#clone trooper sister | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imarvelatthestars · 5 months

Text

Cyare

Pairings: Sister x f!Reader, ft. Cody

Warnings: reader sticks her foot in her mouth, but it's awkwardly endearing; fluff + flirting

Notes: For those who don't know, Sister is a clone from the novels Queen's Hope & Brotherhood. I've been wanting to write for her for a while and this turned into the perfect opportunity!

Coruscant is the same as it always is, as is 79's - crowded, dirty, bright, a metallic mess built atop a subtle, hidden beauty. Sister sips at her drink, some bitter liquor that takes the edge off, and she sighs. She watches you flit shyly about at the fringes of the dance floor, watches the streaks of neon light on your skin as you bob your head to the music, and she feels her entire body go white hot and ice cold all at once.

An elbow in her ribs has her blinking back to the present, only to find that the Commander is watching her with an entirely too pleased glint in his eyes. Fierfek.

"We still have another day of shore leave," he says.

She could deny it. He's being vague enough that she could pass off the remark as anything other than what it actually is, but despite being embarrassed at getting caught staring, despite the flutter-bys in her stomach that start up any time she considers even approaching you, she finds that there's a part of her that doesn't want to shrug Cody's remark or its implication aside.

She opts for a single nod. An acknowledgement, an understanding, but nothing that will make her have to open her mouth. Force only knows what would come out.

Sparks and Raptor come bounding up then. Their drinks are spilling all over the place and Sparks is laughing so hard he's crying. They're going on about some stupid joke the pretty Chalactan bartender made and Cody's rolling his eyes and all that Sister can do is take another sip of her drink. She doesn't look in your direction again, she doesn't think about what it might be like to dance with you or to hold your hand, and she definitely doesn't think about your smile.

Or perhaps that beauty she always manages to seek out on her least favorite planet is just you.

Clones are, by default, all alike. That's kind of the whole point of them. But every clone you've ever met has made an effort to make himself different from his brothers - a different hairstyle or color, no tattoos, all tattoos, piercings, scars, armor paint, all of the above, sometimes none if they're shinies. It's incredible how they've crafted their own culture out of whispers of Mandalorian tradition like their progenitor before them and nods to the Jedi Order, to Coruscanti or Ryloth or Kel Dorin cultures that reflect their generals.

All two years of this war so far, though, and you've never seen a clone like her. Her. She's the only female clone you've ever met. Well, not met. Noticed. You noticed her the first time she came into 79's a few weeks back. It would be hard not to. She's tall and broad shouldered like her brothers, there's a thickness to her arms and thighs that screams about the type of fit, competent soldier she is. Her skin glows under 79's fluorescents, her teeth are brilliantly white when she smiles, but the thing that really gets you like, every time, is her hair.

You've gotten lost in glimpses of it too many times to count. When she first came in, her hair was braided tight against her scalp and her armor had a few streaks of blue and pink. Now, though, the braids are long gone. She's let her hair down from its bun and is - oh kriff, yeah she's shaking her hair out and it should not be giving you this many flutter-bys, yet here you are.

She's beautiful. Does she know? Is she aware of how stunning she is? Something about the sternness of her jawline, the strong angle of her nose, the swell of her shoulder muscles as they smooth out above her collarbones, right where her hair rests in large, frizzed curls. Fucking Maker, she makes you nervous. The fact that she gets her genes from Jango freaking Fett just makes you even more of a flustered disaster.

"You look lost."

The voice that startles you from your stupor belongs to the commander of the 212th himself, Cody. He's professional, but has been friendlier toward you of late, offering snippets of conversation when he comes to request refills for himself or his men. And woman, as the case may be.

You chuckle to yourself as you take the glass he offers you and start to refill it with liquor. "Promise I'm not," you say. "'m right where I'm supposed to be, aren't I?"

Cody nods, but his expression is thoughtful, slightly humored. "You're behind the bar, alright, but you're not here." His forearms brace against the lip of the bar as he leans in a bit, and it's the closest the commander's ever been to you since you first started working here. You almost wonder if this is his way of flirting with you. It's not such an awful idea, although it's tiresome in this environment. "Somethin' on your mind?"

You top off his glass and place it near one wrist, not too close to the bar's edge. "What makes you say that?" you ask with a too-sweet voice and a well-practiced smile. You make an effort not to look in the direction you had been before Cody approached you, the direction of his sister, the one clone in the entire galaxy who's managed to catch your eye more than any other.

He takes a sip, hardly wincing at the sharp bite of the alcohol when it hits his throat. "She likes you, y'know."

And it's a good thing you're not allowed to drink on the job because if you had, you'd be spraying it all over Cody's chest plate now. "What?!" you sputter as you choke on your saliva. It hits you a second later to attempt plausible deniability, though you know that ship has long since sailed. "What, um, what are you... talking about?"

The laugh he gives you in response is enough to make your face burn. "She's one o' the good ones. And I don't say that lightly. Most of these troopers are di'kute." And he emphasizes this with a thumb tossed over his shoulder and a not-so-subtle roll of his eyes. But then he takes another drink, pushes himself off the bar, and nods politely at you as if he hadn't just uncovered your secret crush and brought the entire galaxy down atop your head at the same time. "See y' around, civvy."

You're a fool, and you know you shouldn't seek her out when her commander leaves, but you do it anyway. The purple, pink, and orange paint job makes it easy. She's as beautiful as ever, nursing her drink with something of a panicked glimmer in her eyes, but there's something more there, too. It's difficult to make out in the dim lighting that 79's provides, but you can see it better when she tilts her head and looks at you properly. You'd almost call it hope.

It's your job as a bartender to be aware of your surroundings. Fights break out easily when the building is packed full of boozed up soldiers and their dates. So of course you notice that one trooper in particular lingers this night. She stays long after her brothers and higher ranking officers have left, long after the main buzz sustaining the bar mellows into something much more tame and the night grows late.

You try not to think too much about it. Lots of troopers stay late, lots of troopers stay after their companions have gone. But this time is different because it's her and you want it to be different, you want it to mean something. And you don't even know her name. It would be laughable if it wasn't so pathetic.

So imagine your surprise when your shift ends and your replacement slips into place behind the bar, when you've grabbed your bag from the staff room and are about to head out, when the very trooper you've been thinking of the entire night approaches you. She's much taller up close than you'd first thought. Perhaps you'd assumed she'd be shorter than the others, seeing as human women are often shorter than human men in your experience. Or perhaps you'd never really thought too much about it. Either way, her height paired with the broad span of her shoulders and the way the lights catch her eyes when she smiles at you all leads you to the conclusion that you're done for already.

"Hello." She has a nice, rumbly voice that's a bit like Cody's, but different somehow. A smoky alto that makes your heart feel weird.

You swallow your nerves as you resettle the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "Hi." You're not normally this timid, at least not on the job, but she makes you feel so many things that you can hardly think.

She shifts on her feet a bit, one hand rubbing anxiously at the plastoid on her thigh. "My name's Sister. I saw you talking with the commander earlier. I'm sorry."

Whatever it was you'd been expecting, or hoping, to hear, none of that was on your list. Funnily enough, you're the most disappointed to hear her name. You've heard all sorts of names here - Charger, Atin, Tango, Tai - some are unique, some are shared, but you had been hoping that her name would be one of the more unique and interesting ones, something that would give you an idea of who she is. Something you might find yourself saying over and over again. But Sister... It makes sense. In this respect, you suppose it is one of the more unique ones, but it doesn't exactly lend itself to romantic notions.

By the time that thought has come and gone, you've managed to blink and the rest of her introduction has finally processed. "'Sorry'?" you echo. "For what?"

Sister manages a wrinkled smile. "He seems t' be under the impression that you fancy me. 's why he indulged himself in a refill."

And finally, it clicks. She's not interested. She's picked up on your lingering looks and generally amorous aura, most likely, and after a miscommunication with her commander, she's here to let you down easy.

You shake your head even as your eyes drop to Sister's shoulder. It's too embarrassing to hold her gaze anymore. "No, I'm sorry. I haven't been professional enough. You... you don't have to apologize for anything. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Now, if she'll just let it go here, you can head back to your apartment and nurse your rejection with some comfort food and a holo.

"You didn't." And your head snaps up so quickly that it almost hurts. The expression she's wearing now is curious, confused. "I thought I'd made you uncomfortable. Some of the men like t' play matchmaker when they get an idea in their heads," she explains, "and this was one time I couldn't talk him out of it."

"So..."

You don't even dare to hope, but maybe...

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in goin' for a drink?"

She makes for a fierce and brave soldier, you're sure, but it's impossible in this moment not to see the tension in her brows and shoulders, the way her throat bobs when she swallows, the awkward bend of her legs. She's nervous, perhaps as nervous as you would be if you'd ever managed the courage to ask her out first.

"Is that what you want?" You'd hate for her to go to all this trouble just because of Cody. Because it would really hurt if that's all this is.

Sister smiles faintly, the inner corner of her brows turning up a bit as she considers you. There's a few seconds where she tilts her head down at you and the lights change behind her, and it's like she's haloed in hues of purple and orange. Kriff, she's gorgeous.

"Only if that's what you want."

You find yourself nodding without even a moment of hesitation or thought. And the whisper of a smile on the trooper's face blossoms into a grin. She offers you her arm and it feels only natural to take it.

May the gods, the Maker, and anyone else bless Jango Fett for getting himself cloned. You wonder sometimes if he was much of a romantic, or a flirt, if he was good with the ladies, the men, with anyone who wanted him, if he knew just what to say and do to make people trip all over themselves for him. Because Sister is amazing at it without even trying.

Any time she's on Coruscant, she takes you out, and every time you find yourself falling a little deeper for her. She's often quite serious and keeps many of her thoughts to herself, content to ask a few questions and listen to you ramble on, but it's charming the way she does it. Because she remembers. You'd mentioned that first night how you loved to take your kaf a certain way, and the very next date she took you to a (clone friendly) place on one of the middle levels and recited your order perfectly. She opens doors for you, walks on the street side of the duracrete when she can, and she has this way of smiling at you that makes your heartrate triple and your chest feel tight.

"Can I ask you something?"

She takes a bite of her food and nods, encouraging you with a gentle hum.

It's been on your mind a lot. Not because it bothers you, but because you're curious why she never chose something else. "Could I... I was wondering... Your name. Did you pick it?" You can think of a number of other descriptors that don't simply relay her familial status - considerate, polite, beautiful, smart, strong.

It's hard to read her expression now, but you notice that she goes a little tense. "It was given to me by my brothers. It was their way of showing they accepted me."

"Why wouldn't they accept you?"

Sister's mouth twitches into a frown. "The issue was never with them," she explains, "but those on Kamino who see difference as a weakness."

The idea itself is mind boggling. "There's nothing about you that's weak." It comes unbidden from the depths of your heart, the most genuine and unfiltered thing you've probably ever said to her. You have the decency to flush at your level of earnest honesty, but decide in the end to simply roll with it. "I think you're wonderful."

Whatever she'd been thinking or feeling upon your initial questioning, it seems to morph now into something dazzling that strikes you right between the ribs when she smiles at you. "Not that you're biased," she teases.

You shake your head with false seriousness. "Not at all."

Her hand finds yours, the first time the two of you have touched beyond the offering and taking of an arm, or the exchanging of goods over the counter at 79's.

"Why the sudden interest in my name?"

It's a well-meaning question with no malice or hidden agenda - it's upfront in the same way that she is, but it makes you cringe with embarrassment all the same. Because yes, the two of you have been dating. Yes, she knows you like her and you know she likes you. Yes, these moments you share are precious, but to verbalize your reasoning would be another step closer to making whatever this is between you real. And that's terrifying.

But if you've learned anything these past weeks, it's that you could never deny Sister anything. Certainly not when she catches your eye and looks at you like she's the most beautiful, handsome, wonderful woman in the galaxy. (Even though she is.)

"Promise you won't laugh?" She nods and squeezes your hand for good measure. "I just thought that... Well, doesn't your name get awkward when you see people? I mean, like, dating?"

"You don't like it?" she says after a moment, and her hand goes slack in yours.

"No! That's not it. I think it's lovely, especially coming from your brothers. I only meant that it might have been awkward in the past. If you were ever with someone and they said your name when you were intimate." Your mouth is moving far faster than you can coherently think, faster than you can filter your thoughts, and so it's all coming out and you're helpless to stop it because you have to explain yourself, you have to make sure she understands. You don't want her to think you don't like her all because you stuck your foot in your mouth like an idiot. "Or maybe that never came up. I don't know, I don't want to presume. I don't always say my partner's name when we're intimate. Not that I'm assuming we will be! I, I only meant... Well..."

You're left feeling stupid at the end of it. And speechless. And embarrassed. And horrified that you've just ruined the most wonderful thing to ever happen to you. You can't even look at her now.

All the noises of Coruscant's busy airlanes and buzzing market stalls and irritated pedestrians flood your senses as you close your eyes against your shame. There's a speeder backfiring a few roads over, it sounds like. Someone is arguing in Huttese at one of the stalls. And Sister is quiet when she takes your hand again, impossibly gentle and unsettlingly silent.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't. Or you were thinking too much." But it's not said as an accusation. You peek one eye open, then the other, and are surprised to find Sister watching you with a bemused expression and a quirked eyebrow. "Been sitting on that one for long?"

You sputter wordlessly for several seconds before she puts you out of your misery.

"You're cute when you're flustered, cyar'ika." And she drops your hand in favor of cupping your chin beneath her thumb. It somehow manages to wipe your brain of all coherent thought. "Didn't know you thought about us being intimate so much."

It would be better for a rancor to swallow you whole than to endure another minute of this blissful, terrible, wonderful torture. You want her to let it go, but you also want her to stay exactly where she is and keep teasing you until your legs give out. You're not sure what that says about you.

"Tell you what," she continues once she realizes you've temporarily lost the ability to speak, "if we ever decide to be intimate, you can call me cyare. Yeah?"

Through some miracle of the Force, you're able to manipulate your tongue into functioning again. "What's that mean?"

Sister only smirks, the first true smirk she's ever given you and you're certain it'll stop your heart. But it softens a moment later. "Beloved," she murmurs, eyes lingering on the movement of your mouth as you lick your lips. She's still gently grasping your chin and you're still falling for her, hard and fast.

"I like that. I like you."

"Yeah?" There's a moment where you think she might kiss you, but she leans in and instead presses her nose to yours, then her forehead to your forehead, and all you feel is the warmth of her breath on your skin. "I like you, too, cyar'ika." She smells like spiced meat and kaf and some sort of muted cologne, but it's not like the kind you've caught a whiff of from her brothers. It's rich and sharp, but with a hint of something softer and sweeter, like citrus and jasmine.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask, and Sister huffs.

"Thought you'd never ask."

prompt: cody 💛✔️

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