#republic commando x reader

Your job wasn’t overly glamorous, but it sufficed. The countless shinies trying to get you in bed and the wrangling of intoxicated troopers got old very quickly, as did the neon lighting and the smell of unshowered soldiers. Tonight, 79s was packed to the rafters. Hundreds of clones danced, drank and unwound under the blanket of cheap, flickering neon lighting. The GAR was celebrating from a successful campaign in the Expansion Region, as you had heard from every second trooper chewing your ear off.

The bar was a mess. One of your service droids was out of operation, falling victim to flying glass of spotchka that was hurled over the bar. Pouring yet another round of shots, you placed the last one on the tray, picked it up and turned to carry it over to the larrikin of a trooper that probably shouldn’t have been allowed to order more drinks. Before you could even take one step, a stray service droid was underneath you, tripping you and spilling a whole round of shots all over your front, the droid, and the floor.

“Kriff, AZI!” you shouted. More items to the list of things that had gone wrong tonight. An even stickier floor and another broken droid. “Get that trooper another round,” you muttered to the nearest functioning droid. Collecting yourself, you stood up and brushed some stray hairs behind your ear. Before you could turn to make your way to the backroom to get changed, something, someone, caught your eye.

A T-shaped blue visor glowed through the crowd, pushing shinies aside, as he followed three other familiar troopers. The famed Delta Squad. Except this time, the fourth member of the quartet was with them. He was the most striking, and the most intimidating. A blood-coloured handprint stained the face of his helmet, down his arms and splattered over his chest. He followed his brothers, yet kept his distance. Shinies cleared their way for them, for him, as if he had the blue shadow virus. He was the only one out of his brothers that still donned his helmet. The buzz of troopers and thumping of the music faded into the background as you watched him curiously. Who was this Commando?

In your trance you hardly noticed that he had separated from his brothers and was approaching the bar. Approaching you.

Snapping out of it, you greeted him, offering him a smile. “What can I get for you, Commando?” 

“Whiskey. Neat, please." His charming, gravelly voice startled you. He didn’t sound like any of the other clones. His voice was deep, harsh, and sounded like could take out a battle droid in and of itself. 

“No worries," you said, clearing your throat that was suddenly dry. “Coming right up."

You turned your back to the trooper, reaching to the top shelf for some of your finest whiskey. Not that this bar carried anything overly remarkable. You felt your ill-fitting tight shirt ride up as you reached above your head, embarrassment blazing across your cheeks as you felt the trooper’s eyes burning into your exposed skin, even through the helmet he still wore. Why does this Commando intimidate you so much? You deal with troopers every day. But he was different.

You grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned to him. Even through the helmet, you could feel his eyes meet yours, where they lingered for but a moment. You poured his drink and sparked up conversation to try and relieve your nerves.

“I hope that isn't real blood, Commando, because I may just have to have you removed from the premises." You raised an inquisitorial eyebrow, still pouring the whiskey. He didn’t respond.

“I know that you’re a soldier and all, but having blood smeared across your bucket isn’t exactly appropriate, let alone appetising.” You teased. Still no answer. You finished preparing his drink and sat it on the bar in front of where he had since taken a seat.

“Not talkative tonight?” you asked, desperately trying to relieve the awkwardness that had overcome you.

“Sev. Call me Sev. And I’m quite happy just sitting here listening to you, mesh’la.” His baritone voice made your stomach flutter, as did his compliment. It was different coming from him than any other trooper that had tried their luck. He raised his hands to grip either side of his helmet and slowly removed it, revealing himself.

Thick, glossy curls of jet black hair curtained his tanned face, his deep amber eyes maintaining eye contact with you. A pink scar sliced from his mid forehead, over his eye and cheekbone, down to his chin. His thick jaw clenched as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He had obviously caught you ogling at him.

He wrapped his large, gloved hand around the glass in front of him and raised it to his lips, before lowering it back down to sit on the sticky surface of the bar.

“Not bad. You have good taste…….” he trailed off, looking at you with questioning eyes.

“I don’t give my name away to just any charming trooper at my bar," you snickered, your lips curling into a cheeky smile.

“So be it, I’ll take that as a challenge.” He teasingly rolled his eyes, rocking in his chair.

Your eyes lowered to his chestplate, where a set of four numbers carved into the red-stained plastoid stood out.

4982.

Must be his designation number, you thought. 

“About the blood," his thick voice cut in once again, “Don’t worry mesh’la, it may or may not be paint, but why don’t you give it the old sniff test and find out?" 

An incriminating shade of crimson flushed to your cheeks and you felt yourself grow hot, and it wasn’t just the steam from the glass cleaner below you. Wound up, you gathered yourself.

“I don’t sniff clones in my spare time, Commando.” You smiled politely as you could manage, “Not only is it unprofessional, but the smell of the battlefield isn’t exactly the most pleasant."

“79s smells like that every night," he stated. His gaze felt as if he could read your very thoughts and feelings.

"I better get back to work." You shrunk down underneath his gaze and cowered away from the banter.

You turned away from Sev, nerves or excitement-you couldn’t really tell-still fluttering in your stomach. Before you could distract yourself too much, a very familiar pair of ARC troopers in blue were waiting at the bar for you.

“Look who's here!" Fives said, “My favourite bartender! Somebody has to keep those droids in line!” He gestured at the broken droids still on the bar floor, elbowing his twin and bursting out into laughter.

“I’ve been too busy to bin them, obviously." You defended. Busy with Sev.

With his laughter fading, Fives’ gaze slid to look over your shoulder.

“Mesh’la, ‘t looks like somebody has their eye on you tonight," Fives acknowledged, nodding in the direction that Sev had been sitting. “We’ll leave you to it." Fives and Echo turned to go back to the booth where the rest of the 501st regulars sat.

Once again, that feeling of embarrassment and intimidation flooded over you in spite of your false sense of confidence minutes earlier. You could do this! You spoke to troopers every night without any nerves. He is just like all of his brothers. Right?

You slowly turned, (perhaps to your demise) only to be met with the sight of Sev undressing you with his eyes. You suddenly felt stupid in your tight black blouse and slacks. It wasn't as if his imagination was picturing you in your work uniform, anyway. Swallowing, you walked back over to what was now his side of the bar, avoiding the broken droids on the floor. You only had your dignity and one patron to lose, after all. 

“Can I help you, Commando?” You asked, trying to snap him out of his lascivious gaze.

“You know those guys?” He snorted, his eyes slowly lingered down your neck and to your decolletage.

You ignored his wandering eyes, despite the warmth it sparked between your legs.

“They’re here all the time, unlike you. You’re a new face," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He choked on his drink, stifling a laugh, trying not to break his stoic, mysterious facade.

“I don’t exactly get a lot of time to celebrate, you know, with the war and all,” he smirked, the eye contact practically melting you into a puddle. 

“Pardon me, sir.” You cooed, fluttering your lashes, laying it on heavily, “How could I forget, it’s not like I work at a clone bar or anything."

You’re not sure what set it off for him, but an animalistic look devoured his amber eyes.

He leant towards you, a low growl building in his chest. Not sure if you should be scared or aroused, you stayed put, indulging yourself in the sudden proximity. Surely he just wanted you close so you could hear him over the noise of the bar, right?

His rough, gloved hands caressed your chin oh-so softly as he brought his face closer to yours. His warm breath fanned over your face, a hot blanket of desire beginning to suffocate you. You felt yourself grow wet, his eyes so close to yours. Maker, he put the man in Commando.

He broke your gaze, bringing his lips to your ear, “Listen here,” he whispered, his abrasive voice making love to your skin, “you’re going to give me your commlink number. You’re going to go home early tonight, you’re going to shower and get into your prettiest number. And you’re going to get comfortable in your bed."

You swallowed the thick, dry lump in your throat. 

"I’m going to comm you, you will pick up, and you will give me your name.” The last words slowly trickled out of his lips, fading into the background noise of the bar.

Maker, you had practically soaked through your panties. They were just as wet as the front of your top from earlier. You needed him.

“...and I’m going to give you 10 credits for another one of those fancy Chandrillan whiskeys." The pads of his still-gloved fingers maintained the hold they had on your chin, and he brought his lips away from your ear painfully slowly. You swallowed, not knowing what to do with yourself. Your pussy burned with arousal, thick, syrupy heat now pooling in your gut. His face was still close enough to yours that you were practically sharing the same air. His scar was so intimidating, yet so charming this close.

“Look at you, mesh’la, in knots for me," he whispered, eyes not leaving yours, “No shiny in this bar has ever had you like this before, has he?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. Any sense of confidence you had now melted away with your utter submission to him. He released his grip from your chin, allowing you to fulfil his demand for another drink.

You hurriedly poured it for him, all of your professionalism gone with your pride. You scribbled your commlink number on a napkin, and sat both it and the drink down in front of him.

He downed it in one sip, got up from his seat, grabbed his helmet and turned to leave.

“I’ll talk to you later, mesh’la." He smirked over his shoulder.

Speechless, you mustered up a nod, trying not to embarrass yourself in front of the numerous other troopers at the bar.

“By the way, I saw you looking at my chest. Four-nine-eight-two. Four-thousand, nine hundred and eighty two Geonosians. One for every fallen Commando.” His charming voice lingered as he turned and made his way back through the crowd of troopers to find the rest of his squad.

Maker. You practically fainted. He was no shiny at all.

CHAPTER 2 ♡

The door to your apartment hissed closed behind you with a soft thunk, and you leaned back against it, your fingers trembling. The echo of his voice still rattled in your head. “You will give me your name.”

 You’d given your commlink number. Given him a look that said take me apart. But your name?

That, you’d withheld. Not intentionally. Maybe you just didn’t want it to be over yet.

Steam swirled around you as you stepped out of the refresher, your skin tingling from the heat. You’d scrubbed, exfoliated, shaved—twice. Absolutely everything. 

 You’d tossed half your closet onto your bed before settling on a sheer, dark-red babydoll that hinted more than it revealed. Matching set underneath. Thigh high stockings. Anything to give you the confidence to do what you were about to do. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, heart pounding like a war drum. You stared at the blinking commlink on your nightstand. 

Your chest tightened when it lit up. 

Unknown ID.

You snatched it before the second ring. 

“Hello?” You tried to hide the breathlessness in your voice. 

Just the sound of him breathing nearly buckled your knees. A low growl filtered through the receiver. 

“I’m not a patient man,” The voice rasped. “Tell me your name.”

Time to put on a brave face. You licked your lips, wetting them. “You want it that badly?” you teased, curling a finger into the garter of your thigh-high. 

“Not as badly as I want to hear you say mine.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your whimper. This could not be happening. “I—” you started, but his voice cut you off.

“Strip for me.”

You froze, chest rising and falling in light pants. It felt like he was somehow watching you through the comm. “I already am,” you whispered. 

A pause. Then, “Good girl.” That dangerous, dark satisfaction dripped from every word. It made your toes curl into the carpet. “You’re smarter than you look, mesh’la,” he drawled, voice soaked in wicked approval. “Now, lay down.”

You obeyed. No hesitation.

Your sheets were cool against your back, but your skin was burning, flushed and prickled with goosebumps. 

“Legs open.”

You bit your lip, the rush of arousal almost dizzying as you slowly parted your thighs. You imagined him on the other end of the line, picturing you. How wet you were, how ready, how exposed. All for him. 

“Imagine my fingers on your throat,” Sev whispered. “My teeth against your shoulder. You think I didn’t notice the way you stared at my gloves? You want to feel them all over that pretty body of yours?”

A soft gasp escaped your lips.

“That’s right. You’re already soaking, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, trembling.

“I want you to drag your fingers through that mess you made,” he ordered, low and commanding. “Let me hear what a good little thing you are for me. Don’t hold back.”

You swallowed hard and obeyed. 

You were so worked up just from hearing him, you had already soaked through the delicate lace of your panties. God, you needed him here. Your fingertips slowly dragged through your soaked folds, and you mewled, raw and desperate. 

“Maker—” you whimpered, already arching.

“Say my name,” he growled. “Not ‘Commando.’ Not ‘sir.’ Say it.”

“Sev,” you breathed, fingers starting to trace tiny circles around your clit. “Sev, please—”

“Words, mesh’la.”

“I want you..I need you!” Your back arched into your hand, seeking more. “I need you to—”

“You need me to what?” he demanded.

“To ruin me.”

A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “You’re damn right you do.”

You whined openly into the comm resting on the sheets next to you. You pictured his breath on your neck. His hands gripping your hips. How he’d flip you onto your tummy and screw you into the mattress. You were suddenly achingly aware of how empty you were. 

Then you heard it.

A sharp inhale on the other end, followed by the faintest shuffle of armour plates. A click. Fastenings undone. 

Your breath caught.

“ You’re…” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He cut you off again, this time softer, rasping, starved.

“Damn right I am.”

Maker.

“I’ve been hard since you poured me that drink. Thought about bending you over that bar and taking you right there in front of all those shinies.” You could hear the roughness of his breath now— rhythmic, frantic. “I’m thinking about how wet and tight your mouth would be if I shoved my dick between your lips and made you choke on it.”

You moaned, loud and broken, your fingers circling your bundle of nerves with reckless abandon.

“I’d grab your throat,” he continued, his voice now strained, gravelly. “Not to stop you, no. To feel you. To feel the way you fight not to gag. But you wouldn’t fight, would you? Not for me.” 

“No,” you breathed. You could hear the tell-tale sound of skin on skin on the other end of the line. “I’d take all of you.”

“Good girl.” The way he snarled it sent you spiralling, your body twitching under your own touch. “You’d look up at me while I play with your mouth, pretty eyes all messy, panties wrecked.” 

“They already are,” you gasped, rubbing harder now, your heels digging into the bed. “I’m so close, Sev…”

“Don’t cum yet,” he snapped, voice cracking with restraint. “I want you to hold it.”

You cried out, hips bucking helplessly, your body rebelling at the command. On the comm, his breathing grew rougher, faster.

“I'm going to finish all over my gloves thinking about how you’d squeeze me,” he growled. “Dripping wet, spread out like how you are now. You want it, mesh’la? Want my mess on your stomach? In your mouth? On your sheets?” 

“Yes, Sev, yes, please!” 

“Say it again,” he panted, breath ragged. “Say my name.”

“Sev,” you whimpered. “Please, Sev, I need it! I need you.”

The sound that came through the comm was half-snarl, half-moan. Raw. Ruined.

“Now,” he purred. “Cum. Now. Let me hear you break.” 

Your fingers stuttered and you shattered. You moaned his name like a prayer, your back arching off the bed, thighs trembling violently. Shudders surged through your body–from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Your eyes were clamped shut. It was messy, loud, shameless. You didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

Because Sev was moaning too.

You heard the strangled sound of his orgasm. Deep, feral, dragged from his chest like it was ripped from his very bones. The rhythmic wet sounds from his end faded, followed by a harsh gasp, then silence, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

Then, you heard his voice again, smug and spent. 

“Now you know what happens when you give me your number.”

Your chest heaved. “…And if I give you my name?”

There was a pause. You could practically hear his smirk through the line. 

“Then tomorrow night, I show up at your door. And I finish what we started. With my hands. With my mouth. Whatever you like.” 

You moaned softly, thighs still twitching.

“So?” he asked. “What’s your name, mesh’la?”

You licked your lips, still breathless, and whispered. 

Oh, yeah. Your cousin visited earlier this day, dropping their little daughter for you to babysit just until tomorrow. Hospital's running thin on ER nurses so your cousin pulled a double shift. You didn't mind. You love your niece Caleesta. Your boyfriend Ordo, who got home later in the evening, was dragged to participate in the job as well.

He remembers the dinner being a little awkward. You sent a little holo of how Caleesta was doing, chilling after dinner with an ice cream. Mereel had put it there some time ago for his visits and he's probably gonna be whining about the loss—but tough. He's got to admit defeat when it comes to what an ad wants.

The girl is adorable, and smart. Ordo watched her color her coloring book and it was a heckin’ mandala coloring book for adults. Quite bubbly too, asking him a lot of questions about being a clone. He answered what he could and what the ad could comprehend. You were cleaning the table but you were definitely watching, and he caught warm fondness twinkling in your eyes.

The thing about your little niece is that she isn't ready yet to sleep all by herself.

Caleesta shifts again, turning around in her sleep, her limbs detangling from his body. Ordo sighs in relief and stretches his arm, pleasant tingles running up his arms and down his legs to the tip of his toes, the knot inside his lungs comes free. He scrunches his eyes open, lips dry and tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, assessing the kih’ad now facing the other direction with limbs and hair wildly splayed all over the bed. A tiny smirk of surprise pulls unexpectedly on his lips.

Ordo blinks again, his eyes getting used to the darkness. They widen when he's aware that the other side of the bed is absent of you.

His senses ring in alarm, every muscle in his body strikes him fully awake and prompts him to look for you. But then the bedroom door opens, and enter you in your baggy sleeping clothes with a glass of water in your hand.

“Oh,” you mumble sleepily as soon as you make out Ordo’s bright and awake figure, sitting on the bed with the hem of the comforter pooling in his lap. “You're awake.” You close the door silently.

“Yeah,” he whispers, not ready to face a fussy kid if he speaks too loudly. “You too?”

You let out a quiet, huffy laugh as you make your way to him. “She punched me in the ear in her sleep, Ordo. ‘Course I'm awake.”

He bites his bottom lip to prevent a laugh coming out. “Sounds ouch enough.”

“It was pretty ouchy,” you pout, unable to resist placing a kiss on his hairline. “Here's some water.”

Ordo smiles gratefully at you. “Thanks.” He takes your offering with great care as if it's the only thing that matters in the world—the refreshing, cool glass of water. He sips carefully, making sure to leave some for you. “It’s like there's a frog in my throat when I wake up in the middle of the night like this.”

And you know that very well. Ordo dislikes getting woken up abruptly before sunup since it's the worst hour for being thirsty—one has to get up and take to the kitchen half-awake to fetch some water. The whole thing is plain ugh. Insomnia is his worst enemy.

“She's like that when she sleeps.” Your apologetic cadence escapes you before you could stop or give it a prelude. Ordo seems to catch it and listen to you—even emphatically, gently taking your hand in his. “Sorry, love. Forgot to tell you.”

“It's fine, cyare,” Ordo says, laying soft kisses your knuckles, his lips no longer cracked. “M’pretty alert myself. Force of habit. Not your fault.”

“Okay,” you give in, smiling. You caress his tawny cheeks for good measure as well, to put some comfort in yourself. Your boyfriend seems to notice that, and plants another kiss to the inside of your wrist. Ordo loves you, his affections are endless. “Let's go back to sleep?” you suggest then.

“Let’s,” Ordo smiles, reluctantly letting go of your hand as you go around the bed to get into your spot, which is evidently occupied by Caleesta, sleeping soundly and completely unaware of the waking world around her. Ordo helps by gently and carefully moving Caleesta to the center of the bed, between the two of you, until you're feeling quite snug under the covers.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks not a minute later, under the covers and as quietly as possible.

“What?” you indulge him.

Ordo hesitates for a little. “What does she usually like for breakfast?”

You chuckle airily to yourself. “Why are you asking?”

Ordo shuts his eyes, changing his breathing pattern in preparation to return to slumber. “Just asking, cyare.”

“Okay,” you whisper, amusement fills your tone. “Meiloorun-flavored milk. Wheat toast.”

“Mhm.”

“She loves skillet eggs with tomatoes as dippings,” you continue, nearly regretting that it'd make you hungry. But sleep seems to win this time. “And add to that; leftover grilled nerf patties that I like to store in the conservator.”

“Manda,” Ordo says sleepily, the image of such breakfast occupying his mind. “Yeah, let's have that. We can have that, right?”

“You got it,” you mumble, no longer caring about volume before falling to the endless spiral of sleep after all. Come morning, the dining table would be merrier than ever.

Thanks for reading! Taglist is moved to event masterlist.

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

⊳ Being trained hands-on by multiple Mandalorians they more than likely know a decent bit of Mando'a, as well as Mandalorian culture in general, as it's a huge part of their 'unique' upbringing. As such it's hilariously quick even after a short while how much you pick up from them, or what they tell you.

And as for who teaches you all the swear words? Scorch doesn't because he thinks 'you're too cute to say those things', and Boss refuses because he's supposedly got a reputation to uphold.

But one day you end up yelling some sort of horrible Mando'a swear and it turns out Fixer is the one who 'taught' you, because he's constantly mumbling them under his breath and you picked up on them like a keen child. You use it non-stop all day now, and Scorch finds it hilarious.

⊳ Clone commandos are raised from birth in pods of four, making them extremely attached to each other and by extension, super untrusting of anyone outside of their 'pod brothers'. If you become part of that little circle, I don't think there's a droid or Sith or trooper in that galaxy that can stop these guys from being super protective.

If you pick a fight with one you get the rest, and the same goes for you, as well. If you're at a bar and someone doesn't take your 'no' for an answer? They're going to be staring down four extremely displeased commandos.

It's sweet, until the physical altercations start and you have to break them up before things get too crazy.

⊳ And just for a romantic crumb at the end here; If you're romantically involved with any of them, the others will absolutely bully the ever-living soul out of him. Nothing is sacred, and they'll always find a way to get in a jab.

"Did you hunt her down like all those droids Sev? Or did you actually speak some words for once?"

"Just don't blow up the first girl to give you the time of day, Scorch."

"And here I thought Fixer was too busy nagging us to spend time with someone else."