on.”

With that, she brushed past Ahsoka and made her way toward the LAAT gunship.

Rex was already inside, waiting.

She sat across from him, eyes closed, palms resting on her knees as if trying to keep her heart from falling out of her chest.

“You alright?” he asked after a while.

“No,” she said honestly.

He nodded like that answer made perfect sense. Like he wasn’t alright either.

The gunship lifted. The world blurred outside.

Another mission. Another role to play.

But this time, the pawn wasn’t so willing. And she was starting to learn how to bite.

⸻

The LAAT rocked hard as it breached atmosphere, the roar of wind and engines loud enough to drown out thoughts, fears—names she couldn’t stop saying in her head. Cody. Rex. The kid.

But beside her, General Skywalker sat unfazed, legs spread, arms braced loosely on his knees, like he was born for turbulence. He glanced at her mid-bounce and smirked.

“Bet you missed this,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the rumble.

She scoffed, tucking a few loose strands of hair under her helmet. “Missed being shot at? Only thing I miss more is spice mines and low-rent bounty gigs.”

Anakin grinned. “See? I knew you were fun.”

And to her own surprise… she laughed.

He didn’t ask where she’d been, didn’t pry about the Chancellor, didn’t even hint at what everyone else couldn’t shut up about. Just treated her like a soldier. Like a comrade.

When they hit the ground—dust choking the air, blaster fire already echoing in the distance—he took point without hesitation. She fell in beside him, blasters drawn, movements fluid, practiced. They didn’t need to speak to understand one another.

Flank, move, clear. He gave hand signals, and she followed instinctively. His saber lit up the smoke like a beacon, cutting through battle droids as easily as breath.

They moved through a warzone like ghosts—an unlikely but effective pair. She covered his blind spots, he powered through hers. The 501st swept behind them like a blue tide, and for the first time in months, she felt something almost like useful again.

At the edge of the battlefield, they ducked behind a crumbling wall to regroup.

Anakin exhaled. “You know, I get it,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him, brow furrowed under her helmet.

“Running. Hiding. Playing a part so big you forget who you actually are underneath it.”

A long pause. She stared out over the smoke-covered field, unsure of how to respond.

“You ever think about leaving it all behind?” he asked. “Just… disappearing?”

She glanced over at him, lips twitching. “I did disappear.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. But not the way you wanted to.”

She didn’t respond, but the truth of it burned behind her ribs.

A voice came crackling through comms—Rex, coordinating the rear line. The reader’s pulse skipped without reason. She forced herself to focus.

“Let’s go,” Anakin said, pushing up from cover and drawing his saber again. “Back to the chaos.”

She followed, silently grateful for the moment.

He hadn’t asked about Cody. Or Rex. Or the kid.

He hadn’t made her explain herself.

And for now, that made him the easiest person in the galaxy to be around.

⸻

The adrenaline was still thrumming in her blood as she pulled off her helmet and leaned against a sun-scorched wall. The air smelled like ash and ion discharge, and her armor was coated in dust and dried blood—not all of it hers.

She barely had a second to exhale before Ahsoka appeared like a shadow in the corner of her eye.

“You’re not going to disappear again, are you?” Ahsoka asked flatly.

The reader blinked, slow and tired. “Not planning on it.”

Ahsoka folded her arms, her lekku twitching ever so slightly. “I don’t get it. You show up, cause chaos—emotionally and otherwise—leave, then come back like nothing happened.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No,” Ahsoka agreed, “but you owe someone one. Cody? Rex? The Council? The Chancellor? You burned every side of the board and expect to keep playing the game.”

The reader narrowed her eyes, pushing off the wall. “I don’t expect anything.”

“I can’t tell if you’re loyal or just really good at pretending.”

Before she could snap something cutting back, a calm voice intervened behind them.

“That’s enough, Snips.”

Anakin strode into view, hands on his belt, expression unreadable. Ahsoka glanced between the two of them, jaw tight, but ultimately nodded and walked off with a muttered, “Fine. But she’s not off the hook.”

Once she was gone, the reader exhaled through her nose. “She’s got a mean right hook. Bet she’s even worse when she’s got words.”

“She’s protective,” Anakin said with a shrug. “But she’s not wrong. Just… a little blunt.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching the twilight settle in soft purples and oranges across the broken landscape. She looked over at him, surprised to see him still there, just… waiting.

“No lecture?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“No cryptic Jedi wisdom?”

“I’m fresh out,” he said with a smirk. “You want some unsolicited advice instead?”

She gave him a dry look. “Why not. Go for it.”

Anakin leaned against the same wall she had been using as support. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“But so is everyone. That’s the secret no one talks about. We’re all running on fumes, bad decisions, and half-formed ideas of what we think is right.”

She let out a breath of a laugh. “And here I thought you Jedi were supposed to be the poster boy of moral certainty.”

He shrugged. “Not me. Never was.”

Silence again. This time, more comfortable.

“I liked fighting with you today,” she admitted, surprising herself more than him.

He smiled. “I like fighting with you too.”

She studied his profile. “You’re not like the others.”

“That’s probably both a compliment and an insult.”

“Take it however you want.”

They both chuckled softly.

“Thanks for not asking about the Chancellor. Or the others. Or—”

“You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to,” Anakin said simply. “Not with me.”

She looked down at her hands, cut up and shaking slightly. “I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“Then don’t say anything yet,” he said. “Just… be here. For once.”

Her chest ached at the simplicity of it. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And for a moment, just a moment, she was someone without secrets.

⸻

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

“Command and Consequence pt.2”

Fox x reader x Wolffe

⸻

She wasn’t just their trainer. She was the trainer. The hard-ass Mandalorian bounty hunter who whipped the clone cadets into shape, showed them how to survive, and maybe, quietly, showed them something like love.

They weren’t supposed to fall for her.

She wasn’t supposed to leave.

But they did. And she did.

Now she’s back—in chains. On trial. And neither of them has forgiven her. But neither of them has stopped feeling, either.

⸻

Wolffe was gone.

Off to a frontline somewhere, chasing a ghost on someone else’s leash. He hadn’t said goodbye. Just stood in her cell, said her name like it tasted like blood, and left.

She told herself it didn’t sting.

Told herself that right up until the door hissed open again.

This time, it was him.

Fox.

She felt him before she saw him—every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She didn’t lift her head until she heard the soft clink of his boots on the duracrete.

“You always did have the heaviest damn footsteps.”

No answer.

Just the soft hum of the ray shield between them and the weight of six years of unfinished conversations.

She sat back against the wall of her cell, tilting her head to study him through the barrier. “You used to take your helmet off when you saw me.”

Fox didn’t move.

“You smiled, too,” she added. “Even blushed once.”

Still nothing.

She leaned forward. “Why don’t you take it off now, Fox? Scared I’ll see what I did to you?”

That one hit.

His shoulders shifted. Just enough.

“I loved you both,” she said, voice softer. “You and Wolffe. It wasn’t just training. You know that.”

“You walked away.”

“I had to.”

“No,” Fox said, voice hard behind the visor. “You chose to. We needed you. And you ran.”

He stepped closer to the shield.

“You trained us to survive, to lead, to kill. You were everything. You looked at us like we were people before anyone else ever did. And then you were gone. No note. No goodbye. Just gone.”

She stood now. Toe to toe with him on opposite sides of the shield.

“Don’t pretend like it was easy for me.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Fox bit out. “But every time I close my eyes, I see the cadet barracks. I see you, pulling us out of bed, making us fight through mud and stun blasts and live fire. And every time I put this helmet on, I remember the woman who made me who I am.”

“And you hate her now?”

“No,” he said, almost too quiet.

“I wish I did.”

The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was heavy, loud, aching.

Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

Fox’s helmet snapped up.

“You planning something?” he demanded.

She blinked, surprised. “Not me.”

An explosion rocked the building.

Fox swore and turned toward the hall—too late.

The backup power cut in, and the shield between them dropped.

She moved first.

Elbow. Throat. Disarm.

Fox recovered instantly. Mandalorian training burned into his bones—her training.

They fought dirty. Brutal. No flourish. No wasted motion. Just rage and history and sweat.

He slammed her into the wall, forearm to her neck. “Don’t—”

She headbutted him. “Too late.”

He threw her to the ground. She rolled, kicked out, caught his knee. He staggered. She was up in an instant, swinging.

He caught her wrist. “You left us.”

She broke the hold, breathless. “And you never stopped loving me.”

That cracked him.

She tackled him.

They hit the floor hard.

His helmet came loose, skittering across the ground.

And for a heartbeat—

There he was.

Fox.

Red-faced. Bloodied lip. Eyes blazing with pain and love and fury.

He flipped her. Pinned her down.

“This is what you wanted?” he growled. “To be hunted? To fight me?”

“No,” she whispered. “But I’m not dying in a cell.”

Her elbow caught his jaw. He reeled. She moved fast, straddling him, fist raised—

And paused.

Just for a second.

He looked up at her like she was the sun and the storm.

So she closed her fist.

And knocked him out cold.

⸻

She ran.

Again.

Bleeding. Gasping. Free.

But not the same.

Not anymore.

Because this time, she left something behind.

And it wasn’t just her past.

It was him.

⸻

(Flashback - Kamino)

It was raining.

Then again, it was always raining on Kamino.

She stood in the simulation room, arms crossed, helmet tucked under one arm, a long line of adolescent clones in front of her. Twelve cadets. Identical on the outside. Nervous. Curious. Eager.

She hated this part. The part where they still looked like kids.

She paced down the line like a wolf sizing up prey. They were still, silent, disciplined.

Good.

But she could already see it—the cracks, the personality slipping through despite their efforts to appear identical. That one on the end with the defiant chin tilt. The one in the middle hiding a limp. The one watching her like he already didn’t trust her.

She knew it the second they marched in—twelve cadets, lean and lethal for their age. Sharper than the usual shinies. These weren’t grunts-in-the-making. These were the Commanders. The ones Kamino’s high brass whispered about like they were investments more than soldiers.

She smirked. “You all have CT numbers. Serial designations. Statistics.”

No one spoke.

She dropped her helmet onto a nearby crate and leaned forward. “That’s not enough for me.”

Eyes tracked her, alert.

“You want to earn my respect? You survive this program, you get through my gauntlet? You don’t just get to be soldiers. You get to be people. And people need names.”

A flicker of something passed between them—confusion, curiosity, maybe even hope.

“But I don’t hand them out like sweets. Names have weight. You’ll earn yours. One by one.”

She paused.

“And I won’t name you like some shiny ARC trainer handing out joke callsigns for laughs. Your name will be the first thing someone hears before they die. Make it count.”

“You survive my program, you’ll earn a name,” she said. “A real one. Something from the old worlds. Something that means something. Not because you need a nickname to feel special—because names have teeth. They bite. They leave a scar.”

The silence was sharp. But the room listened.

The first week nearly broke them.

She saw it in their bruised knuckles, in the fire behind their eyes. None of them quit.

So she came in holding a data slate. Her list.

“CT-2224,” she said, nodding to the clone who was always coordinating, always calm under fire. “I’m calling you Cody.”

A pause.

“Named after an old soldier from history. Scout, tactician, survivor. He fought under another man’s flag but always kept his own code. You? You’ll know when to follow and when to break the chain.”

CT-2224 tilted his chin, something like pride in his eyes.

“CT-1004,” she called next. “Gree.”

He quirked a brow.

“Named after an Astronomer. A mind ahead of his time. You like to challenge the rules. You think differently. That’ll get you killed—or it’ll save your whole damn battalion. Your call.”

He smirked.

“CT-6052,” she said, turning to the one with the fastest draw in the sim tests. “Bly.”

“Bly?” he echoed.

“Named after a naval officer. Brutal. Unrelenting. Survived mutinies and shipwrecks. Your squad will challenge you someday. You’ll either lead them through the storm—or end up alone.”

He went quiet.

“CT-1138.” She stepped toward the quietest of the bunch. “Bacara.”

That got his attention.

“Name’s from an old warrior sect,” she said. “Real bastard in the heat of battle. No fear, no hesitation. You’ve got that in you—but you’ll need something to tether you. Rage alone won’t get you far.”

“CT-8826,” she barked. “Neyo.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Named after a colonial general in a lost war. Known for precision and cruelty in equal measure. You fight with cold logic. That’s useful. But one day it’s going to cost you something you didn’t know you valued.”

His stare didn’t break.

She nodded to herself.

Then she stopped in front of CT-1010.

This one was different. Always stepping in front of the others. Always first into the fire.

“You,” she said. “You’re Fox.”

He tilted his head. Curious. Suspicious.

“Not the animal,” she said. “The man. He tried to blow up a corrupt regime. People remember him as a traitor. But he died for what he believed in. He wanted to burn the world down so something better could rise.”

Fox looked at her like he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or afraid.

Good.

And finally—

CT-3636.

She exhaled. Quiet.

“You’re Wolffe. Spelled with two f’s.”

He arched a brow.

“You ever heard of General Wolffe? He died leading a battle he won. Knew it would kill him. Did it anyway. That’s who you are. You’d die for the ones you lead. But you’re not just a soldier. You’re a ghost in the making. You see things the others don’t.”

Something flickered across Wolffe’s expression. Not quite gratitude. Not yet. But something personal. Something deep.

She stepped back and looked at them all.

“You’re not just commanders now. You’re names with weight. Remember where they come from. Because someday—someone’s going to ask.”

She didn’t say why she chose those names.

But Fox knew.

And Wolffe… Wolffe felt it like a blade between his ribs.

⸻

That night, neither of them slept.

Fox sat on his bunk, staring at the nameplate freshly etched on his chest armor.

Wolffe couldn’t stop replaying the sound of her voice, the precision of her words.

It wasn’t just what she called them.

It was how she saw them.

Not clones.

Not numbers.

Men.

And in that moment—before war, before death, before heartbreak—both of them realized something:

They would have followed her anywhere.

⸻

“Target last seen heading westbound on foot. She’s injured,” Thorn’s voice snapped through the comms, sharp and clear as a vibroblade. “Bleeding. She won’t get far.”

Commander Fox didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

He was already moving—boots pounding against ferrocrete, crimson armor flashing in the underglow of gutter lights. His DC-17s were hot. Loaded. He’d cleared the last alley by himself. Found the blood trail smeared across a rusted wall. Confirmed it wasn’t fresh. Confirmed she was smart enough to double back.

Fox’s jaw tensed behind the helmet. That voice. That memory. He hated that it still echoed.

He hated what she’d made him feel back then—what she still made him feel now.

“She was ours,” Thorn said suddenly, voice low on a private channel. “She trained us. Named us. And now she’s—”

“A liability,” Fox snapped.

A pause.

Then Thorn said, “So are you.”

She’d been moving for thirty-six hours straight.

Blood caked her gloves. Her ribs were cracked. One eye nearly swollen shut. And still—still—she’d smiled when she saw the Guard flooding the streets for her.

“Miss me, boys?” she whispered, ducking into an old speeder lot, sliding through a maintenance tunnel like she’d been born in the underworld.

Fox was five minutes behind her. Thorn was closer.

She was running out of time.

So she did what she swore she wouldn’t.

She pressed a long-dead frequency into her wrist comm and whispered:

“You still owe me.”

⸻

Fox was waiting for her at the extraction point.

He stood in front of the old freight elevator. Helmet on. Blaster raised. Shoulders squared. He hadn’t spoken in five minutes. Hadn’t moved in ten.

When she limped into view, he didn’t aim. Not yet.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, voice flat.

“You’re still wearing your helmet,” she rasped.

He didn’t answer.

“Why?” she asked. “Why don’t you ever take it off anymore?”

That hit something.

He didn’t move, but the silence that followed was heavier than armor.

“You think if you bury the man I trained, the one I named, then maybe you don’t have to feel what you felt?” she asked, stepping closer. “Or maybe—maybe you think the helmet will stop you from loving the woman you’re supposed to kill.”

Fox raised his blaster.

“I’m not that man anymore.”

“And I’m not the woman who left you behind,” she said.

Then she charged him.

They hit the ground hard.

She drove her elbow into his side, but he blocked it—twisted—slammed her onto the deck. She kicked his knee, flipped him over, caught a glimpse of his face beneath the shifting helmet seal—eyes wild. Angry. Broken.

Their fight wasn’t clean. It wasn’t choreographed.

It was personal.

Every strike was a memory. Every chokehold a betrayal.

She got the upper hand—until Fox caught her wrist, yanked her forward, and headbutted her hard enough to split her lip.

“Stay down,” he growled.

But she was already back on her feet, staggering.

“You first.”

She lunged. He met her.

For one second, he nearly won.

And then—

The roar of repulsors screamed overhead.

A ship—low and mean—swooped in like a vulture. Slave I.

Fox’s head snapped up.

From the cockpit, Boba Fett gave a two-fingered salute.

From the ramp, Bossk snarled: “Hurry up, darlin’. We’re on a timer.”

She spun, landed one final kick to Fox’s side, and leapt.

He caught her foot—just for a second.

Their eyes locked.

She whispered, “You’ll have to be faster than that, Commander.”

Fox’s grip slipped.

She vanished into the belly of the ship.

The ship shot skyward, cutting between the towers of Coruscant, gone in a blink.

Fox lay back on the duracrete, chest heaving, blood in his mouth.

Thorn’s voice crackled in his comm:

“You get her?”

Fox didn’t answer.

He just stared at the sky, helmet still on, and muttered:

“Next time.”

⸻

The hum of hyperspace thrummed through her ribs like a heartbeat she hadn’t trusted in years.

She sat on the edge of the med-bench, wiping blood from her mouth, cheek split open from Fox’s headbutt. Boba threw her a rag without looking.

“You look like shab.”

She gave a low, painful laugh. “Better than dead. Thanks for the pickup.”

Boba didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair, helmet off, arms crossed over his chest like a teenager who wasn’t quite ready to say what he meant.

“You could’ve called sooner, you know,” he finally muttered. “Would’ve come faster.”

“I know,” she said, quiet.

Bosk snorted from the cockpit. “Sentimental karkin’ clones. Always needin’ someone to save their shebs.”

She ignored him.

Boba didn’t. “Stow it, lizard.”

After a beat, he glanced back at her. “You’re not going back, are you?”

She didn’t answer.

“You should stay,” Boba said. “The crew’s solid. And you’re… you were like an older sister. On Kamino. When it was just me and those cold halls. You didn’t treat me like a copy.”

That one hit her like a vibroblade to the gut.

“I couldn’t stand seeing your face,” she admitted. “All I saw was Jango.”

He looked away. “Yeah. Well… I am him.”

She stood, stepped over to him, and rested a bruised hand on his shoulder.

“You’re better. You got his spine, his stubbornness. But you’ve got your own code, too. Jango… Jango would’ve left me behind if it suited him. You didn’t.”

He looked at her, lip twitching. “Yeah, well. You trained half the commanders in the GAR. You think I was about to let Fox be the one to kill you?”

She smirked. “Sentimental.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

She moved toward the ramp. “Thank you, Boba. But I can’t stay.”

“You don’t have to run forever.”

“No,” she said, voice thick. “Just long enough to finish what I started.”

And with that, she slipped through the rear hatch, into the wind, into whatever system they dropped her in next.

⸻

Wolffe stood silent, arms folded, helmet tucked under one arm. Thorn sat across from him, jaw tight, armor scraped and bloodied.

Plo Koon entered without fanfare, his robes trailing dust from the Outer Rim.

“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the Kel Dor said mildly.

“She might as well be,” Thorn muttered.

“We had her,” Wolffe said. “Fox did. And she slipped through his fingers.”

Plo regarded them both for a long moment.

“I assume there is tension because Fox and Thorn were in charge of the op?”

Wolffe’s jaw tightened.

Thorn spoke first. “She’s dangerous. She’s working with bounty hunters now. It’s only a matter of time before she turns that knife toward the Republic.”

“Perhaps,” Plo murmured, folding his hands. “Or perhaps she is a wounded soldier, betrayed by the very people she once called vode.”

Wolffe’s shoulders stiffened.

“She made her choice,” he said flatly.

“And yet,” Plo said, gently, “I sense hesitation in you, Commander. Pain.”

Wolffe didn’t respond.

“She is off-world now,” the Jedi continued, glancing at a tactical holo. “Potentially aligned with Separatist sympathizers. The Senate will push for her recapture. But I believe it would be wiser… more effective… for the 104th to take point on tracking her.”

Thorn straightened. “The Guard’s been assigned—”

“And you failed,” Plo said, not unkindly. “Let Wolffe try. Perhaps what’s needed now is not more firepower… but familiarity.”

Wolffe met Plo’s gaze. “You’re using this as a chance to fix me.”

“I’m giving you a chance,” Plo corrected. “To understand. To remember who she really is. Not what she became.”

Silence.

Then Wolffe slowly nodded.

“Then I’ll bring her in.”

Plo’s gaze softened beneath his mask.

“Or maybe,” he said, turning to leave, “you’ll let her bring you back.”

⸻

The atmosphere stank like rust and rot. Arix-7 was a graveyard of ships and skeletons—metal, bone, old wreckage from a thousand forgotten battles. The 104th picked through it like wolves in a burial field.

Wolffe moved ahead of the squad, visor low, silent.

Boost sidled up beside him. “You know, this place kinda reminds me of her. Sharp, full of ghosts, and ready to kill you if you step wrong.”

Sinker snorted. “Yeah, but she smelled better.”

“Cut the chatter,” Wolffe growled, tone clipped.

Boost shrugged. “Just saying. Weird to be tracking the person who taught you how to hold a blaster.”

“Worse to be planning how to shoot her,” Sinker added, quieter.

Wolffe didn’t respond.

He just kept moving.

They found her in the remains of a Republic frigate, buried deep in the moon’s crust, converted into a hideout. Cracked floors, scattered gear, a heat signature blinking faint and wounded—but moving.

She knew they were coming.

She was waiting.

⸻

They found her in the wreck of an old Separatist cruiser, rusted deep into the jagged crust of the moon. Sinker and Boost had gone in first—quick, confident, all muscle and old banter. That didn’t save them from being outmaneuvered and knocked out cold.

Wolffe found their unconscious bodies first. And then, her.

She stepped into the light like a shadow peeling off the wall—hood pulled low, face scraped and bloodied but eyes still burning.

“You always send the pups in first?” she asked. “Or were they just stupid enough to come on their own?”

Wolffe charged her without a word.

Hand-to-hand. Just like she trained him.

But she didn’t hold back this time—and neither did he.

She was still faster. Still sharper. Still cruel with her movements, a blade honed by years outside the Republic’s rule.

But Wolffe had strength and control, and he’d stopped pulling punches years ago.

They traded blows. She bloodied his mouth. He cracked her ribs. He pinned her. She slipped free.

Then came him.

The air shifted—sharp with ozone and tension—and suddenly Plo Coon was between them. Calm. Powerful. Alien eyes behind his antiox mask, watching her without familiarity, without sentiment.

“Step down,” Plo said.

She bristled. “Another Jedi. Wonderful. Let me guess—here to ‘redeem’ me?”

“I don’t know you,” Plo answered. “But I know what you’ve done. And I know you were once theirs.”

“I was never yours.”

“Good,” Plo said, igniting his saber. “Then this will be easier.”

They fought.

The air crackled.

She struck first—fast and brutal, close-range, aiming to disable before he could bring the Force to bear. But Plo Coon had fought Sith, droids, beasts. He wasn’t unprepared for feral grace and dirty tricks.

He parried. Dodged. Let her come to him.

“You’re angry,” he said through gritted teeth. “But not lost.”

She lunged. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I sense your pain. You’re not just running. You’re bleeding.”

“Pain is what’s kept me alive!”

He knocked her off balance, sent her tumbling. She scrambled, but he held her in place with a subtle lift of the hand, the Force pinning her in a crouch.

“Enough,” he said, not unkindly.

She panted, teeth grit, shoulders trembling.

“I don’t know why you left them. I don’t care. I only ask you stop now, before someone dies who doesn’t need to.”

Her gaze flicked past him, to Wolffe—who stood in silence, jaw tight, one eye focused and guarded.

“You Jedi think you know everything,” she hissed. “But you don’t know what it’s like to train them. To love them. And to choose between them.”

That made Plo pause.

“I chose nothing,” she said. “And it still broke them.”

The silence that followed was colder than the void outside.

Plo stared at her for a long moment.

Then, slowly—he stepped back.

Released the Force.

“You’ll run again,” he said, saber still lit. “But I won’t be the one to kill someone trying to hold herself together.”

She blinked.

“You’re… letting me go?”

“I’m giving you a moment,” he said. “What you do with it is yours to answer for.”

Wolffe took a step forward.

Plo stopped him with a look.

“She’s off world. Unarmed. And—” his voice lowered, “—no longer a priority.”

Wolffe’s fists clenched.

She didn’t wait.

She bolted into the wreckage, shadows swallowing her whole. Gone again.

This time, no one followed.

Hello! You are an absolute angel, your stories are so lovely and many of them have moved me to tears <3

I know it's a bit dark but I was wondering if you could do a Tech x f!reader where the reader is struggling with passive suicidal ideation (suicidal thoughts with no intent to act upon them) and feeling trapped inside her mind. Reader is touch starved and maybe Tech is too and they both find safety holding each other.

No worries if you can't do it! Thanks for making so many peoples' day including mine <3

Thank you! I'm glad you like my writing and decided to prioritize this since it's such a heavy topic.

Warnings: ongoing passive suicidal ideation mentioned, one moment of suicidal ideation involving a ledge with no intention to act

A/N: The squad is all back together again, but there is no mention of how. We don't need to know how right now, just that they're together. Also, I think this could be read as gender neutral reader.

Although Tech was not as demonstrative with his physical expressions in the same way Wrecker was, he would sometimes reach out and touch your shoulder or arm in a supportive way. He was not entirely sure of the line, but you always seemed to lean into his hand enough to let him know the feeling was welcome. You had all been looking for some place to lay low for the time being. A lot had happened and you did not want to lose each other. The squad was whole and you all wanted it to stay that way.

One evening on a forested moon you sat under the stars. There was a bit of a ledge not far from where the ship was parked and the campfire set up. Everyone was inside at the moment and you simply stared. It wasn't a far drop. Your mind fell into the trap of thinking what-ifs. You wrapped your arms around your shoulders and tried to shudder the thought away as Tech approached. He sat next to you and tried to read your expression.

"What is it?" he asked.

You looked down at your hands and took a calming breath as his warm presence settled next to you.

"Nothing," you replied.

"It's not nothing," he insisted softer than you'd ever heard him. "Tell me."

"I keep having these thoughts. Do you know what suicidal ideation is?"

Eyes wide he answered, "Of course I do, but what is the reason for this? How can I help?" His arms encircled you, although loosely, as his eyes followed yours to the ledge.

"It's passive, Tech. I won't do it. These thoughts come to mind and I can't seem to stop them or turn them off."

"Promise me you will come to me before acting on anything," he replied.

"I just said I won't do it," you said as your expression vulnerable expression pleaded for understanding.

"I know." He looked at you and nodded. "However, I won't have you experience this alone and I won't take chances."

You looked up at him and his arms seemed to hold you just a little more snugly. Your own snaked around his torso and you leaned into him. His embrace seemed to clear out the thoughts you had only moments ago.

"Breathe with me," he suggested. Your chests rose and fell in rhythm and you felt grounded in each other. It was soothing for him just as much as it was for you and you felt like your mind was more your own than it was just moments before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" you asked.

"Of course. I'll stay with you every night if that is what it takes."

You stood up and he put out the fire before putting a hand on your back and walking onto the ship with you. You got settled into your bunk and he brought his pillow, laying so that you were between him and the wall. You leaned into each other and loosely left an arm around the other's waist.

"Promise me," he softly requested again.

"I promise I'll come to you."

"Good. I can't lose you."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead to yours. In the quiet of the ship you fell asleep together.

Echo x Old Republic Jedi Reader pt.2

⸻

The ramp of the Marauder hissed as it lowered, groaning under the weight of exhausted boots and heavier egos. Smoke clung to armor plates and robes alike, the remnants of their latest skirmish still staining their clothes and lungs. But they were alive, in one piece, and Wrecker had already claimed that meant it was time for a snack.

“I told you,” Wrecker declared, stomping down the ramp with a grin that was a little too smug for someone who’d nearly face-planted during the evac, “nothing brings people closer than a near-death experience! Team bonding, baby.”

“Tell that to the squad of clankers you flattened like pancakes,” Tech muttered, adjusting his goggles. “They didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about our cohesion.”

Behind them, Echo trudged down with his helmet tucked under one arm, glancing behind him for you. His expression softened the moment his eyes met yours. You were brushing ash off your tunic and tucking your lightsaber back into your belt, brow furrowed in focus as always—but you felt his gaze and looked up with the smallest smile.

“Nice work back there,” Echo said, and though his voice was soft, it cut through the banter around you. “You saved my shebs. Again.”

You shrugged, trying to hide the way your heart jumped at the way he looked at you—like you were the whole kriffing galaxy. “You would’ve done the same for me.”

“I already have,” he said, voice low, his smile a little crooked. You bumped shoulders with him, rolling your eyes with a grin that gave you away.

Hunter, catching the exchange from the edge of the ramp, raised a brow. “You two always this obvious?”

“Oh, it’s worse than that,” Wrecker chimed in, loud enough to turn heads. “She’s totally his girlfriend.”

You froze mid-step. Echo’s expression twitched like his brain had blue-screened for a second.

“I—what—Wrecker!” he hissed, ears practically glowing red.

Wrecker threw up his hands, unbothered. “What? Everyone sees it! I mean, c’mon! They were making goo-goo eyes while taking down that tank together. That’s not ‘standard Jedi–clone operational procedure,’ that’s ‘save-the-galaxy-together’ couple stuff!”

Crosshair snorted from where he leaned against the ship. “You’re all idiots,” he said flatly. “That’s unrealistic. She’s not just a Jedi—she’s Old Republic trained. The whole code is sacred thing, remember?”

You gave Crosshair a look and stepped forward with arms crossed, voice cool and amused. “So you’re saying I can’t be both a warrior and a woman with depth?”

Crosshair stared at you for a moment, blinked once, and turned away. “Didn’t say that.”

Echo cleared his throat and stepped between you and the others, half-shielding you like instinct. “Can we not discuss Jedi doctrine like we’re gossiping in the barracks?”

“Oh, now he’s shy,” Tech said, tilting his head.

Wrecker grinned at you. “She didn’t say no, though.”

“Wrecker—” Echo growled, but you touched his arm, and he stopped short.

You looked up at him, just for a second. “Let them talk. We know what this is.”

Echo studied you—carefully, gently—like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked too fast. Then he nodded, just once. “Yeah. We do.”

The team fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, still teasing, still tossing back jabs and laughs, but it all faded a little in your periphery as Echo walked beside you. And maybe the Jedi code was sacred. Maybe there were rules. But as the sun dipped low over the landing pad and he smiled down at you like you were the one thing anchoring him to this chaotic galaxy, you weren’t thinking about rules.

You were thinking: Maybe we can survive this. Together.

⸻

The stars outside the viewport blinked like distant memories. The Marauder hummed with its usual low thrum, the rest of the squad either asleep or pretending to be. It was one of those rare, fragile moments—when the galaxy felt like it was holding its breath, just long enough for two people to realize they weren’t alone in it.

Echo sat on one of the benches in the common room, armor stripped down to the basics, a cup of something warm in his hand. You stepped in barefoot, robes loose and hair still damp from a rushed rinse, like you were shedding the battlefield piece by piece.

He looked up. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head, padding over to sit beside him. The silence between you was companionable, soft. You both knew how loud your thoughts got at night.

After a while, you pulled something from the inner pocket of your robes—a small, weathered talisman on a leather cord. Gold and deep bronze etched with faint runes, worn smooth by time and touch. Echo tilted his head.

“What’s that?”

You held it between your fingers for a second, then placed it gently in his hands.

“It’s… old. Really old,” you said. “It was given to me when I became a Padawan. Back long before the war, before the Jedi and the old Order became a memory. My master said it would keep me anchored. It’s seen every part of my life since—battlefields, meditations, exile, heartbreak, my Millenia long carbon freeze prisonment.”

Echo turned it over in his hand, thumb brushing the ancient symbols. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because I don’t think I need to be anchored anymore,” you said, voice quiet but sure. “Not in the past, anyway. You remind me that I’m still here. That I still get to be here. And if anyone should carry a piece of where I came from into the future… it’s you.”

His fingers stilled. He looked at you like you were some impossible thing—like someone who should’ve been gone centuries ago, yet was sitting beside him, breathing the same air, bleeding in the same war.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured.

You smiled softly. “Just don’t lose it.”

Echo slipped the talisman over his head carefully, reverently, and tucked it under his chest plate. When he looked back at you, there was something heavy in his eyes—something like wonder, something like love.

“You always talk like you’re a ghost,” he said. “But you’re not. You’re flesh and blood, and you’re here. With us. With me. You don’t have to drift anymore.”

Your heart caught. You reached up and brushed your fingertips against his jaw, and he leaned into it without hesitation.

“I don’t feel like a ghost when I’m with you,” you whispered. “I feel… alive.”

Echo leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm. “Then let’s keep it that way.”

And in the stillness of the Marauder, with the stars watching in silence, it felt like maybe—just maybe—the galaxy wasn’t all war and death and shadows.

It could be this, too.

It could be you and him.

⸻

Part 1

Commander Wolffe x “Village Crazy” Reader

⸻

The mission was simple: a supply drop to a small village that had been hit hard by the Separatists a few weeks ago. The 104th were tasked with delivering medicine, food, and supplies, and Master Plo had insisted on accompanying them—his calm presence often a welcome relief in tense situations. It was a peaceful village now, recovering from the wreckage, though it had its oddities.

And one of those oddities stood waiting on the village outskirts as the shuttle carrying the 104th came in to land.

You were a local, though you didn’t seem to fit the mold of the average villager. You were known as the “village crazy,” a title you wore with pride. You were eccentric, a little wild, and, to put it bluntly, you were unlike anyone the soldiers had ever met. You spent most of your days wandering the village, dancing on the shoreline, speaking in riddles, and telling stories—stories that were elaborate, nonsensical, and always different from the last. You had a gift for spinning tales that no one could follow, and you never told the same story twice. There was always something new, something unexpected, and most importantly, you never left anyone with the same sense of reality.

The shuttle doors opened, and Commander Wolffe was the first to step off, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. He scanned the area, taking in the sight of the quiet village, a few villagers waving at him and his men. The 104th were used to these kinds of missions—helping out the people who needed it, always the soldier’s duty.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, standing in the middle of the village with your arms raised to the sky, spinning in slow circles, he stopped.

“Well, this is going to be… interesting,” Warthog muttered from behind him, a grin creeping up on his face as he watched you twirl, completely oblivious to the soldiers’ presence.

“You sure she’s not a droid in disguise?” Boost asked, his brow raised as he adjusted his rifle.

Wolffe only sighed. “She’s definitely not a droid.”

At that moment, you caught sight of Master Plo, and your face lit up with an expression of delight. You skipped over to him, arms wide, your bare feet brushing the ground as you moved with a fluid grace that felt otherworldly. “Master Plo! The sky told me you would be here today! The wind, the ocean—it all speaks when it’s time.”

Master Plo gave you a serene smile, ever the diplomat. “I’m glad to see you, [Y/N]. What news do the stars share with you today?”

“The stars are confused,” you replied cryptically, your voice playful yet serious. “They’ve lost their way, Master Jedi. The moons are turning, but the tides are still.”

Wolffe, standing a few paces back, exchanged a glance with Warthog. His brow furrowed, and he couldn’t suppress a mutter under his breath. “This is going to be a long mission.”

You, however, took no notice of his cynicism. You had already moved to the next subject, dancing in circles as you spoke. “I once saw a giant fish the size of a mountain! It came out of the sea and roared at the sun! It was blue, but it wore a cape made of clouds—like a king of the waves!”

Wooly snorted. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “A fish that wears a cape?”

“I’m telling you, Wooly,” you replied with a wink, “I’m never wrong. You’ve just never looked at the ocean the way I do.”

“And how’s that?” Boost asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a sly smile, you leaned in closer to him, speaking in a lowered voice. “With the eyes of a mermaid, of course. You can see everything—beneath the waves, beneath the stories, beneath the stars. You just have to listen.”

Wolffe, arms crossed, watched the exchange with growing confusion. “Right,” he muttered, glancing over to Master Plo. “Is she always like this?”

Plo chuckled softly, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Yes, but there’s wisdom in her madness. [Y/N] sees the world in a way that few of us can. Sometimes, we just have to let the river flow.”

“River…?” Wolffe raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. He’d seen his fair share of strange characters, but none quite like this one. You were certainly different.

Master Plo turned back to you with a smile. “And how have you been, [Y/N]? The village looks well, I see.”

You spun once more, eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and mystery. “I’m good! But… oh, the tide’s about to turn again, Master Jedi. I can feel it! I can hear the whales calling from the mountains, and the ground feels restless. Something’s stirring.” You leaned in toward him conspiratorially, whispering as though sharing a great secret, “The sky’s eyes are looking this way, and I think… I think it’s about time for a visit from the stars.”

Wolffe watched, unimpressed but intrigued nonetheless. “Great, more riddles.” He muttered under his breath, but Plo only chuckled.

“There’s more to her words than you think, Commander,” Plo said gently. “She is… connected to the Force in ways that don’t always make sense to us.”

You, still twirling, suddenly stopped and looked directly at Wolffe, catching him off guard. “The moon is rising, Commander. The shadows are long, and the stories are ready to be told. But be careful—there are wolves in the woods that sing songs of fire.”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow. “Wolves in the woods?”

You nodded, as though everything you said made perfect sense. “The kind that howl with the wind. But no need to worry; they only come when the stars fall.”

He gave you a half-hearted smile, his skepticism never wavering. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You grinned widely. “Good, Commander. You must always listen to the stars and the wolves. They know things we cannot.”

As the day wore on, Wolffe, Boost, Warthog, and Wooly found themselves working alongside the villagers, setting up the relief supplies and ensuring that everything was distributed properly. You flitted around the camp, speaking to anyone who would listen with your wild stories and cryptic observations.

At one point, you approached Wolffe again, who was overseeing the unloading of medical supplies.

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in the boxes, Commander,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

He glanced at the crates and then back at you, a little bemused. “And what exactly am I looking for, [Y/N]?”

“The truth,” you answered with a knowing smile, your voice soft and almost tender. “But it’s hiding behind the moon. It always is.”

Wolffe blinked, processing the strange words. For a moment, he wanted to laugh it off, to brush you aside as just another eccentric villager. But something in the way you spoke—so sure, so confident in your own world—made him pause.

Maybe, just maybe, there was more to you than the others saw. And maybe, just maybe, your wild stories held a grain of truth.

⸻

The days passed in a haze of strange encounters and stories as the 104th continued their relief mission in the village. Commander Wolffe found himself oddly drawn to the “village crazy,” as she was affectionately known. You were an enigma—one moment spinning wild tales about stars, the next, dancing barefoot along the shore or chatting to animals as though they were old friends. It was baffling, and Wolffe couldn’t help but find a strange charm in your unpredictability.

He would catch glimpses of you wandering around the camp, your eyes gleaming with excitement as you spoke to the sky, or weaving through the villagers as though you were part of something larger than what any of them could comprehend. There was an air of serenity about you, a sense of knowing that Wolffe couldn’t quite place. You were unpredictable, yes, but there was a peacefulness in your madness that was strangely… grounding.

The oddest part? Master Plo seemed to have no issue with it. He’d often smile as he watched you interact with the world around you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I think, Commander,” Master Plo had said one evening as they watched you from a distance, “there is wisdom in her madness. She sees the world through a different lens, but that lens allows her to glimpse truths we might miss.”

Wolffe gave him a skeptical look. “She’s a little… strange.”

Master Plo chuckled softly. “We all are in our own way, Commander. Sometimes, it’s not the surface that matters, but what lies beneath. [Y/N] may have more to offer than she lets on.”

Wolffe didn’t respond, instead just watching you as you twirled across the village square, talking animatedly to an empty chair as though it was a long-lost friend. He couldn’t deny that there was something captivating about you—something that made him want to learn more, despite himself.

Meanwhile, the rest of the 104th had their own thoughts on the matter. Sinker and Boost in particular weren’t quite as enchanted by your eccentricities. They had grown used to following orders, taking things seriously. And the constant stream of bizarre stories you told and your odd behavior didn’t sit well with them.

“You know, I’m starting to think we’re all in the middle of some bizarre dream,” Sinker grumbled as he leaned against a crate, watching you dance in the distance. “She’s like a walking, talking riddle.”

“She’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a headache,” Boost added with a smirk, crossing his arms as he watched you spin around.

You had been telling tales about the stars and the oceans again when they spotted you—this time, however, you weren’t just dancing by the shore. You were out in the water, waist-deep, moving gracefully around a strange creature—a sort of aquatic alien, with shimmering scales and bioluminescent markings that flickered like the stars themselves. It was an oddity they had never seen before.

“What in the galaxy is that?” Sinker asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“It looks like some kind of alien fish… thing,” Boost said with a chuckle. “That’s one way to make a splash.”

You didn’t seem to care that they were watching. You danced with the creature, laughing and singing softly to it in a language none of them recognized. Your voice blended with the sound of the waves as you seemed to communicate with the animal, a soft bond of mutual understanding between you and the strange creature.

Wolffe had joined the two clones at the edge of the village, having finished his patrol. He looked over at the scene in the distance, his brow furrowing slightly as he saw you in the water, laughing with the alien. His first instinct was to protect you, but the sight was strangely calming. You were unbothered by their stares, completely immersed in the moment.

“She’s definitely got some screws loose,” Sinker muttered under his breath, watching you from a distance.

Boost snorted. “I don’t know, Sinker. Maybe she’s onto something. Who else do we know who can communicate with random sea creatures?”

“She’s not communicating with it, Boost,” Wolffe said, his voice surprisingly soft. “It’s… just a connection. You can’t understand it unless you’ve seen it for yourself.”

Sinker and Boost exchanged looks before Sinker laughed. “You’re starting to sound like her, Wolffe. Watch out, you might start dancing with fish too.”

Wolffe didn’t respond. He just watched you, a flicker of something uncertain passing through his mind. He was… intrigued. Fascinated, even. The way you seemed to fit into the world so effortlessly, the way you didn’t care what anyone thought. It was a sharp contrast to the rigid, regimented life of a clone trooper.

⸻

The relief mission was drawing to a close, and the 104th were preparing to leave. The shuttle would be ready for takeoff within the hour. Supplies had been delivered, the villagers were starting to rebuild, and the atmosphere of quiet recovery settled over the village. It was a peaceful ending to a mission that had, in its own strange way, been one of the more memorable ones.

The 104th had gathered near the shuttle, preparing to board, when Wolffe found himself standing a little further back from the others. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and he was quietly observing the bustling village one last time. His thoughts, however, were far from the mission. His mind kept wandering back to you—the village “crazy.” You were unlike anyone he had ever met, and even now, as he watched the villagers wave goodbye to the clones, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you had somehow made your way into his thoughts.

You weren’t far off. As always, you had a way of slipping into the edges of their world without anyone noticing—until it was too late.

Wolffe’s eyes caught sight of you as you wandered over to him, your bare feet making no sound against the dirt path. You were humming a tune that didn’t seem to belong to any world the clones knew, a soft, almost haunting melody that drifted in the warm air.

“Commander Wolffe!” you called out, your voice light and filled with the same mystery that seemed to surround you. “I have something for you.”

He turned to face you, raising an eyebrow as you approached. “Something for me?” he asked, his tone flat, though his interest was piqued. “What’s that?”

You stopped just in front of him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and held out your hand. In it was a small, smooth rock—nothing extraordinary, but there was something special about the way you presented it. It glinted in the sun, and the edges were rounded, worn down by time, smooth like a river stone.

“This is a gift from the stars,” you said cryptically, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll need it where you’re going. It will remind you to listen to the waves, the winds, the stars… and to yourself.”

Wolffe hesitated for a moment, eyeing the rock in your hand. “I don’t need reminders, [Y/N],” he said, though his voice softened at the end. “I’m not the kind of man who needs… stars.”

You smiled wider, a knowing look in your eyes. “That’s why you’ll need it,” you replied with a wink. “When the time comes, you’ll hear them. I promise.”

For a long moment, Wolffe simply stared at you, unsure of how to respond. Your words, as always, felt like a riddle wrapped in a mystery, but there was a sincerity to them that made him want to believe you. He could hear the faint whisper of the wind through the trees, the faint sound of the ocean nearby. Maybe… just maybe, there was truth to what you were saying. And maybe, you were right.

“Alright,” he muttered after a moment, taking the rock from your hand. “I’ll keep it. But don’t expect me to start listening to the waves.”

You smiled brightly, as if you’d won a great victory. “It’s not the waves you need to listen to, Commander,” you said softly. “It’s the silence between them.”

There was a brief silence between you two, neither of you moving. Wolffe felt something shift in the air—a quiet, inexplicable connection that, despite his reservations, had grown over the past few days. You had a way of making him feel… less like a soldier and more like a man, someone capable of hearing the things he normally ignored. Even if it didn’t make sense, it didn’t feel wrong.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of Warthog shouting from the shuttle, his voice carrying over the wind. “Commander! Get over here! We’re ready to leave!”

Wolffe’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t immediately turn away. Instead, he glanced back at you. Your eyes were filled with that quiet understanding again—like you could see right through him.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you said softly, spinning the rock in your fingers like a talisman. “Don’t forget to listen.”

“I won’t forget,” Wolffe said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “But I might not listen, either.”

You chuckled, a sound that seemed to carry across the entire village. “You never know when the stars will choose to speak to you, Commander.”

With that, you stepped back, giving him space to go. But just before he turned away, you added one final word. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to listen.”

Wolffe stood there for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of confusion and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. You were so strange, so utterly different from anyone he had ever met. And yet… there was something comforting in your oddity. Something that made him feel less alone in a world that often felt too rigid, too predictable.

He finally gave you a small nod, almost imperceptible. “Take care of yourself, [Y/N].”

And then, with a final glance over his shoulder, Wolffe walked toward the shuttle, leaving you standing there at the edge of the village, your figure bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

⸻

As the shuttle lifted off, Wolffe leaned against the side of the ship, looking down at the small rock in his hand. He had no idea what it would mean, or why it felt like the weight of the universe was pressing against it. But somehow, he didn’t mind. There was something about that village, something about you, that had made him believe—if only for a moment—that there was more to life than just the orders he followed.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what the stars were trying to tell him.