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doepiss · 2 months ago

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꒰ LET THE S U N IN ꒱

|| Entry for Clone Xreader Exchange||

Read better quality here: AO3

꒰@cloneficgiftexchange ꒱

Gifted to: ꒰@ghostofskywalker꒱

Special thanks to ꒰@phis-writing ꒱ for beta reading + never-ending support! 💖💖💖

☾❂☽

╭Commander Fox x F!reader ꒱

: Prompt given: ❝I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anyone but you.❞

: Word Count: 5k+

: Tags: Angst/Comfort, tooth-rotting fluff, Fox loves caf' as much as he loves you, light making out near end. ꒱

╰Roman presents:

Let The Sun In: the author recommends you listen to this song while reading.

☾❂☽

Your tenets spoke clearly, it was prohibited to harm a sentient being. No matter their belief, species, or alliance. Whether armed or disarmed. Hostile or docile. If it went against your very life. Your planet was wealthy and honorable, well respected across the galaxy. And hadn't been caught between any war in eons.

But that all changed when the desolate Clone Wars ravaged the galaxy.

Your planet quickly joined the growing mass of neutral planets, hastily gaining support from many planets like your own. And your planet's higher respect kept the two sides away from your planet. For although your people rejected the lifestyle of war, many feared you secretly were the most powerful of them all. And it kept enemies at bay.

Until the separatists decided to press those rumors. Quickly causing chaos across the galaxy at the lack of retaliation from your planet, as one of your finest cities were easily overrun by droids. Now, you and many other royalties joined together on Coruscant– where you have turned to the Chancellor, hoping that you all could work around the treaty, and figure out a way to exploit the evil from your home planet.

With no sort of weapons or even something as simple as a guard. Your people were left even more vulnerable. The Chancellor had obliged your plea, and let a fraction of his own personal guard oversee your protection and safety.

In which you were eternally thankful for, but as you sit at your desk reading over your papers, you couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Clones. And the single guard in your office that was tensely standing beside you seemed to be the source of your discomfort.

He had been standing at command by your side well over an hour, and you couldn't help but feel guilty, your own two feet almost weary from seeing him just standing there.

You turned your head to study him, placing your pen lightly on your desk. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he definitely had been slouching before your gaze fixated him, causing his body to stiffen.

You wave him off, “Well, you don’t have to stand there on my account, soldier.” Because that’s what he was, a soldier. It shamed you that you didn't bother to learn his name. What was the word you had heard the chancellor use? “At ease.” You tried.

That seemed to do the job, as the clone who was once standing quite rigidly, relaxed. But only a little bit. You looked at his red armor, at the designs that flourished across its pristine white with a skilled hand. You wondered if he had painted it himself.

Your face felt hot as you realized you had been staring for a rather long time, hotter, when you realized he had been too. You quickly looked back at your desk, wondering if he was still staring at you as intently as you had for him. You decided you wouldn’t check.

☾❂☽

Following that day the rest fell into a welcoming pattern; as the soldier came into your office to keep watch, you murmured your greetings and asked for him to be at ease and he followed through. Eventually— when you had become caught in a moment of solace in your work, you had turned to him. Bored out of your mind and needing some peace in the storm, you had asked him for his name.

After a brief pause, he turned to you. “Commander CC-1010.”

You had blanched, staring at him with a pale face. Numbers? That couldn’t be right, only droids were given digits as names. This was a living being before you. Unless… you eyed him up and down. A fleeting thought that he truly was a droid crossed your mind, but you quickly shoved that away.

“Interesting, and commander you say?” Your planet didn’t even recognize a militia, but if you remembered correctly— that was fairly high up in the ranks.

“Then I believe I should introduce myself to someone of your status.” You say as you tell him your name.

He tests it on his tongue, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he gives you a polite nod and speaks with his deep monotonous tone. “Well, senator, if I may ask— what makes you say that? I supposed our ranks were light years separate.”

“We do have a monarchy, but it is so much more complex than a simple ‘ruler’s word is law’ type deal.” You prattled on, gesturing wildly with your hands. “If— say, our present queen created a new law and order amongst our people, if the community didn’t like that rule they are authorized to demure the law.”

You halt in your words, fearing you shouldn’t continue. But the masked man is staring at you so attentively, you feel your words fleeing your mouth eagerly instead. “So that’s where my job comes in, as senator, I must be the voice of reason for the people— both on the planet and within the galaxy. I edict and speak what the people wish to demure or challenge. Making sense of the turmoil. I’m… a commander. A Commander of Confabulation.”

He’s lounging, that’s the only word for it. The commander leans against the wall and listens to you as you begin to chatter about the ranking system within your culture. He occasionally throws in a comment or a question, interest seemingly piqued.

He hums softly at one point, thinking quietly. “Never really had a culture of my own, just the remnants of whatever our donor believes.”

You glimpse at him, curious. “And you? Do you follow whatever culture your… donor regards?” You frown, perhaps that was too personal of a question? You scramble to apologize but he waves you off.

“No ma’am, it’s fine— really.” He pauses and chuckles darkly. “No, I don’t believe in the old folk tales of my donor’s ancestors. Some of my vod— er, brothers— do. But I don’t.” He hums again. “Don’t believe in much really. Nothing that the nat-borns believe either.”

You think of your tenets, the very foundation of your very planet and people. You think of all of them and hold them close like a warm cloak, sheltering you from the struggles outside of your welcoming culture. “I can understand that, to each their own. If you don’t believe in what someone else does— that doesn’t matter! Be yourself.” You give him a once-over. “You keep saying that word… what does it mean?”

The commander shrugged, “Eh, people born from a different kind of tube than a lab made sentient, I guess.” He deadpanned, tilting his head to gauge your reaction.

“Oh.” You blanch, looking down and rubbing your neck, trying to piece his words together. “Oh.” You repeat as realization finally hits.

After a brief moment of silence between your words, you catch yourself staring at him once again. You found yourself yearning to know what he looked like under his painted helmet. You fiddled with your pen as you turned your gaze to stare at the large floor to ceiling window opposite of you. Dusk was approaching, and dyed the bustling city in hues of red and orange. You blinked away white spots from the glimmering sight and mused that it resembled the commander’s armor.

Crestfallen, you realized how late it was. You were due back at your quarters well over an hour ago. This clone had entertained your conversation long enough. You began to quickly tidy your desk, muttering apologies to the commander all the while.

He surprised you when he chuckled softly, waving off your admission. "Ma'am, if anything I must apologize to you. It's my duty to protect and watch over you, not distract you with my prattles."

You blinked up at him, feeling a sudden flare of offense. "Well I like our chats. I quite enjoy your voice." You say with a burst of confidence.

He sighs at this and looks away, but you can hear the stifled smile. "Can't say my voice is anything special, senator."

"Nonsense, CT-1010." You chirp as you stand up, your work filed away and desk tidy for the end of the day. "You are the only clone– or soldier, for that matter– I've even spoken to, for me, your voice is as unique and handsome as they come." Because despite your burning ears, you meant every word of it.

Your brief hours of talking had filled you with a quick sense of loyalty, finding yourself needing to aid this commander.

You'd be a fool to say he was your friend.

He halts, jerking in his movements as he seems to freeze and take in your words. You pause, studying the red and white armor, waiting on edge to see how your words had affected him.

Finally, he realizes he had been simply standing, and stiffly walks towards you. He doesn't speak at first, his helmet tilted as he analyzes your face, perhaps searching for the lie. Seeing none, he relaxes his position and gestures with his hand.

"I– suppose I never took that into consideration." Another pause as he shifts on his feet and clears his throat. "Thank you– if it means anything, your voice is the nicest I've heard from a nat-born in a long while."

You smile softly at this, heat rushing to your face as you bashfully stare at your feet. Too flattered and flustered to answer. You didn’t know what a ‘Nat-born’ was, but his words seemed kind either way.

"May I escort you back to your quarters, ma'am?" You hear him ask softly, his voice raspy.

You nod hesitantly, and follow him out of the door. Curious… seeing how it was his job anyways, and yet he felt the need to ask. The both of you walk down the long hall, ornate and decorated with the colors that danced through the windows. No words were uttered the whole journey. Finally, the commander lingers at the corner of a hall, right out of sight of your door and the soldiers that stood attentively outside.

You examine him, unable to see his face but read his body language. He shifted almost nervously on his feet and awkwardly scratched at his neck, he mumbled something under his breath.

“Pardon?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

He clears his throat softly, “Ah— my name. My name is Fox. If you’d prefer to call me that, then my CT number.”

You blanch, unable to find the words. The stiff soldier had let down his walls enough to speak with you. Before you could gather up the courage to reply to his confession— he steels himself and walks towards your quarters, you at his heels.

Fox gives you a polite bow, exchanging nods with his fellow clones. Before you close your door, you catch his helmet turned to you. You didn’t know what he looked like under that crimson helm, and found yourself picturing a soft smile from a faceless man. You wondered if he had dimples.

You lean against the door frame, a simper crossing your face wistfully. “Goodnight, Commander Fox. I’ll be expecting you in the morning.”

The door closes, and you leave him gawking where he stood.

☾❂☽

A moment passes, and then another— and he still hasn’t moved. A snicker escaped the soldier on the right, his red and white shoulders bouncing.

“Think that pretty lil senator broke our commander.” He chuckled. The other soldier didn’t reply, but shook his head and stifled a laugh.

Fox remembered himself, and shot them each a scathing look. One they couldn’t see, but could definitely imagine. They stood at attention, but didn’t bother to stop laughing.

“Back to work, men.” He snarled, turning on his heels. Echoing laughter trailed behind him.

☾❂☽

The following mornings proceeded as they always did. The commander would appear at exactly 0600, and escort you to your office. He would then— as you sat down and started your paperwork, stand by your desk. Or laze on your office’s small sofa, or gaze vigilantly out your window.

You found, as you clattered your fingers across your keyboard, he seemed to enjoy the freelancing available for him. To simply be allowed to wander within the confines of your bureau.

☾❂☽

You yawned as you exited your quarters, it was so early… you were still getting used to the time zone, and your internal clock was completely out of whack. Bleary eyed, you looked around expecting to see a familiar red clad man, but was surprised when he didn’t appear.

“Commander?” You tried, narrowing your eyes at the closest clone. “Have you seen Fox?”

The soldier stiffened under your gaze, and shook his head. “Negative, ma’am. Haven’t seen the commander— wasn’t even in the barracks when I got up for my shift.”

You wilted under that, where had he gone? You didn’t believe he was even capable of being late. And he certainly was not lost, you clearly remember him boasting that he knew this palace like the back of his hand.

The same soldier shifted on his feet, “Senator? Do you need me to escort you to your office?” His voice achingly familiar in tone. All the same, nothing like his.

You shake your head politely, “No… I should be fine, sir. Thank you.”

You turn on your heels to continue down the hall. Of course, you knew how to get your own office. But without the amenity that Fox provided, it felt empty, and wrong. You had come to enjoy his company, perhaps far past what was simply business. Perhaps he didn’t like you? Didn’t he enjoy your little chats? The one you held so dearly? Or maybe you were overthinking things, he was an honorable man, he wouldn't just leave.

You received your answer by a call of your name behind you. You whirl around to see a familiar red and white figure approaching you. You don't try to hide your smile as he appears next to you.

You eyed the two cups Fox holds securely in his hands, lids tightly clamped but wafts of steam come out of the opening on the top. Curious. You raise a brow and look at him.

The commander shrugs, sheepishly holding a mug out to you. "Sorry I was late– the line for the caf' machine was exceptionally long this time 'round."

You take the still warm mug as your smile continues to grow on your face. You will yourself not to even think about crying about how endearing this moment was. This was where he went? To get your morning coffee? Usually a droid would drop by to offer you beverages, but he went out of his way to give you this? If you weren't about professionalism, you would've given him a hug right then and there.

"Senator?" The clone said, concern laced in his voice.

You smile up at him warmly, "Fox, dear, thank you." Perhaps you weren't as professional as you thought you were. Your face burning at the pet name that slipped through. You didn't correct yourself, but instead hid your face by taking a sip of the caffeine. It was the perfect temperature.

He clears his throat, clearly as flustered as you were. "You're welcome, ma'am. I thought I owed you after the pleasant conversations you entertained me with."

As you begin walking towards your office again, you shake your head, your smile still wide. "The pleasure is all mine, our chats are the highlight of my day!"

He doesn't speak again, but you can imagine his flustered reactions, his graced smile. You were left to wonder if you would ever be blessed by that sight. Perhaps one day.

It became clear you wouldn't have to wait long. As you sit at your desk and begin setting up your workplace, you hear a plastic thud on your desk. You peer up and are met with a pleasant surprise.

His hair is curly and brown, tied back in a tight bun. His dark skin is brilliantly lit by the rising sun, illustrious outside your window, a sharp scar cutting across his right brow and over the bridge of his nose to caress his left jaw. His eyes shine a deep brown, and you blink back as they stare kindly at you.

He brings his coffee cup up to his plush lips and smiles as he sips, raising a dark brow. Watching as you gape. Your eyes get wider as you gaze at his cheeks. Dimples! A dip in the cheek, a sudden hollow in the crook of his mouth and you suppress a grin.

"Something on my face?" He asks when he puts his caf' cup down.

You blink rapidly and shake your head. He's looking down at you over that handsome curved nose. You can't focus.

"No sir– ah– Fox." You stumble over your words, taking a sudden keen interest in your paperweight. "Just never seen you without your helmet– or any clone, for that matter."

He nods, sitting down at the chair opposite you. You are pleased he'd gotten comfortable in his space, but you really, really didn't want to face him again. Him and his stupidly beautiful face.

"That makes sense, I suppose." He confirms, taking another long sip of his coffee.

You grin to yourself and kick your feet under the desk. "I must say, not disappointed by the man hidden underneath." He shot you a look and you smiled coyly. "He should definitely come out more often."

Fox didn't answer for a long moment. Sipping from his mug. Finally, he hummed, "The man will deeply consider the lady's sincere request."

"Much appreciated."

You find you got little to no work done that day, as you spent the time stealing looks at his face.

He had the look of a statue; of a man set in stone. Drooping eyes and sharp jaw, face cascaded in sunlight as he gazed out your window, a hand rested on his rifle. If not for his bright eyes, he could've stepped right out of a painting. But his eyes were so lovely, so human. He was so real it didn't feel like a true reality.

☾❂☽

You and the commander created an unspoken game. Perhaps childish, if it wasn't for your crippling addiction to caffeine. Swapping days and turns to get coffee for the two of you. Some days you each would forget, and gloomily continue without the sweet warmth of the beverage.

More than once you had often spotted each other across the office lounge, hoping to steal away an extra cup for the latter, and would grin and head back to your space side by side.

He always brought a newfound energy, an unprofessional bout of happiness. When you saw that formal bow, the stiff nod, and when in the confines of your office; that lop-sided grin and the sure way he talked. He shone as bright as a sun, and you reflected it like a moon.

☾❂☽

You exited your quarters somberly, not spying the familiar red and white, and assumed he was making the caf' rounds this time. You frowned and didn't bother to greet the guards outside your door, instead you quietly headed towards your office. Your head panged from a dreadful headache, and your eyes stung from last night. It was an understatement to say last night was bad.

You enter your office and do not spy your coffee wielding commander. You didn't bother sitting at your desk– and instead curled into yourself on the couch, tucking your feet under you and staring at the rising sun with bleary eyes.

You had received bitter word late last night, leading you to meet with the other nobility that was sanctioned with you in Coruscant. The capitol, and your home city, had been wrecked and plundered– placed under Separatist rule. Your kingdom had fallen, and your planet ravaged by war. Hopeless!

You hear your door open, but didn't make a move to look at the soldier you knew had entered. Boots creaked and thudded across the durasteel floor, coming over to stand behind you. You close your eyes and sniffle. Not realizing the tears that had begun to stream down your face.

"Senator?" He asked, his voice nothing but gentle, concern clear.

You didn't face him, still staring at the traffic whizzing past your window. "I'm sure you've heard the news." Your voice is hollow.

You hear a soft exhale, and the thud of cups being set on your desk. The cushion sinks as a new body adds weight. "Ma'am, look at me." He murmurs your name gently, and it stirs you out of your stupor.

He pauses as he takes in your tear-streaks, your hair frayed where you had been careless in fixing it. He reached up to you with a gloved hand gently. Slowly, and with great hesitancy, he swipes away a falling droplet from your cheek. You subconsciously lean into his soft and welcoming touch. Formalities completely thrown out the window.

"I can't promise you anything, nothing I can't keep." He murmurs as he uses the other hand to remove his helmet. "But I will be here, to help you any way I can."

His hand still caresses your cheek, and you close your eyes and savor the moment, no matter how bitter it truly was. "It's over, commander. My people are burning, and I've done nothing but speak pleasantries and failed at solving the problem."

Fox doesn't remove his hand from your jaw, gladly. But he shifts so he can cup your face with both. Dashing tears from your cheek each time one falls. His eyes are hooded and gentle, but so piercing and bright—never leaving yours.

"That's a lie, Senator. You've worked tirelessly here since the day I was assigned to you. I've never met anyone– nat-born or clone– who has dove so vigorously into her work." He says with a hard edge to his voice. A fierceness you had only seen when he spoke about his brothers. You stared at him dumbly with your face cradled in his hands. "You care so greatly for your people and anyone who comes into contact with you. You stirred me right out of my strict stickler of a life with your charm and grandeur— oh, force if I wasn't a fool I'd say you were my friend."

You furrowed your brows at the last bit, and you felt his hands loosen. You quickly grab his wrists with a sudden desperation. Holding him in place.

"You aren't a fool, Commander. You are my friend. I care for you and I believe you are twice the man then any 'nat-born' would ever be!" Your eyes spark as you stare at him, daring him to challenge your confession. "Sith-hells, Fox. I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you!"

☾❂☽

He stares back at you, eyes wide and face slack. He studies your tear-tracked cheeks and your kind eyes, the loyal shimmer in them. The set to your jaw and your still trembling lips.

He thinks he's never seen a more pretty sight.

And he is blown away by your words. You always spoke so highly of your tenets. So when you muttered that you would willingly fight for him– he was glad he was sitting because stars, he felt weak in the knees.

He murmured your name, uttering it like a holy word. Force, I want to kiss you right now.

"Then do it." You murmured, your breath tickling his chin.

He blanched, still caught with his hands held by yours. Had he truly said that out loud? "Can I kiss you?" He tries again, testing the waters with his newfound boldness.

Your hands move from his wrists to glide over and caress his own face, thumbs finding where his dimples would be if he were to smile. And so he did. A sound of pleasure left your mouth at the sight.

"Fox, dear." Your eyelids dropped, your lower lip slack. You leaned forward with tears still staining your cheeks. "Kiss me."

And he did.

☾❂☽

His lips were tender against yours, hesitant and so, so gentle. Holding your lips in his oh so kindly, as if he feared you would shatter. Shatter from the weight of the fondness he had for you. You tasted the salt of your own tears and the bitter bite of coffee on Fox's lips.

You craved more of it. You truly would revoke your tenets for this man if it meant you were able to steal away yet another sweet kiss.

Your Tenets.

You pulled away abruptly from the fond moment, Fox's lips chasing yours, but you were already gone. Jumping up and pacing the length of your office with lips that still tingled.

He lounged against the couch and stared up at you with blown out eyes. His tears tainted hands grazing his lips in muted astonishment. He felt confusion and doubt seep in at your sudden movement, and he grunted. Perhaps he came on too strong? Kriff– did his breath smell?

You must've heard his disgruntled sound, because you waved him off. "No commander, I quite enjoyed that– perhaps too much. We can definitely continue where we left off but I've just had a revolutionary idea!" You say exuberantly, I'm your own world.

"Ma'am?" He croaked, still lost. Still hazed and replaying the previous moment.

Something he wouldn't forget quite possibly forever. He rose from where he sat on the sofa, watching you pace curiously. He shyly held out a hand, drawn towards your touch.

You didn't hesitate to grab his hands and clutch close to him— but you continued moving until you had successfully dragged him towards your desk, chattering the entire journey.

“My tenets rule out hostility. It is deemed dishonorable and heinous to think, say, or act upon antagonistic affairs on sentient beings.” You whirl to him a notepad and pen in your hand, leaning against your desk as you jot down what you say in barely perceivable print. “Sentient, Fox. Sentient!”

You nod at your notes and tuck them under your armpit, pointing with the pen at the man adjacent to you. He had been listening with a confused smile, his arm sneaking around to rest on the desk behind you. Secretly encasing you in his delicate embrace. You feel your ears burn but you don’t complain, if anything you welcome it— albeit distracting you from your train of thought.

“Sentient does not apply to droids, dear! Our tenets do not speak of unloving things–." You ramble on, leaning closer to the commander, your breath stirring the frayed edges of his hair. You deflate as you rethink what you said.

"Flora and Fauna, harm them not, hostile and docile, take aid lest they rot." An old rhyme from your childhood. Explaining the tenets to the youth in a simpler way.

You groan and shake your head. This was hard! You could wage against them because they are not living and broke the neutrality treaty. But you can't revoke your laws of violence, for they were hostile! A parasite that if left to itself, would cause rot and despair.

You felt a gloved hand on your chin, you looked up at the man. "But you don't have to fight. Leave it to the Republic, we can fight the hostilities for you." His lips were inches from your own again. He just couldn't get enough of you. "I will protect you from all harm."

As endearing as that was, it wasn't solving the problem. But your clever commander was right in a way. You couldn't fight– your people didn't even know how to. And the war.. had already ravaged your lands further enough. Perhaps.. a temporary alignment?

You reached up to tentatively trace the white scar across Fox's face. His eyes fluttered shut and he sighed softly at your butterfly soft touches. Intimate and delicate.

Perhaps if you were able to befriend and coexist with a Republic Officer, your people could too. You were already living under the same roof as them. You would have to consult the nobility.

"I must hope our people won't demure such a rule." You whisper into the space between you and the man, "To willingly partake in a war– even if our people are threatened… it goes against our way of life." You sigh, dropping your hand from his face to rest on his armored shoulder. “They’d never listen. They’ll never go along with it. They wouldn’t listen to me.”

Fox hums an answer, his eyes not leaving yours. Deep brown, wide and permanently set with a certain kindness, he leans forwards so your forehead brushes his. “Ma’am, if I’ve learned anything from the time I’ve spent by your side, it’s that you have a never-ending care for your people. That you will do anything to keep them safe and fortified against exterior destruction.” A gloved hand snuck behind your neck to lean you closer, breath baited and hot on your collarbone. “They will believe you.”

You stared up at him, the morning light from the windows letting the sun in, cascading him in gold. His words came with a sharp ring of truth. Your people, your culture. You held them so close, they were as precious to you as all the stars in the sky. And they held you high, as their protector. As their voice, their beacon in the night.

And here your own protector stood, you wrapped in each other’s arms. Stoic yet kind, humorous and wise. Commander Fox, a man you had found yourself falling in love with, despite yourself.

His lips grazed your jaw, wandering to peck your ear gently. You were star-struck by the beauty of the moment, peace in the storm. But your heart still fluttered fast from the peril and revelation of your people.

You whispered into the crook of his neck, warm breath swaying his long locks. “My dear, as radiant and dazzling as this moment is— might I remind you the fate of an entire planet lies in my hands?”

He stills, pulling back with red dusting his cheeks as he bashfully meets your eyes. Untangling yourself hesitatingly from his red-clad arms. “Right uh— yes ma’am.” He stumbled over his words, reaching up to gently push a stray hair out of your face.

“I believe in you, they’ll listen. I—.” He paused, glancing away, “I’ll be waiting for you.” He added, raspy and bashful, his dimples peeking out as he grinned at you.

Endeared, you lean towards him— pressing your lips together in a last chaste kiss before pulling away. You turn to gather your supplies, smiling at him sweetly. “Thank you, Commander. For entering my life, for letting the sun in with your smile.” You pause at the door, at the smile he warmed you with. “I hope to continue this later, Fox, my dear.” You say with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

You leave, with a promise of tomorrow. With a firm hope for your people. And aspiration for your future with Commander Fox…

fin.

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