bigbadbatch

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 12

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Chapter 12: This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

You sit there with Tup for what feels like hours, listening to the quiet in and out of his breathing. 

Then, a sound outside the door. A decision about Tup’s fate must have been made. You’re on your feet in a flash, the quiet forgotten.

The door hisses open.

Fives bursts in, eyes sharp, breathing shallow, like he ran the whole way, and floating in fast behind him, the same odd hovering droid from earlier.

“Fives?” you ask, heart already in your throat. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t stop moving, just nods to the droid as it glides to Tup’s side and begins adjusting the scanning rig. “We’re doing the scan. The atomic-level brain scan.”

“What?” you blink. “The scan Nala Se was just talking about? Fives, how do you… how do you even know about that?”

He finally pauses, glancing at the droid beside him. “Meet AZI,” he says, voice tight but clear. “He told me about the options. He’s going to help us save Tup.”

The droid pivots to you, arm attachment lifting in a wave. You blink, a little stunned, and return the wave.

“Hi,” it says in a chipper, automated tone. “Your presence is noted and welcomed.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Okay. But there’s no clearance for this. Nala Se made it very clear that this kind of scan could be lethal. Fives, this is dangerous. For both you and Tup.”

He doesn’t stop, he just stands over Tup, until his eyes flit over and find yours. 

“Do you trust me, cyare?” he asks softly. 

You hesitate for only a heartbeat, then you nod. “With my life.”

That pulls the faintest smirk from him. “Then trust me on this.”

Fives takes Tup’s hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “He deserves a chance. To live. To tell us what’s going on. Whatever this is, it’s bigger than him. I can feel it.”

You take a deep breath and steel yourself. He's right. This is worth doing. For Tup. For him.

The scanner descends from the ceiling, a hulking, cylindrical machine that hums. You glance down at Tup and carefully guide his gurney beneath the arch of the scanner. Metal clasps engage with a hiss and AZI begins the scan, the soft pulses of blue light dancing over Tup’s skin like waves on water.

The silence is oppressive. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on you, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat. Then, finally, AZI makes a mechanical whir and says, “Interesting.”

Your spine straightens.

“What?” Fives steps closer, tension sharp in his voice. “What is it?”

AZI’s arm attachment swivels slightly. “It appears this clone has developed a tumor. I have never encountered anything like this within your kind.”

Your heart catches.

A tumor. That could be it. The violence, the confusion. His mind must’ve been compromised, scrambled by whatever was growing in his brain. Your breath rushes out all at once.

“We have to take it out of him,” Fives says, voice edged with purpose. His fists clench at his sides, like he's already gearing up for a fight.

You nod. “Alright, let’s…”

You move quickly, too quickly, towards Tup, ready to pull him from the scanner cradle, but your boot clips a tray of medical tools resting too close to the edge. It topples. The instruments clatter to the floor in a deafening sound. You flinch, the blood draining from your face.

“Do you think anyone heard that?” Fives whispers.

You don’t have time to answer.

Footsteps. Fast and sharp.

Your eyes lock with Fives'. No words needed. The two of you duck behind the massive, shadowed tangle of the scanner’s external hardware, barely managing to squeeze between a support strut and a diagnostic console. You hold your breath.

The door slides open.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Nala Se’s voice slithers.

AZI, blessedly oblivious to the tension, responds with robotic cheerfulness. “I was following protocol. I discovered this clone has a tumor. The scan results were conclusive.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Nala Se’s voice rises, sharp and cold. “You conducted a second scan without authorization?”

“I was compelled by logic,” AZI replies. “The anomaly warranted further analysis. This unit’s programming…”

“This clone does not have a tumor,” she snaps. “He has a virus. Your scan was flawed. All will be revealed once he is terminated,” she adds with finality.

Your heart pounds against your ribs with dread. You feel Fives tense beside you, every muscle in his body drawn taut. His eyes burn with a fury he can barely contain.

Nala Se’s footsteps echo as she moves further into the room, berating AZI again, something about experimental procedure.

It's your moment.

Fives nods once. You both slip from your hiding spot, staying low, using shadows as cover, and exit the room silently, hearts racing. You don’t speak until the door to his own med chamber slides shut behind you.

Fives immediately starts pacing. “We have to get it out of him. Now. Before they kill him.”

The door hisses again and AZI hovers in.

“I have considered the data,” he announces. “I am confident that this is not a virus. The structure is inconsistent with any known pathogen. It is likely the source of the behavioral anomaly. However, removal may result in the clone’s death. How should we proceed?”

You look at Fives. He looks at you.

It’s an impossible choice. Do nothing and Tup dies anyway. Act, and you risk losing him on the table.

“Tup would want us to know the truth,” Fives says at last, quieter now. “He’d want us to give him a chance.”

You nod. “I agree.”

AZI hums. “His door is now under heavier surveillance. We will require an alternate route.”

He floats toward the window. A tool extends from his body, glowing orange at the tip. You watch, barely breathing, as he begins cutting a precise circle into the thick glass. Sparks scatter, but the cut is clean. When it falls free, Fives catches it before it can hit the floor.

One by one, you crawl through the opening and back into Tup’s room.

You move automatically to his side and take his hand again, and it is cold. So cold. 

“AZI… is this going to hurt him?”

Across the room, Fives stands guard, jaw clenched. AZI’s arms whir to life, tools unfolding in a blur of gleaming metal and lights.

“He is sedated. He will not feel it. But I must caution you, it will not be pleasant to witness.”

You turn away as the high-pitched scream of the laser cutter fills the room and the fight for Tup’s life truly begins.

For a few long, suspended moments, there’s nothing but the low hum of the machinery and your own shaking breaths. 

Then AZI lets out a sharp mechanical chirp. “Retrieving the foreign body now.”

You lean forward instinctively, pulse roaring in your ears.

From the the appendage of AZI a panel slides open and a tray slides out. Nestled inside is a narrow casing of glass. Floating within it is… something.

Something small. Something wrong.

“There is the tumor,” AZI declares, voice bright with scientific curiosity.

You step closer, eyes locking on the specimen. It’s blackened at the edges, curled like it’s been burned from the inside.

Then, the quiet is broken, metal footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The door hisses open.

In strides Nala Se, precise and cold, with Shaak Ti right behind her, robes whispering with each step.

Fives straightens instantly, face hardening as he snatches the glass casing from the AZI and holds it high.

“This is it. This is the reason Tup lost control. Not a virus, not a mutation, this tumor. He didn’t go rogue.”

Nala Se’s eyes narrow. “That is Kaminoan property,” she says, already reaching for it.

But Fives backs away, cradling the casing to his chest like it’s sacred. “No. This is evidence,” he growls. “Evidence that something happened. It might be happening to more of us.”

Before the argument can erupt further, a rasp breaks through the tension.

You all turn.

Tup, still strapped to the gurney, stirs just barely. His fingers twitch against the durasteel restraints. His lips part, dry and pale. “Free…” he breathes.

Fives is at his side in an instant, the specimen forgotten, both hands wrapping around Tup’s. “I got you,” he whispers. “I’m here, brother. I got you.”

But Tup doesn’t respond. His eyes are open, distant, gazing past all of you. There’s a strange peace in them, a stillness that’s somehow more frightening than the chaos. A faint smile flickers across his face.

“Free…” he says again.

And then he exhales, one long, final breath and goes completely still.

Fives doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His grip tightens on Tup’s hand as if sheer will can call him back. “No,” he murmurs. “No, no, no.”

You feel your chest cave in. 

Nala Se steps forward, voice clipped and cool. “Your interference has disrupted a critical medical operation. Your actions have consequences. Punishment will be necessary.”

Shaak Ti’s voice is quieter, but no less firm. “I warned you there were protocols, Fives. This breaks every chain of command.” She turns her gaze to you, sympathy flickering behind her eyes, but no mercy. “This cannot be ignored. I will need to report what happened here today to your superiors. Both of your superiors.”

Your heart sinks. You know what this could mean; court martialing, military tribunal, even dismissal from the GAR as a whole. 

Shaak Ti turns to you and continues. “I will go ahead and arrange transportation for you back to Coruscant.” 

Only for you. Not for Fives.

 “What about Fives?” You call, with Nala Se and Shaak Ti leaving the room and armed guards entering.

 Nala Se nearly seems to laugh. “Now that our subject is terminated, given the other clone’s exposure, we may need him for further testing.” 

Fear grips you tight and unrelenting.

 “Come along.” Shaak Ti says to you, and gestures for you to follow. You go to step towards them, glancing back at Fives, who is now flanked by guards. Your eyes wide, heart pounding, you do your best to stay calm. 

Fives stands there, a beacon of hostility and loss and anger, and yet when he notices your look, he shrugs off all that he can. He flashes you a little smile.

 “Don’t worry. See you later.” he calls. 

Just that little bit of himself, his personality, is enough to allow you to walk out the door and follow Shaak Ti into the unknown.

--------------------------------

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes @bimboshaggy

Thank you for reading! There is only two chapters and an epilogue to go!

[bigbadbatch]

Touch Me Like It's Treason ~ Captain Rex x F! Jedi Reader

☆ Masterpost ☆

➜ Summary: Master Windu just temporarily reassigned you to the 501st. Naturally, you expected discipline and duty. Instead, you found Captain Rex. Neither of you dared to mention it, but within the blaster fire, mission reports, and everything in between, something begins to change. Something dangerously close to treason.

➜ Current Word Count:

➜ Current Warnings (Updated w/ Chapters):

☆ Updates Fridays ☆

Chapter 1 -> Coming June 20th!

...

Chapter 30 ->

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 11

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

As Anakin says "This is where the fun begins." This chapter starts out the part of the fic where we follow Fives' story arc. It won't be a truly faithful translation, but atleast you know what to expect!

Chapter 11: ... Ready For It?

“Each of you take a corridor. That’ll split them up,” you say over the comm, voice calm but firm. “Rendezvous in the central antechamber, then you can hit them hard.”

Your command echoes through the helmet receivers of the troopers fanned out on the fringes of the hangar. You stand over your holotable, fingers darting across the blue-lit projections of the station’s layout. The ever-shifting geometry of Ringo Vinda station makes this feel less like a battlefield and more like a living labyrinth. The Separatists and Republic forces have been trading sections of the station for days now.

You draw in a sharp breath and refocus. The map updates again, one of the corridors just changed hands.

“Adjust your route, Torrent,” you warn. “36th corridor’s just gone red.”

This place is hell to navigate. It’s suspended in orbit, a ring station spiraling above the planet below, and its segments shift with each assault. One moment you're safe, the next you're boxed in. Which is why you’re here, in a makeshift command post in a scorched hangar, headset snug against your ears, eyes flicking between the holomap and the fading glows of blaster fire outside.

Fives’ voice crackles over the comm. “Copy that. We'll draw them out.”

There’s static, then silence. You clench your jaw.

The strategy's risky. If the enemy adapts faster than your troops regroup, they could be picked off before they even reach the antechamber.

But this isn't the first time you've played this game, not with him in the field. And if there's one thing you trust more than your own instincts, it’s the way Fives moves through combat like it’s a dance.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the console.

You take a deep breath.

This whole mission is riddled with what-ifs. New gear. New tactics. New risks.

The troopers have been outfitted with prototype blaster shields, massive slabs of durasteel alloy that can deflect even concentrated fire. You’re part of the research division behind them, testing this new material under real combat conditions. The shields work, yes, but only just. They’re heavy, cumbersome, and force the men to move slow. Progress through the narrow corridors of this hell has been inch by painful inch.

Still, they’ve been holding the line. Barely.

Morale, however, is a different story. The station's twisting halls offer little in the way of rest. No open skies, no natural light just endless enemy movement. The mission’s dragged on too long, with too few breaks, and you can feel the weariness in every voice that crackles across your comm.

Just moments ago, Fives had pinged you with a private channel.

“Tup’s not looking good. Head’s giving him trouble again. We’ll need a medic as soon as we pull out.”

You’d made a note, then buried the rising dread. You don’t have time to feel things right now.

You shake your head and refocus, eyes locked on the shifting dots on your display. They're in the antechamber now, just as planned.

“Fan out,” you call, your voice strong despite your pulse pounding in your ears. “Take cover along the outer curve. They’re bottlenecked on the left side for now, light them up when they push through.”

The comm crackles again, just a whisper of a voice this time.

“Any word on, hey, wait… stop!”

Skywalker.

Then silence.

“Repeat,” you snap. “General Skywalker, repeat transmission.”

Nothing.

You stare at the screen. The dots start to shift. Not forward. Back.

Something’s gone wrong.

Panic rises like bile in your throat. You tear off your headset and shove it into the hands of the nearest strategist. “Take over,” you bark. “They’re falling back, something’s happened.”

You spin on your heel and sprint toward the nearest corridor that intersects the antechamber’s fallback route. You slam your hand on the security terminal and open a channel to central command.

“Seal the Separatist corridors. Close blast doors six through nine, now!”

A beat of silence, then a loud, mechanical hiss as the blast doors slide shut one by one.

Your boots thunder against the durasteel floor, each step echoing louder than the last, louder even than your heart. You don’t know what’s waiting ahead, but if Fives is in trouble, if he’s hurt, you need to be there.

You round the final corner and skid to a stop just as the squad stumbles into the chamber in disarray. The tension is immediate.

Fives is dragging Tup into a side room, holding him in a restraint, the kind meant to protect more than punish. Tup’s arms are shaking violently, his head lolling side to side. Rex stalks beside them, hand on his holster. They get him into the room, and you see Fives quickly secure Tup’s wrists behind him.

Then the air shifts. A stillness falls.

Master Tiplee steps into the chamber, her expression hollow, eyes red with grief. In her arms is the body of her sister, Master Tiplar.

You stop breathing.

No, no, this isn’t possible. How did this happen?

Around you, the men move like shadows, posturing defensively, weapons loose in their hands, expressions dulled by shock. The silence is eerie. The kind that hangs after something terrible, before the full weight of it settles in.

You hear some muttering, rising from the room where Tup was taken.

You force your legs to move and step quietly toward it. You glance inside.

Tup is rocking slightly, eyes distant, sweat streaking his temples.

“Good soldiers follow orders… good soldiers follow orders…”

There’s saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth. His gaze passes right through you, like you’re not even there.

Your stomach knots.

Fives sees you.

He stands abruptly and slips out of the room. His face is pale beneath the dust and sweat, jaw clenched so tight you think it might crack.

“I don’t know what happened,” he says, voice hoarse, low. One of his hands grips your shoulder. It’s barely a touch, but it roots you. Anchors him.

“He just snapped. Killed her. Point-blank. No warning. It wasn’t him in there.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy. Before you can answer, the silence is shattered by a cry from the room.

Tup.

A sudden crash. Screaming. Tup launches himself with unnatural force towards the doorway. Master Tiplee flinches as he lashes out wildly, his eyes wide, filled with fear and fury. A Force user somewhere in the room, maybe her, maybe Skywalker arriving too late, throws him against the wall to subdue him.

He crumples to the floor, unconscious or stunned.

Fives immediately rushes back inside.

You snap into action, hitting your comm. “Medbay, we’ve got one incoming. Gonna need sedatives.” 

Skywalker and Rex accompany Fives as he half carries, half drags Tup out and down the corridor, following you to the portion of the hangar set up as a medbay.

—

The medbay is too quiet. 

Tup lays strapped to a gurney, unmoving. Monitors beep in steady rhythm beside him, charting his shallow breaths and irregular vitals.  Whatever’s wrong with him, no one has a name for it yet, but it’s something bad. Something big.

Fives sits at his side, elbows on his knees, hands twisted together. His helmet rests forgotten on the floor, and he hasn’t looked away from Tup once. The worry in his eyes cuts through you sharper than glass. 

You stand near the foot of the bed, just far enough to feel like you don’t belong. There’s a tight circle of voices in the corner of the room; General Skywalker, Rex, Kix, a couple of command officers. The conversation turns clinical, procedural. What to do with Tup. How to classify this. Where he should be sent for further analysis. You listen, but you don’t speak. You know there’s no room in this discussion for emotion, and certainly none for you.

Still, your eyes never leave Fives. You see the way his jaw keeps tightening, the way his knee bounces like he’s barely holding it together. You want to reach for him. Say something.

Finally, a decision is made: Tup is to be transferred to Kamino. They’ll do a full neurological workup. Kix seems reluctant, but agrees it’s the best chance at answers. Fives doesn’t hesitate, he volunteers to go. Of course he does. You could’ve guessed it before he said the words.

“I’m going with him,” he says firmly, standing at last. “He’s not going through this alone.”

The next few hours pass in a blur of logistics, prepping the med ship, authorizations, departure clearances. You’re not part of the convoy. You're told to remain on the station. You don’t argue, though it kills you not to.

You watch the ship launch from the hangar, Fives onboard beside his brother. You stand there long after they’ve disappeared into hyperspace.

You’re halfway through a briefing when the alert comes through. An emergency distress signal. The ship carrying Tup is under attack. Separatist forces. Your blood runs cold.

Why a medical ship?

Your mind races. There’s no strategic value, no prisoners of war, no sensitive intel, unless...

You storm into the command center, already formulating a plan before you hit the holotable. “They’re not after the ship,” you tell Skywalker. “They’re after Tup. They may have had something to do with his actions.”

He doesn't dismiss you. In fact, his eyes sharpen with realization.

You deploy your strategy fast, rerouting patrol ships, coordinating intercepts, buying just enough time for the medical vessel to escape. You save them. Not just the medics. Not just Tup.

You save Fives.

You approach General Skywalker with an air of confidence you most certainly fake. “Sir.” You say, careful to keep your voice in check. 

“I think I should accompany the men to Kamino. There’s clearly something going on, something the Separatists don’t want us to know. I can get a better look at things from a first-person perspective on Kamino. I can report back.” You say it all at once, ending with a quiet but deep breath. 

Skywalker ponders it, looks at you with weary eyes. “Fine.” He says. “I want a briefing if you find any patterns.” 

You nod and turn on your heel to go. 

—

Kamino is unlike any place you've ever been. 

The ocean stretches endlessly in all directions, crashing against the stark white structures with relentless force. Rain pelts down in sheets, so heavy and fast it sounds like blaster fire against the walkways. Wind howls between the platforms, tugging at your coat and cutting straight through your clothes.

You hurry across the landing pad, boots slick on the metal, head bowed against the storm. There’s no sky here, just a ceiling of swirling clouds and lightning flashes. It feels like the whole planet is holding its breath.

You make it inside, soaked to the bone. The interior is all chrome and silence, sterile and hollow. 

You don’t get more than a few paces in before Rex nearly collides with you, moving fast, his expression grim. His shoulder brushes yours, almost hard enough to spin you around.

“Hey,” he calls over the roar of rain as the doors start to hiss closed behind him. “Tup’s down Hallway A23. Fives is quarantined next to him. Keep me posted, will you?”

“Wait, quarantined?” you shout, but he’s already gone, sprinting back toward the storm.

Your heart thuds in your chest. 

Quarantined?

Why?

You set off down the corridor at a near run, the sterile white halls stretching endlessly, twisting and turning in a way that makes your pulse climb higher with every step. Nothing here is marked clearly. Everything looks the same. 

You're deep into the facility when panic really starts to rise, you’re turned around, lost. Hallway A23 might as well be a myth at this point. You curse under your breath and spin, unsure which way you even came from.

“Need some help?” a voice calls.

You whirl around.

A girl stands in the middle of the hall; small, human, maybe nine or ten years old. She’s dressed in plain Kaminoan grays, a data tablet clutched under one arm. Her blonde hair is spiked up and held back with a headband, and she wears a bright, easy smile like this is all perfectly normal.

You blink at her. “Uh… yeah,” you say, thrown off by her sudden appearance. “I’m looking for Hallway A23.”

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “Thought so. You’ve got the “lost” look.” She turns smartly on her heel and gestures for you to follow. “Come on.”

You hesitate just a moment before falling into step behind her.

“How do you know this place so well?” you ask, voice echoing a little in the quiet.

“I live here,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I know every corridor, vent shaft, and shortcut."

You stare at her back as she walks, confusion knitting in your brow. A child. Living on Kamino? That doesn’t make sense. You thought the only inhabitants were the Kaminoans, clone cadets, and a handful of personnel.

But there’s no time to chase that thread now.

She leads you with perfect confidence, turning left and then right, ducking through a maintenance bypass tunnel and emerging into a long, gleaming hallway marked A23. She stops at the threshold and grins over her shoulder.

“Here you go. Tup’s room is on the left.” She points to the sealed door next to it. “And that one’s Fives.”

Your stomach tightens. She knows their names? Who is this kid?

“Thank you,” you say, but she’s already skipping off, tablet swinging at her side.

You press the panel outside Fives’ room, and the door hisses open softly.

Inside Fives is pacing like a caged animal, red fatigues rustling with the movement. A medical droid hovers beside him, trying to scan his vitals, but he brushes it off with growing impatience.

The moment he sees you, he stops dead in his tracks. 

“Mesh’la,” he breathes, crossing the room in three quick strides. He wraps his arms around you with a desperation that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. “You’re here.”

He clings to you like a man who’s been drowning.

“They’re running tests on Tup,” he says into your hair, voice shaking. “He was… he was shaking, like seizing. Then he started screaming. And then they cut me off. I couldn’t get to him, couldn’t see him.”

You tighten your hold on him, grounding him with your touch. His heartbeat thunders against your own, fast and unsteady.

For a long second, neither of you say anything. The storm outside is distant now, but the storm in him is not.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed. “Wait, what are you doing here? You weren’t cleared for Kamino, you were supposed to stay on the station…”

You gently place your hand on his chest, steadying him. “The attack on the med ship. It didn’t make tactical sense. Unless the Separatists were after Tup. I pitched the theory to Skywalker. He agreed. I was sent to oversee security and check for signs of Separatist involvement.”

Fives stares at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “That makes sense,” he mutters. 

He shakes his head and grabs your hands again, grip tight. “They won’t let me in to see him. I’m being monitored, some kind of containment protocol. But you… you’re cleared. You can go in.”

You nod, already knowing what he’s going to ask.

“Can you check on him? Be there for him? Please. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Your heart aches at the way Fives says it. At how helpless he sounds.

You lift up on your toes and kiss him, just a soft, brief press of your lips against his. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’ll be back soon.”

You squeeze his hand once before turning and slipping back out into the corridor.

The door to Tup’s room is just a few steps away.

As you approach, a medical droid glides past you on its way out. The door remains open.

Inside, the lights are low, and monitors glow blue and green in the dimness. Tup lies motionless on the bed, expression slack, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling shallowly. Electrodes run from his temples, and strange readings flicker across the screen beside him.

You step in slowly and immediately freeze.

You’re not alone.

To the left of Tup’s bed stands Shaak Ti. You recognize her instantly, legendary warrior, member of the Jedi High Council.

To her right stands another figure, Nala Se, the Kaminoan lead scientist. You recognize her from the intelligence briefings on the trip in. 

Both turn as you enter.

“Hello,” Shaak Ti says calmly, though there’s a weight behind her words. “We were told by General Skywalker to expect you.”

You square your shoulders, meeting her gaze.

Nala Se tilts her head ever so slightly, her long, graceful neck swaying with the movement. Her vast, unblinking eyes fix on you, cold and unreadable. “The clone designated CT-5385 is in critical condition. Any unnecessary presence may be... disruptive.”

Your jaw tightens. “I have my orders.” You glance to Shaak Ti, hoping for reinforcement. She watches you with the calm, unreadable gaze of a Jedi Master.

After a beat, she nods. “Someone to watch over him and report back to General Skywalker is wise,” she says. “This is his man, after all.”

Nala Se exhales in a scoff. “Perhaps,” she murmurs, and gestures curtly toward the bed. “Very well.”

You take the seat beside Tup, placing your hands carefully in your lap. One glance at him, and your throat tightens. His face is paler than before, ashen and slick with sweat. His lips are slightly parted, jaw slack. Whatever’s happening to him is getting worse. Rapidly.

Your heart thuds in your ears.

A droid you don’t recognize glides over to Nala Se. Its voice is mechanical, neutral. “Might I suggest a second neural scan? An atomic-level scan may reveal what we seek.”

Nala Se narrows her eyes slightly,  “It is possible,” she murmurs, “but the procedure would be highly invasive. And if his deterioration continues…”

That’s when the conversation begins to shift. Technical jargon and cold medical terminology. You’re not a medic, you’re a strategist, but even you can tell the tone has changed.

Then you hear it.

“His neural patterns are too unstable. The subject is weak.”

“A full scan would risk permanent damage.”

“He may not survive another cycle.”

And then, “terminate”.

Your head snaps up.

Shaak Ti’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “The Republic commissioned the clone army,” she says, cool but firm. “We therefore bear the privilege and the responsibility of their care.”

Shaak Ti continues, “I will consult the Jedi Council before permitting any atomic-level scan. Tup will not be terminated until a decision is made. That is final.”

Silence settles like a fog.

Nala Se’s tall frame stiffens, but after a long moment, she bows her head with a small nod. “As you wish.”

The droid withdraws. The tension lingers. Then both Nala Se and Shaak Ti leave the room in a whir of robes.

You exhale slowly, only now realizing you’ve been gripping your seat so hard your knuckles have gone white.

You couldn't say anything. This isn’t your fight.

But the thought of Tup being terminated, no, killed in the name of data makes your stomach turn.

You lean in slightly toward Tup, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. 

He’s not property. He’s someone’s brother.

Fives’ brother.

You sit silently, the sterile chill of the medbay seeping into your skin. The hum of machinery surrounds you, but your focus narrows to just one thing, Tup.

His hand rests limply on the gurney beside him. You reach for it, letting your fingers curl around his.

It’s cold.

Too cold.

“I’m here,” you whisper, unsure if he can hear you, but hoping some part of him does. “I’ve got you.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading! I'm not gonna lie, this and these last few chapters I'm working on are such a pivot from the sweet little romance that's been built that its throwing me for a loop. I'm going to do my best to add romance where I can. I think the fic needs it- I need it atleast.

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes @bimboshaggy

[bigbadbatch]

Note to self: Don’t read @ct7567329 fics before work because it’s ALL you’re gonna think about all day. I can see it now- no work is getting done. Only daydreaming about this fic.

Just Five Minutes ~ Fives x F! Civilian Reader

Summary: Known as "Fleet Girl" throughout the 501st, you work as the Fleet Coordinator for the GAR. You might be skilled at positioning the Republic's Fleet across the galaxy, but you're also just as skilled at occupying the mind of a certain ARC Trooper. The feeling is mutual, but if you're going to let him know, you might as well make a statement doing so. Word Count: 6k Warnings: mutual pining, alcohol consumption, fingering, oral sex(m/f receiving), piv sex, aftercare (this fic is 18+!) A/N: This idea has been floating around in my head the SECOND I heard the song 15 Minutes by Sabrina Carpenter (listen here!) thank you, thank you, thank you @bigbadbatch for talking to me about fic ideas and helping spark the final idea for this plot! i owe you the world for this bc this might be one of my favorite things i've ever written. enjoy! <3 (note Jesse is not an ARC yet) join my taglist / masterlist

The message came through late. It was just past 1900 hours, when most of the day’s chaos was replaced by the usual neon buzz of Coruscant's night life along your walk home from work. You were still half-focused on the mental image of your terminal’s holomap projection, watching sector deployments shift in real time like some cruel, never-ending puzzle.

When you finally reached your apartment, you slumped onto your couch and pulled out your holo.

KIX: You should come out tonight.

You blinked, sinking further into the couch. Kix didn’t usually message you directly unless someone had a question about medevac protocols.

YOU: Define “out.”

His reply was swift.

KIX: Jesse and I are heading to 79’s. Whole squad, actually. Even Rex.

KIX: We haven’t seen you in weeks, so no excuses, you’re coming. We're already here, so see you soon!(Fives says bring your ‘tactical sass.’ Direct quote from him.)

You exhaled slowly, smile twitching despite yourself. Of course Fives said that. The 501st had just rotated back planetside after a brutal campaign along the Mid Rim. You’d been the one to coordinate the exit routes - making sure the Resolute didn’t bottleneck above Anaxes, that supply lines weren’t stranded, and that the 212th didn’t accidentally jump through a vector still marked “hostile.”

It had taken three sleepless nights and one very loud argument with a Jedi General who didn’t like being told his fleet orders were inefficient.

In hindsight, a drink didn’t sound so bad.

YOU: Give me twenty minutes.

KIX: That’s the spirit, Fleet Girl.

You rolled your eyes and stood, sauntering to your closet to pick an outfit for the night. Your fingers hovered over a soft slate grey top . It was clean, understated, and something you'd worn to briefings before. You dropped it immediately and reached for the other option. The one you didn’t wear for utility or protocol. The one you’d brought to Coruscant on a whim, never meaning to actually wear it.

The top was black, sheer, barely-there fabric that caught the light just enough to shimmer faintly. It was bold, dangerous. Underneath it, you opted for a deep black bandeau, with a subtle metallic glint when it moved. It clung to you in all the right ways.

You slid into the outfit, tugging it into place with a nervous tug at the hem. Then you reached for the tight black jeans folded neatly on the bottom shelf. As you zipped them up and looked at yourself again in the mirror, you hesitated. Was it too much? With Fives there, probably not.

You didn’t have words for what you and Fives were. Not yet at least, but every time he saw you, he watched you like you were something rare. Like you might disappear if he blinked. As you moved to the door, you caught your reflection one last time. You looked like a woman who had a plan. You weren’t entirely sure what that plan was yet, but you were sure about one thing. If Fives wasn’t already looking at you, he would be.

Twenty minutes later, the pulse of 79’s hit you like a warm slap. The music was thumping, the lights were low, the and familiar scent of sweat and synth-spice lingered in the air. The place was already packed, but it didn’t take long to spot the flash of blue armor in the far corner.

Jesse waved you over immediately, almost finished drink in hand. Kix grinned as he scooted over on the worn booth bench to make room. You hesitated only slightly before sliding in beside him.

“Didn’t think we’d get the mighty Fleet Organizer to slum it with the grunts,” Jesse smirked, raising his glass.

“Careful,” you winked, “I’ve reassigned men for less.”

That earned a laugh from both of them, and Kix leaned in a little as he handed you a drink. “We figured you deserved a night off.”

You nodded slowly, scanning the table. That's when you saw Fives.

He wasn’t in armor, none of them were, but somehow he still carried himself like a soldier in the middle of a battlefield. He was mid-conversation with Rex, one arm draped over the back of the booth and a grin curling at his mouth like he’d just told a joke that was meant to get him smacked. As if on cue, his eyes lifted and met yours across the table. He then turned back to Rex, his grin widening.

Kix didn’t miss it, “He’s been annoying all day."

“Fives?” you confirmed, taking a slow sip from your drink - which was horrible.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t shut up after Rex said you might stop by. Even tried to guess what color you’d wear," Kix huffed, “For the record, he was wrong.”

You dared a quick peek at Fives, before tugging at the corner of your top, dropping your voice to a teasing tone, "What? Is black not his color?"

Kix didn't even get to a chance to respond before Jesse started dragging people toward the karaoke machine, “You’ve got five minutes before I pick something embarrassing for you!” he shouted over the music, jabbing a finger at Kix.

“Like you didn’t already have a duet picked out,” Kix muttered, pushing up from the booth. He looked at you and winked, “Just wait.”

You stayed put as the group began to thin out, clones laughing, elbowing one another as they jockeyed for position in front of the machine. The screen glowed a soft blue, cycling through song titles from every system in the Core.

Someone started booing as Jesse scrolled through options. Fives was still seated, lounging at the end of the booth, half-watching the chaos unfold.

He glanced sideways, catching your eye again, “You surprised me." His voice was just loud enough to reach you over the music.

You arched an eyebrow, “How’s that?”

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

Fives chuckled, “Oh please. Kix practically worships the ground you walk on. Jesse might be in love with even your datapad. And me-” he paused, swirling his drink in his hand, “-well, I like a woman who can reassign an entire fleet with one signature.”

You snorted, “I only did that once and the troopers were very dramatic about it.”

He gave you an exaggerated eye roll, “You sent us to Akiva during monsoon season.”

“You needed air support and a clear route to pull the civilians. I needed you off Ryloth before the Seppies rerouted their fleet. It was a strategic win.”

“Well it was muddy,” he groaned, waving over a service droid for another drink.

You smiled into your glass, “Sounds like my statement about you guys being dramatic stands correct, ARC trooper.”

His grin widened like he’d just won something, “So you do know my rank.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference, “I know a lot of things.”

That caught him for a beat. His gaze drifted lower, briefly, before he leaned in just a little, his forearms resting on the table.

“Well, here’s something you don’t know,” he teased, “I’ve been trying to think of an excuse to talk to you all night.”

Your eyes drifted up to the ceiling, “You needed an excuse?”

Fives blinked, but before he could fire something back, Jesse’s voice cut through the room like a vibroblade.

“Behold the long awaited duet! A masterpiece of musical dysfunction!” The lights dimmed a little around the machine. Jesse struck a dramatic pose as the intro blared through the speakers - some loud, ridiculous ballad with high notes Kix had no business attempting.

The entire booth burst into laughter. Even Rex cracked a rare smile, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall behind them. Kix somehow made it through the first chorus without combusting. Jesse took every beat like he was on a stage in the Galaxies Opera House.

You laughed, real and full, your arm brushing Fives’ in the tight booth space. Neither of you pulled away.

“I didn’t think Rex would come out,” you noted between laughs.

Fives glanced at his brother, then back at you., “He doesn’t, usually. But Jesse told him you might.”

Your lip quirked, “And that worked?”

Fives tilted his head, “You’re good at your job and seem fun outside work, but you don’t exactly make it easy to know you.”

You looked down at your drink, “It’s not personal.”

Fives sighed as 79's erupted in laughs and applause. Jesse and Kix’s duet finally ended in dramatic, off key glory.

“Alright, alright, someone get Rex up there,” Fives called out loudly, already grinning in anticipation.

“Not a chance,” Rex grunted from his corner.

“Oh come on, you owe us after the long deployment,” Jesse shouted into the mic.

Rex raised an eyebrow, a smirk slowly spreading across his face, “If anyone’s going next, it’s little miss Fleet Girl over here.”

You nearly choked on your drink, Fives too. But Rex just continued to sip his drink and looked straight at you, “I think we’d all like to see what you've got.”

Fives recovered fast - almost too fast - his grin sliding back into place as he swiveled to face you, “Yeah, tactical sass and all. Let’s see it in action.”

You gave him a sharp look, “Still bitter about Akiva?”

“I still have mud in places I won’t name.”

Now, the whole 501st is looking in your direction. You set down your glass, “You boys really want drinks and a show?”

Rex tipped his head towards you, “We’re listening.”

You smiled slowly, dangerously, as you stood, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Jesse gasped, clutching the mic like he’d just been given a promotion to ARC Trooper, “Rex, I love you.”

The table whooped as you sauntered past them. You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You moved like the drinks hadn’t hit you at all with deliberate steps toward the console. The lights of 79’s shifted, soft blues and pinks catching in the shimmer of your black top. You didn’t need to look to know Fives was watching you.

You tapped into the song list manually. No one caught the title right away. Not until it loaded onto the screen.

“15 Minutes by Sabrina Carpenter?” Jesse announced to the table, “Oof, who hurt her?”

You adjusted the mic and let the intro play. Your gaze slid to Fives once. He was still in the booth, but when your eyes met his, he suddenly went very, very still. You smirked. He had no idea what was coming.

"The clock is tickin' lately

Guess that means I'm doin' something right

Been here a long time, baby

But gosh, I hope I make it through the night"

The first verse hits low and teasing. The lights above shifted again, throwing a soft violet hue across your skin, catching the sheer fabric of your top in a way that made your confidence look effortless, even if your heart was racing beneath it all as you moved onto the second verse.

"It's fleetin' like my battery life

Hard to hold on to like every guy

When you're hot, it's just a matter of time"

Your voice wasn't technically perfect, but it was smoky and sure, like it had been pulled straight from a cantina lounge on the upper levels. You sang the verse like you were telling a secret, like every word had a target. By the time the first chorus arrived, you saw him. It was go time.

Fives leaned forward in the booth, elbows on his knees, mouth parted slightly. He hadn’t blinked since the first note. Not even Rex’s amused glance beside him broke his focus.

"But I can do a lot with fifteen minutes just five minutes

Lot of pretty boys, lot of funny business

Take a couple bucks, turn 'em into millions

You, you, you know I-"

You altered the lyric, and as you did, you winked right at him.

Fives choked in his drink as Kix thumped his back once, half-laughing. Jesse let out an obnoxious OHHHHHHHHH!!! so loud someone from another table joined in without even knowing why, but you didn’t break rhythm. You kept singing the chorus.

"I can do a lot with fifteen minutes just five minutes

Only gonna take two to make you finish

Piss some people off, show 'em what they're missin'

You, you, you know I can-"

Rex's hands were cupped around his mouth, presumably covering how low his jaw dropped, his eyes darting between you and Fives. You let your voice curl and dip in the next verse, pouring the teasing ache into each line like you were writing it just for him.

Your eyes found his again. This time though, he wasn’t smirking. His jaw was tight and his gaze was like fire caught under glass. He looked like a man trying very hard not to do something reckless and maker, that made you sing even better.

The chorus came around again with another lyric swap and another deliberate wink. His grip on the edge of the table was now white-knuckled. You weren’t just singing anymore, you were practically hunting him.

By the final chorus, you weren’t even watching the crowd. They didn’t matter. The entire song had funneled down to this one thread pulled taut between you and him.

"Oh, I'll do it, babe"

You dragged the final note before dropping the mic into its cradle with a satisfying snap. You barely made it three steps back to the booth before Jesse let out a howl of laughter.

“Did you see his face?” he choked out, nearly dropping his drink as he pointed at Fives, “He’s malfunctioning.”

Kix coughed into his glass, not even attempting to hide his grin, “You good, vod?”

Fives shuttered like he’d just been pulled out of hyperspace without warning. His jaw was tight, one hand still braced on the edge of the table like he needed to hold on to something. Or maybe like he was about to launch over it.

“Shut up,” he muttered, slowly raising his voice, “All of you. Shut the kriff up.”

“Oh no,” Jesse grinned, sliding over dramatically to make room for you, “We’re just getting started.”

You took the open seat beside him, reaching for the drink you left on the table. You didn't look at Fives right away, nor did you have to. The heat coming off him could’ve powered a starfighter.

Kix leaned back, one arm draped lazily along the back of the booth, “He hasn’t blinked since you got up. It might be permanent.”

“I’ll arrange the med evac,” you shrugged, as you sipped your drink, earning yourself a round of laughs.

Jesse turned to you, shaking his head with eyes wide, “Did you change the lyrics? I swear you changed the lyrics.”

You hummed innocently, “Did I?”

“Oh you did,” Kix chuckled, still staring at Fives like he was a case study, “He nearly died when you said his name without even saying it.”

Fives finally moved. He sat back, running a hand over his face like that might cool him down. It didn’t. His ears were still flushed crimson. His voice cracked just a little when he spoke, “You’re all real funny.”

“Not as funny as your face when she winked at you mid-chorus” Jesse snorted, slapping the table, “You clutched the table like you were under sniper fire.”

You arched an eyebrow, finally looking at Fives fully. His gaze snapped to yours instantly like a direct hit. He didn’t look amused. He looked wrecked. You almost felt bad, but you smiled anyway, “Was it that bad?”

Fives blinked and took a long chug from his drink. He almost looked like he was calculating the fastest way out of the bar without starting a riot, “You,” he exhaled hard, “you have no idea what you just did.”

You let out a playful laugh, “Oh, I think I do.”

Kix snorted into his drink again, “He's going to need a full recessitation kit.”

Fives didn't respond, but kept staring at you like you were the only person in the galaxy - until he finally stood, “You’re coming with me.”

Jesse just cackled, loud and delighted, lifting his drink like he was toasting your funeral - or your success.

Kix leaned back with a low, amused groan, “Maker,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe it’d taken this long.

Fives didn’t spare them a glance and reached for your hand. His grip was warm, fingers curling around yours with a quiet urgency, like he’d finally let himself want this out loud and couldn’t bring himself to look back.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fast and loud. You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You didn’t need to. Your feet moved like they already knew.

He didn’t say a single word as he led you through the back corridors of 79’s, weaving past low lit maintenance halls and spare rooms until the exit sign glowed red in the distance.

The heavy door hissed open with a metallic shudder. The night air was much cooler out here, brushing over your heated skin like shock. You drew in a breath, chest rising slowly as the sounds of late night Coruscant traffic pulsed around you.

“So,” you began, breathless from keeping pace beside him, “are you dragging me to Unit 3C, Block 47, Level 5008, CoCo Town Residential Ring, or do you plan on hashing this out in the alley?”

For a fraction of a second, he stopped dead in his tracks, and the faintest flash of surprise crossed his face. A dark smirk slowly began to overtake the surprise as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter, “You must need a damn good memory to live here."

The walk quickened after that, every step between you loaded with anticipation. The city lights blurred past, dipping into a muted background as your focus narrowed to the heat radiating from Fives beside you. His breaths came in short, sharp bursts, and every so often, his eyes flicked to you like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

When you reached your building, Fives slowed just long enough for you to press the security gate open. He stood close behind you, his breath heavy against your neck.

The turbo-lift ride was mercifully short, but the silence between you was dense, but perfect for the electric tension crackling beneath the surface. The only sounds were the soft hum of the repulsor machinery and the steady beat of your pulse pounding in your ears. The soft glow of the panel lights barely lit your faces, but it was enough to see the tight line of Fives’ mouth, the sharp edge of restraint behind his eyes.

When the doors slid open on your floor, Fives barely hesitated. His hand tightened on yours as he pulled you forward with a sense of urgency that sent shiver down your spine. The moment seemed to last forever as fumbled with your keycard, sliding the door open.

You stepped inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you. Before you could move further, Fives closed the door behind you with a soft click that felt like the final lock clicking into place.

His body pressed against yours, trembling with restrained need. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours with a fierce, desperate hunger that had been simmering all night, finally unleashed.

The kiss was consuming, breathless, rough, and tender all at once. His hands roamed, memorizing, claiming, and every touch sent sparks dancing beneath your skin. The world outside, the teasing friends, the laughter from 79’s, everything. It all of it fell away until there was only you and Fives.

You broke the kiss just long enough get a few hushed words out, “Been wanting this a while, haven’t you?”

He closed the distance instantly, mumbling against your lips, “Don't act like you haven't.” Fives pressed you gently against the cool wall of your apartment, his body anchoring you in place. One hand came up slowly, cupping your jaw with a tender firmness, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path over your bottom lip.

His eyes flickered to yours, dark and raw with want, the earlier urgency now tempered into something more controlled but no less intense. The kiss deepened, shifting from the frantic need of before to a deliberate, searching rhythm. His lips moved over yours with slow, calculated patience, He was teasing and exploring now.

“You wore that just to ruin me, didn’t you?” he huffed against your skin. His breath felt warm along your jaw, sending shockwaves across your skin.

You smirked, letting your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him a little closer., “Took you long enough to notice.”

That sparked something fierce in him. His hand slid from your jaw, trailing down your neck, then dipped beneath the edge of your top, his touch feather-light but electric as he brushed over your skin. Every nerve ending seemed to flare under his fingertips.

You could feel his breath hitch against your cheek as he pulled back just enough to glance into your eyes. His hand moved with purpose now, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your side, the warmth of his palm pressing you closer.

The kiss broke, only briefly, but when your lips met again, it was an urgent and fierce collision. Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands at the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer.

A low curse escaped his throat, his grip tightening on your waist as if to keep you from slipping away. The tension between you felt like a taut wire, ready to snap with the slightest motion. Yet beneath the heat and urgency was something softer. Almost like an acknowledgment of how long this had been coming.

You laughed breathlessly against his lips, “You’re unbearable,” you teased.

He smirked against your mouth, fingers tracing a slow line down your back, “Only for you.”

His hands moved with confidence now, sliding under your shirt fully. You gasped softly, the sensation both new, yet somehow achingly familiar.

Between kisses, the quiet sounds of your shared desire filling the room. His mouth left a trail of soft kisses along your jaw and down your neck, each touch igniting sparks that traveled straight to your core. You leaned into him, the walls around you fading until there was nothing but the space between your bodies and the steady beat of your heart.

His mouth latched onto your collarbone, “You have no idea what I’ve been holding back.”

“What if I do?," you whispered into his temple.

Fives didn’t hesitate to lift you off your feet the moment the challenge left your lips. His arms wrapped around your waist like you weighed nothing.

You didn’t miss the slight wobble in his step as he carried you, the obvious awkwardness of navigating your apartment without knowing exactly where to go. You guided him with quiet instructions, pressing soft kisses along the side of his neck as you did.

You squeezed your arms around his neck, feeling the steady thump of his pulse racing beneath your fingertips. His chest rose and fell faster now, matching your own ragged breaths.

Once inside the bedroom, he set you down gently on the edge of the bed and pulled away, towering over you. Your shirt was the first to go, his hand working quickly to free you from the fabric. Fives’ mouth followed, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along your collarbone and dipping lower, his lips teasing and worshiping all at once. The heat from his mouth was enough to melt away every last trace of restraint you both clung to.

But you felt as if it all unfair - all the attention on you. Without a word, your fingers found the waistband of his pants, tugging them down to his knees. The cool air hit his skin and made him shiver, lips parting in a low groan that vibrated against your chest.

His cock was already hard, thick and heavy in your hand, pulsing with need. You wrapped your fingers around him, teasing the tip with gentle strokes, feeling the quickening pulse beneath your touch.

You stood up, released your grasp on him, and placed your hands on his shoulders, spinning him around before giving him a gentle shove onto the mattress.

Fives swallowed hard, his neck arching upward as you mounted yourself between his legs, your mouth warm and eager as you slid his pants off. You traced your tongue along the underside of his shaft, flicking just enough to make him jerk, eyes fluttering closed.

“So I have a theory to test about two minutes,” you teased, your voice low and sultry.

His answer was a ragged breath, tangling his fingers in your hair, pushing you deeper. His hips pressed forward on their own, desperate for friction. You took him in, tasting every slick inch.

Fives groaned, hips rocking gently as you bobbed your head, one hand grasping the sheets. The way he looked at you, raw and wrecked and entirely yours, broke down every wall you hadn’t even known was there.

When you pulled back just enough to look up at him, his mouth was glistening, eyes hooded with need, “You’re driving me insane,” he repeated for the umpteenth time.

Your grin was wicked, fingers curling around his cock to pump slowly as your mouth went back to work. Every deep suck, every teasing flick of your tongue, was a promise, a claim. The bed dipped as he shifted, finally shedding his shirt. His skin was flushed, the muscles in his arms tight as he tensed underneath you.

You reached down, your fingers brushing against his balls, he shuddered, hips thrusting again into your mouth. You hummed around him, sliding your hand down and wrapping around the base, matching the rhythm of your mouth. The sounds he made filled the quiet room, echoing your own racing heartbeat.

Finally, he pulled you up, lips crashing against yours with renewed hunger. His hands were everywhere, fingertips tracing fire across your skin as he claimed your mouth, your neck, your collarbone.

"A little overdressed, don't you think?" he groaned into your mouth, forcefully pressing your back into the bed in one swift motion.

Fives carefully peeled the rest your clothes away, each bare inch of skin he revealed making the ache between you pulse hotter. It was almost as if he was worshiping each moment of the act.

"Still think five minutes is enough?” he growled against your skin, hands settling just above your hips.

You smiled wickedly, “Depends what you have to offer.”

That challenge sent a shudder through him. Fives didn’t waste a second, his hands trailing down to the bare skin of your thighs. His fingers teased the sensitive skin just between your legs, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“Look at me,” he demanded, as he settled between your legs.

You complied without hesitation, watching him worship your body with his hands and mouth, his lips pressing wet, open kisses across your inner thighs, teeth grazing until a low moan escaped your throat.

His fingers slid inside you, slow and steady at first, in teasing, building motions. The contrast between his strength and tenderness was maddening. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the pace.

You shivered beneath him, hips lifting into fingers., “You feel like a dream,” you gasped, voice trembling.

"Then I won't wake you up," Fives groaned deep in his chest, fingers curling inside you, thumb rubbing your clit in hard, slow circles. The way your body responded to his touch left him utterly undone.

His mouth moved to your core, tongue flicking and swirling with maddening skill. The sensations overwhelmed you, and you cried out as he worked you higher and higher.

Fives’ breath was ragged, his hands at your clutching your hips, holding you steady as you shattered beneath him. The way your body clenched and quivered around his mouth left him dizzy and raw with need.

Without warning, he pulled his mouth up and crawled over you. His eyes met yours, searching you unspoken approval to continue as he positioned himself at your entrance. The lust in your eyes gave him every answer he needed as the sexual tension grew unbearable, every nerve in your bodies screaming for release.

With a slow, deliberate push, he slid inside you, stretching and filling you in a way that made you gasp and arch against him. He stayed buried for a long moment, savoring the way your body clenched around him.

The first thrust was slow and deep, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that left your muscles trembling and your heart pounding.

The moans, gasps, and curses you made filled the room as he fucked you with a wild urgency, as if he trying to erase all the months of longing and restraint in one fierce motion.

His hands slid from your hips to your back, pulling you up against his chest as he set a relentless pace, each powerful thrust driving deeper and harder.

You matched him, your hips rising to meet every push, nails raking down his back as his mouth found yours again in a kiss that was desperate and raw.

“Still think five minutes is enough?” you mocked his line earlier, breathlessly.

His growl was dark and possessive, “Not a chance.” The pleasure continued to build until it was a roaring inferno. Your bodies moved together in fierce, messy harmony

When you each finally came, the world exploded in waves of white hot heat that left you breathless and trembling. Fives’ grip tightened, his own release shuddering through him as he groaned your name, burying himself deep inside you.

You held each other close in the afterglow, hearts pounding in sync as the silence wrapped around you like a warm, perfect cocoon. Your lungs still burned with the echo of him. With your muscles weak and skin dewy with sweat, you felt like you were floating in a body that barely remembered how to move. Every nerve had been stripped bare and every thought in your mind was melted down to nothing but sensation.

Fives was still inside you, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you shaking from the weight of what had just passed between you. He didn’t speak at first, just breathed. They were deep, unsteady exhales that you could feel more than hear. His arms tightened around you gradually, like he’d only just realized you were real. And that this moment was real.

Then, finally, in a voice hoarse and full of something too big to name, he let it out, “What took you so long?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you whispered back, your forehead tilting just enough to nudge his temple.

He groaned, not in amusement, but something closer to disbelief. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to just do something, say something. But I kept telling myself I’d ruin it.”

He moved slightly, carefully easing out of you before guiding himself down onto the mattress. He didn’t leave your side, but instead, pulled you close, wrapping one strong arm around your waist and tucking the other behind his head. His body cradled yours easily, like it had always been meant to.

You curled into his chest, lips brushing against the croook of his neck, “You wouldn’t have ruined anything,” you half-smiled, tracing small circles into his side with your fingertips, “I was just worried that once we crossed this line, everything would change.”

Fives let out a quiet exhale, and the sound of it made something in your chest ache. He tilted his head down just enough to press a kiss to your hairline.

“I didn’t think I was enough,” he admitted quietly, like confessing it hurt more than any battle ever had. “You’re you and I’m just a soldier with a number and a nickname I gave myself so I wouldn’t be another reg in a sea of armor.”

You sat up slightly, bracing yourself on your elbow so you could look at him properly. His eyes were open but distant, lashes still damp, his expression raw with honesty.

“Fives,” you cooed, your fingers coming up to cup his cheek, “You are not just a soldier, and you sure as hell have never been just a number. You think I didn’t notice how you make people laugh when everything feels impossible? How you keep fighting even when you’re barely standing?”

His throat bobbed with a swallow.

“Even if it's just through the comms, you’ve been with me through every fight, every close call. You never let me fall behind when things when south. You've seen me at my worst. I've lost whole fleets, yet you still wanted me to come out with you guys tonight,” You brushed your thumb over his cheek, “It’s always been you.”

He blinked rapidly, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, “You mean that?” he asked, voice tight with disbelief.

You leaned forward and kissed the center of his chest, right over his heart, “Every word.”

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you back down against him, breathing deeply like he was trying to anchor himself with you.

The two of you laid there in silence for a while, skin against skin, hearts slowly finding a shared rhythm again. No armor. No rank. Just two people clinging to the truth of each other.

“I used to imagine this,” he said after a while, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “Not the sex," he paused, tilting his head to the side and shrugging, "I mean that too, but this. Holding you.” He lifted his head up slightly, looking at your head on his chest, "and waking up with you?"

You gave him a small laugh, half-asleep against him, “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I’m allowed to hope,” he hummed with a smirk you could hear, even if you couldn’t see it.

You then finally turned your head to glance at him, “You’re allowed to have anything, Fives.”

As the words left your mouth, something cracked inside him. It was almost like you could see everything hit him. Not just the physical intimacy, but the safety, the want, the idea that someone had chosen him not out of duty, not out of convenience, but because they saw him - despite everything - and still stayed.

“I don’t want this to be just a moment,” he exhaled, pulling you in closer.

You pressed a finger to his mouth, “It never was.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face in your hair like it might hide the emotion he wasn’t used to letting show.

The room stayed quiet for a long time. You laid there wrapped in each other, the sheets tangled around your legs, the bed carrying the scent of both of you. Your hand drifted along his chest, aimless, your thumb tracing the edge of the '5' on his temple. He shivered lightly at the touch.

“You cold?” you asked, reaching for one of the sheets.

He shook his head, “No. Just overwhelmed, I guess.”

You kissed his shoulder, “We'll figure it out together.”

He let out a hum and opened his eyes again, “So, just five minutes, huh? ”

You laughed, “You’re lucky I don’t time these things.”

He grinned, then leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. The kiss was much slower and softer now. One of those quiet, lingering kisses that didn’t ask for anything more than this. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again, “Thank you.”

“For what?" you mumbled against his shoulder.

“For choosing me.”

You pressed your palm to his cheek as if the motion could pull him closer to you, “There was never anyone else.”

Fives pulled you into his arms again, one leg curling over yours, his body fitting around you like a promise and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he didn’t have to survive alone.

You were here, and you weren't going anywhere.

if you enjoyed this fic please consider reading Reputations by @bigbadbatch

tags: @trixie2023 @clon3wh0r3 @melonmochiii @alice-in-wonderland111 @marvel-starwars-nerd @simping-for-fives @horsegirl4561 @koskareevesismyqueen @katelynnwrites @pinkiemme @youmaynowdothething @808tsuika @dangerdumpling @ahsoka-padme @persaloodles @soclonely @coffeeandtodd @gryffindorqueensworld @obiorbenkenobi @jedi-dreea @lightning-wolffe @msmeredithrose @orangez3st @alor-ika

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 10

So fluffy. Much needed. Please enjoy.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 : King of My Heart

You wish there was time.

 Time to grieve. Time to breathe. But war doesn’t grant luxuries. It only takes.

You and Fives have been stationed on opposite ends of the galaxy for what feels like a lifetime.

He was sent to Umbara, a planet shrouded in darkness both literal and figurative. A cursed place, if you believe the whispers. And after what little you’ve managed to hear from the front, you do.

You stayed behind on Coruscant, anchored to strategy rooms and glowing holo-tables, monitoring supply lines and coordinating smaller ops like someone moving game pieces on a game board. Every report feels like a shallow breath in your lungs. Every comm from the field feels like a heartbeat too slow.

And still, your mind drifts to him. Always. You count the days by the ache in your chest. The hours by the empty space in your bed.

You tried everything to get to him. Filed reassignment papers. Submitted encrypted requests through back channels. Plead your case to command. Even tried getting a moment with General Skywalker himself. Every request was denied. Without reason. Without explanation.

You didn’t understand…until you did. Fives had intervened. He made sure you were kept off Umbara’s deployment list.

Pulled strings, called in favors, maybe even lied. All to keep you away from the front.

Away from him.

You should be furious. But you're not. You're just tired. Tired and hollow in a way you can’t explain. Like some part of you got left behind the moment he shipped out.

You replay the last message he sent so many times, you’ve memorized the static. The frayed edge of his voice, worn thin with exhaustion. The slow blink of his eyes as he forced out one final line: "Stay safe, cyar’ika. I mean it."

You whispered it back even though the transmission had already ended. Even though he couldn’t hear you.

And now, now all you can do is wait.

He hasn’t checked in. Comms have been dark for too long. You tell yourself not to panic, not to assume the worst. But it creeps in anyway. 

You’ve heard rumors about the general leading the Umbara campaign, Pong Krell.

A Jedi, yes. But not the kind you're used to. Cold. Dismissive. Maybe even cruel. You wonder what kind of man it takes to lead soldiers into hell and not flinch. You wonder if Fives is okay. If he’s safe. If he’s still himself. If he will come back to you at all.

Losing Echo had left an emptiness behind, and writhing in that emptiness was a dark undercurrent of fear, one that whispered what ifs and worst-case scenarios whenever the comms were quiet for too long.

And now, the thought of losing Fives?

Kark, it’s too much.

The galaxy could split in half tomorrow and you’d survive it, but not that. Not losing him. 

You’ve come to a decision.

You’re done waiting. Done letting the war decide when you get to feel something.

Fives needs to know.

He needs to hear it from you. What you’ve known for weeks now but couldn’t say. Not yet. Not when he was being deployed, or recovering, or smiling at you like you were too good for the mess he carries inside.

You love him. It’s terrifying. But it’s true. And you're going to tell him.

Reports say he’ll be back in two days. Two whole days to turn your feelings into something real. Something he can hold.

But how?

A meal? Too small. A holo? Too impersonal. Besides, Fives has never been one for passive gestures.

No, if you’re going to say this, if you’re going to finally cross that line, you want to do it your way.

And suddenly, you have an idea.

Two days. Two days to get everything together. You check your savings. Working for the GAR doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough. You’ll make it be enough. 

The plan begins to unfold in your mind, and a smile spreads on your lips. You aren’t just going to tell him. You’re going to show him. You’re going to give him as much as you can, though it can never be close to what he deserves. 

—

The days speed by in a blur, nights short, lists long, and your nerves stretched thinner with every passing hour. You dart across the city tying up loose ends. Planning and preparing and worrying.

You want things to be perfect. Or at least close enough that he’d feel it, that he matters.

Then, a notification.

Just landed. Can I come over?

Your heart launches into your throat.

Already?

You freeze for a half second, your hand still gripping a datapad, before snapping back into motion and shooting a message in return.

Always. Ready to see you.

Butterflies churn in your stomach as you rush to your room.

You stop in front of the full-length mirror, bracing your hands against the frame as you take yourself in. Your hair’s pulled back into a loose braid, strands soft around your face. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of look he always seemed to like, nothing too polished. Just you. You check on the fit of your clothes.

Dark jeans. A dark top. Casual. 

You steady your breathing and adjust your necklace, pulling the pendant so it lays just right over your shirt.

The "5" charm catches the light.

Your fingers rest on it for a beat too long.

You glance at the time. Not long now.

You light the candle by the door. It’s small and simple, but the scent reminds you of him, warm spice and clean musk. You didn’t even mean to pick that one. It just felt…right.

Then you pace.

Back and forth.

To the kitchen. Back to the mirror. To the door. You sit down, stand up, check your reflection again. The light of day has slipped into afternoon, casting long shadows on the floor of your apartment, the light heating the room.

And then a knock.

Your breath catches. Everything stills.

This is it.

You open the door and there he is.

Fives stands in the threshold like a shadow of himself, armor gone, civvies loose on his frame, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises left by sleep he never got. There’s a slope to his shoulders, defeated and heavy, as if whatever weight he was carrying on Umbara has followed him back to Coruscant and fastened itself to his spine.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, pulling him in by the arm, guiding him inside like he might break if left out in the cold too long. You shut the door behind him and the air between you stills.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at you.

For a moment, he’s unmoving, eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize it, no sharp grin, no teasing remark, no fire behind his gaze. Just something unreadable and raw.

And then he steps forward and folds you into his arms.

His arms wrap around you like he’s trying to hold you and keep himself from falling apart all at once. His hand slides up your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt like he needs the grounding. His chest is warm and solid against yours, his heart beating hard enough for you to feel it through your ribs.

You hold him tighter.

Whatever he went through, he’s not ready to speak it yet. But his body is speaking volumes.

So you let him hold you. And you hold him back. Wordlessly. Fiercely.

“You’re here,” you whisper into his shoulder.

He nods against your temple, just once. You feel the exhale shudder out of him.

You hold him tighter, then pull away to look at him. He seems so tired. You place a gentle hand on his cheek and he leans into it, longing for the touch. 

“Missed you, mesh’la.” He mumbles, and turns to plant a kiss on your palm. You lean up and give him a soft kiss on the lips, mind spiraling. 

This changes things. He clearly needs to recuperate, rest, probably vent about this mission. Your mind drifts to the dark building a few blocks away, your plan lying in wait. 

Not now. 

You pull him to the couch and he sits heavily. You don’t ask questions. Don’t pry. You pick up your comm and place an order for his favorite local place, delivery. 

The soft whir of the cafmaker fills the kitchen as you pull out two matching mugs. You pour the caf, and the steam curls around your fingers, the scent warm and grounding. 

You carry the mugs to the living room, setting them carefully on the table before turning back toward him.

He’s already sunk into the couch, his elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor like he’s somewhere else entirely.

You hand him the mug.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice rough. He takes a long drink, cupping the mug in both hands. “I needed that.”

You offer him a soft smile and settle down beside him.

“Dinner’s on the way,” you say gently. “Shouldn’t be long.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, one that sounds more like release than relief, and shifts down on the couch. Without a word, he rests his head in your lap.

You bring your hand to his hair, fingers weaving gently through the dark strands, nails scratching softly at his scalp. He exhales again, deeper this time, and his shoulders finally relax beneath your touch.

His eyes drift closed. A long silence stretches between you, comfortable but taut with your nervous energy.

Then, he speaks.

“It was awful.”

Your fingers pause only briefly before resuming their careful rhythm.

“Krell…” he starts, then swallows. “He hated us. Wouldn’t even look at us half the time. Just sent us out, wave after wave. Like we were nothing.”

His voice gets tighter with every word, and he nestles closer into your lap, like he’s afraid saying too much will make it all real again.

“He tried to send us on a suicide mission. Had us fighting our own brothers before it was over. We had to take him down. Had to fight him.” His brow furrows. “It wasn’t good.”

You keep your hand in his hair, your touch steady, grounding him the only way you can.

“You’re home now,” you say softly.

He lets out a humorless laugh, a quiet huff against your thigh.

“Home.”

Another beat of silence passes.

Then he says it, voice low and aching.

“It was the first mission without Echo.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. There’s nothing you can say that will ease that particular ache. So you just keep your fingers moving in his hair, hoping he can feel everything you mean in that small gesture.

But something gnaws at you. It’s been there since before he arrived, sharp and aching behind your ribs. You didn’t want to bring it up, not now, not when he’s finally here and safe. But it claws its way out anyway.

“You blocked me from going.”

He stiffens. Slowly, he sits up and turns to face you. His expression is unreadable, but you can see the tension rising behind his eyes.

“I had to,” he says, more tired than defensive. “I’m glad I did. That place was a bloodbath, mesh’la.”

You hold his gaze, trying not to let the hurt show too much, but he sees it anyway.

“You can’t do that again,” you say, your voice firm but quiet. “This is my job. I chose this. I trained for this. I want to be beside you. Beside the boys. Let me do that.”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But you have to trust me to choose that risk for myself. Just like I trust you every time you step on a ship and leave.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees again, and stares down at the floor like it holds all the answers he’s been searching for.

“I’m sorry.”

You reach out and place your hand gently on his back.

“I’m not mad,” you say. “I’m just… scared. I don’t want to spend another night not knowing if I’ll ever see you again. Not because the war took you, but because you wouldn’t let me be there.”

He turns toward you, the anguish in his face replaced with something softer. Something that looks suspiciously close to guilt.

There’s a knock at the door, and you spring to your feet, half-relieved for the interruption. You open it to find the delivery droid standing there with its arms full. You take the bags, your hands barely managing the weight of them.

“Smells like heaven,” Fives says from the couch, already craning his neck to see what you’ve brought.

You carry the bags over and set them on the table in front of him. The second you release them, he dives in like a man starved. His stomach growls audibly, and he groans at the first bite, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“You’re the best. Seriously,” he says, mouth full, pointing a chopstick at you like you’ve just saved his life.

You sit down beside him, close but not too close. Your heart’s still beating too fast. He’s here. He’s safe. The plan you’ve worked so hard on isn’t totally ruined. Not yet.

You watch him for a moment, the way the color starts returning to his face, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders with every bite. He looks more like himself now, though still not all the way there.

“Want me to throw on a holo?” you ask, already grabbing the remote.

He nods between bites, a grateful look in his eyes as he chews. You flip through the channels and land on something light, some rom-com you half-remember liking. No war. No death. Just jokes and awkward flirting.

The holo’s soft glow lights up the room. You sink into the couch again, pulling your legs up beneath you, arms crossed, pretending to focus on the screen. But you can feel him beside you. His warmth. His breath.

Your nerves make it hard to sit still. You want tonight to be right. You want him to laugh. To feel okay. To know what he means to you.

There’s still a chance, you think. A chance to save the night.

A few moments later, his food is gone, devoured like a soldier who hadn’t eaten in days. He lets out a long, satisfied groan and stretches his arms above his head, muscles flexing under his shirt as he leans back into the couch.

“You not eating?” he asks, glancing at your untouched plate on the table.

You shrug, forcing a smile. “Maybe later.”

You rise and begin to gather the takeout containers, giving your hands something to do.

He shifts like he’s going to get up too, but you wave him off immediately.

“No. Sit. Rest. Watch the holo,” you say, more stern than intended. “Tonight’s about you.”

He freezes, blinking at you. “Me? What’d I do to get a whole night?”

You pause, hands full of empty boxes, and offer him a small smile over your shoulder.

“Consider it your birthday,” you say, teasing. “Because I said so.”

That pulls a real laugh out of him. He sinks deeper into the couch, clearly not about to argue.

You head into the kitchen to toss the trash, the laughter echoing softly behind you. Your heart’s still pounding, but there’s something different in it now. The weight of the his exhaustion still lingers but so does the hope that maybe… maybe this night can still be everything you wanted it to be.

You sink back into the couch, your side brushing against his and without hesitation, Fives lifts his arm and wraps it around your shoulders. It’s a casual gesture, easy and natural, but the way he pulls you close, like he needs you there, sends your heart into a flutter.

You let yourself lean into him. For a moment, the holo washes over the both of you, its soft light and background chatter filling the space. You're not even watching. All you can feel is the steady rise and fall of his chest, his hand resting warmly on your upper arm.

Somewhere in the quiet, you find the courage to speak.

“Fives,” you say softly.

“Hm?” He turns to look at you, tearing his gaze from the screen. There’s a soft smile tugging at his lips, eyes already half-lidded with the comfort of food, warmth, and you.

You hesitate, but press on. “Have you ever had a birthday present?”

His brows lift slightly, caught off guard. Then he grins. “Clones don’t have birthdays, mesh’la. Just batch numbers.”

You shake your head gently. “Well, today’s your birthday, remember?”

He chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “Right. Because you said so.”

You nod, holding his gaze. “So… you get a birthday present.”

That pulls him up short. For a moment, he blinks, confused. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up with a familiar glint of mischief.

“Are you my present?” he asks, voice dropping half a register. “’Cause you’re all I could ever want.”

You laugh, swatting at him. “No. Not me. But…” You trail off, heart kicking up again. “Do you want to see your present now?”

He watches you carefully, curiosity now full in his eyes. Then he shrugs, playful. “Alright. Hit me with it.”

You rise and offer your hand to him. “It requires a field trip.”

That gets both brows up. He takes your hand easily and stands, your fingers lacing together without a second thought. 

“Well now I’m intrigued,” he says. “Do I get blindfolded too?”

You laugh again, a little breathless from the butterflies taking over your ribcage. “Maybe later… if you play your cards right.” You shoot him a wink as you tug him toward the door.

You catch the way he stops for a half-second—like that caught him off guard. His ears are tinged with pink, the blush creeping up the sides of his neck.

“Maker,” he mutters under his breath, smiling as he follows you. 

—

Afternoon melts into evening, and the skyline of Coruscant begins to glitter under a soft violet haze. The shadows grow longer at your feet as you guide Fives down the walkway, your fingers still loosely laced in his. He follows without question, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement, casting the occasional glance your way like he’s trying to figure out what you’re up to.

After a few blocks, you stop in front of a low, nondescript building tucked between a row of taller structures. The durasteel door is industrial and heavy, the kind of thing that usually leads to storage units or old mechanical shops.

Fives looks around, confused. “Uh… is someone meeting us here?”

You shake your head, heart pounding. “Nope. Just open the door.”

He lifts a brow at you. “With what?”

You grin. “Your identicard.”

His confusion deepens as he reaches into his belt pocket and pulls it out. “My identcard?” he repeats. “You… got me a building?”

You let out a small laugh under your breath. “Just trust me, Fives. Open the door.”

He gives you one more bewildered look, then shrugs and walks to the panel. As he scans his card, the light shifts from red to green, and with a low groan, the door begins to roll upward.

It’s pitch black inside.

You step through the threshold first, flicking your hand out to find the switch you memorized earlier. “Come on,” you say softly, and Fives follows you in.

You find the panel and press it and the room floods with light.

It’s a compact, private garage, clean and well-stocked. Tool chests line one wall, wires and paint cans arranged in organized chaos along the sides. The air smells faintly of fuel and fresh paint. But at the very center, stealing the show, is a gleaming, bright-blue speeder, sleek, aerodynamic, the newest street model you could afford. White flame decals dance up the sides.

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.

Then Fives blinks, slowly stepping forward. “Wait. What?”

He walks around the speeder in awe, trailing his fingers over the smooth, polished frame. “Is this… is this for me?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s all for you. The garage. The speeder. The tools. All of it.”

He turns to you then, and for a moment you can’t read his expression. Shock, joy, disbelief, they’re all tangled together. You half-expect him to leap onto the speeder, or start digging through the toolboxes, but instead…

He runs to you.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around you, lifts you clean off your feet, and spins you around in a circle, laughing with tears glinting in his eyes. The sound of it echoes off the garage walls, rich and real.

“You shouldn’t have, cyare,” he says as he sets you down, voice catching as he wipes at his cheeks with one hand. “This is…it’s all too much.”

You hold onto him tightly, hand gripping his arm like he might disappear if you let go. “It’s not nearly enough.”

His hands find your waist, then your back, then your face, he doesn’t seem to know where to hold you, like he wants to touch every part of you at once. And then he pulls you into a fierce kiss.

It’s not soft, not tentative, it’s overwhelmed, urgent, bursting with everything he’s never said. You feel the press of days of waiting pouring into you through that kiss. You can’t help but smile into it, laughing softly even as you hold him close.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Want to take it for a test ride?” you whisper.

He grins wide, boyish and flushed. “Mesh’la,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth again, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He steps towards the speeder, taking it all in once more.

You take it as your cue, darting toward the corner of the garage where you stashed a weathered backpack the night before. You sling it over your shoulders just as Fives swings a leg over the speeder and slides into place like he was born for it. His hands dance over the controls, flicking switches and tuning the balance, fingers confident and eager.

He revs the engine a few times, and turns to flash you a grin so wide and brilliant it nearly stops your heart.

“Hop on!” he yells over the rising growl of the engine.

You don’t hesitate. You jump on behind him, arms wrapping tight around his middle. The moment your chest presses to his back, he’s off, no countdown, no warning. Just motion.

The city blurs.

Light spills across your vision in streaks. Blues, golds, and reds flashing past in long arcs as the speeder roars through the streets. Fives is a man possessed, laughing like a kid, taking tight corners with reckless ease and weaving between vehicles like he’s dancing through a battlefield. You clutch him tighter, your laughter carried off by the wind. Your cheeks hurt from grinning.

He zips through alleys and shortcuts, each turn more daring than the last. You lose all sense of time. All that matters is the wind, the blur, the weight of him beneath your hands.

Then you spot it.

“Take a left here!” you shout over the din, tapping his shoulder.

He nods and banks the speeder sharply, obeying without question. The alley spills out onto a smaller street, narrower than most, climbing steeply toward the skyline. At the far end, the incline grows near vertical, disappearing into shadow and sky.

Fives slows to an idle at the base of the slope. “You sure about this?” he calls, glancing back at you.

You lock eyes. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Always.”

Your smile turns wicked. “Then floor it.”

He doesn't even blink. The engine roars to life beneath you as he slams the throttle forward. The speeder lurches and you scream as the world tilts beneath you, the machine eating up pavement as you shoot skyward.

Wind tears at your clothes, your braid whipping behind you as the buildings drop away. Then you’re at the top. You see it, a flat rooftop just beyond a narrow gap, nothing but a gut-churning drop beneath.

“Faster!” you shout.

Fives whoops in response, the sound wild and electric. The speeder hits its limit, and then the road disappears.

You’re flying.

It’s barely a second of air, but it feels infinite. The weightlessness, the stillness of the moment suspended above the city, your arms around him, the stars above, the streets far below. Pure freedom.

Then with a hard jolt and a squeal of friction, you slam down onto the roof, the durasteel thrumming under the impact. Fives controls the slide effortlessly, spinning the speeder in a tight arc before kicking out the stand and killing the engine.

Silence.

Then laughter, both of you, breathless and wild, stumbling off the speeder like you just won a race you didn’t know you were in. Fives turns to you, eyes sparkling, adrenaline bright on his face.

He kisses you, still laughing. And above it all, the city glows, quiet now, watching.

You shrug off the backpack and drop to your knees, pulling at the zipper with fingers that tremble, whether from excitement or nerves, you can’t tell. From within, you unfurl a thick blanket, warm and worn, and spread it over the cold durasteel rooftop. 

Fives watches you with curious amusement, his brow raised, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You softly pat the blanket beside you.

He doesn’t hesitate. He drops down beside you and watches as you reach back into the pack. Out come two lukewarm cans of Corellian beer, a couple of crinkled disposable cups, and a small sleeve of snacks you’d tucked in last minute. 

Fives chuckles, that low, warm laugh that always makes your heart leap. “Now this is my kind of picnic.”

He pops both cans open with a satisfying hiss and pours the foaming drinks into each cup, handing you one before tapping his to yours in a lazy cheers.

“To the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he says, voice soft with mischief.

You clink cups. “And to many more to come.”

The city stretches out before you in all directions, a galaxy of lights. The air has cooled, but not too much, and the night is just beginning to wrap its arms around you both.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s comfortable. Still. You sip your beer and feel the tension slowly drain from your body. Another piece of your plan falls perfectly into place, and you smile behind the rim of your cup.

Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Fives breaks the silence. “This reminds me of the night I first kissed you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you take a long drink to hide your smile.

“I hoped it would,” you admit. “That’s how I found this place. I spent hours searching rooftops, trying to figure out where we ended up that night. Never quite found it. But this one… this felt close enough.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, his expression soft and open, then gently takes your hand in his.

“Close enough,” he echoes. Then he leans in, and kisses you. A kiss soaked in memory and gratitude.

When he pulls back, there’s something heavier in his eyes.

“Truly, mesh’la,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “This is too much. The garage, the speeder… this whole day. I don’t deserve any of it. I never did. All I ever wanted, all I want, is you.”

Your throat tightens, but you keep your voice steady.

“You do deserve it, Fives. Every bit of it and more.” You squeeze his hand, looking right at him. 

His eyes shine just a little, though he blinks it away. He pulls you into another kiss, a little deeper this time. Then he leans his forehead against yours.

You know it’s time.

This is the moment; now, here, under the open sky with the city spread below you, the faint buzz of traffic, and his warmth beside you. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. But the words are right there, burning the back of your throat.

You turn to him, just slightly, enough to see the soft edges of his profile in the dim light. He feels your gaze before he hears your voice.

“Fives,” you whisper.

He looks at you instantly, fully, eyes locking on yours like they always do.

You hesitate, breath catching.

“Fives…” 

You swallow, hard.

 “I love you.”

The words leave you in a whisper. You’ve rehearsed them a hundred times in your head, and still they sound so small, so fragile now that they’re real.

Your eyes dart away from his, your courage flickering in the space between his silence and your racing thoughts. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if it changes everything?

Your hands start to shake.

Fives doesn’t speak. Instead, he reaches out and gently takes your hands in his. You let him, the trembling steadied by the strength of his grip.

He squeezes your hands once. Then twice. Then a third time.

You blink.

And then it clicks. Every moment before this one falls into place like a puzzle snapping into alignment.

He’s been saying it. Every time he’s squeezed your hand like that; once, twice, three times. 

I... love... you.

It was never just a squeeze.

Your breath hitches, and when your eyes meet again, there’s no doubt. No question. Only everything you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

Fives leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath fan against your cheek. His voice is quiet, barely more than a breath, but it carries the weight of everything in his heart.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

Your eyes search his.

It’s not the first time he’s said it. He’d said it twice before. The words had always wrapped around you like a song you didn’t know the lyrics to, but now, now you understand.

You look into his eyes, wide with realization. “You’ve said that to me before.”

He nods, his smile soft but sure.

You draw in a breath, steadying yourself as you try the words for yourself. “Ni kar’tyal… gar…”

“Darasuum,” he finishes gently, squeezing your hand once.

You try again, this time more confidently. “Ni kar’tyal gar darasuum.”

Fives’ face breaks into something beyond a smile. The kind of joy that makes your chest tighten and your eyes sting.

It’s like the sun has risen behind his eyes.

“I will know you forever...that’s how we say it. That’s how we say ‘I love you.’” he whispers, voice thick now.

You’re breathless.

He pulls you into him again, burying his face in your neck as he exhales, shakily, like he’s been holding this breath forever. His arms wrap around you tight, grounding and desperate and full of everything he’s ever wanted to say.

“I love you.” He breathes.

You stay that way for a while, tangled up in warmth and night and love spoken in three languages.

And in that moment, everything else fades away.

Just you and Fives. 

‘Darasuum’…forever.

---------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! It was so fun to do some call backs to the first few chapters and how their love blossomed. This chapter really went through alot of iterations, but I hope you like what it landed on!

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 9

Slight smut, if you can even call it that, at the very end of the chapter!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9:  New Year’s Day

You burst into the corridor, feet pounding the durasteel. You need answers. You need to know. You need to be closer, even if all that means now is knowing whether or not you’re alone.

Because the not knowing is killing you faster than the truth ever could.

You have to wait days, the survivors stranded on Lola Sayu without a ship. No one will tell you anything. You’ve not slept, unless it was with your head braced against the briefing table. 

They should have let you go with them. You should have been there. 

Questions and worries thrum through your mind. 

Then, a prayer answered, a trooper comes in to tell you they’ve arrived.

 You run, faster than you ever have to the hangar. The room is littered with medics.

You hold your breath the moment the ramp hisses open, your pulse drumming in your ears like blasterfire. First the Generals appear. But not him. Not yet.

Then he barrels out of the gunship like a storm.

Fives tears off his helmet mid-stride, hurling it across the hangar with a hollow clang that echoes off the durasteel walls. His whole body is vibrating with rage, hands clenched so tight his gloves creak. Without slowing, he slams a boot into a supply crate, sending it skidding several meters with a crash.

 “Osik!” he shouts, voice hoarse, cracking.

Rex is there in an instant. He grips Fives by the arm, murmuring low and firm, trying to pull him back to something solid. You can’t hear what he’s saying but you see it in the desperate set of his mouth. He gestures toward you. Points, even.

Fives doesn’t look.

He wrenches free from Rex with a force that nearly topples them both. His chest heaves as he stalks forward, armor rattling with each step. Your heart lodges in your throat.

He's coming your way but it’s like you’re a ghost, he sees right through you.

There’s a wild, broken look in his eyes. You've never seen it on him before. 

You never want to see it again.

He strides past like you’re made of shadow. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t stop.

Just rushes by, eyes locked on the hallway ahead, the one you spent days pacing like a caged animal, waiting for news. 

Waiting for him.

You turn to watch him disappear into the corridor. 

You want to chase him. Say something. Anything.

But your feet won’t move.

There’s a heavy sigh beside you. You don’t have to look to know it’s Rex.

He steps up quietly, standing shoulder to shoulder with you in the stillness Fives left behind. The air still hums with the rawness of it, of whatever happened on that mission. You finally turn your head, barely able to find your voice.

“What happened?” you whisper.

Rex doesn’t answer right away.

His expression is taut, drawn in that way he wears when he's trying not to show emotion. But it’s there. 

“We lost Echo,” he says finally, low and even.

And just like that, the world tilts.

You stare at him, your mind blank for a beat before the meaning sinks in.

 Echo? 

The one who always greeted you with a gentle smile. Who stayed late after strategy briefings to help you rework simulations. Who made even the most brutal missions bearable with a dry joke or a knowing glance.

Gone.

“No,” you murmur, like saying it might make it untrue. Your chest tightens, breath catching in your throat. “Echo…”

Grief blooms, sharp and paralyzing, but it’s nothing compared to the realization that crashes into you next.

Fives.

Echo wasn’t just a brother to him. He was the brother. The constant. The one who had survived everything with him, Kamino, Rishi Station, all the madness in between. They weren’t just soldiers who shared a squad. They were two halves of something whole.

And now one of them was gone.

“I should go after him,” you say quickly, instinct kicking in. You turn to move, already trying to decide where he would’ve gone.

But Rex stops you with a hand on your shoulder. His grip is steady, grounding.

“Give him time,” he says gently. “He’s gonna need it.”

You look up at him, torn.

“But he shouldn’t be alone.”

“He’s not,” Rex murmurs. “Not really. He just… needs to feel it. Needs to break, before he can come back together.”

You nod slowly, swallowing the ache in your throat. You hate it. Hate standing still. Hate not doing something, anything. But you know Rex is right.

You cast one last glance down the hallway where Fives disappeared, heart aching in your chest.

—

You still tried to find him.

As much as you knew he needed space, every instinct in you screamed not to leave him alone in this.

You didn’t chase him outright. Checked the usual corners, the barracks, the observation decks. The place he sometimes snuck off to behind the mess hall where the noise of the base couldn’t touch him.

But he was nowhere. Like he’d vanished into the silence of his own pain.

So you commed him.

I'm here.

That was it. No questions. No demands. Just something to hold onto. A tether, in case he needed one.

There was no reply.

You didn’t expect one.

Still, you left your door unlocked.

That night, you lay in your bed wide awake, the dark pressing in too close. You shift again and again, restlessness turning your sheets into knots around your legs. Your arms feel too empty. Your chest too tight.

Where is he?

You imagine him curled in some corner of the base, armor stripped off, jaw clenched, breathing hard through the wreckage of grief. You imagine his hands in his hair, his back against the wall, his mind playing the same loss over and over again.

Is he okay?

The thought keeps pulsing in your chest like a bruise you can’t touch without flinching. It’s not just worry. It’s something deeper. Older. It’s the way you know him, how he jokes to avoid the truth, how he fights because he feels. 

You press your palm flat against your stomach, trying to will the ache away.

But it’s no good.

He’s out there hurting. And all you can do is wait in the quiet, hoping he lets you in when he’s ready.

The shrill buzz of your comm startles you.

For a moment you just stare at it, heart lurching into your throat. You don’t even check the ID. You’re already sitting up, sheets tangled around your legs, hope clinging to your ribs like a vice.

Your voice is rough when it leaves you.

“Fives?”

There’s chaos on the other end, like distant music, someone shouting. The kind of noise that doesn’t belong in the middle of the night.

Then a voice answers, loud and unmistakable.

“Ah. Yes. And…no. It’s Hardcase.”

Your stomach drops.

He sounds breathless. Not from laughing. Not from a good time.

“We need your help,” he says, “Come to that little bar just south of 79’s. The one with the green door.”

The next words are clipped, serious.

“Hurry.”

And then the comm dies.

You're already moving.

There’s no time to think, no time to feel the cold that rushes in when the blanket falls from your shoulders. You grab whatever clothes are closest, yanking them on with shaking hands, barely registering the way your pulse is pounding against your ears.

You’re out the door in seconds.

The hallway blurs around you as you run. The lift feels agonizingly slow, the ride down even slower. You don’t know what you’ll find, but you know why they called you.

And that’s what drives your feet faster, heart slamming in your chest like a warning.

Fives.

—

This certainly isn’t 79’s.

The speeder skids to a halt outside a building that looks like it’s taken a few hits too many, door hanging crooked on one hinge, shattered glass glinting in the low light across the curb like a warning.

You throw a handful of credits at the driver. “Wait here, please.”

He starts to protest, but you’re already gone, boots crunching through glass as you rush up the steps and inside.

The damage only gets worse.

Tables overturned, chairs broken, the sour stench of spilled alcohol mixing with smoke and something far more metallic. The air is thick with adrenaline and the bite of blood. In the dim lighting, a crowd has formed in a loose semicircle near the bar.

Your stomach turns.

“Thank the Maker,” a voice rasps.

You spin and find Hardcase stumbling toward you. His cheek is swollen, an angry bruise blooming across the bone, lip split and still bleeding. He grabs your arm, not out of desperation, but relief.

He doesn’t waste time.

“This way, he’s gonna kill the guy if someone doesn’t stop him.”

Your blood runs cold.

He pulls you toward the crowd, and you can already hear the sounds of the fight. You shove your way through the bodies, heart in your throat.

And then you smell it.

That raw, coppery scent you know too well.

Blood.

You break through the last line of onlookers just in time to see Fives drive his fist into the face of a male Togruta, again and again, knuckles already bloodied. The Togruta fights back, lashing out with a wild right hook that lands hard across Fives’ cheek, splitting the skin beneath his eye. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t slow.

Fives is pure fury, every blow powered by something far beyond anger. He’s not fighting to win. He’s fighting because it’s the only thing left holding him together.

“Fives!” you cry, your voice strangled.

He doesn’t hear you.

The crowd doesn’t move. No one steps in.

So you do.

You break into the circle, pushing past the blur of limbs and shattered glass. You don’t care about the danger. You don’t care that fists are still flying.

You just care about him.

You throw yourself forward, between them, hands out.

“Fives, stop!”

For a breath, everything freezes.

His fist is still raised.

His chest heaves. His eyes are wild, glazed, unseeing.

And then, he sees you.

Really sees you.

You can see in his eyes as the world comes crashing down. His arms go limp, and the Togruta skitters away, holding his bloody nose. Just then Hardcase and another clone you aren’t familiar with grab Fives by the shoulders and lift, all but carrying him out of the bar. 

You follow, feeling like everything in you has been emptied out. You rush ahead to open the door for them, and lead them to the waiting speeder. 

“Careful,” you murmur as Hardcase lowers Fives into the back of the speeder. Hardcase slides in beside him, one arm still braced around his shoulders, whether it’s to hold him steady or keep him tethered to reality, you can’t tell.

You circle around and climb in the other side.

“Same place you picked me up,” you tell the driver, voice quiet as you slip him a few more credits. He glances at the blood already soaking into the seat upholstery, but doesn’t argue. Just pulls away from the curb and melts into the dim Coruscant streets.

The ride is silent.

Fives doesn’t move. His jaw is tight, eyes locked straight ahead, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Every few seconds you catch the tremble in his hands, still stained with blood, not all of it his.

Hardcase watches him like he’s waiting for something to snap.

The lights of the city flicker through the windows as you ride higher, closer to your apartment. When the speeder stops, Fives shoves off Hardcase’s arm without a word. He stalks up the stairs, shoulders rigid, footsteps too loud in the quiet corridor. The door to your apartment hisses open.

He doesn’t wait for you.

You linger a moment, guilt blooming in your chest. You turn to Hardcase, eyes catching on the bruises dotting his jaw and temple.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Are you okay?”

He nods, wincing slightly. “I’ll live.” He glances after Fives, then back to you. “Just… take care of him, yeah?”

“I will,” you say softly. You give him a small, grateful smile and then head inside.

The door slides shut behind you with a muted hiss, and the apartment is still and dark.

Fives didn’t turn on the lights.

You spot him immediately, sitting hunched on the edge of the couch, elbows braced on his knees, hands limp between them. His head is bowed slightly, jaw clenched, breath still unsteady. The blood on his face is thick now, half-dried, painting trails from cheek to chin.

You don’t say a word.

You go to the kitchen, run a dishtowel under warm water, and come back.

He doesn’t look up when you kneel in front of him.

You lift the towel and press it gently to the split in his cheek, the one you watched bloom under the Togruta’s fist. 

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

But his hands curl into fists again, and his breathing hitches.

Your other hand comes to rest lightly on his knee, grounding him.

So gently, you clean his face, then run the cool cloth down his arms to his hands, and clean the blood from them too. 

No words are said. None feel right. 

You rise to your feet and extend your hand.

He still doesn’t look at you, but his fingers find yours. He lets you pull him up.

Without a word, you lead him to the bedroom. He follows, steps heavy, like each one costs him something.

At the foot of the bed, he stands still, barely breathing. You reach for the hem of his shirt, eyes never leaving his battered face. Slowly, carefully, you lift the fabric.

He hesitates, just for a second.

Then he lifts his arms.

You peel it off gently, mindful of the bruises and raw skin. Then the rest. This isn’t about desire. There’s no heat in it. Just care. Just the need to unburden him, piece by piece.

When he stands before you, bare, vulnerable, he still won’t meet your eyes.

You turn to go start the shower, to give him something warm, something soothing. But before you can take a step, his hand closes around your wrist, not rough, just sudden.

It’s only a moment before he lets go.

He doesn’t explain.

He just climbs into the bed.

You pause, heart twisting, and undress in silence. You don’t want there to be anything separating you, not even fabric.

When you slide beneath the covers, the space between you feels vast. An ocean. He lies flat on his back, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

You watch him in the dim light, your chest aching with everything he won’t say.

So you move.

You shift closer, slowly, carefully, until your skin brushes his. Until your body aligns with his side. And then you wrap your arms around him.

You hold him.

Firm, steady. Not asking for anything in return.

His heart beats wildly beneath your touch, and you match your breath to his, steady and slow, trying to lend him your calm.

And then, a breath.

A sharp, fractured inhale, ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. Like it’s been stuck there for hours. Days.

And then he breaks.

He rolls toward you, curls into you, face buried in your chest as the first sob escapes. It's raw. Guttural. 

You don’t speak.

You just hold him tighter. 

Your hand slides up his back, cradling the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as the flood begins. He cries like he hasn’t let himself in years, like he’s choking on it. Grief, guilt, fury, helplessness. All of it.

You let it come. You take it all.

Because that’s what love is.  And you love him.  And right now, love is all you can give.

—

You blink into the morning light as it filters softly through the window, painting warm gold across the sheets. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re warm. 

Careful not to stir too much, you shift, turning slowly until you’re facing him.

Fives.

He’s already awake.

His eyes are puffy, rimmed in red, lashes clumped together from the tears. The scrapes on his face are starting to scab, skin pink and healing. He doesn’t look at you right away. Just breathes.

“Hey,” he says at last, voice low and rough.

You smile gently. “Hey.”

It’s the first word you’ve spoken to each other in over a week. And it’s enough to break something all over again.

His throat works around another wave of emotion, and you see it, how close he is to crumbling. Again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice catching.

Immediately, you move closer. “No,” you say softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Don’t be sorry.”

You brush away the tear that slips free with the back of your fingers, careful not to press too hard on the bruises beneath.

He exhales, shaky. “Echo’s gone.”

“I know,” you say, your own throat tightening.

“I saw it happen,” he continues, voice cracking. “Right there in front of me.”

There’s nothing you can say to that. No comfort big enough to fill the hole left in his chest. So you don’t try. You just press your forehead gently to his, your hand still resting on his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and this time, the words are everything you mean.

He closes his eyes. Doesn’t speak again.

You lay like that for a long while, surrounded by the quiet hum of the city outside and the stillness inside your apartment. Your fingers trace slow, comforting circles on his shoulder, a rhythm you hope soothes more than it stings.

Eventually, he stirs. Carefully, he untangles himself from the sheets and rises. You hear the soft sound of his bare feet padding across the floor, then the hiss of the fresher door, the click of the lock. Moments later, the water begins to run.

Taking it as a cue, you slip out of bed, the air cool against your skin. You pad quietly around the room, finding the spare clothes he left folded on the chair weeks ago. You lay them out neatly on the bed for him.

Then you dress quickly and make your way to the kitchen.

The cabinets are mostly bare, but you find what you need. Enough to make muffins. Blonberry. His favorite. 

It’s not much.

But it’s something you can do, when so much else feels helpless.

So you get to work, letting the gentle rhythm of mixing and measuring center you, giving your hands something to do while your heart quietly beats.

As you stir the batter, your mind drifts.

Echo is gone.

The words feel impossible, like trying to swallow glass. Echo, who shared the same face as the man you love. Echo, who always made you laugh during the worst shifts. Who listened without judgment, who never made you feel small. Echo, who was kind.

You see him in your mind, on some cold, distant battlefield, alone. Your hands slow. The spoon sits in the bowl as your chest tightens.

Was it quick? Did it hurt? Was he scared?

Tears well, hot and unrelenting. You blink them away, but a few slip down anyway, falling into the mix without ceremony. You sniff quietly and wipe your cheeks with the edge of your sleeve, trying not to fall apart.

Because then, the thought that always follows: What if it had been Fives?

The image comes like a blaze, Fives, broken, bleeding out somewhere far from home. Scared and alone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

It wasn’t him, you tell yourself. He’s here. He’s safe.

And then you hear it, the soft hiss of the fresher door opening, footsteps across the bedroom floor. You drag your sleeve across your cheeks again, erase the worst of it, and lift the tray from the oven.

“Smells good,” Fives says quietly from behind you.

You offer him a small smile, not trusting your voice.

He steps behind you, so close you feel the heat of his skin before he moves. Then, gently, he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Not rushed. Not distracted. His lips linger there for a moment, soft and steady.

You grab a muffin and follow him to the couch. He’s already seated, staring at the floor, his own muffin untouched in his hand.

You sit beside him, thigh to thigh. The silence stretches out, but it’s not heavy. It just is. A quiet shared space where words haven’t formed yet.

Then, finally, his voice cuts through the stillness.

“I was thinking…”

You look over at him.

“Could we… ah.” His eyes drop to his lap. “Could I have some of the guys over tonight?”

You blink, surprised. But you nod instantly.

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t have to ask.”

He breathes out, long and low, like he’d been bracing for a different answer.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, “I want to have something. A celebration. A funeral. I don’t know what to call it. We don’t really do either of those things. Not as clones.”

Your breath catches as he continues.

“But I want us to think about him. To remember him. Maybe play sabacc. Listen to his favorite songs. Just… talk.”

You watch the way his hands flex around the muffin. How he can’t quite meet your eyes.

“I don’t want it to be sad,” he says softly. “Because Echo wouldn’t want that. But I know it will be anyway. I just…” He falters. “I just want it to stop hurting.”

Your heart clenches.

You set your muffin down, untouched, and take his free hand in both of yours. You don’t rush him. You don’t say the pain will pass quickly, because it won’t. But you hold him, steady and sure.

“We’ll do it,” you say. “We’ll honor him. The way he deserves.”

He nods, swallowing hard, and squeezes your hand. For now, that’s enough.

You smile gently at him. “Sounds like we have some preparing to do. I’ll go grab some drinks and food. You find a sabaac table and gather the guys?” 

He nods at you, smiling for the first time in days. 

—

By nightfall, your apartment doesn’t look much different. A few extra chairs pulled from the dining area, a blanket spread on the floor to catch whatever drinks might spill. The lights are low. Not dim enough to feel like mourning. But soft enough that no one has to pretend to smile.

Fives doesn’t dress up. None of them do. They arrive in their civvies. Hardcase comes first, a bottle of something strong under one arm. Jesse’s not far behind, with Kix in tow.

It doesn’t take long before the room fills with the sounds of shuffled cards and mismatched chairs scraping against the floor. Someone puts on music, something upbeat and cheerful Echo used to hum under his breath without realizing.

No one really says anything about him at first.

They just sit.

They drink.

They let the air settle.

Then Fives clears his throat. He sits forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees, the glass in his hand half-empty.

“I keep thinking,” he says quietly, “about how Echo always tried to lose at sabacc when we played with the shinies. He’d pretend he was thinking so hard and then suddenly fold every hand. Just so they could win and feel like hotshots.”

Jesse snorts. “Yeah. And then he’d take half their credits back the next week when they got cocky.”

A ripple of laughter moves through the room, light and genuine.

“And the caf,” Kix adds. “He always made the worst caf on base, but insisted it was just ‘earthy.’ Like that was a flavor.”

More chuckles now. Hardcase raises his glass. “To earthy caf and fake sabacc.”

“To Echo,” Fives echoes, voice soft but clear.

Glasses lift. 

Someone puts on another one of Echo’s favorite songs, and the mood shifts, slow and careful. The boys begin to tell stories, real ones. The kind they usually keep to themselves. Fives doesn’t speak for a while, just listens, his hand occasionally brushing yours where you sit close beside him.

When he does talk, it’s to tell a quiet story about a training op gone wrong. About how Echo once carried a rookie halfway across a blasted crater because the kid’s boot had melted to the ground. “Didn’t even hesitate,” Fives says, eyes far away. “Said, ‘Well, I guess I’m carrying him now,’ and just did it.”

There’s a long silence after that one. The kind that tastes like pride and loss and love all tangled together.

At some point, someone starts crying. You’re not sure who. Kix pulls them into a hug. No one says a word about it.

Fives rests his head on your shoulder for a moment. Just breathes.

You run your fingers through his hair, slow and rhythmic.

Outside the window, the city hums on like nothing’s changed.

But inside your small apartment, something sacred is happening. An unspoken vow passed between brothers to never forget one of their own. To carry him forward, even if they can’t carry him home.

The drinks are flowing freely now, a little slower than earlier, but still steady. The earlier tension has softened into something looser, lighter though the grief still lingers.

The music has crept up in volume, just enough to buzz in the air and vibrate through the floor. Someone turns on a dumb holocomedy, one of those slapstick messes Echo used to quote line-for-line when he was bored.

It’s stupid. It’s perfect.

The lights are dim now, mostly for the sake of the holo, but it makes the room feel warmer somehow, like the sorrow has been folded into the glow of familiarity. Candles are lit and line the coffee table and mantle.

You sit curled into the couch, legs drawn up, a cup half-full of something sweet resting on your knee.

Fives is on the floor between your feet, his back pressed to the edge of the couch, body warm and solid between your legs. His arms are resting loosely over his knees, and he’s deep in a quiet conversation with Rex. You can’t hear everything, they’re speaking low, voices roughened by drink and emotion, but you catch a few words.

“...He always said that holo was a masterpiece.”

Rex scoffs gently. “It was garbage.”

Fives laughs, the sound a little rusty but genuine. “Yeah. That’s why he loved it.”

You smile and lean forward, your fingers gently threading through Fives’ curls. He doesn’t say anything about it, but you feel him relax just slightly under your touch, head tilting back the tiniest bit as if to meet your hand. You drag your nails lightly over his scalp and feel his breath hitch softly.

The holo plays on. Laughter rises and falls. For the first time in too long, everything is… okay.

Not perfect. Not fixed.

But okay.

You look around the room, at the boys slouched over one another, at the empty glasses and crumbs of snacks long gone, at the way the shadows catch on familiar faces. 

And you realize this is the funeral. This is the celebration. This is what remembrance looks like when it comes from the hearts of soldiers who were never meant to have a future to mourn.

It’s found in the way they stay a little longer than they need to. In the way no one looks at the door. In the way someone brings Echo’s favorite snack without being asked, and how no one touches it, but no one throws it out either.

Fives glances up at you, finally, and his expression is softer than you’ve seen in days.

You brush a curl behind his ear and lean down just slightly, pressing your forehead to the top of his head. He closes his eyes.

You stay like that until the holo ends and the room begins to slowly empty, boots dragging across the floor as the others start to slip out with murmured goodbyes and tired, grateful smiles.

As the door hisses closed behind the last of the boys, silence settles over the apartment like a warm blanket. Not the heavy silence of grief, but the kind that comes after long laughter, after tears have run their course. The kind that says you made it through the night.

You stretch with a groan, arms reaching up and over your head. Fives does the same beside you, making an exaggerated show of it.

You laugh, and he laughs with you. The sound is lighter now, freer.

Then, without warning, he hops up onto the couch, slipping into the space beside you. You expect him to flop, to sprawl like he usually does, but instead, he slides his arms around your shoulders and tugs you close.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice soft against your temple. “For everything.”

You smile and rest your hand lightly over his heart. “Of course.”

You sit like that for a breath, then two. The hush in the room stretches, not awkward, not uncertain, but sure.

When you lean back just a little to look at him, Fives doesn't let you go. His arms stay wrapped around you, his body flush against yours. And his eyes… they lock onto yours like they’re trying to say everything he hasn’t found the words for.

Your breath catches.

His does too.

Your hands find the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling there. His thumb brushes along your spine, featherlight.

You don’t move. Neither of you speaks.

The air between you hums with possibility. With grief. For you, with love. With a thousand things that haven’t been said but are understood all the same.

Fives leans in, just barely.

Your lips meet. 

The kiss is gentle at first, but deep, like a tide pulling you under. Everything you’ve both been holding in bleeds into it: the grief, the fear, the longing, the ache of days spent apart, and the unspoken promise that neither of you wants to feel alone anymore.

It isn’t rushed. It isn’t wild.

It’s slow. Steady. 

Fives kisses like he’s memorizing you, like your lips are the only thing tethering him to the moment. His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as your mouths find a rhythm older than words. Your hands roam his back, curling into the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

It just seems to happen. Naturally. Inevitably.

One moment you’re on the couch, tangled up in each other, and the next you’re on the floor in the nest of pillows and blankets the boys had lounged on earlier. The lights are still low. A forgotten song hums softly in the background. But all of it fades.

All that matters is the heat of his skin against yours, the way he breathes your name like a prayer when he breaks the kiss just to press his forehead to yours.

There’s no rush. No hunger for escape. Just the steady unraveling of two people who’ve carried too much, for too long, finding solace in the only place that makes sense, in each other.

You help him out of his shirt, and he returns the care you gave him the night before, peeling away your layers like they’re sacred. It’s not about lust, not really. 

It’s about being seen. Being held.

It’s about surrender.

It should make no sense. A night of mourning. A night of remembering someone you both loved.

And yet, here you are.

Giving yourselves completely to each other, not in spite of the grief, but because of it.

Because something this deep, this fierce, needs somewhere to go. And tonight, it finds its place in whispered gasps and held hands and the way your bodies curl into one another like two halves that have finally come home.

You fall asleep there, still tangled on the floor, limbs wrapped, breath shared, the faintest ghost of a smile on Fives’ lips as his chest rises and falls against yours.

The room is quiet now, the hum of the city outside softened to a lullaby. The last embers of the evening flicker low, music gone, laughter faded, shadows long. All that remains is the warmth of his arms around you and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Your bodies are still tangled in the blankets on the floor, the comfort of closeness stronger than anything a bed could offer.

You shift slightly, your cheek pressed against his chest, and feel his lips brush the top of your head.

Then, so softly you almost don’t catch it, he whispers

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

A beat passes.

Again, this time even quieter. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

You’ve heard it before in his mutterings one night. You hadn’t known what it meant then. You don’t know now.

But you’re too tired to ask. Too safe to worry.

You sigh against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, and let yourself surrender to sleep. In his arms, you’re weightless. In his arms, the ache softens. 

You are finally at peace.

And for the first time since he lost his brother, since the world shifted beneath his feet

…so is he.

----------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. This is probably the saddest, or second saddest scene of this fic! Itll be up from here. It's so funny, Chapter 8 was my favorite to write, and this so far my least, just because I love Echo so much and hate this part.

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 8

Warning there is heavy smut in this scene. It will be marked by ***. There are public scenes, so be wary if that doesn't interest you.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8: So It Goes… 

Headquarters feels sterile and slow after everything that happened yesterday. The artificial lights overhead hum softly.

 It's hard to believe that barely twenty-four hours ago you were in the middle of a sun-scorched hellscape, the air thick with dust and danger.

 Now you’re surrounded by silence, safe. Fresh clothes cling to your still-damp skin, your hair twisted up hastily after a long-overdue shower aboard the ship. 

The warm water had done little to loosen the ache in your muscles or the static in your mind. You should go home. You want to go home. Collapse into bed and pretend things are simple again. 

Maybe not alone though, Fives had barely let your fingers slip from his before he was pulled into a debrief with Rex and the rest of the command staff, leaving you standing there in the vast white emptiness of HQ.

You drift now, half in reality, half somewhere else. Each step down the corridor echoes too loudly in your ears, your senses still tuned to threat. A shadow crosses the wall and you flinch. Somewhere in your memory, wings beat the air. Your heart stutters.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft but immediate, like an anchor thrown into stormy seas. Your head jerks up, and your eyes snap toward the sound, wide and blinking.

Echo.

He’s standing just a few feet away, still in partial armor, a sheen of sweat at his temple like he never stopped moving. His eyes study you carefully, and his voice comes again, lower this time. 

“You alright?”

You nod, but your lips part like you might say something. You don’t. Your throat tightens.

He steps closer, one brow lifting as he slows to a stop in front of you. “You look like you’re still out there.”

You give a soft, humorless breath. “Feels like I am.”

Echo glances down the empty hall and then back at you, his gaze gentle but sure. “You don’t have to walk it off alone.”

Echo falls into step beside you, his presence calm and grounding. He reaches out and gives your shoulder a light, reassuring pat. That’s just how he is, steady and thoughtful. There’s a quiet strength to him, something unshakable. It’s no wonder he’s Fives’ closest friend, his brother in every way. They’ve served together since the beginning, even being in their first squad together.

“You know…” he starts, voice low and gentle, “the first one’s always the worst.”

You glance over at him, brows drawing faintly.

“Well,” he amends with a rueful tilt of his head, “the first and the last. But you get used to it. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You give a small, tired nod. There’s nothing in you left to argue with. Your body feels like it's made of lead, your skin tight with exhaustion. The silence stretches just long enough for your mind to drift before a yawn sneaks up on you, crawling up from your spine and catching you off guard.

Echo laughs softly beside you, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s normal too. After my first mission, I think I slept for two straight days. Fives was out for three.” he grins. “You need rest.”

You nod again, trying to shake off the fatigue. “I wish. General Skywalker wants this.” You hold up the datapad in your hand like it’s cursed. “He wants to go over the mission report before final dispatch. Said it couldn’t wait.”

You look down at the device, loathing it with everything you have left, willing it to just vanish, to free you from one more responsibility.

It disappears.

You blink, and realize Echo’s taken it from your hands.

“I’ve got it,” he says easily. “You go home. Sleep. You’ve done enough.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but the words fumble and fall somewhere between your chest and your throat. He’s already turning, datapad tucked under one arm. You should fight him on this but you’re too tired, and deep down, you don’t want to.

“Thank you,” you murmur, voice thin but honest.

He just nods without looking back. 

“Anytime.”

And as he walks away, you’re left standing in the quiet corridor, lighter by only a few ounces but it feels like a world’s weight has been lifted.

You barely remember getting into the speeder, let alone giving the driver your address. The plush backseat cradles you all too well, and you spend most of the ride fighting to stay conscious, your head lolling gently with every turn. The city blurs by the window in streaks of light and color, and even that feels far away, like something happening to someone else.

By the time you reach your building, you’re more ghost than person. The hallway tilts a little as you walk it, and the door to your apartment feels like it opens in slow motion, dragging the weight of the day behind it. The second you cross the threshold, everything crashes down on you, and there's a new ache in your bones. The sheer cost of the past week settles over your shoulders like a leaden blanket.

You don’t even make it to the bedroom.

The couch rises to meet you halfway, and the second your body hits the cushions, you’re gone. No thoughts, no dreams, just dark, endless sleep. A kind of floating where even the silence feels heavy.

Time loses meaning.

And then warmth.

Not from a blanket, but from arms. One slips beneath your knees, the other curls around your back, careful and steady. You’re lifted easily, swaying slightly with the rhythm of careful footsteps. You barely rouse, just enough for the world to shimmer into awareness at the edges.

A familiar scent clings to the armor against your side, sun-warmed plastoid and a hint of spice.

Fives.

Even half-asleep, you know it’s him. You can feel it in the way he holds you.

His voice is a murmur against your temple, barely there. “You didn’t even make it to bed, cyare.”

You want to answer, to lift your head or maybe say his name, but your body won’t cooperate. So you let yourself be carried, lulled by the soft sound of his breath and the steady cadence of his steps.

The bedroom door opens with a quiet hiss, and he shifts you in his arms just enough to pull the covers back before settling you down into the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight, the sheets cool against your skin. 

Fives brushes your hair back gently, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he pulls the blanket up over your shoulders. You hear him strip himself of his armor and feel the dip of the bed as he crawls in beside you.

You don’t see him smile, but you feel it in the kiss he presses to your forehead.

“Sleep. I’ve got you.” he whispers as his arms wrap around yours. 

You do. 

—

You blink awake, your lashes fluttering against the soft haze of half-sleep. For a split second, your body expects the sharp brightness of morning, the typical bite of sunlight spilling across your sheets, but it isn’t morning.

 Instead, the room is bathed in the warm, dusky hues of a setting sun, streaks of violet and rose painted across the wall opposite your window.

Your muscles ache as you stretch, a slow, indulgent ripple of motion that draws a quiet laugh from the other side of the bed.

"Finally," comes the familiar voice. “There she is.”

You roll toward the sound, and your breath catches just a little at the sight of him.

He’s lounging beside you, half-propped on one elbow, his other hand lazily tracing circles on the blanket between you. His golden-brown skin practically glows in the dim light, like he was sculpted from the sunset itself.

 The harsh lines of yesterday, of Geonosis, are gone, washed clean. His curls are still damp, combed back from his forehead, and he wears a black tank, sweatpants, freshly changed. 

“You were out cold,” he says, his voice softening. “I was starting to think you’d sleep through the whole night.”

There’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, lopsided and tender.

Your heart flips at the sound of his voice alone.

This is the first time you’ve been truly alone together since everything shifted, since the fire and revelation of Geonosis.

You swallow past the knot in your throat as he reaches over, fingers threading gently through your hair. The gesture is instinctive, reverent. It makes you lean into his hand without thinking.

“How long was I asleep?” you murmur, your voice still coated in sleep, cracking slightly as you stretch your limbs again.

Fives chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through your chest like it’s yours to keep. “Well, Echo told me he sent you straight home the second we landed. That was… hours ago. Sunset now, cyare. You slept through the whole day.”

Your eyes widen a little, but before you can speak, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. His lips linger there, warm and grounding.

“And you can sleep more, if you want,” he whispers into your skin. “Don’t even think about pushing yourself too soon. Rest as long as you need. I’ll be right here.”

You sit up slowly, the world still sluggish at the edges, but somehow more bearable with him in it. His hand slides gently down your back as you move, like he’s still afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

And for the first time in what feels like days, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself feel safe.

Here. With him.

You crawl across the soft, rumpled expanse of the bed, your limbs still heavy with sleep, until you reach him. His warmth pulls you in like gravity. You let your head settle on his chest, curling into him with a sigh so content it feels like it comes from your soul. 

His arm comes around you without hesitation, a quiet, instinctive motion, and his chest rises and falls beneath your cheek in a slow, steady rhythm that grounds you.

For a moment, everything is still.

 His hand slips beneath your shirt, the pads of his fingers grazing your bare skin in slow, lazy patterns, gentle and grounding, like he’s memorizing you by touch. You melt into the feeling, heart thudding softly under his touch.

But your mind won’t stay still.

It drifts to Geonosis, to that outpost, to the roar of blaster fire in the distance and the shadows cast by the low lights when the two of you finally stopped running. When he looked at you and you saw him clearly. 

That was the moment everything changed.

A warmth stirs low in your belly, curling up your spine like heat from a flame. Hunger, yes, but not for food. For closeness. For certainty. Your chest feels strange. Too full and too empty all at once. This tight ache behind your ribs isn’t just adrenaline. It’s something else.

Maybe you should tell him.

Now, while it’s quiet. While the world is hushed and safe and there’s no armor between you. You rise, slowly, pushing up onto your hands so you can look down at him. He follows your motion, propping himself on his elbows, eyes already on you.

“Mesh’la?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate, words clashing in your mind. There’s so much to say but where do you even begin?

“I… uh…” you start, throat suddenly dry. Your eyes search his. Do you tell him what you felt that night? What you feel now?

But before you can find the courage, a knock sounds from the door, sharp and distant, like it belongs to another world entirely.

The moment shatters like glass.

Fives groans softly as you slide off the bed, and he follows you. You pad barefoot to the door, heartbeat still racing with everything unsaid.

On the other side, you hear voices. Familiar ones.

You open the door to find Echo, Rex, and a handful of others clustered together, still in casual fatigues, some already grinning with the thrill of being off-duty.

“She lives!” Hardcase crows, raising his arms in mock celebration before Echo elbows him in the ribs.

Rex gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry if we woke you. We were just heading out and figured we’d celebrate a little after the success on Geonosis. Wanted to see if you, both of you, wanted to come.”

You blink.

 Success? 

Your mind flashes again to the fallen trooper, the shiny who didn’t make it. The blood in the sand. The strain in Fives’ voice as he shouted over comms. It doesn’t feel like success. Not to you.

But to them, it is. The mission was completed. Objectives met. Boxes checked. So they celebrate. Because if they don’t… what else is there?

Fives steps in behind you, crossing his arms, tone already decisive. “Probs not tonight, vod. Gotta let her rest.”

You glance back at him, something conflicting stirring in your chest. You don’t want to lose this closeness… but maybe the answer isn’t to hide away, either.

“No,” you say, gently but with resolve. “It’s okay. I want to go. Meet you there?”

Rex nods, giving you a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. Take your time.”

The others hoot and holler down the corridor, already descending the stairs of your apartment complex, their voices trailing into the night.

The room is quiet again, but not the same quiet as before. The softness, the vulnerability, it’s thinned out now, replaced by something sharper. Restless.

The moment between you is no longer a lull. It’s a spark.

“We really don’t have to go,” Fives says gently, stepping closer. His eyes scan your face with worry, like he’s still reading the hesitation in your bones. “If you’re not up for it…if you need to just stay here…”

But you shake your head. Your skin feels too tight. Your heart is still racing from the almost-confession you didn’t get to finish. 

You’re wired, hot beneath the surface. You don’t need space from him, you need space from everything else. The field. The storm that won’t stop swirling in your chest.

You rise onto your toes and catch his mouth in a kiss before he can say another word. He freezes for half a heartbeat, and then melts into it, his hands finding your waist.

“I want to go,” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull back, breathless. “I really do. Do you not want to?”

Fives’s smile is immediate and radiant, like you just handed him the stars. “Mesh’la,” he grins, “You know I’m always ready for a party. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t hate that it means I’m not in bed with you anymore.”

You smirk, hands trailing slowly up his chest, fingers dragging along the tight fabric of his black tank, feeling every line of muscle beneath. “Who says we won’t end up back in that bed real soon?”

He groans, low and rough, pulling you closer. “Oh, don’t tempt me,” he growls into your ear, voice thick with heat. “You keep talking like that, and we won’t make it to 79’s at all.”

You throw your head back and laugh, and the sound seems to crack something wide open in both of you. Before you can catch your breath, Fives is already trailing hot kisses along your jaw, his mouth soft and searing at once, his hands tightening around your waist.

That warmth from earlier, the aching edge of desire you tried to push down, comes roaring back. Stronger now. You feel it in your chest, your spine, the way your breath shudders when his lips find the pulse point just below your ear.

And you feel him too. Hard against your hip, his body answering yours without hesitation.

“Fives,” you whisper.

He kisses you again, slower this time, with a reverence that makes your knees go weak. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs, breath warm against your mouth. “Whatever it is… I’ll give it to you.”

You pause. Just for a moment.

Then you smile and rest your forehead to his. “I need to get out of my head for a while. I need to move, to be with people, with you. We’ll go out. We’ll drink. We’ll laugh. Then we’ll come home and…” your lips brush his again, teasing, “…maybe I’ll let you carry me to bed again.”

Fives groans again, but this time it’s laced with laughter. “Kriff. Now I’m counting the seconds.”

He finally lets you go, though his hands linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if reluctant to lose contact.

“You clean up,” you say with a wink, heading toward your bedroom to change. “I’ll make myself look like I didn’t just sleep for twelve hours.”

Fives laughs and kisses you gently. You smile into the kiss and say “I’ll meet you there.” 

—

You bought this dress just for Fives.

It wasn’t particularly flashy. It was flattering in a way that didn’t scream for attention but would absolutely catch his. 

You’d eyed it in a boutique window two days before deployment, hesitant to spend the credits, until Fives had appeared beside you, peering in with that crooked grin. 

“You’d look gorgeous in that,” he’d said with such casual certainty it made your heart skip. You didn’t buy it then, but now… now it felt like the right kind of armor.

After all, you couldn’t keep stealing from Kylei’s closet.

You had commed her as soon as you got back to Coruscant, your fingers shaking a little as you tapped her frequency into the console. You weren’t sure what you needed, only that normal suddenly sounded like the most precious thing in the galaxy.

She’d answered on the first ring. No hesitation. No guilt-tripping. 

Just “Where are you and when can I see you?” with all the warmth and urgency of a true friend. 

When you told her you were heading to 79’s, she had practically screamed her confirmation. “Babe, I am already in a cab. You’re not shaking me, I’m coming.”

You smile now, waiting just outside the club’s front entrance, the Coruscant evening buzzing around you with the heat of nightlife. The lights from the strip glow off the transparisteel, and in the window you catch your reflection.

You study yourself, fingertips drifting up to your chest, where your necklace rests. Thin chain, simple charm.

The number 5.

You trace it with your thumb. You hadn’t taken it off since he gave it to you. You’d even worn it beneath your uniform, tucked it under your armor on Geonosis.

The door behind you whooshes open, and a familiar voice cuts through the din of the street.

“Hey girl!”

You turn just in time to catch Kylei barreling toward you, arms flung open. She throws herself into you for a hug, nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“How about no more near-death experiences, huh?” she says, pulling back just enough to give you a look. “I was worried sick!”

You laugh, tension loosening in your chest. “It’s kind of what I signed up for.”

Kylei snorts. “Yeah, well, next time you sign up for something, try baking or something cute. Or at least something that doesn’t involve sand and laser blasts.”

“Deal,” you say with a crooked smile, already feeling lighter just from having her here.

The bass from 79’s pulses through the street as the doors open again, and a wave of noise and light floods out. You hadn’t been here in weeks, but the place still holds a familiar electricity. The butterflies in your stomach are instant.

You glance through the window. The dim blue lighting. The thrum of bodies. The glint of armor mixed with civvie gear. And in the back of your mind, the memory of that first night, sitting in that booth with Fives pressed too close.

It’s clear the troopers are celebrating a victory by how raucous they are, and how fast the libations flow. 

Your eyes sweep across the bar, cutting through the laughter and the hum of music.

 It doesn’t take long to find them, the cluster of troopers trimmed in blue, crammed into a booth at the far corner like they own the place. Their laughter rises above the noise, sharp and familiar, pulling you toward them like a magnet.

You weave through the crowd and slip into the corner where they sit, gathered around a scarred sabaac table littered with credits and empty glasses. Echo’s the first to spot you. His expression softens into a grin, and without missing a beat, he shifts over, patting the open seat beside him.

“No Fives?” you ask, glancing around the room, your eyes still searching for a familiar mop of dark curls and that crooked grin.

“He’s grabbing drinks,” Echo says casually, as he tosses down his next hand. The cards splay out with a practiced flick of his wrist, and a chorus of groans erupts around the table.

“Again?” Jesse mutters, slumping back in his chair. “This is rigged.”

“I win,” Echo says, his voice low and smug as he pulls in the credits with a quiet sweep. There’s a glint of satisfaction in his eye, sharp and knowing. “What can I say? It’s the strategist in me.”

Rex leans back, arms crossed, nodding toward you. “Speaking of strategists, you should play. You versus Echo? That’s a real match.”

You smirk, dropping into the seat Echo made room for. “I promised to only use my powers for good,” you tease, resting your arms on the table. “Besides, I’d win too fast. Where’s the fun in that?”

The table bursts into laughter, even as a few of them exchange mock looks of dread.

“We’d be broke by the end of the night,” Kix adds, raising his drink.

Right on cue, a familiar voice cuts through the noise. “What’d I miss?”

Fives appears beside the table, balancing a tray of drinks like a pro. His eyes find yours instantly, and that grin you’d been waiting for spreads across his face; mischievous, bright, just a little bit cocky. He sets down the drinks one by one on the battered tabletop, the chilled glasses sweating under the heat of the room.

“You missed me sparing your credits,” you say, giving him a mock-stern look. “You should thank me later.”

“Oh, I will,” Fives replies, his gaze lingering on you just a beat too long before he turns to pass Echo his drink. “Promise.”

Your cheeks flush hot, and you reach for one of the drinks Fives set down, something fizzy and a little too sweet, and take a long sip, trying to mask the sudden heat rising beneath your skin. The rim of the glass clinks softly against your teeth, and you hope no one notices the way your hand trembles slightly.

Fives slides in beside you, his thigh pressing against yours in the cramped booth. The air around him is warm, tinged with the faint scent sweat and spice. His arm brushes yours, casual, but not accidental.

Then his hand lands on your bare lower thigh. Heavy. Warm. His fingers curl just slightly, giving the flesh a slow, deliberate squeeze before settling there where it belongs.

Your breath hitches.

Around you, the game continues, cards slapping against the table, credits exchanging hands. Echo makes some cocky quip, and Rex fires back with a joke that has Kix doubling over with laughter. But it’s all distant, muffled. Like you’re hearing it from underwater.

Because all you can focus on is that hand.

Fives doesn’t move fast. No, he’s far too practiced for that. His hand lingers for a beat, then shifts, just barely, his fingertips brushing higher, just a few millimeters at a time. It’s maddening. A teasing crawl that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

The hem of your dress is no match for him. It’s already hitched high from the way you're sitting, and his fingers find the edge with ease. They drift beneath the fabric, dragging up along the curve of your thigh so slowly it feels like time itself has slowed to watch.

Your drink sits untouched now, condensation trailing down the side and pooling at the base, forgotten. You try to breathe normally, to keep your face neutral, but your body betrays you, stomach clenching, thighs twitching ever so slightly toward him.

Your eyes skim the table, all of these men, his brothers, oblivious to that hand and what’s it’s doing to drive you mad.

Fives leans in just a little, his lips near your ear, his voice a soft, smug murmur only you can hear.

“You gonna stop me?”

It takes everything in you not to kiss him.

Not to turn in the booth, grab him by the collar of his civvies, and press your mouth to his until you forget your name. Not to drag him into some shadowed alcove of the bar, where the walls are too close and the air too hot, and no one would care what you did with your hands, or his.

But you don’t.

Instead, you swallow the ache building in your throat and reach down with quiet purpose. Your fingers slip around his, lacing through the ones that have been steadily climbing higher beneath your dress. You guide his hand up, away from your thigh, up past your waist, your ribs, your heart pounding fast and reckless.

And then you bring it to your lips.

You press a kiss to the back of his hand. A kiss that says not yet, but soon.

When you lower his hand again, you don’t let go. You hold it between both of yours and meet his eyes.

“Dance with me?” you ask, your voice a little breathless, like the words had to push their way out past your restraint.

For a moment, he just looks at you. And stars, those eyes, dark and simmering, pupils blown wide with want, gaze fixed like you’re the only person in the room.

Then he nods.

Not a word. Just a short, certain nod.

You’re already sliding out of the booth before anyone at the table notices, and when Fives stands, tall and broad and effortlessly magnetic, a few of the troopers whistle and chuckle.

“Go easy on him,” Jesse calls after you, grinning into his drink. “He needs his legs intact for deployment.”

You just laugh, casting a glance over your shoulder. “He’ll survive.”

But as Fives follows you onto the low-lit floor where couples sway to some slow, pulsing rhythm, the heat in his gaze says you might not.

The music isn’t soft. It isn’t tender.

It’s wild, raw and pulsing with a rhythm that climbs into your bloodstream and refuses to let go. The bass thunders through the floor, through your boots, through your chest, matching your heartbeat beat for beat. 

All you see is Fives.

He’s fire and gravity and something close to magic, pulling you into his orbit and burning everything else away. The rest of the world vanishes. In this moment, there’s only him. Only the way his hands find your waist, your hips, your lower back. The way his mouth hovers just near enough to feel, not touch.

You move together in sync. Your fingers thread into the fabric of his shirt, anchor yourself there. He spins you, a low chuckle in your ear, and your hands glide up his chest before you twist back again, pressing your spine flush against his front.

And just like earlier, you feel him.

Firm and undeniable against you. Want, his want, pressed to the curve of you like a secret, like a promise. You inhale sharply, your eyes fluttering closed as you tilt your head just slightly, exposing the curve of your throat. His breath fans against your neck, hot and uneven.

Fives doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to.

His hands slide lower, anchoring on your hips as you move in time with the music. Every roll of your body against his draws him closer. Every subtle shift in your rhythm makes his fingers tighten just a fraction more.

The beat pounds louder. Faster.

You wonder if he knows he’s trembling too. Just a little.

Just like you.

And stars, you're not sure how much longer you can keep this up without combusting.

“I’m having a serious moment of déjà vu here,” Fives murmurs into your ear, his voice low and rough with memory.

You don’t need him to say more. You know exactly what he’s talking about.

That night.

The night it all changed, when looks turned to touches, and touches into something you both couldn’t take back. The night you were first his. When the lines between friendship and want dissolved.

It feels like forever ago and also like yesterday. The echo of it burns through you now, how he’d touched you with reverence and hunger all at once. How you’d said his name like it was sacred.

His lips brush your skin again, dragging softly along the shell of your ear as he breathes the next words, barely more than a growl.

“Only this time,” he says, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait to get you home.”

A shiver runs down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, arching ever so slightly against him, inviting the heat, the promise, the tension that’s been smoldering between you both all night. You can feel how much he means it. The restraint in him is threadbare, fraying more with every second your body moves against his.

Suddenly, you're aware of the eyes.

Of the room.

Of the fact that, yes, others are dancing like this, bodies pressed close.. But it doesn't feel the same. It can’t be the same. Because none of them are feeling what you're feeling right now. None of them are carrying this kind of gravity in their chest, this electricity in their bones. None of them are dancing with him.

It’s too much. Too exposed.

Without a word, you take his hand.

You don’t ask. You don’t look back.

You just move through the press of bodies, past the whirling lights and pounding bass, tugging Fives with you like you’ve done this a hundred times in another life. The heavy door swings open, and suddenly you’re outside, swallowed by the night air. 

It’s cooler here, but it doesn’t matter. You’re burning.

You’ve taken barely two steps into the alley before he grabs you.

***

One sharp tug, and you’re in the dark, back against the durasteel wall, its chill biting through your thin dress. Fives doesn’t hesitate. His hands are already on you, rough and desperate. One braces beside your head, the other curls possessively around your hip, and then…

His lips crash into yours.

There’s no gentleness, no pretense. Just heat. Hunger. He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops. Like the only thing tethering him to this planet is the taste of your mouth.

You gasp against him, fingers tangling in the fabric at his chest, holding him close, closer. Your back presses harder to the wall, your legs almost buckle.

“You make it real hard to behave in public, you know that, right?” Fives breathes against your ear, voice like smoke..

One of his legs presses forward, slow and deliberate, slipping between yours. The rough weave of his pants slides along the inside of your thigh, and your dress rides up without resistance, bunching higher. He shifts just right, just enough, and his thigh presses firm and perfect where you’re already aching.

You sigh against him, lips parting, breath shaky.

His mouth trails lower, lips brushing over the sensitive curve of your throat. Then his teeth graze your skin, just a nip, just enough to make you gasp and press closer. Your hands grip the collar of his shirt like a lifeline.

“Fives,” you whisper, “let’s go home.”

He chuckles, low and satisfied, and the sound vibrates against your neck. “You are my home, mesh’la,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

“But don’t worry,” he adds, mouth dragging back up to kiss the hinge of your jaw, “I already called a speeder. It'll be here any minute.”

Somehow, that makes it worse.

You tilt your head back against the wall, inviting his mouth, your voice a shiver: “You really called a speeder?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, biting back a grin. “Figured I’d need both hands free soon.”

His hands skim up your sides, slow and reverent, fingers ghosting beneath the edge of your dress until they pause just beneath your ribs. He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You’ll tell me when to stop, yeah?” he murmurs, voice husky and trembling with restraint.

You nod, breathing uneven. “Only if you do too.”

That pulls a reaction from him.

His gaze sharpens, darkens, something molten flickering to life behind his eyes. And then your hand slides down, past the lean muscle of his abdomen, the sharp lines of his hips, until you find him, hard and straining beneath the fabric of his pants.

His breath hitches. “Kriff,” he mutters, low and stunned.

Your name escapes him like a prayer as his hands move instinctively, cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress, thumbs brushing over the peaks with just enough pressure to make you gasp. His mouth finds your neck again, hot and unrelenting, nipping at the place where your pulse races wild beneath your skin.

You stroke him lightly through his pants, just enough to make him twitch beneath your palm.

He’s thick, thicker than you remembered. And that’s saying something.

The last time, things had happened fast. So fast. Urgency overran intention. It had been desperate, but there hadn’t been time to savor him. To explore, to linger.

Now?

Now you had time. And you were going to use every second.

Your hand moves with slow precision, feeling him grow harder beneath your touch, the heat of him burning through the fabric. His head dips against your shoulder, and his breath comes rough against your collarbone.

“Mesh’la…” he groans, barely holding it together.

You pause long enough to glance down the alley. Empty. 

Your fingers slide up to his belt, already undoing the buckle. His eyes snap to yours, wide, almost disbelieving.

“Do you want this, Fives?” you whisper, voice soft but firm, full of intention. Your fingers pause at the catch of his belt, waiting.

He doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.

“Kriff, yes. Yes,” he whispers hoarsely. His mouth crashes into yours, his hands burying in your hair, and suddenly it’s all heat and gravity again.

Your hand slips beneath his waistband, and you find him there just waiting for you. He moans against your mouth at the first stroke. 

You can’t believe you’re doing this. Here. Where anyone could come by and see. Luckily the view is hidden by Fives’ back, and you’re hidden by his body and the shadows on the wall. 

You grip him firmly, feeling the weight of him in your hand. Hunger blossoms in your chest, and you start to pump him. Steady, rhythmic. He trembles in your arms. “Cyare, Maker… I can’t believe this.” He kisses you in his surprise, consuming you, as you speed up.

He’s not as quiet as he should be in this situation. Maker knows he should be silent, but he just can’t be, not as he’s coming undone in the palm of your hand right here in this alleyway. He moans against you, starting to thrust into your hand, unable to stop himself. 

Your breath catches at the sight of him, eyes heavy, mouth parted, hips twitching into your palm like he needs you to keep going or he’ll come apart right there against the wall.

Seeing Fives like this, flushed and unraveling just from your touch, out here in the open where anyone could stumble across you, it lights something wild in your chest. A tremble of power. A thrum of want. You feel your thighs clench involuntarily, and your lips part on a soft, involuntary gasp. Almost a whimper.

You lean in to kiss him, dizzy with it all, aching to taste the heat blooming between you.

And then,

Honk.

A sudden, sharp sound splits the quiet alleyway.

You both freeze.

He pulls back half an inch, brow furrowed like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. And then,

Honk-honk. Louder. 

“Kriff,” Fives mutters, standing up straight so fast you almost stumble. His hands are already on his pants, hastily stuffing himself back in, buckling his belt with practiced speed and no small amount of frustration. His face is flushed, jaw tight, the heat in his eyes still burning.

You just stand there for a second, stunned, breathless, hand still half-lifted, heart slamming in your chest like it’s offended the moment was stolen away.

“I…” you start, but there are no words.

Fives scrubs a hand through his hair, then catches your dazed expression. His lips twitch, somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. “So it goes.” He says.

Fives grabs your hand with that easy confidence, tugging you along like he’s done this a thousand times, like it’s nothing at all that he was nearly caught bare and breathless in an alley minutes ago.

He leads you down the street to the waiting speeder parked just beyond the alley’s edge.

Without hesitation, he opens the door for you, like a gentleman despite the rough edge of everything that just happened. You slide in, still trembling from the heat and shock of what just occurred, your breath uneven, heart racing as if it wants to break free.

Fives slides in beside you, easily closing the door behind. His arm snakes around your shoulders, pulling you close, claiming you, and the contact settles something raw inside you, grounding you even as desire still crackles in the air between you.

The ride to your apartment is almost unbearably silent. Not awkward, no, far from it. The tension coils tight, wrapped around your limbs like velvet chains. Neither of you speaks; there’s no need. The weight of unspent want pulses between you, thick and electric.

It feels as if the trip lasts only seconds. You blink, and suddenly you’re looking up at your apartment complex, its familiar windows glowing softly in the dark.

You step out of the speeder and start up the stairs, each step deliberate, your pulse hammering in time with the echo of your boots. Fives follows just behind, silent, his presence a predator’s shadow, and you the prey.

You can feel his gaze burning into your back, can almost sense the way his breath catches with every step you take.

Your hands are trembling as you open the door and step inside. The darkness of the apartment greets you, calms you. The door slides shut as Fives walks in, and now it’s just the two of you. 

Alone. Officially and at last.

 He acts fast, arms suddenly around your waist and you're lifted off the ground, thrown over his shoulder. 

“Put me down!” You cry. 

“No.” Is his only reply. 

With you thrown over his shoulder, ass in the air, his hand reaches up, beneath your dress that grows ever shorter. You gasp. He grabs at your panties and pulls them off in one movement. 

Heat curls in your gut. 

“Can’t wait anymore, mesh’la.” He says. 

Then he walks you over to the dining table and clears it off with one hand, dishes clattering to the floor. 

You squeal, just a bit, and he lays you on the table. He leans over and kisses you, deep and passionate. 

“You have no idea what you just did to me in that alley.” He growls, undoing his pants.

 “I was feral.” He pulls himself free of his pants.

 “I could have taken you right there, right up against that wall. Maker, mesh’la you make such a mess of me.”

The two of you still clothed he stands right at your entrance, rubbing himself between you. 

The world stills for just a moment, a whole universe holding it’s breath in anticipation. 

Then he plunges himself into you. 

Immediately your back arches and you grind into him. He sets out at a rough, break back pace. He’s undoing you, breaking you right here on this table. Each time you connect, it hits you deeper and deeper. You can’t help it, you’re nearly screaming at the sensation of him taking you so hard. 

His hands brace yours against the table, holding you in place. Otherwise you would be sending scratches down his back, deep enough to bleed, you’re so out of control. 

He’s still pounding when something shifts. The tone of everything slows, and he slows with it. He’s panting, but his eyes are on you, and there’s something so soft in them. 

He slows to an almost nothing pace, and then his arms are around you, lifting you up. He cradles you against him, still inside you, and kisses you deeply.

 “My girl.” he whispers as he carries you so carefully to the bedroom. He sets you down so gently, the two of you still connected. This time when he starts back it's starkly different. 

The hunger is gone, replaced only with need. 

He's so gentle and passionate, and every move he makes, you echo. The two of you are panting, the tight coil of heat in your stomach starting to spiral into something uncontrollable

“You make me briikase, cyar’ika.” He mumbles. 

Then he’s just mumbling in Mando’a. 

Some words you know, “Mesh’la, Cyare.” But others you don’t. 

“Ka’ra Kar’ta. Ner. Gedet'ye.”

You listen as he unravels into you, arms around him as you both spiral into the heavens.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” He whispers, forehead pressed to yours as he grounds himself into you. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”.

Then the stars behind your eyes explode, and he let’s out a cry.

 You both tremble in each other’s arms on the come down. 

In the dark of your bedroom you both lay there in each other’s arms, so still, so quiet. 

You melt against him, the tension finally giving way to something softer. Slower.

***

The adrenaline that had held you upright for the last hour drains from your limbs like a tide pulling back. The deep tiredness creeps in, not just exhaustion, but that weight that comes after you’ve wanted someone so fiercely, felt so much, that your whole body aches from it.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you.

One of his hands rests gently on your stomach, the other over your heart. His thumb strokes small circles over your ribs through the fabric of your dress. You close your eyes and let yourself breathe him in.

And just like that, the fire gives way to something else.

Not extinguished. Just changed. 

Safe.

Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing minute, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing behind you, the way his fingers absently toy with the charm on your necklace, sliding it back and forth on its chain.

Your voice is a murmur in the dark. “What did that mean?”

His hand stills against your chest, fingers going still over the tiny charm.

A beat.

“What means what, cyar’ika?” he replies softly, the word curling around you like a blanket.

“You said some things,” you whisper, too tired to be embarrassed, too safe to hold it in. “In Mando’a. What did it all mean?”

There’s a smile in his voice, warm and knowing, as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’ll teach you someday soon, mesh’la. Promise.”

The words settle over your heart like a vow, simple and steady. No teasing this time. No evasion.

Just a promise.

And it’s enough. You sigh softly, the last of your tension slipping away under the warmth of his touch. Your fingers curl loosely around his, and your eyes drift shut, breath deepening, slow and sure.

In his arms, surrounded by quiet and wrapped in a language you don’t yet understand but already feel deep in your bones, you finally fall asleep.

—-

“I don’t like it,” you say, arms crossed tight over your chest, trying to hold in the knot of dread coiled low in your stomach. “You need a strategist. I want to come with you.”

Fives doesn’t even look up as he folds another piece of gear into his ruck. “The Citadel is a fortress, mesh’la. One big, karking prison built to kill anyone who tries to break in or out. There’s barely any intel for you to work with, nothing solid to build a strategy on.”

You step forward. “Which is exactly why you need someone like me.”

He finally pauses, sighing through his nose as he zips the pack closed. “It’s too dangerous,” he says quietly. “You know that. The fewer people we take in, the better the chances are that anyone gets out.”

You narrow your eyes, voice sharper now. “That didn’t stop Skywalker from volunteering you.”

Fives meets your gaze then. And his expression, stars, it says everything. Steady. Guarded. But you know that look.

He slings the ruck over his shoulder with finality. “Even Skywalker’s not letting his padawan come on this one. That’s how bad it is. It’s not a mission, mesh’la, it’s a death trap.”

He doesn’t say “I don’t want you there because I’d be thinking about you the whole time”. He doesn’t say “I couldn’t handle something happening to you.” He doesn’t have to.

But you feel it anyway, thick in the space between you.

You cross the room to him, reaching out to brush your fingers along his arm. “Fives…”

He closes his eyes for half a second, leans into your touch.

“I’ll come back,” Fives says finally, his voice lower now, more certain. “I’ll make sure we all do, yeah?”

“You better,” you shoot back, jaw set, stepping in closer. “Because if you don’t, I’m going in after you and that’s a promise.”

That makes him laugh, just a little, the sound quiet but genuine. He looks down at you like you’re both his favorite thing in the galaxy and the biggest thorn in his side. “Yeah. I know you will.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye as his smile softens. “That’s exactly why I’m gonna come back. Can’t risk you getting reckless on my account.”

You huff, trying not to smile. “You say that like I’m not reckless anyway.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know exactly how reckless you are, cyar’ika. That’s why I need to make it back. To keep you from doing something stupid… heroic… or both.”

Your fingers wrap around the edge of his armor, holding him there. “So come back,” you whisper. “No matter what.”

“I will,” he breathes.

With that he gives you a gentle kiss on the lips, and turns to go. You watch him leave, desperate to be going with him, but knowing, deep inside, that he’ll come back to you. 

—

The mission was only supposed to take a few days.

You’ve kept your comm at arm’s reach the entire time, set to alert with any update, no matter how small. For the first day, they came in steadily: check-ins, brief markers, coded all-clears. Enough to breathe by.

Then, the last one.

“Compromised.”

That single word has echoed in your skull ever since, rattling around like a warning bell you can’t shut off. No names. No details. Just that.

And then silence.

You’ve chewed your nails down to raw edges, the skin around them red and stinging. When you couldn’t bear the sting anymore, your hands found your hair instead, twisting strands around your fingers again and again until they pulled tight at the scalp. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to go into the strategy briefing this morning. The idea of sitting at the table, looking at projections and hollow holomaps while pretending to think clearly, it turned your stomach into a knot so deep it made you nauseous. You stayed in your quarters instead, pacing, listening for the next buzz, for the next word.

But nothing comes.

Not even static.

The quiet is the worst part.

Because Fives should’ve found a way to check in by now. Should’ve said something, even if it was garbled or brief or off-record. He’s never left you in the dark like this before.

And the longer the silence stretches, the more it feels like something is tearing loose inside you.

Sleep won’t come.

You toss, turn, tangle yourself in sheets that still smell like him, like the warm spice of his skin. The silence in the room is deafening, the space beside you in bed too cold, too vast without Fives there to fill it.

You close your eyes anyway, try to force yourself into unconsciousness just to escape for a while. And when sleep finally takes you, it drags you straight to him, his face, clear as day. 

Then, a sound.

A sharp alert slices through the dark like a knife. You jolt upright, heart already pounding, fingers scrambling for your comm where it rests on the nightstand. The screen blinks, harsh in the blackness.

You squint, still bleary-eyed, blinking hard to read through the haze.

At first, you think you’re seeing it wrong. Your thumb rubs at your eye and you try again.

CASUALTIES.

One word. All caps.

You stare at it, willing it to change. To be a glitch. A mistake. A dream.

But it doesn’t change.

CASUALTIES.

That word tears through you with the force of a detonator. Everything you are, everything you love, shatters in a single heartbeat. The air in the room turns thick, heavy in your lungs. Your breath catches, chokes, comes out as a sob that rips from your throat before you even realize you’re making a sound.

You don’t know who. Of all the souls on that mission, you knew every single one. And one of them isn’t coming back.

Maybe more.

But it’s his face you see. It’s him your body aches for.

Your legs move before your mind does. You pull on clothes with shaking hands, fingers fumbling over fastenings, pulling on boots without socks, shoving your comm into your pocket as it continues to flash, over and over:

CASUALTIES. CASUALTIES. CASUALTIES.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes

Thanks for reading! I've listened to "So It Goes...' No less than 50 times while writing this chapter. Sorry it's so smut heavy, it was intended to be that way, it just kind of happened!

Now to be sad next chapter.

Love you, mean it!

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 7

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Look What You Made Me Do 

Your skin burns beneath the layer of grime coating you, every inch sticky with dust. The heat of Geonosis clings to you, and your lungs scream for air as you sprint across the cracked red earth. Your muscles ache, but you run anyway.

You have to reach them.

A line of clones is visible just ahead, silhouettes against the harsh sun. A small rally of troops, marching straight toward the edge of a canyon mouth that yawns open like a beast waiting to feed.

“Stop!” you scream, your voice raw, cracking through the air.

No one turns.

“Stop! You have to stop!”

You slam your hand against the comm on your wrist, but static is all it gives you in return. Dead. Jammed. The droids had been smarter than anyone predicted. You see that now. They’d been here longer, had studied the land, twisted it to their needs. They knew exactly where the Republic would come through, and had corralled the men, your men, into the heart of the canyon.

The troopers begin to slow, dust curling around their boots in lazy spirals. They pause, forming a semi-circle at the rocky threshold, surveying the area.

You push harder. You don’t care about the burning in your chest or the way your legs threaten to give out beneath you. You have to reach them.

“Wait!” you cry out again, now only a hundred feet away.

One of the clones turns, his helmet pivoting sharply in your direction. He lifts his blaster halfway, until recognition clicks. He elbows the soldier beside him. With those blue-striped pauldrons, you’d know him anywhere.

Fives.

He steps away from the group and jogs toward you, pulling off his helmet. His face is flushed with heat, a frown already furrowing his brow.

“Mesh’la,” he breathes, confusion washing over his features, “what the hell are you doing this far from base camp? It’s too dangerous out here.”

You double over, hands braced on your knees as you gasp for air.

“I…know,” you rasp between gulps. “You have to stop. You all have to stop. It’s a trap.”

Fives blinks, startled. “A trap? There’s nothing out here. We did a full scan.”

“That’s the point!” You straighten, wiping grit from your mouth. “The scans don’t pick it up because it’s underground. This canyon, it’s not just terrain. It’s a breeding ground.”

You point toward the yawning cliffside, heart racing. “They nest here. Geonosians. Their eggs are underneath this whole stretch of rock. If you cross that threshold, if the hive stirs, they’ll know. All of them. They'll know exactly where you are, and they’ll come for you. You won’t stand a chance.”

Fives’ jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he looks over his shoulder at the rest of the squad. Dust swirls between them in the silence, but his voice cuts through it.

“We have to finish the mission,” he says, gaze locked on the horizon. “If we don’t reach the outpost before nightfall, it’ll be overrun. They’ll reduce it to scrap before we even get close. We’re the only ones close enough to reinforce it. All we have to do is hook up the new frequency station so Command can coordinate airstrikes.”

He turns back to you, his brows pinched. “How sure are you? About this being a trap?”

You exhale sharply, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Certain,” you say, your voice low and fierce. “Dead certain.”

You step closer, forcing him to meet your eyes. “There’s a reason your original route had a sinkhole dropped in the middle of it. That wasn’t natural, it was planted. The droids bombed it on purpose. They didn’t want you using the safe path.”

Fives blinks, his expression flickering.

“They pushed you here,” you continue, gesturing toward the canyon. “Funneled you straight into the nest. They want the Geonosians to do their dirty work. They’ll let the hive rip you to pieces, and once you’re gone, they’ll strike the southern ridge without resistance from the north.”

Fives takes a breath through his nose, gaze darkening. He knows you're not the panicking type. You don't run screaming across a battlefield unless you're absolutely sure you're right. And you’re right. He can feel it now too, deep in his bones.

He glances back at the men again, some still standing at ease, others already beginning to set up scanning gear. Unaware.

Then, one of the shinies, the newest member of the battalion out on his first mission, takes the first step. Then another.

 “STOP!” You and Fives both yell, but before he can hear you he takes that final, fatal step across an invisible threshold. The vibrations of his footsteps over that Geonosian brood awakens something.

It begins with a sound; low and ancient. A groan from deep beneath the surface, like the planet itself is waking up from a nightmare. The vibration hits you in the legs first, rattling through your bones and stealing the strength from your knees. Around you, troopers stumble, weapons clattering against their armor.

And then the canyon floor collapses.

The shiny doesn’t even have time to scream. The ground beneath him gives way in a thunderous roar, opening like a mouth to swallow him whole. A jagged chasm splits the earth, wide and hungry, dust and debris shooting skyward as rock shears away. He vanishes into the dark in an instant, swallowed by the nothingness.

Then, silence.

A heartbeat.

And from that darkness, the swarm rises.

They pour from the pit like smoke and fire, shrieking, clicking, the thunder of thousands of wings drowning out everything else. Massive drones, spindly and sharp, rise.

The sky fills with them in seconds.

The trap has been sprung.

And now comes the reckoning.

Fives is already moving, grabbing your arm, hauling you back. “Move! Go, go!”

Around you, blasters fire wildly into the air, but the Geonosians don’t scatter. They dive straight into the chaos, shrieking war cries echoing off the canyon walls.

You don’t look back.

There’s no time.

Your legs scream with every step, still raw and burning from the sprint that brought you here. But there's no time to stop, no time to think about the ache radiating through your calves or the dry burn of Geonosian air in your lungs.

You reach out mid-stride and grab Fives’ hand, fingers locking tight around his glove. “Follow me!”

He hesitates, yanked a step off balance, his eyes flicking back toward the chaos, the brothers scattering, shots cracking, shouts and cries lost beneath the roar of wings. 

“The others!” he yells.

You shake your head hard. “They’ve had their training! You have a mission, Fives, we finish it!”

Your free hand flies to your hip, fingers fumbling for the datapad holstered at your side. You yank it out, thumb smashing the power button. 

“Please work,” you whisper. The screen flickers then surges to life, its light a small victory in the sea of rising panic.

You run. You breathe. You think, even when everything in your body begs you to stop.

Behind you, Fives fires shot after shot, picking off winged shapes that dive too low. Around the canyon, the squad has split into pairs, each drawing part of the swarm away, just like you hoped. The clones may be outnumbered, but they’re holding the line.

You scroll and swipe through the datapad with one hand as you sprint, flipping through half-broken maps, geological scans, supply routes, anything. 

“This way!” you shout, banking left without warning and bolting toward the ridgeline. Dust kicks up around your boots as the terrain narrows and the rocky walls of the canyon loom higher on either side.

Fives swears behind you. “That’s a dead end!”

You risk a glance over your shoulder. “You have to trust me!”

He slows for half a second, caught between instincts, but then he nods once and follows.

No questions. Just faith.

Together, you sprint toward a sheer wall of rock, the canyon squeezing tighter. 

You slide the datapad back into its holster, lungs heaving. You need to throw them off. Break the hive’s lock on your location, just long enough to move undetected through the tunnel you spotted in the scan.

You tear at your wrist, ripping the dead comm from its strap. It’s useless as a receiver, but if the droids were jamming the GAR’s signal… it must still be emitting something. The feedback. The interference.

You pop the casing open with your thumb and dig at the wires inside, teeth grit as you peel and twist two thin filaments together. “Come on…”

Then; a low-pitched hum, barely audible to your ears. You jam the cover back in place, spinning on your heel. The swarm is closer now. In seconds, they’ll be on you.

You cock your arm and throw, hurling the modified comm straight into the heart of the swarm behind you. For a moment, it disappears into the mass of wings and screeches.

And then… chaos.

A handful of Geonosians plummet midflight, convulsing in the air before slamming into the ground. Others spin in jagged, erratic circles, screeching as they claw at nothing. More still veer off course. They tear at each other in confusion, attacking the invisible pulse.

The pressure thins. Just enough.

You don’t stop running until your body screams for air, your boots scraping and skidding against the uneven stone as you reach the final stretch. The massive cliff face looms ahead, towering and absolute, the wall of rock seeming to stretch into the sky.

Your heart drops.

There’s nothing there.

No opening. No passage. Just solid stone and the whine of the swarm somewhere behind you, distant but not far enough.

Your throat tightens with panic. 

“Here!” Fives shouts. He’s already moved to the edge of the wall, one hand pressed against the rock. He shoulders into it, muscles bunching beneath his armor as he throws his full weight forward. With a heavy grind, a slab of stone shifts just enough and the hidden mouth of the tunnel opens.

You both dive inside, ducking into the cool darkness of the cave just as the shriek of wings echoes too close behind. Fives turns, bracing the edge of the rock with you at his side. You dig your heels into the ground and push, straining with everything you’ve got left.

The stone shifts again.

Then, with a final slam, it seals the entrance.

Darkness swallows you whole.

You stumble back, hands braced against your knees, chest heaving. Your heartbeat fills the space around you, loud in your ears, your throat, your ribs. It’s all you can hear. That and the distant, muffled screeching of the swarm, just outside, just too late.

Silence falls.

A breath. Another.

Fives activates the light on his helmet. The tunnel glows in a pale blue wash, revealing the rough interior.

He looks at you, and tension unwinds from his shoulders.

“Good work, cyare,” he murmurs.

Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand, the one still trembling from adrenaline. His fingers wrap around yours, warm despite the armor. He squeezes.

 One, two, three times.

Then he lets go, already turning, already walking deeper into the tunnel. 

You follow him, the only sound now the quiet scrape of boots on stone and the low hum of his helmet light leading the way forward.

—

Evening has fallen by the time you and Fives reach the outpost, the sun hanging low on the horizon.The wind has died down, but the stillness feels uneasy, like the planet itself is holding its breath.

You crouch low behind a half-collapsed durasteel barrier, scanning the horizon while Fives climbs the skeletal ladder of the outpost’s radio tower. The metal groans under his weight, each footstep echoing louder than it should in the brittle silence.

Every noise sets your nerves alight. A loose bolt clattering to the platform. The shrill sound of crossed wires. The wind tugging at a torn tarp. All of it makes you flinch.

You crane your neck, whisper-yelling up at him, “Don’t forget the booster signal!”

He looks down, face obscured by the glare of the setting sun behind him. “Didn’t forget,” he mutters, tugging a small modulator from the side pouch you loaded before the mission.

It had been your idea, tweaking the signal to carry a repulsing undercurrent, a low-frequency pulse specifically designed to irritate Geonosians. Not strong enough to harm them, but enough to make this region unbearable.

If the droids want this outpost, they’ll have to come for it the hard way. No more hiding behind the swarm.

You watch as Fives connects the booster, the light at the tower’s core shifting from a dull blue to a bright, pulsing orange. A soft hum fills the air.

Then he climbs down, landing beside you with a grunt. His armor is dusty, his face streaked with dried sweat and grime, but his eyes are sharp.

“Transmission’s clean,” he says. “Signal’s strong enough to bounce halfway across the northern ridge. They’ll know we’re here.”

“Good,” you whisper, a slow breath escaping your lungs. 

For the first time in hours, you let your shoulders drop. The silence doesn’t feel so threatening now. The red glow is dimming into violet dusk. And Fives, he’s standing beside you, not rushing off, not looking to the next fight just yet.

Just breathing. With you.

“You did good out there today,” Fives says quietly, voice barely louder than the wind brushing across the desert. The light from the outpost beacon flickers across his face, casting golden shadows across the curve of his jaw. “This mission would’ve gone to hell without you.”

You exhale, a dry little breath that’s half laugh, half exhaustion. “I just did what I had to do.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Though I’ll admit… training simulations didn’t prepare me for any of that. Not the swarm. Not the running. Not…” your voice hitches, “...watching that shiny fall.”

You drop your gaze to the dust beneath your boots, the guilt creeping in like a shadow. “I should’ve warned them sooner. I should’ve…”

Fingers brush against your cheek.

You look up, startled, and Fives is there, closer now, his touch gentle and sure even through the coarse material of his glove.

“You did warn us,” he says softly. “You ran into danger. You saved lives today. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”

His hand drops, but the warmth of it lingers. He looks at you for a moment longer, then grimaces, voice tightening.

“But it was too dangerous. All of it. You can’t just… throw yourself into the fire like that again.” His jaw clenches. “You have to stay at base camp. Monitor the threat, call it from there. That’s the whole point of having a strategist.”

You shake your head before he’s even done speaking. “Base camp’s a glorified desk job. Like sitting in HQ on Coruscant, watching markers on a screen while everyone else bleeds for it.”

You step closer. “Out here, I can see the terrain. I can read the movement, feel the shift before it’s on top of us. If I’d stayed behind that screen, we’d all be dead in that canyon.”

Fives looks away, the muscle in his jaw ticking as silence stretches between you. Then he exhales, his voice raw when it finally comes.

“I know. I know you're right. I just…”

He runs a hand over his hair, frustration pulling at every edge of him.

“I think I could’ve done better today if I wasn’t so busy worrying about you back at base camp. And then you weren’t even there, you were right in front of me, running straight into kriffing death, and I…” He cuts himself off, voice cracking with something vulnerable.

“Maker, I was a mess back there.”

You stare at him, lips parting, surprised by how much weight is in that confession.

The soldier everyone relies on, your Fives, was scared. For you.

You offer him a gentle smile. Fives doesn’t look at you right away; he’s still staring out at the desert as though it might rise up and bite again.

But you watch him.

Really watch him.

The curve of his brow furrowed in thought. The faint dust streaking his cheek, just beneath his eye. The slight swell of his lip, cracked from sun and wind. His nose, his jawline, the tattoo above his temple.

And his eyes. Those warm, impossibly deep eyes. Brown like the soil of faraway worlds, like home in places you’ve never been. He blinks and glances toward you briefly, and it’s like something inside you stops.

Oh.

Your breath catches.

It’s not just gratitude. Not admiration. 

It’s him.

It’s the way he fights, and how he thinks. The way he worries, too much, always too much, about everyone else, including you. It’s the sound of your name in his mouth. It’s every time he’s made you feel seen, like maybe you’re not just another cog in the war machine.

Something twists in your chest, deep and aching. A secret, too loud to stay hidden anymore.

Maker.

You love him.

Not in the casual way you’ve said it to old friends or whispered it in the dark to someone who didn't deserve it. This is bigger. It roots itself in the pit of your stomach and expands behind your ribs like a star threatening to collapse in on itself.

He still hasn’t noticed the change in you, not yet.

You look away before he can.

You’re not sure what would happen if he looked at you now, if he really saw what just cracked open behind your eyes. You don’t know what you’d say. Or what he’d say.

But you know one thing for sure.

It’s real.

Just then, a sharp hum cuts through the stillness.

You freeze.

Across the ridgeline, something shifts in the air. Dust stirs. Wind kicks up around you. Instinct drives your hand toward your blaster, heart leaping back into your throat. Not again. Please not again.

But it’s not a threat.

A LAAT gunship breaks through the haze, cutting across the sky like a blade of durasteel. Its engines roar overhead, powerful and reassuring. You shield your eyes against the light and the dust it kicks up as it descends.

“There’s our evac.” Fives calls, his voice raised over the wind, but still laced with the same rawness he showed you just minutes ago.

The gunship lowers to the canyon floor, kicking up a cloud of grit and sand. The side doors slide open with a mechanical hiss. Fives turns to you and offers his hand without hesitation.

You take it.

His grip is firm, steady, but it lingers. His fingers tighten around yours just a beat too long, warm even through the glove. Not enough to say anything out loud.

But enough that you feel it.

He pulls you up into the LAAT, his hand skimming along your back as you step in beside him. There’s silence between you as the doors shut and the gunship lifts off again, rising away from the broken ground of Geonosis.

You settle into the seat opposite him, your heart still pounding, not from the mission, not anymore. From something else entirely.

The ship vibrates beneath you, the sound of flight rumbling through your bones, but your thoughts are somewhere else. 

On him.

On the way something shifted inside you and refuses now to shift back.

You glance at Fives, he’s staring out the window, one elbow braced against the edge, jaw tight. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, not from cold, but to keep everything inside.

You’ve been trained to navigate chaos, lead through uncertainty, read patterns and threats before they strike. But nothing in your training prepared you for this quiet ache in your chest. For the realization blooming behind your ribs like a second heartbeat.

You love him.

And now you’re flying away from the battlefield with that knowledge burning in your chest, wondering how long you can keep it buried... if you even want to.

The LAAT surges toward the waiting cruiser in the sky, but your thoughts stay grounded, wrapped in dust and shadows, with the crushing truth inside your chest.

_________________________

Taglist: @vaderxvibes @ct7567329

My flare is finally winding down (thanks heating pads and special meds.) Sorry for the delay! I'm gonna try to play catch up as much as I can. I have a pretty clear idea of how this last half goes, for better or for worse. I also have a really neat idea for when this finishes... stay tuned.

Thank you for reading! I wish I could say there was alot of fluff and romance and spice from here on out, but this is the turning point of the fic. Ya'll remember how this ends...right? Just checking.

Love ya, mean it!

[bigbadbatch]

Brief pause on Reputations due to a bad endo flare. Need me a handsome Fives to hold me through the pain.

[bigbadbatch]

Existence is Resistance 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 6

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

There is smut in this chapter! You will see *** before and after the scene if you want to skip.

Chapter 6: Call It What You Want 

You see stars as your head hits the mat for the third time this session. The impact rattles through your skull, and the ringing in your ears grows louder, almost drowning out the world around you.

“Kriff!” Fives shouts, his voice slicing through the buzz. “That was too karking hard, Jesse!”

Before you can sit up on your own, he’s already at your side, dropping to his knees as he reaches for you. His hands are careful, steadying your shoulders as if you might fall apart beneath them.

“I’m okay,” you mutter through a groan, blinking through the daze. “Let’s go again.”

Fives  stands and pulls you up with him, but keeps you at arm’s length, his fingers still curled around your biceps.

“Hell no,” he says firmly. “That’s enough for today. You need to rest before the test tomorrow anyway. Let’s get you home.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die in your throat. He’s right. As much as it stings to admit it, he’s right. 

Tomorrow is the final hurdle standing between you and your certification as a field strategist: the combat fitness test. You’ve flown through every other requirement with ease, but this one always leaves you bruised and breathless. Combat never came naturally to you, and your body knows it.

Your head still feels like it’s spinning, but Fives is already guiding you out of the training room, one hand hovering protectively near your back. Outside, the artificial sunlight of Coruscant stings your eyes, and you move on instinct, heading for the familiar route toward your apartment.

He stops you with a gentle tug at your elbow.

“No way,” he says. “We’re taking a speeder.”

Before you can object, he steps to the curb and flags one down. The sleek black transport glides up to the edge of the walkway, and Fives opens the door like he’s done this a hundred times before. He offers you his hand again, steady and warm.

“I’m not broken, Fives,” you mumble, easing into the seat with a wince. “Just sore.”

He slides in beside you and shuts the door, his jaw tight, eyes flicking to the rising bruise near your temple.

“I know,” he says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you limp your way home when I’m right here.”

You glance over at him, heart thudding a little harder than it should. His face is still flushed from training, and there’s a softness in his expression that makes your chest ache. You lean back against the seat and close your eyes, letting yourself breathe for the first time all day.

Fives doesn't speak again, but his hand finds yours halfway through the ride, and he doesn’t let go.

The stairs up to your apartment feel like a mountain. Every step sends a jolt through your legs, and by the time you reach your door, you're half a breath away from crumpling right there in the hall. 

Fives notices. Of course he does.

“Lean on me,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around your waist as you sag against him. With his free hand, he punches in your door code, the keypad lighting up under his fingers. The door hisses open and he guides you inside.

“You went too hard today,” he says quietly, almost like he’s blaming himself.

You don’t argue. You just let him ease you onto the couch, where the cushions seem to mold around your aching limbs like they’ve been waiting for you all day. You melt into them, letting your head fall back, your eyes drifting shut without permission. 

Fives disappears down the hall, and then you hear it, a low hiss, followed by the rush of water.

“Shower’s warming up,” he calls out from the fresher. “I’ll order us dinner. What’re you feeling?”

Your brain scrambles to find an answer, but food barely registers. You’re too focused on the thought of hot water pounding into your sore muscles, steam curling around you like a balm.

“Dealer’s choice,” you croak, eyes still closed. Then, with a groan, you push yourself upright and shuffle toward the fresher, already stripping off your training gear.

The moment the heat hits your skin, you sigh out loud. The water pours over you, washing away the grime and the ache.

In the quiet of the water, your mind drifts to him, and this moment.

 How did you get here, with him?

 When you met, you and Fives were fast friends, and the lust and want was never a question. 

But now?

 It's been barely, well, maybe two months, and everything feels so… natural. Him running you a shower, him ordering food, him taking care of you. You haven’t even been intimate since that fever-filled night when you told him the at-last truth. 

“I’m yours.”

  You stand there longer than you probably should, head bowed, hands braced on the wall.

Things had moved so quickly, yet time still seems frozen. 

Since his Felucia deployment, it’s like you’d been living a sweet, domestic dream. Everything has just happened so suddenly, his deployment, his injury, and now training everyday.

 When have you had time to have more than these quiet moments in between? 

You think about how Fives had looked at you after today’s session. That soft, crooked grin full of worry and pride. His hand lingering at the small of your back as he helped you up the stairs, his voice low and teasing even as you winced with every step. He’s so charismatic, so gorgeous, so irrevocably him. Just thinking of him fills you with warmth, deep in your core. 

 When you finally step out of the steaming shower, you feel like a new person. A bruised, sore, half-exhausted person; but new, all the same.

You wrap yourself in a towel and pad into your room to change. Pajamas have never felt this good. Soft grey sweatpants, loose at the ankle. A tank top that hangs from one shoulder.

As you step out into the hallway, a rich aroma greets you, curling around your senses and stopping you in your tracks. It smells good, so good, but your stomach isn’t ready to face food after your training just yet. Right now you just want to curl up and rest as the heat of the shower cools on your skin.

Fives stands in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, plating takeout from a familiar spot downtown. The kind that always gets your order just right. He doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on portioning the food onto plates. There's something incredibly routine about it, like he’s done this for you a hundred times.

You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his middle, leaning into his muscled back and sighing. 

“There she is. Thought maybe the shower stole you away.” He jokes. 

“It almost did.” You retort, then pause. “...How sad would you be if I said I wasn’t hungry yet?”

Fives stills mid-transfer of a spoonful of sauce. “Are you okay?” 

You nod. “Just so tired.”

 He smiles softly at you. “We don’t have to eat yet if you don’t want to, mesh’la. Let me put this up, you go get comfortable.”

You collapse onto the couch face-first with a dramatic sigh. The cushions welcome you like an old friend, and you barely register the sound of cabinets closing behind you.

Fives pads over a moment later, barefoot and relaxed, and settles on the floor beside you. You feel the gentle sweep of his fingers as he tucks damp strands of hair away from your cheek, just so he can see your face.

“Stars,” he murmurs, voice soft with amusement, “you do look… tired.”

You grunt in response, trying to turn your head toward him, but the effort alone makes your muscles scream in protest. You manage to lift one arm just enough to gesture weakly at your shoulder.

He chuckles, leaning in closer. “What hurts?”

You wiggle your fingers toward the source of the ache, just beneath your shoulder blade, then let your arm flop uselessly over the edge of the couch.

Fives hums like a disappointed med droid. “We can’t have that. Not with your final test tomorrow. Gotta keep you in fighting form.”

He rises, and before you can protest, he grabs your legs and shifts them effortlessly, repositioning you until you’re more centered on the couch. Then he swings a leg over your thighs and straddles them, settling his weight just enough to pin you there.

“What are you doing?” you mumble into the couch cushion, voice muffled and suspicious.

“Relax,” he says, leaning forward, his hands already sliding up your back, wrinkling the fabric of your tank.

The first touch is light; his fingertips ghosting along your spine as if he’s just mapping it out. But then he presses down, slow and sure, and you melt.

His thumbs find the exact spot that’s been tormenting you, and he begins to work it with practiced, methodical pressure. Deep, steady circles that push into the muscle until it gives under his touch.

A groan escapes you before you can stop it. “Kriff. Right there.”

“Oh, you are in bad shape,” he teases, voice close to your ear now. 

“I just don’t move like the rest of you.”

“You’re not supposed to. You move like you. And that’s the part I like.”

You huff into the cushion, but your pulse skips anyway. Fives doesn’t say things like that unless he means them. There’s a rare kind of honesty in his voice when he’s tired, or when he thinks you won’t catch it.

He keeps working, hands strong and confident, slowly chasing away the tightness in your shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his body over yours, the way he keeps his weight balanced so he won’t press too hard..

You close your eyes and let yourself drift, floating somewhere between exhaustion and peace. The couch cushions cradle you, and the soft rhythm of Fives’ hands on your back begins to lull you into something dangerously close to sleep.

But then the air shifts subtly, almost imperceptibly. His touch changes. Still massaging, still deliberate, but gentler… more curious.

And then his hands slide beneath the hem of your tank.

The sudden press of his palms against your bare skin makes you jolt with a quiet gasp. 

Fives chuckles low in his throat, the sound buzzing against your skin like static. “Too cold?”

You groan, voice muffled by the pillow beneath you. “Warm. Good. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

If anything, he slows down, like he’s savoring it now. His hands press deeper into the tense muscles along your shoulder blades, dragging down the length of your back in long, measured strokes. Every pass leaves trails of heat in their wake.

Then slower still, until he’s barely massaging at all. Just grazing, teasing, letting the weight of his fingers map out the familiar terrain of your body.

Your breath hitches as his hands wander lower, brushing along your sides, dipping just above your hips. When he reaches the waistband of your sweatpants, he pauses.

The stillness stretches.

Then he leans down, and you feel the press of his lips against your bare shoulder. A whisper of a kiss, barely there, but enough to make your heart stutter.

Another kiss follows, higher, toward the base of your neck. His breath fans over your damp skin, warm and steady. You feel the curve of his smile against you.

And then his hands start to move again. They’re sliding lower, not under the fabric, not quite. But his grip tightens, fingers curling into the plush of your hips through your sweatpants, anchoring you to the moment.

Your heart flutters wildly, trapped somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

Still hovering over you, he murmurs, “Let me take care of you, cyare.”

***

You nod and sigh into the soft embrace of the couch, though your insides seemed whipped into a frenzy at his words. 

Slowly, nearly painfully so, he gently lifts your hips with one hand, and begins to pull down your sweats with the other. 

The cool air of the room is a shock to your heated skin, and your back arches on instinct at his touch and the sensation. In one movement, he has your sweats off, and you lay before him still on your stomach in only your tank and underwear. He palms the curve of your ass through the thin fabric still separating you. First with one hand, then with both. 

Then, stars, he's massaging you again. 

Deep, repetitive, circular movements. And he wanders. His hands caress down your thighs, warming your soul and relieving the tension settled in them at the same time. 

As his hands begin to work back up your thighs, when he reaches the apex of your legs, you can’t help it, you tense in anticipation. 

He laughs, breathless. 

“Looks like you might be making a bit of a mess here, mesh’la.”

You blush deeply and hide your face in your hands. Instantly, Fives lifts himself from you and his hands are on your hips. He flips you to face him on the couch, and kisses you intensely. 

“Don’t hide from me, cyar’ika.” He mumbles against your lips, as one of his hands dips below the fabric of your underwear. 

“Maker…” he breathes.

He touches you in a way that steals your breath. 

Then he mutters, so low you almost can’t hear him:

 “I feel like we’re doing this all out of order. Backwards. This is how it should have started when I first had you.” 

His fingers deftly start to make you come to ruin as you arch into them.

“But I just couldn’t wait.” he continues. “I had to have you, all of you, that night. The night you said you were mine.” He nearly growls as you start to come undone beneath him. 

“I suppose we can start over, start with the little things. Don’t know if I can behave myself around you though. You make it karking hard, mesh’la. I want you every second, every part of you. Just wish we had the time to make it happen.”

His speed spikes, and your breathing with it. 

“So let’s make time. For me and you. For this. For us.” He whispers.

He kisses you then, rough, claiming, and you see stars behind your closed eyes as you reach your peak in the palm of his hand. 

The journey back to the ground from the heavens is long and winding, one that leaves you breathless and gripping onto Fives forearm tightly, whole body tensing and untensing beneath him. 

Fives pulls his lips and hand from you and sits up, you sitting up along with him, legs trembling. 

***

There’s a moment of stillness between the two of you, tension tight as a mooring. So tight it could snap. 

You make eye contact.

Then, suddenly, laughter.

 Loud, happy laughter from the depths of both of your chests. 

Joy. 

You don’t know where the laughter comes from, only that the giddiness inside you can’t be held at bay any longer. The electric buzzing in your bones from just being with Fives, let alone the past few moments, it just escapes as belly laughs and breathlessness. 

Fives pulls you to him, holding you against his chest as the two of you come down from the sudden rush of happiness. 

As the laughter subsides, Fives holds you out from his chest as if to look at you. He smiles gently down at you, and plants a firm kiss on your forehead. 

Then, “Hungry yet?” 

You laugh again. 

“Starved.”

—--------

Fives paces the corridor outside the training room, boots hitting the durasteel floor in sharp, rhythmic thuds that echo down the otherwise quiet hall. Back and forth. Again. And again. Every pass brings him closer to the door, but he never stops long enough to listen. He doesn’t want to hear what’s happening inside.

“Vod,” Rex drawls from where he’s leaned, arms crossed, against the pristine white wall of HQ. “You’ve got to settle down. She’s probably picking up your nerves from all the way in there.”

Echo, seated on a nearby supply crate, glances up briefly from the datapad he’s been pretending to focus on. “You’re going to wear a groove in the floor.”

Fives doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even pretend to laugh. He just runs a hand through his hair and keeps moving, jaw clenched tight enough it aches.

What if you don’t pass?

His stomach twists.

What if you do?

It’s so dangerous out there in the field. But then you’d be with him. And it’s what you want. And he should want what you want.

Right?

He stops and shakes his head, as if he could knock loose the spiraling thoughts echoing as loud as his pacing.

There’s a quiet hiss, and all eyes turn as the door to the training room slides open. You walk out, head hung, and anticipation fills the hall.

“I passed.”

Your voice is soft but the second the words hit the air, the corridor explodes into motion.

Cheers erupt from Rex and Echo as they spring to their feet. Rex is the first to reach you, clapping a firm hand on your shoulder and pulling you into a brief, proud hug.

“Welcome to the team, officially,” he says with a grin, ruffling your hair like a big brother.

Echo swoops in next, “Told him not to worry.”

You're beaming. It starts small, tugging at the corners of your mouth but then it blooms across your whole face, radiant and unstoppable. You did it. You really did it. The months of training, of pushing past bruises and doubt…it all led to this.

Fives stands frozen.

Your smile slices clean through him.

Not because he isn’t happy. He is. Stars, he’s so proud of you. But that smile, the one that lights you up from the inside out, comes with a dagger of fear lodged deep in his chest.

You passed.

You’re going out there now. Into his world.

And then you turn to him, eyes bright and alive, and say it again.

“I passed!”

In two strides, he’s across the hall, arms sweeping you off the ground before you can say another word. He crushes you against him, burying his face in your neck, and the breath whooshes out of your lungs with a surprised laugh.

“You passed,” he breathes, like he still can’t believe it. “You passed!”

You nod into his shoulder, clinging to him just as tightly. “Told you I would.”

“We have to celebrate!” Echo calls from behind, already half-pulling Rex toward the barracks.

“Drinks at 79’s?” Rex offers, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Your first round’s on me.”

But before you can answer, Fives speaks, gentler now, eyes fixed on yours.

“Not tonight, boys.” His voice softens into something that wraps around you like velvet. “She’s all mine  

 “...gross.” Echo mutters under his breath, and you all let out a laugh.

Rex elbows him. “Let them have it, Echo. They earned it.”

You laugh again, too tired to fight it, too happy to care. Fives sets you back on your feet but doesn’t let you go far, keeping an arm around your waist, grounding you.

He looks deep into your eyes, his own sparkling. “Have dinner with me tonight?” 

You smile up at him, beaming. “Ofcourse! I can shower and we can order something.” 

His forehead wrinkles and nose scrunches in defiance. 

 “No. A real dinner. I need to take you out, show off the newest field strategist to all of Coruscant.”

Your cheeks heat. “Like a date?” You murmur, taking his hands in yours. 

“A real date. I’ll come pick you up at 1900 hours?” He says, tucking a stray piece of your wild, training-tossed hair behind your ear. 

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and nod. “See you then.”

—-------

You wait by the door, your heart thudding in your chest like it might rattle loose. The air hums with anticipation, nerves and excitement dancing along your skin. You smooth down the satin of your dress for what must be the fifth time, fingertips grazing the cool shimmer of the fabric where it drapes around your ankles like liquid midnight. The deep blue catches the light with every movement, glowing softly with every breath you take.

Your hair is swept up, held in place by delicate silver combs that glint against the soft lighting of your apartment. The same silver gleams on your heels, clicking softly as you shift your weight. 

And then it comes. A short, solid rap on the door.

Your breath catches. You nearly sprint across the room, almost stumbling in your heels in your rush to open it.

The door hisses aside, and there he is.

Fives.

He stands framed in the hallway light like a vision from your dreams. Black slacks tailored perfectly to his frame, and a deep grey linen button-up rolled at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone just enough to reveal the sun-bronzed skin of his chest. His hair is perfectly mussed, like he ran his hands through it a few times on the way over, and he’s holding…

Your breath catches again.

…blue ionflowers. A whole bundle of them. Vibrant and rich, the same rare shade as your dress. 

Your favorite.

No words pass between you. None are needed.

You take the flowers with trembling hands, the stems cool and dewy beneath your fingertips, and give him a gentle kiss on the lips. 

He smiles into your kiss, and brushes his knuckles against your cheek. 

“Shall we?” He says as he offers you his arm. You take it and set off into the night. 

—

The rooftop restaurant is nothing short of breathtaking.

High above the hum of Coruscant’s endless streets, the city glows like a galaxy in motion with towers glittering, and speeders streaking like comets below. Warm string lights float overhead in soft arcs, casting a golden glow across polished tables and white linen napkins. The night air is just cool enough to kiss your skin, but not enough to chase away the warmth radiating from the man seated across from you, the sun always seemingly in his pocket.

Fives hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening.

The wine is smooth, the food impeccable, but you barely taste any of it. Not with the way he’s looking at you. 

His gaze holds that familiar glint of desire and something else entirely. Something quiet. Weighty. A reverence you can feel down to your bones.

In a rare moment of silence between courses, he clears his throat.

 “Cyare.”

His voice is soft, careful.

You blink, meeting his eyes.

“I… I was going to wait until your first deployment to give you this,” he says, glancing down at the table before looking back up, more nerves in his smile than you’ve ever seen. “But after today, knowing you passed... I just wanted to celebrate with you now. Before the chaos starts.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, slender box. Black velvet, long and elegant.

Your heart jumps.

He sets it gently on the table and slides it toward you, fingers lingering on the lid before he lets go.

“Fives…” you whisper, barely breathing.

“Just open it,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. Only tenderness.

Your hands tremble slightly as you take the box. The velvet is soft beneath your fingertips as you ease it open.

Inside, resting against rich black satin, is a delicate silver chain, like spun starlight. And at its center, a small, simple charm: the number 5, cast in the same bright silver. No stones, no elaborate embellishment. Just the number that’s come to mean so much to you.

Tears spring to your eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

He smiles, slow and warm. “I had it made when you first started training. I figured… if missions ever pull us apart, I wanted you to have something. A piece of me.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Your throat’s too tight, your heart too full. Instead, you rise and move around the table, holding the open box in both hands.

“Put it on me?” you ask quietly.

Fives stands, his chair scraping softly against the stone floor. He takes the necklace with care, brushing your hair gently aside. His fingers are warm against your neck as he clasps it, the charm settling perfectly just above your heart.

When you turn to face him, you’re glowing, your fingertips tracing the charm.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers.

You don’t know if he means the necklace, or you.

Maybe both.

Because when his hands find your waist, and your forehead rests against his, there’s no space left for doubt; only the promise strung between you in silver and silence, shimmering like a star.

________________________

"I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck." - Call It What You Want, Taylor Swift.

Thanks for reading! Comment to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @vaderxvibes @ct7567329

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 5

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Don’t Blame Me

Fives was many things. Subtle wasn’t one of them.

The morning had been a blur of tangled sheets and warm skin. Nothing felt tangible, felt real, except for the feel of the two of you in each other’s arms. Then reality came crashing down.

“Kriff!” Fives cries, jumping out of bed. You’d both overslept. By alot. Fives had to sprint back to HQ for a fresh uniform and a quick shower, while you scrambled through your own apartment in record time, tossing on clean clothes. You tried and failed to tame your hair. There hadn’t been a second to unpack what happened between you, no time to even say what it meant. 

Still reeling, you push through the doors of the briefing room and find Rex and Echo already inside, datapads in hand, looking far too sharp for this hour. You offer a sheepish smile and hurry to your seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” you mutter, heat rushing to your cheeks. You set your materials down, trying to calm your racing mind.

Rex glances up from his datapad and clears his throat. “Long night?”

You practically freeze, halfway to sitting down, eyes snapping to his with alarm. 

Echo doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “Heard 79’s got a little… lively last night,” he says, casually flipping through a report, the teasing thick in his voice.

Before you can summon a denial or even a sentence, the door hisses open again. In strolls Fives, all swagger and smugness, like he owns every room he enters.

And kark it all, your heart does a flip at the sight of him.

He drops into the seat beside you without hesitation, close enough that your knees brush. The charged energy between you crackles like a live wire. You glance at him briefly just enough to see the glint in his eyes and the smirk threatening at the corners of his mouth.

There’s a beat of silence in the room and Echo shifts, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Let’s, uh… let’s get started,” you rasp, forcing your voice to steady.

You tear through the briefing with laser focus, skimming over intel like you’ve got somewhere better to be. 

Which, judging by the way Fives keeps stealing glances at you, you both do.

 You avoid looking at him, but it doesn’t stop the heat from rising in your chest, especially with Rex and Echo sitting there like they know something.

The second you wrap up, Rex murmurs something to Echo that makes him smirk, and they both file out of the room, not even trying to hide the way they glance back over their shoulders.

You stand as if to follow, collecting your datapad, then pause. The moment the door hisses shut behind them, you spin around on your heel.

Fives is already moving, crossing the room with that same determined swagger you’re quickly becoming addicted to. His hands slide around your waist, and he kisses you without hesitation.

But the second his lips leave yours, you push him back with a flustered gasp. “Fives! They could come back in! Anyone could walk through that door!”

He blinks, playful and unbothered. “You worried they’ll find out?”

You exhale hard, gesturing wildly. “They already know!”

That gets his attention. “What do you mean they know?” he asks, eyebrows raising, his voice dipping into something teasing. “What do they know, exactly?”

You huff and start pacing the small space. “They know about us, about last night. Someone must’ve seen us at 79’s. We weren’t exactly being subtle.” You glance back at him, nerves crawling all over your skin.

Fives crosses his arms and watches you pace, that familiar grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And this is a problem because…?”

You freeze for a beat. “Well… isn’t it? I mean, is this even allowed?”

He shrugs easily. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You drop your hands to your sides, still wringing them as if you can twist the worry out of your bones. “I don’t know, what if your superiors hear? There has to be some kind of regulation against this. Against fraternization.”

He closes the distance between you again, this time more gently. He takes your hands in his, thumbs stroking along your knuckles before he brings them to his lips for a kiss.

“Cyare,” he says quietly, “I think we’ve both already broken enough rules to know that they mean nothing to us.”

You let out a shaky breath, and some of the anxiety begins to melt off your shoulders.

“Besides,” he adds, his voice lightening, “I plan to tell everyone I know. Might even make a banner. Big bold letters, Hang it right in the mess.”

You groan, shoving at his chest, but you’re laughing now. “You’re insufferable.”

He pulls you into his arms and plants a kiss right at your temple. “Is that okay with you, though?” He asks, gently. “If other people know about…us?” 

Us.

The word hangs in the air, so real you could almost reach out and touch it.

You glance up at him, heart thudding like a drum in your chest. “Yeah,” you say, voice just above a whisper. “It’s more than okay.”

His smile softens. “Good. Because I meant it.”

You nod, suddenly shy under the weight of it all. You press your forehead to his, letting the quiet moment stretch.

“Just… maybe no banner,” you murmur.

Fives chuckles, arms tightening around your waist. “No promises.”

This is so new to you, so different. 

With Rylan you felt hidden away, and worse, literally forgotten. And now here’s Fives, wanting to scream his feelings for you to the whole galaxy. 

“So…” he starts. “Lunch?” You nod, and give him a quick peck on the lips before turning for the door.

You fall into step together, boots echoing softly down the corridor as the hum of HQ surrounds you. It's ordinary. But the way his hand brushes yours as you walk makes your heart beat like it’s anything but.

You reach the mess hall, the doors swishing open with a hiss. It’s busy with troopers everywhere, as usual. You hesitate for half a second, still not quite used to the idea that someone might see, might know.

And then Fives’ fingers slip into yours, easy and sure.

You glance up at him, startled, and he just grins like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“This is better than a banner anyway,” he says, squeezing your hand.

—---------------

The rosy glow of this new relationship fades quickly, losing its shine as all does in war.

 Two days after your mess-hall lunch date, Fives is deployed to Felucia. 

It should have been expected, with him being a soldier, and ARC trooper, no less. As a strategist, you of all people should have seen it coming. 

You know Felucia is intense, hot and humid, and littered with danger. As much as you hope for a quick deployment, the days stretch into a week.

 Then two. 

It would only make sense for Fives to go radio-silent for now, being in an active war zone and all. 

But he doesn’t. 

Every night he holo calls. Not just little check ins, but full hours long calls, just to talk.

 You watch as his face and eyes grow weary and heavy each day, and blow him a goodnight kiss before he logs off to rest for the grueling day ahead.

 Stars, you miss him.

 You worry about him. Your bones seem to ache with anxiety, a deep, unsettling feeling  that you aren’t used to. You struggle to sleep, struggle to eat. You spend the day worrying until he calls you as the sun rises on Coruscant and sets on Felucia.

This morning started like any other, waking up in your empty apartment– longing, hoping, wishing, waiting, worrying. You’re still groggy as you sit up and stretch, only to see your comm blinking rapidly. 

You snatch up the comm and scroll quickly. Messages from Kylei are ignored for the one at the top that causes your stomach to drop into an impossibility. 

CT-1409

Hey, we’re flying in to Coruscant early this morning. Wanted to give you a heads up that Fives was medevac’d last night and should be in the HQ medbay shortly. Thought you should know.

Your breath catches, an invisible string wrapping tight around your heart, yanking you forward with force. You don’t remember giving your legs the command to move, but suddenly you’re running through the streets of Coruscant.

You’ve never gotten to HQ faster.

The doors to the medbay hiss open, and you burst through, chest heaving, hands trembling. You don’t stop to speak to the medics, don’t ask for clearance. Your eyes are already sweeping across the rows of cots, desperation clawing at your throat.

“Mesh’la?”

The voice is hoarse but unmistakable.

You whip around and see him, two beds over.

Fives. 

You drop to the edge of the cot, already reaching for him, heart threatening to crack open in your chest.

“Fives,” you breathe out, like it’s a prayer, like just saying his name might undo your fears.

He lies still, half-propped against a few pillows, the pale blue blanket tucked up to his ribs. There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow, and the usual spark in his eyes is dulled, like he’s looking at you from somewhere far away. The bruises around his eyes are deep, shadowing the sharp lines of his face. A thick bandage wraps around his chest and shoulder, his right arm locked tightly in a sling. Bacta drips from a bag at his side into his arm.

Your hands find his without thinking, and it takes everything in you not to kiss him right there. You’re so overwhelmed with relief you could collapse.

“There she is…” he slurs, voice soft and thick with meds. “My girl.”

His face splits into a wide, hazy smile. You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. He’s out of it, battered and bandaged, but he’s alive.

Without thinking, you lean in and press a kiss to his forehead. His skin is warm and clammy, but he melts into your touch like it’s the first comfort he’s had in hours.

“Of course I’m here,” you whisper. “What do you need? Water? Another blanket?”

You’re already fussing, adjusting the fabric around his chest with careful hands, trying to do something to make up for the horror of whatever he had gone through.

“Jus’ you,” he mumbles, half-grinning, eyes fluttering closed for a second before forcing them open again. “So pretty…”

He tries to reach for your face, but the motion pulls at something along his shoulder and he winces sharply, breath catching in his throat.

“Don’t move,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around his good one again, grounding him.

The medbay doors swish open behind you. You glance back as in walks Rex, helmet under his arm. His armor is scuffed and his face is lined with fatigue. He heads straight for the two of you without hesitation.

“How’s he holding up?” Rex asks, voice steady but heavy. 

“Ay’, Captain!” Fives blurts, and with surprising energy, he latches onto your hand with his good arm and lifts it slightly. “Look who’s here! Told ya. Knew she’d come.”

Rex kneels at the side of the cot and presses a hand to Fives’ uninjured shoulder. “Rest, vod. You need it.”

The weight of the moment settles between you, a thick silence pulsing in the sterile white of the medbay. You slowly rise to your feet, your fingers slipping from Fives’ but only barely. Your eyes find Rex’s.

“What happened?” you whisper.

Rex’s jaw ticks. His voice is low, almost shameful. “A trap. Droids were waiting for us. Reinforcements came in during the night. We weren’t ready.”

You feel your stomach drop. “But how could they…”

“They knew our route. Nearly exact positions. It wasn’t a guess.” He shakes his head, eyes flicking to Fives, who’s already half-asleep again, murmuring something soft you can’t make out. “It was deliberate. Calculated. We figure they have programmed the tactical droids with some new code. They’re seeing patterns we aren’t by the time we’re in the field.”

You grip the edge of the cot to steady yourself, suddenly cold. 

“Their strategist is in the field. In real time. That’s how they knew.” You say, breathless.

He nods. “Command is already in talks of training some field strategists for ourselves. Someone who can see the maps as they change, predict the traps, the failures.” 

Your heart twists. If you’d been there you might have been able to see the risks, could have told the men to be on alert. You might have changed the outcome. 

Fives stirs, blinking up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, and suddenly flails his good hand at Rex with a barely-whispered, “Psssssst.”

Rex turns mid-step, brows drawn tight in concern. “What do you need, brother?”

Fives pushes himself up a little higher on the cot, gritting through the pain, gaze darting toward you. Then, with immense dramatic flair, he cups a hand over his mouth and leans toward Rex, whispering in the least subtle whisper you’ve ever heard.

“Do you think she knows?”

You glance between the two of them, confused. “Knows what?”

Rex closes his eyes like he’s praying for patience and steps closer, placing a steadying hand on Fives’ shoulder. “Not now,” he says gently. “Let’s talk later, okay? Focus on resting up.”

But Fives is nothing if not persistent. He grabs Rex’s wrist with surprising strength and tugs him closer. “‘S important!” he insists, tone growing desperate. “She might know—but wha’ if she don’t?”

Rex sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, then humors him. “Okay, okay. What does she maybe not know?”

Fives jerks his chin in your direction and gives Rex the most exaggeratedly suspicious side-eye before leaning in as best he can. “I like her. A lot.”

Rex huffs a breath of a laugh, eyes sparkling now. “She knows, vod.”

Fives blinks at him, processing. Then his face screws up into worry and he says, much louder. “But I mean I really, really, really like her, Rex.”

Your hand flies to your mouth as you try to hide a laugh, cheeks flaming. Rex turns and grins at you like he’s just been given the best entertainment of the week.

“That’s enough, Fives,” Rex says, barely keeping the laugh out of his voice. “Now rest. That’s an order.”

Fives lifts his good arm in a lopsided salute. “Yessir.”

Rex turns to go, still smirking, but not before casting you one last knowing look. “He’s all yours.”

You shake your head in exasperation and fondness, watching as Fives slumps back into his pillows with a dramatic sigh. His eyes roam the medbay, slow and unfocused, until they finally land on you again.

 He gestures to you with his good arm. A “come here’’ grabbing motion. 

And you gladly oblige. 

—--

“Absolutely not!” Fives’ voice cracks through the air, sharp and pained. He’s pacing. His injured arm still rests in a loose sling, but his posture is tense,  his stress too big for your living room.

It’s been three days since he was discharged from the medbay, and today was the first time he felt strong enough to leave the barracks. You’d been excited to have him over, to let him breathe in something quieter, something normal. But the moment you brought up your decision, it all unraveled.

“Fives,” you say firmly, crossing your arms as he rounds back on you, standing barely inches away. “It’s my decision. And I’ve made it.”

His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling beneath his black shirt that clings to him with the effort. He’s too worked up, too afraid, even if he won’t say that part out loud. You can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his dark eyes flick over you like he’s trying to memorize you, just in case.

He clenches his good hand at his side. “It’s too dangerous,” he repeats, quieter now but no less fierce. “You have no combat experience, no field hours, no training. Nothing.”

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and breathes out slow, trying to keep his voice from rising again. “You have to believe me, mesh’la. You’ve never seen it, not really. Not like we have. Planning and strategy from HQ is one thing, living it, breathing it out there while everything burns around you; that’s different.”

He turns away from you and drops onto the edge of your couch with a tired thud, his shoulders slumping. He passes  a hand through his hair, disheveled and dark, and exhales like he’s holding back something heavier than anger.

You watch him for a beat. His sling is slipping slightly, his fingers twitching where they rest on his knee.

He almost died a week ago. And now you’re telling him you want to walk into the same hell he just crawled out of.

“I know what I’m doing,” you say gently but firmly. “And I’m not doing it because I want to play soldier. I’m doing it because I can help. Because I want to help.”

He turns and just stares at you. You take a deep breath and say, “Being a field strategist, I can change things. I can keep you and your brothers safe. Safer atleast. I don’t want to ever have to see you in a medbay again. I just want to help.”

Fives leans forward, elbows on his knees, hand dangling uselessly in the sling. “And what if helping gets you killed?”

His voice is barely above a whisper now, raw. 

You kneel in front of him slowly, resting your hands lightly on his knees. “And what if it helps keep you alive?”

He looks at you and for a long second, says nothing. His eyes are shining just a little too much under the apartment lights.

Finally, he swallows hard and murmurs, “I just now got you, cyare. I don’t want to lose you.”

Slowly you go and take your place next to him on the couch, wrapping your arms around his side. 

“I can do this.” You whisper.

He sighs and rubs his hand along the arm holding him in place, holding him together. 

“I know you can.” He says. “That’s what scares me so much.”

------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @vaderxvibes @ct7567329

I didn't make it very clear in the early chapter's intros. But each chapter is based off of a song on Taylor Swift's Reputation Album. So expect 14 chapters, and an epilogue!

I struggled with wanting to add spice to this chapter or not. I expect just sporadic spice for the rest of the fic, focusing more on Fives and *your* relationship. But still some spice. We'll see how it turns out.

Anyways thanks for reading!

[bigbadbatch]

working on a set of vogue inspired prints for the clone boys! first up: rex! im thinking of doing cody, wolffe, fives, and most likely the bad batch!

instagram ( instagram.com/fishermanarts ) twitter ( mobile.twitter.com/fishermanarts ) side twitter ( mobile.twitter.com/fishermantalks ) shop ( www.etsy.com/shop/FishermanArtsStudio ) ko-fi ( ko-fi.com/fishermanarts )

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Warning! This chapter contains spice below the ***.

Chapter 4: Dress

You wake up on the couch to the sound of your comm vibrating over and over. Groggily, you sit up and stretch, grabbing it from the coffee table. Messages flood your screen—most from Kylei, some from Fives, and two from Rylan.

Rylan.

The first one says “Hey.” The one he sent last night. The second reads, “We need to talk.”

Your stomach drops.

Another ping comes in from Kylei, just as there’s a knock at the door. Wearily, you shuffle toward it, unsure who would be knocking at this hour. The door slides open. Kylei stands there, waiting.

“Don’t you know how to answer a comm? I was worried sick!”

She barges in, grabbing you and holding you at arm’s length, scanning your face. “Are you okay? Do you need a hug? What do you need?”

You blink at her, still foggy. “I just woke up.”

Kylei’s eyes widen. “It’s noon! Haven’t you checked your comms? I sent you a hundred messages.”

She pulls you over to the couch and sits you down, already swiping on her own comm. “I’m sorry, but I have to show you something. I sent it a dozen times, but maybe it’s better I’m here for it anyway.”

Her comm lights up and a hologram flickers to life, brightening the room.

It’s Rylan. On Alderaan. Smiling. His arm is wrapped around… someone else.

“That’s not all,” Kylei says, scrolling. More photos flash by: Rylan and the same girl hugging. Rylan pressing a kiss to her cheek. And then, the final blow: the girl holding up a hand, a diamond glittering on her finger.

You sit in stunned silence.

The images hover in front of you like a cruel joke, cycling slowly. Each one drives the knife a little deeper.

Engaged. He’s engaged.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper. “When could this happen? Is this why he stopped talking to me?” 

Kylei shakes her head slowly, her expression caught between sympathy and fury. “I know. I don’t think she knows about you. I dug around, her account’s private, but someone else reposted the pictures. She tagged him. Your  Rylan.”

You try to breathe, but your chest feels like it’s caving in. The disbelief is starting to crack, letting something messier creep through. “Why not just break up with me? Why leave me questioning like this?”

Kylei gently puts a hand on your knee. “Because he's a coward. Because he wanted to keep you on the line while playing house with someone else. Because he didn’t deserve you.”

You shake your head, still reeling. 

Your voice breaks and then, instead of sobbing, you laugh.

It bubbles up suddenly. Sharp, breathless, and entirely out of place.

Kylei freezes. “Uh… is that maniacal laughter? Have you lost it?” she asks, clearly alarmed.

You pull back, still laughing, wiping at the tears streaking your face. “No…I mean… maybe a little. But mostly, I think I’m relieved.”

You both exhale, that single word settling over the room like a dropped weight.

Then your eyes meet and it’s over. You both burst into laughter.

“Freedom!” Kylei shouts, throwing her arms around you in a triumphant hug.

Your comm buzzes again on the table.

A message from Fives.

You okay? Haven’t heard from you.

Kylei glances over your shoulder. “Fives?” Her eyebrows shoot up.

You bite your lip, the laugh lingering on your tongue, but now it feels different, lighter, warmer. “Let’s just say Rylan has terrible timing.” Or maybe it’s great timing… you think to yourself.

Kylei narrows her eyes, then they widen with realization. “Let’s go out tonight. Celebrate. Maybe even find someone to celebrate with.”

She bumps your shoulder playfully, wiggling her brows. You chuckle and then an idea clicks into place. Your stomach flutters even at the thought.

“Actually… could we head to your place?” you ask, a smile growing on your face. “I’d love to tell you a little more about last night. And, uh… maybe borrow a dress?”

Kylei gasps. “Oh my stars, yes!” She practically squeals and grabs your hand, dragging you toward the door. “You are telling me everything on the way!”

And just like that, the weight starts to lift.

—--

The night is just beginning, and your nerves are already on fire. You shift in your seat, adjusting the short hem of the low-back blue dress you swiped from Kylei’s closet earlier. It hugs you in all the ways your own dresses never did, not even that black one you wore to 79’s the first and only time you went. This one makes you feel electric. Dangerous. Desired. Like a live wire sparking under skin.

Kylei squeezes your hand as the speeder taxi slows to a stop. “You ready?” she asks, her voice low and knowing.

You nod, more certain of this than you’ve been about anything in the last six months.

The doors slide open, and you both step into the cool press of night. Neon signs flicker to life around you, humming in the dark, pulsing like the wild anticipation in your chest.

You step into 79’s and the air shifts instantly thicker, and hotter. Music pulses through the floor like a second heartbeat, and the crowd is a blur of bodies and heat and light. The dance floor writhes, all movement and rhythm, while the edges of the room blur into shadows, full of half-drunk laughter and hands slipping into the dark.

“Go get ’em, tooka,” Kylei purrs, giving your ass a teasing slap before disappearing into the crowd in search of her own trouble.

You scan the crowd but it’s impossible to pick one face out of dozens when they all wear the same one.

Clones. His brothers. 

Still, you move, hips swaying as you weave through the crowd. The bass lures you deeper. Sweat and synth and the sweet tang of something stronger hang in the air.

Then without warning a hand finds the bare skin of your lower back. Warm. Familiar. Confident.

You freeze.

A laugh curls into your ear, low and close and far too easy. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your breath catches as he turns you, and suddenly you’re face to face with Fives.

His smile is already breaking apart, eyes sweeping over you like he can’t decide where to look first. He lingers on the dress, the way it clings. The way you let him see you tonight. And then—he just stares.

“You look…” He swallows hard. “Kriff.”

You don’t blush. Not really. Not tonight. But your skin heats beneath his gaze, and you meet it head-on, holding him there like a challenge.

Fives laughs; nervous, uncertain, and rubs the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Is Fives, flirt of the 501st, actually short-circuiting?

“You, uh…” He tries again, voice rasping. “You wanna dance?”

You don’t answer. Just smile, slow and dangerous, and slide your fingers into his, pulling him into the crush of bodies without another word.

The lights strobe over you both, gilding the sharp lines of his frame in gold, turning his eyes molten. The beat hits, hard and heavy, and your bodies move, separate but in sync, orbiting each other.

He keeps space between you at first, like touching you might burn. But he can’t stop looking. Every time your hips roll, his gaze drops. Every sway of your body draws him closer without either of you meaning to.

Until you do mean to.

You take his hands again, firmer this time. Pull him flush to you, letting the music press your bodies together.

His breath stutters.

You move against him, smooth and slow. Your hands trace the solid lines of his shoulders, then down the sculpt of his arms, dragging heat with them. His hands are on your waist, guiding your movements. His pupils are blown wide. He looks like he’s drowning in you.

“Fives,” you say, barely loud enough.

He leans in, too eager, too close. “Yeah?”

You catch his face in your palm. And kiss him.

Quick. Bold. Certain.

He jerks back like he’s been shocked, blinking fast, mouth parted. “You… what… What was that?”

You laugh, breathless and trembling, the adrenaline coursing now. “I don’t want you like a best friend, Fives.”

His brows knit, like he’s trying to piece together the words.

So you give him the rest, heart pounding.

“I want you. Just you. All of you.”

“What about Rylan?” Fives asks, his voice low, almost lost beneath the music. He gives a small shake of his head, eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to make more of a mess than we already have.”

You step in closer, close enough that he can feel your certainty in the press of your body and the steadiness of your gaze.

“It’s just me and you, Fives,” you say softly. “No more Rylan. No more holding back. Just us.”

Something shifts in him like tension finally snapping free. His grin spreads slow, stunned, and then wide enough to light up the whole club.

“You’re… mine?” he breathes, like he’s afraid he’ll wake up before he hears it again. “I mean… you wanna be?”

You throw your head back and laugh, joy bubbling out of you like you can’t contain it. “I’m yours!” you shout, arms thrown wide, the music crashing around you.

He doesn’t hesitate.

In one smooth movement, he lifts you off the ground and spins you, both of you laughing, dizzy and wild and free. The room blurs, but all you see is him.

Your feet barely touch the floor before he kisses you, hard and deep and completely gone. Like he’s been holding it back for far too long.

And now, he finally gets to let it all go.

His kiss leaves you breathless, lips tingling, and the press of his body against yours sends your pulse spiraling. He pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, and his pupils are blown wide.

“If we don’t leave right now,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, “I’m gonna end up pulling you into a dark corner and giving this place a bad reputation.”

You laugh, giddy and flushed, but your fingers slide under the hem of his shirt like a dare. “Is that supposed to be a threat or a promise?”

His jaw flexes. “Both.”

You press a kiss beneath his jaw, slow and sultry. “Then take me home, Fives.”

His breath catches.

“You sure?” he asks, voice quieter now, reverent despite the heat. “I don’t want to ruin anything by moving too fast.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not moving fast. You’re just... catching up.”

That does it.

He grabs your hand, threading your fingers tightly with his, and tugs you through the crowd with a new kind of urgency. The speeder ride is a blur, his hand on your thigh, your breath catching every time his fingers inch higher. Words aren't necessary now. The look he gives you in the dim lights is pure promise.

By the time you reach your apartment, you're practically vibrating with want. The door barely clicks shut before you're in his arms again, lips crashing, bodies colliding like gravity has finally won.

And this time there’s no one around to stop what’s about to happen.

He kisses you like he’s drowning in it. Like kissing you is the only thing keeping him afloat. Your laugh breaks against his mouth when you fall back onto the couch, tugging him down with you. He braces himself above you, eyes wild, lips swollen, chest rising fast beneath your touch.

Everything else: the low light, the hum of the city beyond your windows blurs out around him. It’s just Fives. His weight on top of you. His breath coming fast. His hands trailing fire across your skin.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to trace the lines of your face with his eyes like he’s trying to burn them into memory.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice rough. “In that karking dress? Dancing with me like that? I almost lost it.”

You reach up, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again longer this time, deeper. His hips press to yours and the friction pulls a soft gasp from your lips. He grins against your mouth, then groans when your fingers slip under the hem of his shirt.

“I only wore it so you’d take it off,” you whisper into the space between you.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark and molten. “Kriff.”

You sit up just enough to peel the dress down your shoulders, letting it fall to your waist, then to the floor. His gaze follows every inch of newly revealed skin like it’s sacred.

He’s still for a moment. Reverent.

Then: “Bedroom. Now. Before I forget how to be decent.”

You smirk. “You’ve never been decent, Fives.”

He scoffs, breathless, and hauls you up with him, one arm around your waist as you both stumble down the short hall. You’re kissing between steps, bumping into walls and doorframes, too busy tugging his shirt off to care. He kicks your bedroom door open without ceremony and you collapse into the bed in a tangle of hands and lips and laughter.

***

Then he’s above you again, stripping what little clothing is left between you. When he settles between your thighs, he slows just enough to run his hands along your skin, to press soft kisses to your collarbone, your chest, your stomach.

“You’re so kriffing perfect,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. “You have no idea.”

You moan as he finally pushes into you—slow, steady, claiming every inch like he means to stay. Your hands clutch at his back, your breath catching in your throat.

“F-Fives,” you gasp. “Don’t stop.”

His mouth finds yours.

He sets a rhythm; deep, controlled, but needy at the edges. His grip tightens on your hips like he’s barely holding back, like he’s wanted this for so long it’s taking everything not to fall apart already.

“You feel so karking good,” he groans, and you pull him closer, thighs locked around his waist.

It builds fast between you, pressure curling hot in your belly. His hand finds yours, fingers entwining, and he looks down at you like you’re everything.

“Come with me,” he rasps. “Please.”

You do.

With a cry you can’t bite back, clutching him like a lifeline, pulsing around him as he buries his face in your neck and follows you over the edge with a low, desperate “kark, mesh’la…”

You collapse together, tangled and breathless, skin slick and hearts racing.

He kisses your shoulder, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

And then, in a soft, stunned whisper: “Kriff… I’m so screwed.” The two of you laugh as you settle into his chest, him pulling the covers up over the two of you. 

***

This is everything you’ve ever wanted, finally here, in the palm of your hand, in your bed. Fives lies beside you, bare skin warm against yours, chest rising slow and steady like he’s still trying to catch his breath.

You press a light kiss to his cheek, barely more than a brush, and curl into his side. His arm wraps around you instantly, like it belongs there. Like you belong here.

“You’re staying?” you ask quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

His fingers trace gentle patterns along your arm. “’Course.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You close your eyes, letting the words settle into your bones. For the first time in a long time, the silence between heartbeats doesn’t ache, it hums.

He shifts slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair. “You’re mine now, yeah?”

You smile into his chest. “I’ve been yours.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “Kriff. I hope you’re ready for me to be insufferable about it.”

“I’m counting on it,” you say, and the two of you fall into a warm, satisfied silence, legs tangled, the night wrapped around you like a secret.

---------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5: Don't Blame Me

Thanks for reading! If interested in joining a taglist, please comment! Be sure you're following me so you get notified!

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 3: I Did Something Bad

Tomorrow comes and goes with little fanfare. You see Fives at the morning briefing, confident, relaxed, like nothing ever happened. “I didn’t mean to complicate things,” he’d said.

But he did. Stars, he so did.

You can’t stop thinking about him. His laugh. The way his hand settled on your lower back at 79’s. Last night’s kiss. It loops in your mind like some cruel holo-recording. Meanwhile, you’d texted Rylan again this morning: Hello? Anyone there? Still no reply. 

You’re not sad anymore. Just… pissed. And confused. And maybe a little heartsick. You need to talk to someone. Not Fives, definitely not Fives, so you call the only person who knows you like this.

Kylei stares at you over her half-eaten meal, jaw dropping. “Are you kriffing kidding me?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hiss, scanning the diner. “It wasn’t like…it was just an accident. Total accident.”

“He kissed you?” she squeaks. “You kissed him? There was a kiss?!”

You shrug helplessly, stabbing at your food. “And still nothing from Rylan? What are you going to do?”

You give another shrug, this one heavier. The anger is cooling into something duller now—an exhausted indifference. “I messaged him again. I just… want to clear the air.”

Kylei rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of her drink. “Clear the air with someone who won’t even talk to you? Babe, come on. Just say it’s over and be done. Honestly, you already have.”

You hate how much she’s right. You finish your food, then check your comm on instinct. Maybe, maybe, Rylan finally answered.

He hasn’t. But a message from CT-5555 lights up your screen:

Sudden deployment. Should be quick and painless. Sorry I won’t have caf for you at tomorrow’s briefing. Be back soon.

It’s short. Casual. Simple. And it still punches a little knot of worry into your chest. It always does, when one of your men deploys. But especially Fives.

The days stretch longer without Fives around.

You tell yourself it’s just the usual worry. You always get like this when any of the boys are deployed—tight chest, jumpy at comms, ears tuned to every whisper of news. But this feels different. Sharper. Constant.

Fives keeps filling your thoughts.

You try to distract yourself, throw yourself into routine, into reports, into drills but it’s like he’s in the room with you anyway. You hear a joke and think of his laugh. Catch a glimpse of a trooper from behind and your heart leaps for a second before you realize it’s not him. Even the quiet moments feel louder now, echoing with the memory of his hand at your back… his mouth on yours.

You shouldn’t miss him like this. You shouldn’t want to.

Because Rylan still hasn’t responded. And no matter how much silence he leaves you with, you’re still technically his. Right? Maybe? The guilt churns in your gut. A bitter, sticky kind that clings to everything.

You told Kylei it was an accident. You even tried to believe it yourself. But deep down, you know it wasn’t just a moment. Not for you. Not really.

You check your comm more than you care to admit, not for Rylan, not anymore, but for Fives. Just hoping for a ping. An update. Something.

Nothing yet.

Nights are the worst. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting memories blur into fantasies. What if he had stayed? What if the kiss had turned into something more? What if he meant it? Then you remember Rylan. The unanswered messages. The unanswered you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if that’ll shut off your brain. But the thought remains, curling around you like smoke:

You’re not even sure what you want anymore. You just know who you keep wanting.

And he’s out there right now blaster in hand, armor on, risking his life while you lie here tangled in sheets and thoughts you shouldn't be having.

Stars, you hope he comes back soon. Because you need to see him. You need to know if he’s feeling it too.

— — —

Your comm chimes mid-afternoon, a quiet buzz that makes your heart skip before you even glance at the screen.

CT-5555

You open the message.

Just landed back on Coruscant.

Your breath catches. Relief blooms in your chest; warm and sudden. He’s okay. He’s home.

A second message follows, this one voice-recorded. You tap play, and Fives' voice filters through; low, a little rough with fatigue, and laced with something uncertain.

“Hey. Uh… I need to unwind. Hate to ask, but there’s this holo I’ve been wanting to see. Last night it’s showing, apparently. Thought maybe... I don’t know. We could go. Talk after. About… you know.”

He trails off, then clears his throat.

“Anyway. Go with me?”

You’re still staring at your comm when the recording ends, heart pounding like he actually said it to your face. You can practically feel his hesitation, how he tried to sound casual, like it’s no big deal. Like it’s just a holo. But the pause before “talk” tells you otherwise.

He wants to talk. Wants time with you. Alone.

You blink at the screen, thumbs frozen, then finally type back:

Yeah. Meet you at HQ?

You stare at the message before hitting send. Part of you wants to write something else. Ask what he means. Ask what this is. Ask why just hearing his voice makes your stomach twist in anticipation and guilt all at once.

But you don’t.

You send the message and exhale, nerves humming under your skin.

It’s just a holo.

You take longer getting ready than you'd ever admit out loud.

You change clothes twice. Then again. You try on that top you like, the one that hugs just enough without trying too hard and stare at yourself in the mirror. Your hands shake a little as you adjust your jacket. You tell yourself it's not a date. It’s just a friend. A maybe-sorta-kissed-you friend who’s been stuck in your head since the moment he left.

You head to HQ early, hoping to beat the nerves. But when you arrive, he’s already there.

Fives is waiting outside near the steps, leaning back casually against a railing. He’s in civvie clothes: soft grey pants, a fitted black shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and a worn utility jacket slung open over it. No armor. Just him.

It’s… jarring. In a good way.

He looks up and sees you, and that slow grin you know way too well spreads across his face.

“You clean up alright.” he teases, pushing off the railing.

You laugh, but it comes out softer than you intended. “Look who’s talking. Didn’t know you owned clothes that weren’t standard issue.”

He glances down at himself, mock-offended. “What, this? You’re looking at the height of Coruscanti fashion handpicked from a surplus shop and probably illegal in three sectors.”

“Stylish and humble,” you say with a smile, falling into step beside him.

You walk together toward the theater. The city’s alive around you, sky traffic humming overhead, neon lights bleeding down the duracrete walls, and pedestrians bustling with weekend energy. For a while, neither of you talks. But the silence feels full, not awkward. Like something waiting.

When you round the corner to the holoplex, you stop short.

The line outside the theater is massive, curling around the block. The marquee overhead flashes: FINAL NIGHT – SOLD OUT

Fives jogs ahead to double-check, but you already know. You watch the way his shoulders slump just a little when he turns back toward you, disappointment written plain across his face.

“Kriff,” he mutters as he reaches you again. “Totally sold out. I thought I’d be ahead of it…should’ve known better.”

You offer a small smile, even though something in your chest deflates a little too. “Guess the rest of the city had the same idea.”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for this to be... a bust.”

You hesitate, watching him fidget, thumb tapping absently against the seam of his pants, eyes darting to the crowd, like he’s calculating a Plan B. It’s kind of adorable. And very Fives.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you say quietly.

His gaze snaps to yours. “What do you mean?”

You glance toward the nearest holoterminal across the plaza, then back at him. “I can rent the holo. At my place. If you’re still up for it.”

There’s a pause, just a beat too long, and then that familiar smirk pulls at the edge of his mouth, gentler this time.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I don’t want to make things more… complicated.”

You shrug, a little too casual. “It’s just a holo, right?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes warm now. “Right.”

“Come on then,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “I’ve got a couch, a holoprojector, and if you’re lucky, leftover caf and cheap snacks.”

Fives falls into step beside you again, a little closer this time. And neither of you says what you’re both thinking.

It’s not just a holo. Not anymore.

By the time you reach your apartment, the sky is streaked with soft hues of orange and violet, the kind of Coruscant sunset that makes even the duracrete glow. You swipe your code at the door, and the lock clicks open with a quiet chime.

Your hand trembles slightly on the panel. Not enough to be noticeable, unless you’re you. You brush it off and push the door open.

“Home sweet home,” you say, half-joking as you step inside.

Fives follows right behind, taking in the familiar space with a small smile. “Still cozy,” he says, slipping off his jacket and draping it over the back of your armchair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s been here before, once, right after you moved in, when Kylei had insisted on a tiny welcome party. He and Echo showed up with cheap takeout and fizzy drinks, lounged on your barely-put-together furniture, and made themselves at home like good soldiers do anywhere. But it’s quieter now. Warmer.

“Didn’t figure you for someone who keeps throw pillows,” Fives teases as he settles in front of your holoscreen, crouching to slide the holochip into the player.

“I like comfort,” you reply from the kitchen, pulling open a cabinet for snacks. “And I definitely like pillows.”

The holoscreen glows to life, the title card flickering gently in the background. Fives stands up and glances your way. “You want caf? Or something fizzy?”

You grin. “Both. Obviously.”

He laughs and helps himself to your drink stash without needing directions. There’s something oddly soothing about watching him move in your space like he belongs here like this is something you’ve done a hundred times.

By the time you both sit on the couch, bowls of snacks between you and warm drinks in hand, it almost feels easy. Familiar. Just two friends watching a holo. Just another quiet night.

The holo starts, a quiet hum filling the room as the opening scene fades in. You grab the remote resting beside you on the couch and dim the lights, the soft glow of the screen casting a gentle shimmer across the room.

You settle back into the cushions, blanket draped over your legs. Fives lounges beside you, one ankle hooked casually over his knee, his attention on the screen, though you catch him glancing your way more than once.

It’s a thriller, fast-paced and clever, full of sudden reveals and narrow escapes. You’re just starting to relax into it when something jumps out on-screen with a loud screech and you flinch hard.

You practically launch sideways, nearly ending up in Fives’ lap.

“Whoa, easy,” he laughs, catching your elbow before you tumble fully into him. His breath is warm near your cheek, and he grins down at you, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Didn’t think you’d scare that easy.”

“It was loud,” you grumble, your face hot as you right yourself.

He chuckles again and casually drapes his arm around your shoulders. Friendly. Familiar. Like it’s no big deal. But his fingers rest lightly at the edge of your arm, warm even through your sleeve.

The holo keeps playing, the plot thickening until it shifts. The main character begins to fall for her counterpart. The tension bubbles into something softer. Slower. They lean in, and then they’re kissing deeply, passionately, like they’ve been holding back for far too long.

Your breath catches.

All at once, the other night flashes into your mind The heat of his mouth on yours, that kiss that still lingers in your thoughts like a secret.

You risk a glance at Fives, heart thudding.

He’s already looking at you.

The air around you stills. The holo plays on, but it might as well be on mute. His gaze is locked on yours, and for a long moment, you forget how to breathe.

You glance down at his lips.

His eyes flick down to yours, mirroring the motion like a silent question.

His hand, still resting on your shoulder, starts to trace slow, gentle circles, thoughtless, steady. Your whole body leans toward him like he’s a gravitational force and you’re helpless against the pull.

You place a hand against his chest, and he stiffens slightly under your touch then relaxes. His heart beats fast beneath your palm, a quiet rhythm that mirrors your own.

You’re close. So close. The holo forgotten. The rest of the world on pause.

You don’t know who leans in first.

Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Because suddenly, there’s a crash of lips, no hesitation, no slow build. Just heat and hunger and intention. His mouth finds yours with purpose, and you gasp softly into it, the sound swallowed by the force of it all.

Fives’ hands move up, cupping your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. His touch is firm, steady, grounding and all-consuming. You grip the front of his shirt for balance, but it’s not enough. You’re kissing him back with a desperation that surprises even you, nearly climbing into his lap just to close the impossible space between you.

He shifts, tugging you closer until you’re nearly straddling his thigh, your knees brushing his sides. One of your hands slides around the back of his neck, fingers threading into the soft hairs at the nape. You tug him in, anchoring yourself there. You can’t get enough.

You tilt your head and part your lips just slightly, an invitation, unspoken but clear. Fives doesn’t hesitate. He deepens the kiss, and stars, you feel it everywhere. It’s slow but hungry, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you breathe into him.

His tongue brushes yours, and a soft, involuntary sound escapes from deep in your throat. He swallows that too.

It’s not just want; it’s weeks of tension, days of silence, and one night that never really left either of you. And now it’s unraveling fast.

The holo keeps playing in the background, completely forgotten. Because the only thing you can feel is him.

But then something shifts.

His hands trail down from your face to your shoulders, gripping firmly as if to steady both of you against the sudden rush. You catch the gleam in his eyes: dark, fierce, almost wild.

Your breath catches.

Before you can think twice, his lips leave yours in a fiery trail down your jaw, over your neck. Heat blooms beneath his touch, and you shiver, tilting your head to give him more access.

Your hands move with growing urgency, pulling at his shirt, tangling in his hair, desperate for more of him.

Fives growls low, a rough, pleased sound vibrating through him. His hands roam lower, sliding under your shirt, fingertips pressing against bare skin. You arch into him instinctively, the air thick with tension and want.

Your heart hammers in your chest as your bodies press closer, breath mingling, skin burning where you touch.

His mouth crashes back to yours; harder, deeper. Tongues dueling, teeth grazing. The kiss becomes a wild dance, frantic and messy.

You wrap your arms around his neck tighter, fingers clawing lightly as the heat between you spirals out of control.

The quiet room feels suddenly too small, too confining. Your breaths come faster, hotter, as the kiss threatens to consume you both whole.

Neither of you wants to stop.

Then, a sudden new sound cuts through the haze. Sharp and electronic, out of place in the low-lit room. Your comm.

You both flinch like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

The screen lights up with a soft glow, and a holocall notification scrolls across the bottom corner of the holo display, overlaying the half-forgotten film.

You barely breathe as your eyes lock on the name floating midair above the screen.

Rylan.

Everything stills.

Fives pulls back slightly, his chest still rising and falling with the effort of catching his breath. His hands remain on your waist, but the warmth in them cools, tension creeping into his grip.

You stare at the name like it might vanish if you look hard enough.

But it doesn’t.

Your lungs are burning, and you suddenly realize you’re panting, your lips kiss-swollen, your body still pressed to Fives’. You meet his eyes, wide and startled, unsure what to do.

His brows furrow just slightly, like he’s waiting for you to say something, to answer, to move. But he doesn’t let go.

Your mouth opens like you're going to speak, but nothing comes out. Just the soft, scared sound of your breathing and the echo of your heartbeat in your ears.

You look back at the screen, the holo frozen in the background, your whole body caught between want and guilt.

Rylan is calling. And you have no idea what you’re about to do.

The call drops. Just like that, the name vanishes from the air, snuffed out like a flame.

Silence follows, thick and choking.

You let your hands fall from Fives’ chest, your fingers trembling as they drop to your lap. Then slowly, as the reality crashes over you, you bury your face in them, trying to quiet the storm rising in your chest.

You don’t know what you feel more, shame or disappointment. You’re not even sure who it’s for.

“Hey,” Fives says, voice low. Gentle. Not pushing.

Just… there.

You can feel him watching you. Still close. Still warm. But he’s pulled back enough to give you space, his hands now resting lightly at your hips, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll tell him to let go.

He doesn’t say anything else right away. He’s never been the kind to fill silence just to make it feel smaller.

You drag in a shaky breath behind your fingers, trying to piece your thoughts together. You’re a mess of adrenaline and regret, of craving and confusion, and the sudden drop from that high into something like dread leaves your chest hollow.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not even sure if it’s for kissing him, for stopping, or for letting it go so far before reality clawed its way back in.

Fives stays quiet a moment longer, and then, softly.

“Don’t be.”

You look up slowly, eyes burning, and his face is open, unreadable but kind.

He’s not mad. He’s not pulling away.

But he’s waiting, for whatever you need to say next.

Your lips part, but at first nothing comes out. You’re still too full; of guilt, of want, of confusion. Of him.

You swallow hard, eyes locked on Fives, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t stopped looking at you like he’s steady even if you’re not.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you say finally, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods slowly. “I know.”

You glance away, heat prickling behind your eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just… I don’t know where I stand with Rylan. I don’t even know what he wants anymore. And then you…” You pause, breath catching, “…you make me feel like I don’t have to keep waiting around to find out.”

Fives is quiet for a moment, jaw working like he’s biting back something heavier.

“You don’t,” he says at last. “You never did.”

You blink, surprised by the certainty in his voice.

“I wasn’t trying to confuse you,” he continues, softer now. “But I’m not sorry I kissed you. And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t want you. I just…” he runs a hand through his curls, exhaling, “…I don’t want to be something you regret.”

That hits you hard. Because you don’t. Not really.

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t regret you,” you say, meeting his gaze again. “I just… don’t know what happens now.”

Fives leans in just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, but he doesn’t close the distance this time. His eyes are searching yours, steady.

“Then let’s figure it out. One step at a time.”

And somehow, despite everything still tangled and unresolved, it’s a relief to not have to know all the answers yet. Not tonight.

The holo winds down with a quiet fade to black, the credits rolling in soft, pale light across your holoscreen. Neither of you moves for a long moment.

The room is dark, hushed except for the faint hum of city traffic outside your window. Your body still hums from earlier, your lips tingling, heart unsure of its rhythm.

Fives shifts beside you, then slowly stands. He stretches, arms high over his head, shirt riding up just slightly. The moment feels strangely intimate again, but softer now. Quieter.

“Well,” he says, voice low as he exhales and drops his arms, “guess I should let you get some rest.”

You nod, sitting still on the couch, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Yeah… right.”

He takes a step toward the door, then hesitates. “Thanks for the holo. Even if we, uh… didn’t really watch all of it.”

You manage a smile, tired but real. “We got the gist.”

He chuckles at that; an easy, warm sound, but there’s a weight beneath it, something a little uncertain. Something waiting.

You both linger there, suspended in the space between too much and not enough.

Fives steps closer, just for a second, and his hand brushes lightly along your arm. 

You look up at him, and your throat tightens.

His gaze holds yours for one breath, then another. Then, with a small nod, he turns and heads for the door.

You stay seated, heart thudding, watching as he pauses just before leaving.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, not turning around.

You manage a quiet, “Yeah. You will.”

And then he’s gone, the door sliding shut behind him with a gentle click.

The room feels different without him. Emptier, but also quieter. Like everything that just happened is still echoing in the walls, in your skin, in your heart.

You sit frozen on the couch long after the door clicks shut behind Fives.

The room is dim, shadows stretching along the walls, the holo screen still casting a faint glow before it finally powers down. The quiet feels heavier now. Not peaceful, charged. Like the static left behind after a storm.

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, still caught between everything that just happened and everything you don’t know how to feel about.

You draw your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, forehead resting against your kneecaps. Your skin is still warm from Fives’ touch. Your lips still tingle. Your head is a mess.

You’re a mess.

The guilt creeps in like a slow fog, thick and suffocating. Not because you regret Fives. You don’t. But because you know you’ve been living in the in-between for too long. Waiting for something, someone,to change. And maybe, until tonight, you hadn’t realized how much you’d stopped hoping he would.

You sit there, trying to breathe, trying to settle the chaos swirling in your chest.

Then-

Ping.

The soft chime cuts through the silence like a blade. Your head jerks up, and your stomach drops.

The glow of your holoscreen flickers back to life.

Just one message. Short. Simple. Cruel in its timing.

“Hey.” —Rylan.

You stare at it, unmoving.

The word floats in the air, projected in soft light. Innocuous. Deceiving. Like it didn’t come days too late. Like it didn’t interrupt the one thing that finally made you feel something real again.

Your jaw tightens. Your fingers twitch.

But you don’t move.

You don’t answer.

You just sit there in the dark, heart pounding in your ears, with that single word hanging in the air between you and everything you’re no longer sure you want.

-----------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading! If interested in joining a taglist, please comment! Be sure you're following me so you get notified! The next chapter may contain spice!

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Delicate

A few days have passed since that night at 79’s, and things have… shifted.

You haven’t heard a word from Rylan. Not a message, not a ping.

But Fives?

 Fives has been a presence.

The flirting is still “harmless”, technically, but there’s an edge to it now. A hum beneath every word, every glance. Like you’re both waiting for the other to crack first.

During a holotape review two days ago, he leaned over to make some joke about your reaction time and his hand brushed yours. He didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

And now, when he’s late to meetings, which is often, he brings caf. Your order, specifically. No need to ask anymore.

Today, the 501st is running the new drills you designed; speeders, simulated enemy fire, terrain mapping. It’s all in prep for what’s becoming more common in the field: high-speed infiltration, urban extractions, fast exits on vehicles most clones weren’t trained on.

These aren’t the military-grade models, either. They’re repurposed civilian speeders: sleek, temperamental, and dangerous, the kind usually ridden by people in leather jackets and questionable life choices.

And Fives is tearing the track apart.

He’s on his third lap, well ahead of his brothers, crouched low over the controls like the thing’s an extension of him. He leans into the turns with reckless grace, kicking up dust and laughter in his wake.

You watch, entranced, and not just because it’s your job.

There’s something magnetic about it. About him. The thrill in his smile. The way he moves like he knows you’re watching, and doesn’t mind one bit.

The speeder drills wind down in a blur of heat, sweat, and dust. You’re still logging time reports when a familiar voice cuts through the din.

“Hey, Trouble,” Fives says, grinning as he walks up. “Wanna grab lunch with us? I hear the mess is actually good today. Miracles happen.”

You look up, shielding your eyes against the sun, and smile.

“Yeah. I’ll meet you there.”

The mess is chaos; loud with overlapping conversations, bootsteps, and the clatter of trays. At least three battalions are cycling through Coruscant rotation, and it shows.

You navigate the crowd carefully, tray in hand, eyes scanning until you spot him, the cut of his shoulders, the glint of his temple tattoo.

“Hey!” Fives calls, spotting you first. He waves you over with enthusiasm.

You weave through the room until you reach the table, already full of troopers. Just as you hesitate, Fives leans to the clone beside him and shoves his shoulder. Not hard, but not subtle either.

“Scoot. No hard feelings,” he adds with a grin as the trooper groans and makes room. “It’s for a good cause.”

You slide into the now-vacant seat. Fives shifts to give you space, but not too much.

The table’s alive with banter. With Hardcase and Echo bickering over strategy, Jesse inhaling his food like it’s a race. You laugh, the kind that bubbles up before you can stop it, and realize this is what you like most: when simulations and briefings open up to the whole battalion. You get to know them. The real them.

Fives nudges your shoulder with his own.

“What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual. 

You glance at him, caught off guard by how soft his voice is beneath the noise. You bite your lip, pretending to think.

“Nothing. Why?”

His grin could power a starfighter.

“Meet me here at 2200. It’s work-related,” he adds quickly, eyes dancing. “Promise.”

You try not to show your flicker of disappointment.

“Oh. Sure. Yeah. See you then.”

He looks at you a second longer than necessary like he knows what you thought and isn’t correcting it on purpose. Then he turns back to the others, letting the moment rest.

But the grin never quite leaves his face.

—-

The evening air is warm, and Coruscant sparkles beneath the heavy violet sky. As you walk back toward HQ, you adjust your uniform, heart ticking just a little faster than usual.

What could Fives possibly mean by “work-related”?

He's already waiting at the entrance, full kit, minus the helmet, leaning against one of several speeders lined up at the curb. He stands out easily, like always. Like he knows he does.

When he spots you, his smile stretches wide.

“Hey, mesh’— I mean... Trouble.”

You blink, startled. That was almost a Mandalorian endearment. He covers it quickly, but you don’t miss the flicker of heat in his eyes.

Before you can ask, the doors behind him swing open. More troopers spill out, some in armor, others in undersuits, all laughing and mounting speeders like this is just another night.

“What’s going on?” you ask, watching as engines begin to hum.

Fives pushes off his speeder and steps toward you, confidence in every stride.

“Friendly race,” he says. “Got approval for ‘extra practice.’ Thought after watching us today, maybe you’d want to try one out.”

Your mouth drops open.

“You mean drive one of these?”

You eye the line of sleek, powerful machines.

“No way.”

Fives just grins wider.

“Don’t worry. I’ll drive. You just hold on tight.”

Your heart does a little lurch; part nerves, part something much more dangerous. Your thoughts flicker to Rylan. Or rather, the absence of him. Weeks of silence. Distance. Excuses.

But Fives? He’s here. Smiling like you’re the only thing he sees.

You swallow the hesitation and smile back.

“Let’s go.”

“That’s my girl,” he cheers, swinging a leg over his speeder and patting the seat behind him.

You climb on carefully, settling in until you’re pressed right up against him. The engine roars to life, and the speeder jolts forward just enough that your arms fly around his waist on instinct.

Fives laughs, deep and unbothered.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

The speeders around you rev, riders bantering back and forth, engines whining like caged animals. Fives glances over his shoulder, playful.

“Want to make this interesting?”

You raise a brow.

“I’d say it’s already interesting.”

He shakes his head, chuckling.

“You scream, I win.” he says.

“What do you get if you win?” you reply.

He ponders for a moment. “You owe me a secret. Something good.”

You smirk.

“And if I win?”

Fives throws you a grin that’s nothing short of electric.

“You get to ask me anything. I’ll even answer honestly, rare opportunity.”

You tighten your grip, press closer, and whisper near his ear.

“Deal.”

A clone stands in the middle of the road with a red stretch of fabric. He raises it, then sends it to the pavement.

The roar of engines drowns out everything else as the speeders shoot forward like blaster bolts. The wind whips your hair, your eyes sting, and the city blurs into streaks of neon and durasteel. Fives leans into the turns like he was born to do this; one hand steady on the controls, the other gripping the throttle, guiding the machine with terrifying ease.

He doesn’t slow for corners. He dares them.

“Still with me, Trouble?” he calls over the roar of wind.

You can’t answer. You’re too focused on the sheer rush; lights flashing past, buildings towering above, the faint thrill of danger buzzing in your bloodstream.

Another sharp turn, too sharp. You suck in a breath as Fives jerks the speeder sideways to avoid a transport skimming low across the next level. The speeder drops fast, nearly scraping the edge of a walkway and instinct takes over.

You scream.

It tears out of you before you can stop it, half terror, half pure exhilaration and Fives laughs, full-bodied and delighted.

“That’s one for me!”

You’re laughing too now, breathless and high off the adrenaline.

“I can’t stand you,” you shout over the engine.

“You wish that was true!”

The rest of the course blurs by in a fever dream of speed and neon until finally, finally, the speeder banks around the last checkpoint, slowing as you hit the return path toward HQ.

Your heart is still hammering in your chest, your arms still tight around his waist.

Back at the base, troopers are pulling in from all directions, parking speeders and hooting at each other, comparing near-misses and mock victories. Fives pulls into the lineup with an easy stop, letting the engine whine down before swinging his leg off.

He turns to you, grinning like he just won a championship.

“So,” he says, voice low. “Where’s my prize?”

You hop off, still a little dizzy, the world spinning a touch slower now. Your cheeks are warm from windburn and something else entirely.

“You cheated,” you say. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Hey, I said scream, you screamed. A deal’s a deal.”

He’s still watching you, that grin faltering just slightly. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s wondering if he pushed too far.

You step closer, bump his shoulder with yours, and smirk.

“Fine. You win.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, a little breathless now himself.

“I’ll tell you something,” you say. “But it’s not a secret.”

“Oh?” he raises a brow.

You lean in just enough for only him to hear.

“I haven’t had that much fun in weeks.”

The grin returns, slower this time, warmer.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “Me neither. Need a lift home? We’ve still got the speeders for a few hours.”

Your cheeks flush warm. “Yeah. And I won’t scream this time.” Fives raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?” You throw your head back and laugh. “Sure! What’s the prize this time?” He chuckles, thinking for a moment. “Let me mull it over. Hop on.”

The city lights of Coruscant smear into streaks as Fives revs the speeder, weaving effortlessly through the night traffic. Your arms wrap again around his waist, the heat from his armor grounding you even as your heart races faster than the engine’s roar.

“Hold on tighter,” Fives says, flashing a mischievous grin over his shoulder.

You press your chest closer to his back, fingers digging lightly into the armored vest. The wind tugs at loose strands of hair, but you barely notice—caught in the wild thrill of speed and the steady strength beneath your hands.

Suddenly, he jerks the speeder sharply left, narrowly missing a hovering cargo freighter crossing your path.

You gasp, heart leaping into your throat.\

“You’re insane.” you laugh breathlessly.

“Only for you, Trouble.”

Then, without warning, the speeder veers dangerously close to a merchant’s cart parked on the street corner. The cart’s crates teeter precariously, nearly spilling into the path.

Your breath catches and you scream, sharp and sudden, a burst of pure adrenaline.

Fives laughs, eyes gleaming with excitement. “See? I knew you’d scream again.”

He pushes the speeder harder, racing down a narrow alley between towering buildings. Sparks fly as the vehicle scrapes dangerously close past exposed piping and flashing holo-ads.

You cling tighter, breath hitching as the speeder jolts over a broken section of road. Your pulse drums in your ears. “You’re going to kill me one of these days,” you say, half-laughing, half-serious.

“I hope it’s a memorable death.”

Adrenaline blurs your senses until the world narrows to the warmth of his body in front of you, the wind still buzzing in your ears, the scent of his armor mixed with city smoke and ozone.

The speeder bursts out of the alley and onto a quiet overlook, Coruscant unfolding beneath you in endless lights and motion. Fives cuts the engine and spins to face you. The look on both of your faces makes laughter erupt; uncontrolled, breathless.

“Did you see that merchant’s face?!” he gasps, half-doubled over in the seat.

“His life flashed before his eyes!” you wheeze, your hands gripping his chestplate as you laugh.

Fives eyes are alight with exhilaration. “ And you screamed, loud. I definitely win.”

“Shut up!” you laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

But you’re still laughing. So is he. Your face is too close to his. The thrill of the ride is still humming through your veins, dizzying and loud. Your eyes lock, wild with leftover energy.

And then, in a blink, it happens.

You both lean in at the same time—no plan, no thought. His mouth collides with yours mid-laugh, and the contact is messy, warm, and electric. A shared breath, a tangle of laughter and lips. A kiss not meant to happen, but too alive to stop.

It only lasts a second. Maybe two.

You pull back first, heart thudding, eyes wide. Fives looks just as stunned, blinking like he’s coming down from orbit.

“Guess that’s my prize, huh?” he says, trying for a grin, but his voice is quiet, uncertain beneath the humor.

You manage a breathless laugh, not sure what to say. The moment stretches, awkward and electric.

“I didn’t mean to….” he starts.

“I know,” you say quickly. “Me neither.”

The air shifts. You both sober, the weight of what just happened settling in like a heavy silence.

A flicker of guilt crosses your mind. This wasn’t supposed to be anything, just a fun ride. Nothing more.

Fives shifts, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Maybe... we should figure out what this means before we mess things up.”

You nod slowly, heart pounding in a new, complicated rhythm. “Yeah. Maybe.”

For a long moment, you sit there in quiet, the city lights casting soft shadows over two people suddenly caught between friendship and something more.

Fives eases the speeder back onto the street, the hum of the engine a soft background to the sudden quiet between you. Neither of you speaks, both lost in the swirl of what just happened.

The city blurs past again, but now the thrill of speed has given way to a quieter kind of anticipation. Your hands still rest lightly on his waist, fingers tracing absent patterns as the streetlights pass overhead.

When the speeder pulls up outside your quarters, the moment feels heavier than it should. The familiar glow of the doorway is soft and warm, inviting and terrifying all at once.

Fives kills the engine and hops up, offering you his hand to help you up. 

In the silence he squeezes your hand three times, calming and comforting before dropping your hand.

“Well… here we are.”

You swallow, heart pounding louder than the city outside.

“Yeah. Here we are.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear again—gentle, careful. The touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Neither of you moves closer, but neither steps away.

“I don’t want this to ruin what we have,” Fives says quietly. “Especially with... you know, Rylan. I didn’t mean to complicate things.”

You nod, appreciating his honesty.

A pause hangs between you..

Finally, Fives nods, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Get inside safe, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You smile, a mixture of nerves and warmth flooding your chest. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You flop onto your bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the heat still burning in your cheeks. Your mind races, tangled in a mess of thoughts you aren’t ready to sort out.

That kiss, the sudden, electric press of his lips against yours, still lingers, fierce and surprising like a spark ignited inside you. It shouldn’t have happened. You weren’t supposed to cross that line. Not like this.

And then the guilt sinks in, heavy and twisting in your stomach. Rylan. You haven’t heard from him in weeks. Not a word. Yet somehow, just thinking about him makes the thrill of the kiss feel complicated; like you betrayed a promise you weren’t even sure was still valid.

But Fives… Maker, you like him. More than you expected. More than you probably should admit. There’s something about the way he looks at you, a mix of warmth and mischief, that makes you feel seen, really seen, in a way no one else has.

Your heart pounds unevenly at the thought of him, his laugh echoing in your mind like a ghost. And despite the confusion, despite the guilt, there’s a hope you’re not ready to say out loud.

Maybe this is something new. Something worth risking.

But for now, all you can do is lie here, tangled in your sheets and your thoughts, wondering how you’ll face tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: Gorgeous

Thanks for reading! If interested in joining a taglist, please comment! Be sure you're following me so you get notified! The next chapter may contain spice!

Chapter 3: I Did Something Bad

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations | Fives x Reader Friends to lovers • taken but yearning • slow burn tension • soft regrets

You're spoken for. At least, that's what everyone thinks. But it's hard to keep pretending when he's always there— and the way he looks at you like you’re the only one in the galaxy.

----

Clone Wars era | reader-insert | angst, banter, and emotional confusion | featuring just a little too much Fives - eventual smut but it's a slow burn so.

Chapter 1: Gorgeous

“Still nothing?”

The bluish glow of the holo-call reflects off Kylei’s face, her features drawn tight with concern. It only makes the pit in your stomach worse.

“Nothing,” you say, voice flat, trying not to let it shake. “I’m sure he’s just… busy.”

Kylei scoffs, loud and ungraceful. “It’s been a month. No comms. No holos. Nothing but radio silence. Babe, I think it’s time to call it.”

You shift on your couch, curling your feet under you and hugging a throw pillow to your chest like it might keep your insides from crumbling. “He wouldn’t just ghost me. Something must be going on.”

Rylan, your boyfriend of nearly a year, was stationed on Alderaan three months ago. At first, the distance hadn’t seemed so bad. You kept in touch—daily comms, sappy holos, little messages between his briefings. Then the calls slowed… and stopped altogether. Two weeks ago, you’d even commed his base commander in a moment of desperation.

“Currently in a meeting,” the officer had told you curtly. “But I’ll let him know you reached out.”

Still nothing.

Now Kylei’s looking at you like you’re breaking in real time. Maybe you are.

“Do you think I did something wrong?” you whisper, more to yourself than her.

“I’m coming over.”

“No!” You sit up straight, stopping her with a raised hand. “I have work in an hour. I’ll be fine. I need to get ready anyway.”

Kylei doesn’t look convinced, but she backs off. “We’re going out tonight. That’s an order.”

You salute with a sad smile. “Yes, General.”

She returns the gesture with a mock scowl and flicks off the holo. The light disappears, and so does the illusion of comfort. You stare at your comm unit one more time out of habit, even though you already know—he hasn’t reached out.

A sigh escapes your lips as you stand and get ready. Pressed uniform greys, hair up, expression neutral. You're good at that. Holding it together. Pretending. You take one last look in the mirror before stepping out the door and heading to GAR Headquarters.

—

The mood inside is different—familiar and comforting in a way your apartment no longer is. It’s not cold or sterile like some parts of Coruscant. Here, the headquarters buzzes with organized chaos. Voices carry, boots echo, datapads hum with quiet life. This is where you feel useful. This is where you belong.

You cradle a stack of datapads against your chest as you make your way to the main briefing room. Another long day of mission simulations and risk assessments. As a strategist for the Grand Army of the Republic, it’s your job to think ahead—to see threats before they happen and make sure others don’t have to feel the kind of helplessness you’re feeling now.

You work with various units, but lately you've been split between the 212th and the 501st. The difference is stark. The 212th is precise, professional—quiet, even. The 501st? They’re chaos and camaraderie and charm wrapped up in scuffed armor. And in the case of one ARC trooper in particular—dangerously charming.

You settle in at the round table just as the doors hiss open.

“Morning,” Captain Rex says with a curt nod.

“Morning,” Echo adds with a warmer smile.

You return it. “Good to see you both. Aren’t we missing—”

The door whooshes open again. “Sorry, sorry! I’m here!”

Fives.

He moves like he’s got a sunbeam trapped behind his ribs—fast and bright and impossible not to look at. He grins at you, all teeth and dimples, and your stomach does that awful fluttering thing it always does when he’s around.

You give him a quick nod, hoping your face doesn’t betray you. He slides into the seat beside you like it’s his second home.

It kind of is. You’ve noticed that. No matter how early he arrives or how late he’s running, he always ends up in that chair. Next to you.

Six months ago, Fives and Echo joined these briefings after being promoted to ARC troopers. In that time, they’ve become more than colleagues. You’d like to think they’re your friends. Fives especially. You’ve shared late-night caf during long campaign planning sessions, exchanged glances that lingered just a moment too long, laughed over inside jokes that neither of you bothered explaining to the others.

But he’s never crossed a line.

He flirts—but only in the way that Fives flirts with everyone. Teasing. Playful. Safe.

Sometimes you catch him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking. And sometimes—when you're feeling especially foolish—you let yourself wish he would cross that line. If things were different… if you weren’t technically taken…

You shift in your seat and force your attention back to the mission reports. Focus. Breathe. Be professional.

But beside you, Fives leans back in his chair with that signature smirk, nudges your boot lightly under the table, and says, “Hey, Gorgeous. You ready to tear these numbers apart?”

Your heart does a little lurch.

“Born ready,” you say, and try not to sound breathless.

Because the truth is—no matter how badly things are falling apart with Rylan, no matter how long the silence stretches, you aren’t ready.

Not for what it might mean to let go.

And not for what it might mean if you don’t.

The briefing flies by in a blur of tactical reports and holomaps, the minutes slipping through your fingers faster than you realize. When you finally glance up from the datapad in front of you, the session is wrapping and the three troopers are already on their feet.

Rex thanks you with a nod, already deep in conversation with Echo about flank positioning. Echo offers you another quick smile before trailing after him, his voice disappearing down the hall.

But Fives lingers.

He doesn’t rush. He never does with you.

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer, voice low and easy. “I know I’ve asked before, but I’m not giving up on getting you out of this office at least once. Come out with me and the boys tonight.”

There it is—that grin again. The one that makes your pulse skip like a scratched holo-track. You nearly blush, caught off guard by the invitation and the casual way he leans on the edge of the table like he belongs there.

“I… actually have plans tonight,” you manage.

He groans dramatically, throwing his head back with a grin. “Yeah—with me. Or us, rather.” His hand gestures vaguely, as if the whole battalion is included in this mythical night out. “Come on, please. One night. If not tonight, then just say you’ll come out with us sometime. We’re well-behaved, I promise. Mostly.”

You chuckle despite yourself. “Okay, Fives. I promise. Just… not tonight.”

He studies you for a beat, like he’s trying to decide whether you mean it. Whether you’re really busy… or dodging him.

“Rylan in town?” he asks, and the question comes too casual to be innocent.

You hesitate just long enough for it to show.

“I still haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him,” he adds with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest.

You look down at the datapad you’ve already shut off. “No, not tonight. Just going out with a friend—Kylei. I think you’ve met her?”

The smirk fades just a little. Fives nods, slower this time. “Yeah. Gotcha.”

Something unreadable flickers behind his eyes before he schools his expression back into something breezy. “Well… guess we’ll try again some other time.”

You offer a soft smile. “I’m holding you to that ‘well-behaved’ part.”

Fives lets out a laugh, light and low, and gives you a mock salute as he backs toward the door.

“With me? Always.”

Then he’s gone, striding out of the room with the kind of effortless confidence that makes your heart ache and your stomach twist in ways you wish it wouldn’t.

You’re left standing there, the room quieter than before, like the air shifted the moment he walked out.

And maybe it did.

—

Kylei is a bombshell. Always has been, always will be. She struts through your hallway in a sparkling silver dress that barely reaches mid-thigh, catching the light with every step like a walking disco ball.

Meanwhile, you’re holding up a navy wrap dress in front of your body, already feeling overdressed—and underconfident.

Kylei takes one look and groans. “Ugh, no. Absolutely not.”

Before you can protest, she’s barging into your room and yanking open your closet doors like she owns the place.

“Kylei—”

She ignores you, flipping through hangers with ruthless efficiency. “You have good taste, you just don’t use it.” Her fingers pause on a slinky black number tucked way in the back.

She pulls it out with a victorious gasp. “This. This is the one.”

“No way,” you say instantly, shaking your head. “That’s not a bar dress, that’s a... regret dress.”

“That’s a show him what he lost dress,” Kylei says, tossing it onto the bed. “You’re wearing it.”

You hesitate. You’d never even worn it around Rylan. It had felt too bold, too loud. Too much.

But maybe that’s what tonight calls for. Something louder than the ache in your chest. Something bolder than the silence he left behind.

Lips pressed in a tight line, you slide into the dress. The fabric clings in all the right places. It’s daring. It’s sleek. It’s a version of you you’ve only ever imagined being.

Heels come next—wobbly, but they match—and Kylei gets to work on your hair. She fluffs and pins and smooths until she steps back with a proud grin.

“There she is,” she whispers like unveiling a masterpiece. “Now let’s go.”

You hesitate again. “Where are we even going?”

“Just a bar-club hybrid I heard about from a friend. You’ll like it,” she says, already halfway to the door. “Trust me.”

You arrive outside of the club a short speeder ride later. The building pulses with sound, neon lights flickering across the dark street. A glowing teal sign hums above the door:

79’s

Something about the name tugs at your memory.

You frown. “Wait… 79’s. That sounds—”

“C’mon!” Kylei grabs your wrist and yanks you toward the entrance. “I need a drink, and so do you.”

You barely have time to protest before the doors slide open and the music swallows you whole.

The inside is a sensory overload. Lights flash in rhythmic waves across the room. A DJ spins a mix of upbeat tracks over heavy bass, and the scent of spicewine and fried food clings to the air. The place is packed—and not with the usual Coruscanti nightlife crowd.

Clones. Everywhere.

Some in civvies, others half-dressed in off-duty armor pieces. Helmets on the bar, boots kicked off, drinks in hand. They’re laughing, flirting, dancing—so many of them, blending seamlessly with civilians who clearly know this is the spot to meet a trooper or two.

Your stomach twists.

Of course. 79’s. You’d heard the name in passing from GAR personnel—it’s the off-duty bar where clones unwind between missions. You’d just never connected the dots.

And now you’re here with the ghost of a relationship haunting your every move.

Kylei doesn’t notice your hesitation. She grabs your hand again and weaves you both through the crowd toward the bar. The music is too loud to talk over, but she orders you both drinks with a wink to the bartender.

You take yours without question and sip, hoping the burn will dull your nerves.

It doesn’t take long—three minutes, maybe—for Kylei to strike up a conversation with a cute Twi’lek in a leather vest. They're laughing, already halfway through their drinks, her body language open and easy. She’s in her element.

You… are not.

At least the music is good.

You let the beat pulse through your chest, sinking into it as best you can. Eyes closed, you down the rest of your drink in one long pull, willing the warmth to burn away your nerves. The buzz in your limbs makes you feel loose, maybe even confident.

Or maybe that’s just the alcohol lying to you.

You don’t hear him approach—but you feel it.

A warm presence at your side. Close. Confident. Familiar.

“Well, look what we have here.”

Your eyes fly open.

“Fives?”

He grins, and Maker, that grin should be illegal. “Looks like you decided to come out with me after all.”

You can’t help but laugh, surprised and flustered all at once. “Pure coincidence.”

“Mmhmm.” He lifts a hand and flags the bartender with practiced ease. “What are you drinking?”

You glance down at your empty glass. “No idea. I didn’t order it.”

For a second, something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe even something bordering on protectiveness.

“People buying you drinks already?” he says, voice low. “Then I definitely owe you one.”

You smile as he hands you something darker than your last. Stronger too, by the smell of it.

“Where’s your friend?” he asks, eyes scanning the crowd.

You turn to look, only to spot Kylei halfway into her new Twi’lek friend’s lap, laughing as she twirls the straw in her drink.

You smirk. “Occupied.”

Fives chuckles. “Then come join us—Echo’s just over here.”

His hand lands gently on the small of your back as he guides you through the crowd, and the heat that blooms in your chest has nothing to do with the drink. His touch is easy, but grounding—like he does it without thinking.

You slide into a booth tucked into a corner of the bar. Echo greets you with a bright grin and a quick side hug. Two other troopers sit beside him, deep in some rowdy story, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Fives settles in next to you, and the booth suddenly feels much smaller. He throws one arm across the back of the seat—casual, but close. The press of his thigh against yours is warm, steady.

You try not to smile.

It’s friendly. You think.

Conversation starts to swirl—jokes, war stories, teasing remarks that make you feel like you belong. The drinks keep coming, and little by little, time slips away. You're lighter now, floatier. Giggly. The edges of everything feel a little softer.

At some point, you realize you’re leaning into Fives more than you meant to. His arm is still behind you, and he hasn’t pulled away. If anything, he’s leaning closer too.

You could stay in this moment forever.

Until someone else tries to crash it.

A large Togruta man leans over the booth, crowding into your space. “Need another drink, beautiful?” he asks, eyebrows waggling as his grin stretches too wide.

Before you can react, Fives straightens beside you.

“She’s taken, bud,” he says firmly.

And then—he barks.

A sharp, playful bark, followed by a low growl like a protective Loth-wolf. It’s ridiculous. Completely absurd. And it sends the entire table into chaos.

The clones burst out laughing. Even you can’t help it—you double over with giggles, the tension gone in an instant.

“You’re such an idiot,” you manage between laughs, swatting Fives lightly on the arm.

He just grins, pleased with himself. “What can I say? Gotta keep the strays away.”

The moment is golden—bubbly and warm. Until Echo’s voice cuts through.

“Gotta protect your honor,” he says with a smile. “I’m sure Rylan would appreciate it.”

The name lands like a weight in your lap.

You go still. The smile slips from your face, and you feel the shift in Fives too—his arm drops from your shoulders, the space between you stretching.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

Neither of you looks at each other.

Before the silence can settle too thickly, Kylei stumbles up to the table, her glittering dress catching the light.

“What’s with all the barking?” she slurs, bracing herself on the edge of the booth.

The table erupts into laughter again, the tension dissolving beneath the noise. You manage a shy smile, your voice barely above the music.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

She nods dramatically, already digging for her comm.

Fives stands and slides out of the booth, offering you his hand to help you up. You’re a little too quick on your feet—and nearly tumble into him.

He catches you, hands firm on your waist, steadying you with ease.

“Let me grab you lovely ladies a speeder,” he says, glancing at Kylei with a wink.

But his eyes find yours again before he steps away.

And there’s something there.

Something unsaid.

Something you’re too afraid—and maybe too buzzed—to name.

In the hush of early morning, the streets are quieter, the music from 79’s now a distant thrum. Speeder lights glow soft against the pavement, casting fleeting shadows as one slows to a stop in front of you.

Fives hails it with a raised hand and a soft whistle, and Kylei stumbles in without hesitation, already kicking off her heels as she sinks into the seat. You move to follow her, still riding the last waves of the night—light, tipsy, a little overwhelmed.

Just as your hand brushes the doorframe, fingers wrap gently around your wrist.

You stop, breath catching.

Fives is looking at you. Not grinning. Not smirking.

Looking.

“Let me know when you get home safe, yeah?” His voice is soft—low, almost intimate.

You nod, unable to form words. He holds your gaze for one more second before he lets go, and gently closes the speeder door behind you.

As the vehicle pulls away, you sit back in your seat and realize your whole body is buzzing. Your heart’s pounding like you’ve just come off a battlefield, not a night out.

Kylei is already halfway asleep, head leaning against the window with a small, contented sigh.

You stare straight ahead, the city lights blurring past outside, and wonder: Why does he have to be like that?

Why does he have to be so gorgeous?

Why does he have to look at you like you’re something worth waiting for?

Why does he make you feel more seen in a moment than Rylan has in months?

By the time you get home, the buzz has dulled but the thoughts haven’t. You and Kylei collapse into your apartment, deciding without discussion to call it a sleepover. She tosses a blanket onto the couch and is out within minutes.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.

You lift your wrist and open your comm, fingers hesitating just a second before you type.

Thanks for the fun night. See you tomorrow.

You send it before you can overthink it.

Your heart flutters as the message goes through.

And this time, you don’t check to see if Rylan bothered to check in.

—————————