Hi! I saw you took requests and I was wondering if you could do a Command Squad x Fem!Reader where she’s a general but not because she’s a Jedi but because she actually served in wars before this and they want her respect and flirt with her. And of course any of your flourishes ;)
Fem!Reader x Command Squad (Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Neyo, Bacara, Gree, Bly, and Ponds)
You weren’t a Jedi. Never wore the robes, never had the Force. You didn’t need it.
Your command had been earned the hard way—blood, shrapnel, and scars in wars no one even bothered to archive anymore. When the Republic came knocking, you told them you didn’t serve causes—you served soldiers. And somehow, that landed you here.
Not in front of them. With them.
The elite. The best the Republic had to offer.
And from the second you stepped into that war room, every helmet turned your way. And when the helmets came off—yeah, that was a problem. Because they were all infuriatingly hot, and even worse, they knew it.
Cody was the first to speak, his voice calm, neutral, but his eyes sharp. “General. You’ll forgive the question, but… what exactly are your qualifications?”
You just smirked, tossing your old service jacket onto the table with a dull thud. “Two border wars, five urban insurgencies, and a ten-year campaign in the Outer Rim before the Jedi decided the galaxy needed saving. That enough for you, Commander?”
Wolffe snorted, amused. “She’s got more battlefield time than half the Jedi Council.”
“She’s not wrong,” Bacara grunted, arms crossed, voice gravelly. “Seen her file. Most of us got bred for war. She just never left it.”
“I like her,” Bly grinned, leaning on the table with a little too much casual charm. “Can we keep her?”
“Not like that, Bly,” Fox muttered, though he didn’t exactly disagree.
“I didn’t say anything,” Bly said with a wicked grin. “Yet.”
You sighed. “Are you always like this, or is it just when there’s a woman in the room who outranks you?”
Gree chuckled. “You outrank us technically. Not in spirit.”
Neyo hadn’t said a word yet, just stared at you like he was dissecting your tactical potential, or possibly imagining your funeral. Could go either way with Neyo.
Ponds gave you a respectful nod. “We’ve worked under a lot of Jedi. Not all of them know what they’re doing. We’d follow you, General.”
And that—that was what mattered.
You caught them watching you more often than not. In the field, in the war room, during briefings. It wasn’t just the usual soldier-to-general dynamic. No, it was different. Heat in Cody’s gaze when you gave orders. That glint in Wolffe’s eye when you called him out in front of the others. The way Fox lingered just a bit too long when you handed him back his datapad.
Even Neyo—cold, calculating Neyo—started standing just a little too close.
“You know they’re all trying to impress you, right?” Gree asked one night while you were cleaning your gear, his voice low and amused.
You didn’t even glance up. “Trying and failing.”
Bly leaned against your doorway. “Is that a challenge?”
After you saved their shebs in a firefight—ripping a blaster from a fallen commando and dropping six droids in twelve seconds flat—you were pretty sure something shifted.
They wanted your respect. You already had theirs.
So they fought beside you. Ate with you. Got protective in the field. Made excuses to talk to you after hours. Fought over who got assigned to your team. And every now and then… they flirted like it was a competitive sport.
Cody did subtle praise and brooding glances. Always has your back.
Wolffe. The grumpy softie. Pretends he hates you. Would kill anyone who hurt you.
Fox was stoic, but flirty in a dry, sardonic way. Deep down, he’s soft, but you’d have to earn it.
Neyo protective in a weird way. Doesn’t speak much but always notices when you’re off. Secretly touched you remembered his name.
Bacara extremely blunt, intense. A man of few words—but his loyalty is loud.
Gree slightly flirty and professional. Gives you space but always drops a line like, “You ever need a break, General… I know a place.”
Bly was shameless. Teases you endlessly but respects you deeply. Would absolutely fight anyone who disrespects you.
Ponds was quiet support. Loyal. Observes everything. The first one to ask how you’re doing when no one else notices.
You don’t fall easily. You’ve seen too much.
But if you were going to fall—
It might just be for one of them.
79’s was already loud when you walked in. Music thrumming through your bones, the low hum of clone banter and laughter rising and falling like waves. You hadn’t planned to come here. You’d just wanted one damn drink. One moment not steeped in war, planning, or death.
You ran right into Commander Bly. Well, more like his chest.
“General,” he said, and the smile that bloomed on his face was entirely too pretty. He looked you over, gaze lingering just a little too long. “Didn’t know you came here.”
“I don’t,” you replied, stepping back. “Just needed to breathe.”
“You came to a GAR bar to breathe?” Gree chimed in from behind him, drink in hand and eyebrows raised. “You’re worse at relaxing than Fox.”
Speak of the devil—Fox was at the bar, sharp suit shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He lifted his glass in greeting and turned away to order another round. You could feel his eyes on you though, like a sniper sight you couldn’t shake.
“You here alone?” Bly asked, leaning against the wall like he knew what he was doing.
“I was,” you replied flatly.
“Tragic,” Gree said, stepping closer, voice smoother than it had any right to be. “This place is full of trouble tonight.”
“Is that what you are, Gree? Trouble?”
“You’ll have to find out.”
And just like that, Cody, Wolffe, Bacara, Ponds, and Neyo filtered in from the second level, coming down the steps like they were part of a slow-motion holodrama.
Cody looked you over once, eyes flickering to the drink in your hand. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you here,” you replied, teasing, heat behind the words.
Wolffe smirked. “Too bad.”
Ponds gave a low whistle. “She’s gonna kill one of you tonight.”
“I volunteer,” Bly said without hesitation.
Bacara rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of his drink, staring at you over the rim of the glass like he was thinking something entirely inappropriate—and probably correct.
And Neyo—stone-cold, unreadable—just nodded. “You clean up well, General.”
That made a few of them pause. Compliments from Neyo were about as rare as a Tatooine blizzard.
You were suddenly hyper-aware of how your shirt clung to your skin, how the lights in the bar made everything seem lower, warmer, closer.
Fox appeared beside you without a sound, holding out a drink. “On me.”
You hesitated. “You trying to get me drunk, Commander?”
“If I were, I’d start with something stronger,” he said, voice low, his knuckles brushing yours as you took it.
“Careful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You might be starting something you can’t finish.”
“I always finish what I start,” Fox replied smoothly, dead serious.
The tension snapped tight like a tripwire.
Cody moved closer behind you, his breath brushing your neck. “You should be careful with us, General.”
Wolffe stepped in next to him, eyes gleaming. “Or don’t. We like dangerous.”
Gree leaned in from the other side. “And we play well together.”
“You all are shameless,” you muttered, taking a sip just to hide your smirk.
“No,” Ponds said with a shrug. “Just very, very interested.”
You looked around—at eight sets of eyes, different in every way except one thing: they wanted you. Wanted to impress you, challenge you, make you forget—if only for one night—that the galaxy was falling apart outside these walls.
You downed the rest of your drink and smiled, slow and dangerous. “Alright, boys. Try and keep up.”
The night was just beginning.
The music had shifted. Slowed. Lower bass, seductive rhythm. Clone troopers were still everywhere, but the spotlight wasn’t on them anymore.
You hadn’t planned to be the center of the room, but when you started moving through the crowd—hips swaying just enough, eyes catching every glance—you had their undivided attention. Especially when Commander Bly snuck up behind you and took your hand.
“Dance with me,” he said, already guiding you onto the floor like he’d waited years for the excuse.
Bly danced like he fought—confident, smooth, close. One hand gripped your hip, the other held yours. His gold armor was traded for casual blacks, but the heat rolling off him was all battle-born adrenaline and want.
“You keep looking at me like that,” you murmured in his ear, “and I’ll start thinking you’re falling for me.”
He faltered—actually faltered. Blinked once, then twice.
You leaned in, lips grazing his jaw. “What’s the matter, Bly? Didn’t think I could flirt back?”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
You slipped away with a smirk.
Gree was next—casual, clever, always too smooth for his own good.
“Careful,” you said, nursing a drink beside him at the bar. “You look like you’re planning something.”
“Just wondering how someone like you keeps every commander in the GAR wrapped around your finger.”
You leaned in, gaze dark. “Who says I don’t already have you wrapped around mine?”
You patted his back, sweet as sin. “I’ll be gentle.”
Fox looked like he was ready for a war crime when you sat beside him.
“I thought you hated attention,” you said, sipping from your glass.
“And yet,” you murmured, brushing your knee against his, “you keep watching me like I’m a damn threat.”
Fox’s eyes flickered. His jaw clenched. “You are.”
You leaned close. “Then do something about it.”
He looked away. Tight. Tense.
Neyo didn’t flinch when you approached—but his grip on his glass tightened when you laid your hand lightly on his chest.
“You don’t say much,” you whispered, “but I bet you think about me more than you should.”
His eyes were locked on yours. Still silent.
“You going to prove me wrong?”
He looked down, just for a second. Then turned and walked away—only to stop, just out of reach, and glance back like he wanted you to follow.
Ponds approached and gave you a smile like calm water hiding a riptide.
You rested a hand on his arm, feeling the strength there. “You ever going to stop being the sweet one?”
His smile dipped just slightly, darker now. “Only if you ask nicely.”
You stepped closer, voice low. “What if I beg?”
He stared at you like you’d kicked him in the chest.
Bacara barely moved when you brushed his hand at the table, except for the twitch in his jaw.
“You don’t talk much either.”
“I talk when there’s something worth saying.”
You tilted your head. “Then say something. Right now.”
Bacara met your gaze for a long, charged moment. Then—
You smirked. “Took you that long to figure it out?”
He shifted in his seat, suddenly needing a long drink.
Wolffe was already grumpy when you got to him, sitting in the corner like he’d rather be anywhere else—but the second you sat on the arm of his chair, his whole body went rigid.
“Nothing,” you said sweetly, playing with the edge of his collar. “You just always look like you want to throw me against a wall.”
He inhaled sharply. “Don’t test me.”
And just for fun, you kissed his cheek. Quick. Sharp. Possessive.
Wolffe went absolutely still. “You’re a menace.”
Cody found you at the end of the night—when your guard was just a little lowered, your drink half-finished.
“You were playing us all along,” he said, leaning on the bar beside you, eyes burning.
“Not playing,” you replied. “Just reminding you who’s in charge.”
He chuckled, low and slow. “Then dance with me.”
You didn’t resist when he pulled you back onto the floor, slower this time. Closer.
“You like control,” he murmured in your ear.
You turned in his arms, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Only when they’re strong enough to take it from me.”
Cody stared at you like he wanted to drag you out of the bar and ruin you.
And maybe… just maybe… you’d let him.
You hadn’t meant to start a war in 79’s—but then again, you’d never played fair, had you?
The music was sultry, all slow bass and sin. The lights were low. You’d been dancing with Cody for all of three minutes, and you could already feel the eyes on you. His eyes.
Fox had been brooding at the bar, nursing his whiskey, watching you like a hawk all night. You’d shared a moment earlier, sure—a drink, a brush of skin, words that lingered.
But now you were wrapped up in Cody.
Hands at your waist, lips near your ear, warm breath as he murmured, “You’re playing a dangerous game, General.”
You looked up at him, smug. “Only if someone plays back.”
Cody smirked. “Oh, I’m playing.”
He pulled you in tighter, hand trailing down your spine, and that was it—that was the trigger.
You didn’t see Fox at first—you felt him.
Storming across the floor like a man possessed. Controlled, measured fury wrapped in sleek civilian clothes. A few troopers nearby saw him coming and stepped aside like instinct told them don’t be in his way.
You barely had time to blink before—
His voice cracked like a blaster shot.
Cody’s hand stiffened at your hip. You turned slowly—heart pounding—to find Fox right in front of you.
Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Dangerous.
“What’s your problem?” Cody asked, tone calm but wary.
Fox didn’t look at him. Not once. His eyes were on you. “This what you came for?” he asked, voice low and bitter. “To play us against each other like it’s all some kind of game?”
You tilted your head, meeting his fury with wicked calm. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Commander.”
His hand shot out—not rough, not cruel—but demanding. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you a step closer. “I’m not jealous.”
“No?” you asked, breath catching slightly.
“I’m done pretending you’re just another officer.” His voice dipped, raw and sharp. “I see you dancing with him like that and I want to put my fist through the wall.”
A slow hush had fallen across the floor.
You stepped into Fox’s space, bodies nearly touching. “So do something about it.”
For a second, he didn’t breathe.
His hand slid to your waist. Possessive. Hot. “Dance with me,” he ordered. Not asked. Ordered.
You let him lead you back to the center of the floor, every trooper watching now, every step like a declaration. Fox danced like he wanted to erase Cody’s hands from your skin. He kept you close. Too close. The kind of close that whispered mine without ever saying a word.
“Next time,” he growled in your ear, “I won’t be so polite.”
You smirked against his neck. “That was polite?”
He held you tighter. “You haven’t seen me lose control yet.”
And part of you—twisted, wild, aching—wanted him to.
No idea where I was going with this tbh, think I went down my own little route and it ended up liked this 🫤
