#He doesn't care to. He doesn't care to. He karking doesn't care to.

[court-jesterr]

Can I request Crosshair with "sorry, that was my first kiss." "i could tell." "...." "i'm kidding!" I don't imagine any of the Batch have ever kissed someone before. 🤭

Jealous Much?

Pairing: Crosshair x Fem!Reader Warnings: Massive fluff, Crosshair being a cutie pie and not understanding his own emotions because he's silly, light cursing, nothing other than that really Word Count: 2.2K Summary: After running into a "Reg" in the halls of Kamino, Crosshair hears something he doesn't like and it bothers him. A/N: I really liked this prompt for Cross and I've actually not written anything for him yet, so this was fun! Thanks for request precious anon! I hope it was what you were looking for when you sent in the request!

Requests are currently closed until I finish the ones I have in my inbox!

Don't forget you can also support me on ko-fi! If you like my writing, you can always just give me a little tip to help me continue my work!

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"Mesh'la~" A clone trooper called after you with a smile, "Why don't you stop hanging out with those defective boys and come hang out with real men, huh? I know you miss me~" He teased, mirthfully, as he blew you a kiss.

While you found the trooper's antics amusing, evidently none of the other Batchers had. Crosshair hissed a snide "filthy reg" under his breath as he took your arm and positioned himself between you and the other man. Hunter rolled his eyes with an exhausted sigh, Echo shrugging when Tech looked between you and the other clone. "What precisely does he mean when he says 'I know you miss me'?"

You only chuckled and shook your head in reply but flinched a little when you met Crosshair's sharp eyes. "W-What?" Your voice was hushed as it passed through your lips, almost as if you were intimidated by him.

The sniper simply lifted a brow at you, the tattoo over his eye elongating. "You didn't answer Tech." He answered with his coiled voice, toothpick moving over his thin lips. Was he serious? Why did it even bother him? You knew very well he had more contempt for the regs than even the others did, but for him to care so much about why the other trooper mentioned you neglecting him was odd- even for Crosshair.

You shrugged unhurriedly, eyes wide, as if you'd been caught in a speeder's headlights. Glancing toward the others to see if they were as confused as you were, but instead noticed they were also staring at you- waiting for a response. Tech adjusted his goggles on his face while Hunter rested his weight onto one of his hips, arms crossing over his broad chest. Echo blinked at you, and Wrecker tilted his head curiously. "What, seriously?" Was all you could summon as you looked at them all in amazement. "Is it really that big of a deal to you guys?"

"Well," Tech began simply, glancing at Hunter, "yes."

"Seriously?!" You shot back, your voice filled with offense then huffing out loudly at their insanely meddlesome behavior.

"Seriously." Crosshair's whispery tone upset you and the glare you sent him scarcely made him shift. "So, are you going to keep us waiting...or?"

"For kriff sake..." You muttered as a hand ran across your face, bitterness lacing your breath. "Fine! I made out with him once while we were at 79s on shore leave, are you happy now?" Your answer stunned them and they once again shared of look amongst themselves. "Stars. Karking fools, not everything is your business." Breathing out an annoyed sigh, you forced past them and fled into your bunk room.

"It would seem we have upset her," Tech noted after a beat of silence, to which both Hunter and Echo gave him a disapproving glance. "What? I am not incorrect. I am merely stating a factual examination as I have observed the situation."

"Stow it, Tech." Echo growled with a fatigued voice, pushing past him as they all began striding back to their own shared bunk room. Crosshair, however, lingered; eyes still eyeing where you had disappeared further down the hall. Why was it bugging him so badly to know that you had kissed that reg? It felt like gnawing in his chest like a wild nexu was bitting him.

He loathed it.

Why wouldn't it go away?

"Cross?" Hunter's deep voice broke the taller clone out of his thoughts and he looked over at his brother who was standing in the doorway. "You coming?" He questioned, a raise to his brow as he scrutinized him.

Nodding, Crosshair joined the others in the room with a faint 'yeah' and flicked his toothpick aside.

The night went on without much more discourse about your "adventure" with the reg but Crosshair couldn't get the idea out of his head and he was increasingly becoming cranky. Far more cranky than usual. The trooper was practically seething at one point while taking apart his rifle for the fourth time, griping to himself and shoving the pieces together sharply. "Any harder and I think you'll bust it, Cross." Echo comments, stepping over to his bunk to lie down.

"Shut up." The sniper hissed grouchily, driving a piece together especially hard and pinching his finger. He cursed under his breath spitting out his toothpick and placing his finger in his mouth to numb the ache.

Hunter chuckled at the exchange, "Listen, if you're so bothered by her kissing that reg, why don't you go make up for lost time and stop making the air so sticky with your angst." The man lounged in his own bunk, twirling his vibroblade around nimbly.

Crosshair prickled at the remark and turned to look at Hunter with a dangerous glare. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was low and lethal as he spoke, daring his brother to repeat himself.

"I believe you heard him well enough, did you not?" Tech piped up from his workbench, accommodating his goggles to look over at Crosshair. "However, if you were not clear on his meaning, he was proposing that you go and kiss her to make your intentions apparent."

Crosshair's nasty glower slowly landed on his intelligent brother and narrowed even further, his brow now raising in challenge. "What in the galaxy are you idiots going on about?"

"Well, you want to kiss her, don't ya?" Wrecker chimed in with a careful voice, making sure he was following the conversation correctly. Echo suppressed a laugh at Crosshair's dumbfounded expression at his larger brother.

"Of course, he does, Wrecker," Tech replied in Crosshair's stead with a matter-of-fact tone, restarting his work on whatever gadget sat in front of him.

Crosshair growled, stood up from the crate he was sulking on and lurked out of the bunk room into the hallway. Gritting the toothpick between his teeth, he groused to himself again, brown eyes traveling in the direction of your door. Hunter's comments persisted in his mind about going to you and...

But Crosshair barely considered the thought and waved his hand in the air as if he could swat away the notion. There wasn't any way in all the galaxy he was going to show up at your door like some loser with a crush.

The tall sniper rolls his eyes and then blinks in shock as he finds himself in front of a door. Your door. "What the hell?" He murmured to himself in bewilderment, eyes narrowed as if the door could give him an explanation.

He stood there for a surprisingly long time, debating with himself mentally; attempting to figure out what to do. Knocking on the door would require him to follow through with something he could easily make a fool of himself with, or...he could turn away and continue to seeth in jealousy over you being with other men.

Jealousy?

Wait...

That had just struck Crosshair.

It was the first time the idea of him being jealous truly passed his thoughts, though it made sense...the sentiment lingering in his chest corresponding to the word flawlessly.

He was jealous.

Aggravatingly so.

He hated to admit it. The thought made him feel...vulnerable; as if you have power over him in some way. But if he considered it in more depth, you did. Secretly he had been admiring you for months, amazed at how you took his brazen nature in stride and followed thoroughly alongside his banter. It startled him, pleasantly, when you first quipped back at him so effortlessly- his brothers typically being the only ones able to handle their comebacks well enough to leave him in silence. However, within weeks with the group you had smoothly grinned at him and shot back as if his offensive mood hadn't phased you in the least. He'd found himself gravitating toward you after that, interested in why you were able to tolerate him so well, wondering if he could push you further or cross a line that would make you furious; to which he uncovered nothing. The only thing he'd encountered was your gentle nature, sparked by sass and a smirk that made his heart race.

A whooshing sound startled him back to the present and he was met with your face. "What the hell are you doing out here, Crosshair?" You asked with a bothered expression.

Apparently the decision had been made for him. He was fully aware that if he turned around now he'd never live it down and would seem like a coward. He'd also have to deal with hearing about you kissing other regs which irked him even more than the idea of his brothers teasing him for being a wuss. So he rested his weight on one of his hips and smirked at you, flicking his toothpick past you. "You seemed annoyed back there, sunshine." He chose to go the route of antagonizing you, his more preferred form of communication; especially when breaching a matter he felt out of his depths to manage.

You rolled your eyes, infuriated. "That's because you and your idiot brothers were being assholes. It's none of your business what I do in my free time."

"What if I want it to be?" Crosshair heard himself speak before he could stop it but he chose to remain steadfast in the face of your changing expression.

Your raised brow and slow hand gestures implored him to continue as if what he said was unfinished. "And so what if you did want that? I'm not your-" Then it hit you and a blush rushed over your cheeks.

The clone stood there and he could feel his hands trembling, uncharacteristically. He wasn't predisposed to anxiety, none of his brothers were, but now he felt as if his heart were going to leap out his chest and through his armor directly into your hands. Silence continued to linger between the two of you with only the narrowing of Crosshair's eyes as a reaction.

"You..."

"Don't flatter yourself too much." Crosshair interrupts with a roll of his eyes, trying to fight off the embarrassment that started to creep up his own cheeks.

A smile began to form on your face, much to his dismay. "Crosshair...are you saying you're...jealous of that reg?" You were testing your luck and you knew it, he was never this clumsy in conversation with you but you couldn't help yourself when you caught the reddening of his cheeks.

"Stow it or I'll walk away right now." He hissed hatefully and crossed his arms over his chest, making no effort to move. While Crosshair despised the feeling of floundering he felt in the moment, he also found it...exciting. He was caught desperate and nervous in the sight of someone he cared for and your smile was stunning.

You chuckled at his expression, his face turning away from you to look down the hall where he'd come from. "You are jealous!" The triumph on your face was simultaneously aggravating and charming to the sniper, his trained eye taking in every detail even from his side glance. "I can't believe you're jealous because I kissed some reg, what are you a school girl? Little Crosshair feeling jealous because I kissed someone el-"

Your taunting was cut off quickly by the taller man as he covered your mouth with his; your eyes blowing wide. It was inelegant, awkward, and hurried but filled with an unexpected sweetness. You could feel his hands shaking as they held your face gently, his eyes squeezed shut. Scarcely given the chance to kiss him back before he pulled away, you grumbled in disappointment.

Crosshair stepped back out of your personal space with a dark blush across his cheeks, avoiding your eyes as he cleared his throat. He'd never felt so overwhelmed by emotion in all of his life and for him to act upon them in such a physical way left him tense.

"Crosshair..." You whispered his name with a grin, blinking a few times to make sure you were still in reality, not one of your many dreams. He peeked up at you momentarily and you could tell he would rather be shot by a blaster bolt than acknowledge that he'd just kissed you but you disregarded the look and stepped back up to him. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to kiss properly if you're going to want to keep doing that, ya know?" You teased softly.

Crosshair still denied any eye contact with you, missing the sweet expression on your face. "Th-That was my first kiss, so I don't know what you expected." His voice came out hastily by the end and had a bite to it, but you only chuckled at his shy behavior and kissed his cheek.

"I could tell." You joked lightly, a wise grin on your face.

Crosshair whipped his head to look at you, his glare fierce at your comment; which is what you had anticipated. You smiled up at him warmly and his heart leapt at the sight. Turning away from your captivating expression quickly, you hug him, resting your head against his chest plate.

"Wait! I'm sorry! I was just kidding!" You laughed at his pouting, knowing that you'd never let him live down the shade of red his face had gotten; even if just between the two of you.

[dixieconley]

"I'm terrified and I can't sleep.  I don't know what he's going to do next.  What he's going to take away from us.  What fresh haran he's going to visit on us."

Fox sighed.  This conversation repeated itself with every trooper who entered his office.  More his officers than the rank and file, as the latter tended to go first to their own superiors.  Who then ended up in front of Fox, their own fear and anxiety multiplied by the number of their men who'd come to them with the same concerns.  The latest 'guidelines' handed down to the Guard by the Chancellor's office.

"There isn't anything we can do," Fox told Thire as gently as he could.  It wasn't very.  Coruscant made Fox even more cynical than he'd already been.  "We aren't even considered sentient.  Even if saying something wouldn't get me decommissioned, who would listen?  The only thing we can do is hope some of us live through it."

Thire laughed mirthlessly.  "Because most of us won't be."

Fox sighed.  "No.  It doesn't look like it.  The Senate backs him and it's our job to defend him, them and the Republic."

That earned him another humorless laugh.  "And it's not like the Senate will do anything to stop him."

Fox tried not to recall the three reconditioning orders and the single decommissioning order that had crossed this desk this week alone.  "No," he replied.  "Most of them are just as bad."

"Or worse."

"Or worse," Fox agreed.  "But there's nothing we can do."

"Tats killed himself last night," Thire said abruptly.  "And Domino tried to after his shift before Triage jabbed him with a hypo."

Fox closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.  He'd known about Tats, but hadn't heard anything from Triage today.  When word had passed around that their rations were being cut in half and their request for medical supplies had been denied entirely, morale plummeted.  Finding out yesterday that they'd been assigned responsibility for covering CorSec's patrols, thus reducing their downtime to six hours a day -- which included eating, hygiene, training *and* sleeping?  No one in the Guard was having an easy time of it.

Not even Fox.

"There's nothing we can do," he repeated.  "The only option we have is to accept it and do our best to survive."

Thire snorted.  "Even if half of the Guard suicides."

"Even then," Fox agreed.  "After all, there are a million more of us where we came from."

The other commander stared at him.  "That isn't funny."

Fox just smiled.  It wasn't a nice smile.  "I happen to find it hysterical."

Thire's face hardened and he shoved his helmet back on.  "If that will be all, sir?"

"That's all," Fox replied.  He held himself straight until the door closed behind the other commander.

Fox understood where Thire was coming from.  He really did.  It's just that it was really karking funny that *anyone* expected Palpatine or the Senate to do the right thing when they couldn't even treat their bought and paid for troops as sentient.  Yes, he and his vod'e were clones.  Yes, their circumstances and training made them virtually interchangeable.  But a Senate who would starve and overwork their own protectors with the justification that any who died could be easily replaced with another was a body who valued only their own luxuries and personal power and cared nothing for sentient life.

His, his brothers' or their own constituents.

This was the Republic they served.  Were expected to be loyal to.

Fox wondered when it would occur to the Senate that the people they were grinding into dust carried weapons and walked freely among them.

And when he himself would break.

Because Fox wasn't going to kill himself.  Oh, no.  For now, conditions, while poor, were survivable.  Not ideal, but survivable.  Vod'e could go for longer on less than any natborn and Fox didn't earn his name for being stupid.  There were ways to manage the current situation.

That didn't mean things couldn't get worse.  If and when the time came that he could no longer keep the majority of his men alive, Fox wanted his death to be *meaningful*.

And he could envision no better way to make his point than to take the people responsible with him.

[phoneycam]

(brainrot 5(?))))

Soulmates experience the same nervous or involuntary tics at the same time.

It all starts as an innocent inside joke from the 212 troopers. How their high officer where the best and one of the key proves of it was how in tune they are with eachother. That thought slowly evolved with every interaction they were able to witness until it turned into a kind of game, trying to understand just how deep the synchrony went. Space bingo if you will.

1.

Ever since he decided to have a beard, he touches it. at first it was because of the new sensation, later to show it of as one should do, then to display knowledge in hopes to seem more wise and finally evolving in his "in deep thoughts" pose.

It was on the early battles when it first happened. The clones weren't comfortable enough yet to being openly without their buckets and so, the moment both officers moved to rest their chin on their hand, Cody hit his helmet causing him to make an aborted movement pretending that he was trying to adjust it when the general turns to look at him. There is a pregnant pause around the holotable before Obi-Wan turns back to the holotable and the commander has to survive the rest of the meeting with the constant snickers from his brothers inside his helmet.

2.

In times of high stress situations he tends to scratch the back of his head, particularly the place where his padawan braid was, an unconscious tick he picked first from his time in Melidaan. He got to overcome it over the years when he came back to the temple, only to pick it back up after Qui-Gon died and he became a knight.

The first time the troopers note it is in Christophsis. Anakin is being he's usual reckless self causing Obi-Wan the go grey early with his invisible ship against a hole separatist fleet, and he doesn't even realize he's hand moving up to pass it over the back of his head, nor that his commander repeated the exact same movement at the exact same time, too distracted with the fight in sight. The other troopers on the bridge however? they did notice.

3.

This one happened before they where about to land in a highly unknown planet with an astonishing lake of information. They were walking into a trap, not that they knew at the time that.. or well.. not until both General and Commander deepened their frowns and mumbled quietly "I have a bad feeling about this". This time they did notice it tho and turned to look at eachother with a surprised look while the soldiers around them are gapping with a collective thought of "Oh kark we are so doomed" and "lmao check another one for the team."

4.

A defect of using a helmet for so long, is that you start forgetting how to keep a straight face and our dear commander, starts slipping his controlled mask especially when faced with stupid decisions. This is one of the main reasons him and Anakin do not get allong well. Because one of the first times they were all reunited strategizing their next move, Anakin decided to offer his brilliant idea and almost cried when faced with the pure power of the combined disgust Obi and Cody were inadvertently showing.

Ahsoka and Rex thought it was hilarious, Obi-Wan had to apologies multiple times before his formed padawan stopped sulking and demanding Obi-Wan to spend less time with his commander and the rest of the troopers just checked another mark.

5.

Kamino has never and will never be an easy place to live in. The facility was a nightmare and no one knew this better than the clones themselfs, between the kaminioan, the trainers and the Alpha batch, life was a challenge and any little quirk can be a dead sentence if you're not careful enough. Cody knows this and learns to deal with it.

It's in the middle of a peace negotiation with the local authority when they noticed it.

It was a small group for this mission, just Cody, Obi-Wan, Boil and Waxer accompanying a Coruscant team of negotiators. The prime minister of the planet was being unpleasant during the whole meeting, with nasty comments, senseless demands and baseless accusations towards eveyone. All bark, no bite.

The jedi was leading the negotiations putting him in front of everyone with the commander by his side; Waxer and Boil standing just behind them notice a pattern pretty quickly. Everytime the minister said something bad about the jedi or the clones, both of their officers would each start drumbeating their fingers with their thumb. A small thing that no one else could notice because their hands were behind their backs, but remarkable enough for the troopers witnessing it as a checkable tic.

6.

Dex notice the next one.

Obi-Wan likes to take every clone he can to visit Dex's reastaurant at least once, but the most regular companion is always the cammander. Not that it bothers him, in fact, he is rather fond of the good commander, but he can't help but notice how everytime the principal door opens a little bit harder than needed, they both will tense up and inmediatelly look at eachother.

And yeah idk, i just think it's neat as an idea. I can imagine a lot more of little scenes like these. Maybe some time latter both realize, maybe they know, maybe they will purposely start doing some to just mess with the troops, maybe it would save the galaxy somehow... just saying..

[w31rd0-art1st]

Things my clone ocs (735th legion) have canonically said.

Ghost: For the last time. no, you can't use shiny as a battering ram!

Flash: Everyone needs glitter.

Dust: outta my way gay boy.

Haze: the next time you're bleeding out I'm going to let you die.

Vin: all of you have too many problems, I quit.

Haze: Okay, explain what happened.

Ghost: he was asking for it.

Haze: you stabbed Lighterfluid.

Lighterfluid: yeah, and I said "Hey, can you stab me"

Pepper'ika: don't piss off the cook, I make all the food.

Ghost: Honeybadger, stop. You're scaring Shiny.

Crow: ...

Ghost: No.

Crow: come on-

Ghost: put him down.

Crow: ...fine. *puts down a very confused Shiny*

Bootlicker: THIS IS WHY GHOST DOESN'T KARKING LOVE YOU

Flash: don't step on my dress, SHABUIR

Dagger: hey, are you busy?

Gothic, In the middle of putting on their makeup: actually Dagger, I am.

Ghost: you're the reason I wake up every morning. Not because I care about you but because I know if I'm not supervising you you'll wreck havoc.

Divebomber: that's an insane idea. Let's do it.

Flare: "Fireproof" Is that a challenge?

Jittery: i love being Ghost's favorite. I get to do the things everyone else gets in trouble for, and I don't get so much as a slap on the wrist.

Horror coming back from his first shift without Ghost's help: ...

Ghost: you good?

Horror: ... how do you do it.

Honeybadger: try me, I'll bite your ear off.

Bootlicker: everyday I wake up and wish I wasn't here.

Dagger: this legion is insane. I love it here!

Flash: interrupt me while I'm getting ready one more time. I dare you.

Heli: and there goes Crash. Again.

Ghost: don't talk to me or my vod'e and Ade even again.

Devil: welp. Ghost is gonna kill me for this one. Might as well make it worthwhile!

Lighterfluid: oh I'm gonna cause so much damage.

That's all! :D hope you enjoyed my OCs being silly.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Hello

I would like to request a smut prompt for Sergeant Hunter. (Only if you’re up for it oc)

I had ❛ let me come in you, please. i want to fill you up. ❜ in mind. It’s fits him so well 👀

Or, if you’re in the mood for something else,

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

The choice is yours, cheers ^^

emerges from my cave, writes hurt/comfort instead of smut, disappears back into my cave. sorry nonnie, the smut muse didn't want to cooperate for this one

Tell Me

Summary: Hunter does his best to protect you, but feels he must prove it in more ways than one. Prompt in bold and red.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: allusions to harassment, Hunter being bad at talking about his feelings, fade to black so nothing NSFW but this blog is still 18+, first kiss, hurt/comfort vibes

You've never experienced Hunter's anger like this. He usually doesn't let his emotions get the better of him and, no matter his own issues, ensures the squad stays mostly on task. Even when hiccups interrupt the plan, he rolls with the punches. The Bad Batch has a 100% mission success rate for a reason. 

But tonight the issue is so much more than a mere hiccup. No, the creep at the cantina was far more unpleasant. 

The squad can gather intel in its sleep; any of you could've staked the cantina out alone and been successful. Hunter had insisted everyone partake. In hindsight, you're glad he pushed for it, even if you and Crosshair both grumbled aloud at Hunter's mother-hennishness. You'd strode straight into the shithole bar, determined to get what you were sent for and get out as quickly as possible. 

Then that stranger got a little too friendly. He'd invaded your personal space and put his hands on you despite your very evident discomfort, reeking of cheap alcohol and bad decisions. 

Hunter had stepped in. Well... he'd done more than that. You're not envious of the stranger and his freshly broken nose.

The sergeant, glowering and shaking his hand out, had growled at the others to stay put and finish the mission. Then he'd all but ordered you back to the ship, giving you no choice but to follow or risk his wrath as well. 

Now, back on board the Marauder, you sigh as your irritation grows, prickly and uncomfortable in your chest. "Hunter."

"What," he snaps. 

"You don't have to babysit me." Crossing your arms, you lean against the bulkhead, fixing him with an unimpressed glare. 

"I'm not—" He turns away, jaw working. Shadows play over his face, backlit by the ship's control panels. His heaving chest gives enough indication that he's mentally working through something.

Softening, you take a step toward him. "Will you at least talk to me?"

His nostrils flare as you move closer. "You— You smell him now." 

"I'm sorry?"

"S'not your fault," he says, misinterpreting your words. His shoulders slump. "It's my job to protect you- you all. And I was so close to failing tonight." 

"Hunter," you say gently, holding one hand out. 

He looks down at your outstretched palm and tentatively reaches to hook your fingertips together. Even through the coarse fabric of his blacks, his warmth scorches through you. Though his nose remains scrunched, when his eyes find yours, he seems to finally step back from the edge of anger. But the emotions continuing to shine in his eyes give you pause. 

Swallowing down the burgeoning hope in your chest forcing out the irritation, you squeeze his fingers. "I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But is this about protecting me? Or is this something else? I- I can shower if it's a sensory issue—"

"No," he interrupts. Adjusting his hold, his fingers twine between yours. He tugs you closer. "I mean—it won't be an issue for long. Kark, I'm goin' about this all wrong." 

The sergeant sighs, pulling you in for a hug. While you've embraced him before, surprise hums along your veins. Tentative, you wrap your arms around his middle, and tuck your face into the crook of his neck, where his own scent is strongest, a unique blend of earth and musk and sweat that makes your insides stir. He tightens his arms. 

"Not that this isn't nice," you say, voice muffled, "but what're you doing?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Making you smell like me." 

You blink. "Oh." Without meaning to, you inhale a deep breath, his warm scent swirling within your lungs. "You do smell good."

Hunter chuckles. The sound vibrates against your chest. "That right?"

Humming in affirmation, you press the bridge of your nose to his skin. His pulse beats against your nose; its pace quickens. For a heartbeat, you manage to contain the response that leaps to the tip of your tongue. Is this really the time?

But then again, you've been waiting for the right time to broach the subject of your feelings for months. You've shared a few hugs, left countless lingering looks when you think he isn't looking, chased an orgasm or two in silence when he's not around. If you keep waiting, the right time won't ever happen. And you'll be left wondering.  

Throwing caution to the wind, you say, "Be easier if you take your armor off." 

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. The endearment somehow sounds like a warning. "I- Your heart is racing. You're not thinking clearly."

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you resist the urge to pull away at what feels like a rejection. Have you been reading all the signs wrong? Did you misread the situation earlier? You're relatively certain any of the squad would have jumped to your defense--but would the others have needed to be physically restrained from doing more damage? Would Wrecker have had to pry Tech, or Crosshair, or Echo, away from your assailant like he'd done to Hunter?

No, you decide, you've been reading the signs correctly. Stepping out of his embrace but not his orbit, you search Hunter's gaze. Threading your fingers together once again, you raise his hand to brush your lips over the knuckles surely bruising under his gloves. Hunter's lips part in surprise. 

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly." You hesitate, then forge ahead. "Tell me you don't feel anything for me, and I'll go back to pining in silence. Tell me I'm the only one who sees something here. Tell me... Tell me you broke his face because I'm part of the squad, and no other reason. Please."

Hunter inhales a shallow breath. His eyes, gray in the dim light of the Marauder's controls, sear into yours with an unidentifiable mix of emotions. "I can't." 

Relief floods through you. With a weak smile, you gesture to yourself. "Do I still smell like him?" 

He nods. 

"Do you care for me?"

Another nod, stronger than the previous. 

"Then do something about it, Hunter." Guiding his gloved touch to your face, you lean into his warmth. 

His throat bobs when he swallows. After another moment of silent indecision, Hunter steps into your personal space, gaze searching your expression. He must not find anything worth stopping for, because his grip tightens behind your jaw. The tip of his crooked nose slides along the side of your own nose, breath puffing warm and unsteady over your face. 

You close the gap. Your mouths slot together, and it's like coming home after a long time away. Humming in the back of your throat, you press closer, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Hunter follows your lead. His armor still blocks you from truly feeling him, but you don't care. His lips are on yours, and your heart is his. 

Your name slips from his lips like a prayer. Eyes fluttering open, you peer up at him from beneath your lashes. "Yes?" 

"A-Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Then let me prove that you're mine," he murmurs. His touch lingers along your waist before drifting towards your center. "Let me prove that I take care of what belongs to me." 

A shiver skates up your spine. "Show me."

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[electrikworm]

Like New

Relationships: Crosshair & Wrecker, Crosshair & Hunter & Tech & Wrecker

Content Warnings: Injury Recovery, talk of seizures and decommissioning

Summary:

After the explosion that took Wrecker's eye and hearing on his left side, he has to paint his new helmet, Crosshair helps him, worrying about how safe deploying Wrecker now really is. But, there's nothing he can do against the decisions that are made for them by the Kaminoans.

Written for the @wrecker-week Bingo prompt "Armor painting"

Word count: 2,024

Read on Ao3

New helmet under his arm, Crosshair walks to the Marauder. His footsteps echo across the hangar, feeling eerily quiet at the moment. Tech takes care to land the Marauder in the less active hangars when possible, but as much as Crosshair values the peace and quiet, away from too many regs, it's still putting him on edge. The Marauder's ramp is still down, just like Crosshair left it. Walking up it, he finds the inside exactly the same as twenty minutes ago too. Wrecker hasn't moved a bit, still sitting on the lowest rack, back leaned against the wall, Lula clutched to his chest.

His damaged eye, his blind eye, Crosshair reminds himself, is pressed closed, the other half lidded. The injured half of his face still looks raw, irritated, seemingly only held together by strips of medical tape and sutures. "I'm back," Crosshair announces. The door's in Wrecker's blind spot like this and he doesn't want to spook his brother. Wrecker nods, pushing himself upright. "Everything good?" Crosshair asks, not really sure what to say. He's not suited for this. Kark, he's probably the worst choice out of the squad to handle a situation like this. It's a cruel stroke of fate that the man most suited to handle this is the one that's in need of emotional support. "I feel great," Wrecker lies, rolling his shoulders and grinning at Crosshair. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Can't wait to get back out there and fight!" Even that lack's Wrecker's usual enthusiasm. Wrecker isn't ready to fight again, the Kaminoan's never should have cleared him. But of course they did. Hunter and Tech are at the briefing for their next mission, a mission that takes place in one night cycle's time. They put Wrecker through the wringer to test his capability to keep fighting. Crosshair doesn't want to know what would have happened to him if he had failed. But, unsteady as he still was, they'd deemed him fit for combat. Without dealing with his blind eye or deaf ear of course. Fixing those would be expensive and put Wrecker out of commission for longer. Crosshair just hums in response to Wrecker's clearly false answer. Wrecker's been a lot more quiet since the explosion, it's unnerving. Not for lack of trying of course, Wrecker's been near constantly trying to act like he always does. But Crosshair's not fooled, nor are the rest of the squad. Wrecker's tired and in pain, even if he tries to hide it. And then there's the seizures. They showed up suddenly after the explosion and just keep coming back. There's no saying if they'll ever stop. As much as the doctors had argued that it's just a natural part of the injury Wrecker sustained, Crosshair can't help but not trust them.

What if the next time Wrecker drops, he doesn't get up any more? They rushed everything with the recovery, what if they missed something vital? The confusion's getting better at least, but that's a small mercy. Crosshair places the helmet, Wrecker's new helmet, down on the rack beside him. The explosion shattered the old one, leaving a big hole in the left side. It wasn't salvageable. "You'll probably need this," Crosshair says. Wrecker turns his head to see what Crosshair's indicating. His eyes seem to light up at the sight. At least his good one does. The other has become dull, blood vessels that burst inside it being the only colour left in it. Wrecker places Lula down on his other side before scooping up the new piece of armor. He's still getting use to his lack of depth perception, almost knocking the helmet off the rack before correcting his movement. "I got it!" Wrecker announces quickly. Crosshair hadn't even noticed that he's held his hand out to stop the helmet from falling, so used to helping his vod out by catching things he knocks over. "It's exactly the same as the old one," Wrecker beams, turning it around in his hands. Wrecker had been somewhat upset at the loss of his helmet, Crosshair's certain he wouldn't have been as happy with something completely different to his old one. "I thought you might like to paint it, so you're not going out there looking like a shiny," Crosshair says. There's also the fact that Crosshair doesn't want his brother to die in unpainted armor, even if it's a thought he doesn't like. Their squad may stand out, but at the end of the day, they're still just numbers to the higher ups.

They'd seen as much time and time again growing up, just had it proven again when Wrecker was almost decommissioned for being caught in an explosion. If Wrecker has to die, Crosshair would at least like for him to have the dignity to do so in armor that's personalized. Of course, Crosshair isn't going to let it come to that. He's going to be watching Wrecker's back constantly over the next mission. If there's any threat of him seizing or the injury getting to him, Crosshair will get involved. It's very likely they'll have to give Wrecker stims to get him through the next few missions. But as long as they do get him through the missions, that's all that counts. "Thanks Cross," Wrecker says. A look ghosts over his face, telling Crosshair that he'd shared the same thought he had. Once again Crosshair is struck with the fact that he doesn't know how to handle this. "I'll grab the paint," Crosshair mutters, already walking off. It takes some rummaging to find the cans of paint. They all use red, but Tech uses the most white. Crosshair's still baffled that Tech's stuck to the stupid idea to paint the entirety of his armor white. He's stopped arguing about it, since Tech clearly won't change his mind. Grabbing the few paintbrushes they own too, Crosshair makes his way back to Wrecker, sitting down next to him. Opening the can of white, having to fight the dried paint trying to keep the lid stuck, Crosshair places the paint between himself and Wrecker. "There," Crosshair says. "All yours."

Crosshair sits at Wrecker's side, cleaning his Firepuncher. Or at least pretending to. He spends much more time listening to Wrecker, watching him paint. Crosshair never thought he'd miss Wrecker's voice so much as when he was out cold after the explosion. He didn't talk much shortly after waking either. At least that has fixed its self.

Wrecker's never been very good at focusing, always being easily distracted by the smallest thing. Now, concentrating seems even harder than otherwise. He keeps interrupting painting to talk, mind wandering all over the place. Usually, Crosshair would at least pretend to get annoyed with his vod. He can't even bring himself to do that right now.

Once the white paint is applied, Wrecker sets it aside to dry a little. The edges aren't as neat as with his old helmet, but that can always be fixed later, when Wrecker's feeling better. Wrecker pauses, just looking at Crosshair.

“Need something?” Crosshair huffs, putting his rifle down.

“Have we got any new med patches?” Wrecker asks, looking away from Crosshair. The demolitions expert is always difficult about medical aid, but he's been having an even harder time articulating what he needs about this injury.

“I'll check,” Crosshair says, knowing full well Tech came back with a lot more medical supplies than they're allowed. The sniper hasn't got the slightest clue where Tech stole them from, but doesn't really care either. It's not their problem any more.

Crosshair fishes two from their medkit, getting the bandage scissor whilst he's at it. Med patches combat pain locally, so it's good to split them up and spread the effect over Wrecker's injured side as well as possible.

Most of Wrecker's injuries still have bandages and tape covering them, stitches still very visible. The med patches are stuck between those areas, making their removal less difficult. They need to be changed a lot more frequently than the bandages.

First, Crosshair peels the old patches off Wrecker's face, one just below his cheek bone, the other to the top of his skull. There's a third on the back of Wrecker's neck. The rest are less easy to get to, requiring Wrecker to slip the sleeve off his shoulder. Despite the action clearly paining Wrecker, he refuses Crosshair's help in freeing his shoulder.

Wrecker's shoulder is a mess, even after multiple skin grafts and an absurd amount of bacta injections. It's clear how much Wrecker favours that side, even when under a lot of pain killers. Crosshair isn't sure he'll ever get the same range of motion he had before the explosion out of the limb.

New med patches applied, Crosshair helps Wrecker with his sleeve before sitting back next to him. It's eerily silent, not something the inside of the Marauder is often.

“I missed you,” Crosshair says, words falling from his lips without being planed.

“You weren't gone that long, half an hour at most,” Wrecker replies, nudging Crosshair's side.

“Not when I was getting your helmet,” Crosshair glares. “When you were passed out in med bay after blowing up.”

Wrecker doesn't say anything in response, picking at the sleeve of his blacks.

“You should finish your helmet,” Crosshair says, abruptly changing topics.

“Right, can't go out there without everyone knowing what squad I belong to,” Wrecker laughs, opening the red paint and taking a second, thinner paintbrush.

Crosshair pretends to clean his rifle for a little longer, but soon can't take his eyes off of Wrecker struggling to paint the 99 on the front of his helmet. It keeps looking like he's about to do it, but he hesitates every time. Wrecker's usually steady hands are shaking.

“What me to do it?” Crosshair offers. Wrecker nods.

Taking the helmet and paintbrush from his vod, Crosshair quickly completes the 99 neatly. The paint runs a little, but that only makes it more accurate to the original. Crosshair holds it out to Wrecker once he's done.

“Thanks Cross'ika,” Wrecker beams, turning the helmet as he looks at it. Crosshair doesn't have the heart to complain about the nickname.

“No need for that,” the sniper mutters. Crosshair feels like he should say something more, but the words evade him. This really isn't his thing.

Thankfully, he isn't left to struggle for long, their ori'vode interrupting the conversation by entering the Marauder.

“Look,” Wrecker announces, holding up his helmet. “Cross did the 99 for me. It'll be almost like I never blew up in the first place.”

Crosshair frowns. Wrecker keeps wanting to do that, pretend like nothings happened. But it's not that easy. He's half blind and deaf now, and his balance isn't the same. Crosshair's still not entirely sure the seizures will ever go away. Sooner or later, Wrecker's going to have to stop pretending he's fine.

“It does look nearly identical,” Tech says, adjusting his goggles as he leans down to look at the helmet.

“I'm glad to be back,” Wrecker says, swinging his arm around Crosshair's shoulder, squishing him slightly. Crosshair doesn't miss the wince Wrecker tries to hide beneath his laugh.

“Well, it would be a much wiser move to let you recover longer,” Tech says, displeasure on his face. Wrecker shakes his head.

“Nah, that place was driving me crazy. I'm happy to be out,” Wrecker laughs. Getting up on shaky legs, he hugs Tech too, reaching blindly to pull Hunter into his embrace as well.

Watching the way Wrecker moves, Crosshair knows there's no good way this mission can end. But, it's the hand they've been dealt by the Kaminoans, and it's not like Hunter will just let the whole squad run off. How would they even survive without the supplies the GAR assigns them?

Hesitantly, Crosshair stands too. He leans onto Wrecker, loosely laying an arm around his back. If Wrecker doesn't make it, Crosshair's going to kill everyone involved in deciding to deploy him this early. That's the best promise Crosshair can make him right now, even if it's not a particularly good one.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello lovely! Could I please request Ruby for Dogma x female reader where they both have huge crushes on each other, but are too shy to say anything; one day after Dogma comes back from a long tour and she just decides to go for it and she glomps him, kissing him on the lips over and over again while his brother's are just standing there, jealously gawking lol. I hope this inspires you and I hope that what you're coming down with doesn't last long!🌼

Take A Chance

Summary: You’ve been crushing on Dogma for, what feels like, years. But you’ve always been too nervous to actually put your feelings into words. But, after your closest friend tells you that she’s going to invite Dogma into her bed when he returns from his deployment, you decide to take a chance.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Dogma x Reader

Word Count: 852

Warnings: Some angst at the beginning, but there's a happy ending. Also, reader has a toxic friend

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, I didn't follow your prompt to the letter, but I think I'm happy with this, so I hope you are too!

Anxiety twists your stomach as you lean against the flowering tree on the base that the 501st call home when they’re not deployed. 

The Resolute docked about an hour ago. It’s only a matter of time before they actually come back to the base, and that’s the thing that is making you so anxious.

Not that they’re coming back, no. 

But the fact that you’re going to see Dogma.

Kind Dogma. Handsome Dogma.

Dogma, who you’ve been crushing on for months. Who you’ve been too shy to confess to, because he might not feel the same.

Dogma, who your best friend decided that she was going to try and bed, even though she knows about your crush on him. Her argument was that since you haven’t said anything yet, then he’s free game.

You warned her that if she did this, she would lose your friendship forever. And she just didn’t care.

So that definitely isn’t helping your anxiety. It’s not like you have so many friends that you can afford to lose any of them…even bad friends are better than no friends, right?

You lift your head when you hear the familiar sound of heavy boots on the paved road, and a small smile crosses your lips when you see the 501st trekking back to their barracks.

Knowing them, most of them are going to change and hit up the bars or go and find their partners.

They deserve it.

And then there’s Dogma, talking to Tup, joking about something based on the wry grin on Tup’s face, and your heart lurches. You love him. You want to be his and him to be yours and…

And…

And you can’t do it.

Your hands curl into fists and you drop your gaze away from the man that you love so much.

He deserves…more. So much more.

You jump when a pair of boots stop in front of you, “Credit for your thoughts?”

“They’re hardly worth that much.” You reply automatically, before you lift your gaze. Dogma is standing in front of you, concern written clearly on his face, “Ah…welcome back, Dogma.”

“Thanks.” His dark eyes scan your face, “What’s wrong, you look upset.” His brow furrowed, “Did someone threaten you?”

“No. Nothing like that. Just…coming to a realization about myself, is all.”

“Wanna share?”

“It’s not important.”

“It’s important enough that it upset you.”

You hesitate, “Well…” You fold your arms, “There’s a guy-” Dogma’s expression twitches slightly, but he just motions for you to continue, “And I just realized that I’m never going to be good enough for him.”

“If he thinks that then he’s a karking idiot.” Dogma replies, “You’re amazing.”

“No, he didn’t…” You hesitate, “That was me coming to that realization, not…” You sigh, “Like I said, not important.”

Dogma is quiet for a moment, “Well,” He finally says, “Since you have this…guy,” His tone is odd, but he continues before you can question it, “I guess you’re not interested in getting a drink or something with me?”

“...what?”

“Like, caf. Or maybe something else, since you don’t drink caf.” Dogma adds, and then he flashes a wry smile, “Sorry, I had a plan, but now that I’m standing here, I can’t quite remember it.”

“A plan?”

“For asking you out. On a date.” He rubs the back of his neck, “But, you just said there’s a guy, so I guess you’re not interested-”

You stare at him, blankly for a moment. And then you step into his space and press your lips against his in an awkward kiss. You pull away quickly, and Dogma stares at you, as though his brain needs a moment to reboot.

He stares at you for long enough that you shift nervously, and avert your gaze, “U-um…I shouldn’t have-”

You’re not able to finish your sentence before Dogma’s lips are hot against yours, and he has you pressed against the tree behind you. Unlike your kiss, which was hesitant and very chaste, his kiss is sure and quickly becomes passionate.

And you’re helpless but to match his intensity, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and he pins you against the tree.

There’s a loud whistle and a shout of, “Get it, Dogma!” Which causes him to break the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away, instead he presses his forehead against yours, and he raises his hand to flip off whichever brother that was.

There’s the sound of laughter, and then the audience disperses, not that you notice that, as your focus is locked on Dogma, who has all of his attention focused on you.

“So,” Dogma says as he leans in slightly, his lips hovering just over yours, “I’m the guy?”

“You’re the guy.” You agree.

Dogma exhales slowly, his breath fanning across your face, “Good.” He breathes out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His gaze drops to your lips, “So…that date?”

“I’d like to go get some caf with you, Dogma.”

“Then I’ll go change and we can do that.” He murmurs, “But…first…” He trails off as his lips catch yours one more time. 

And, eagerly, you kiss him back.

[blackfoy]

MINE

Based on this fanfic:

The clones were made for the Jedi. The Jedi can tell this. They each have several troopers that resonate deeply in the Force in a way that just clicks. They are theirs in a way that is practically indescribable. In this universe, this affects the Jedi just a bit more than in the fic. Just enough to cause them to snap. They will not allow their men to be murdered because somebody else thinks they are defective, no matter what the Republic says. A Jedi only need spend less than an hour with one of their pieces to decide that the Senate can go kark themselves. Their men are brilliant bright unique lights in the Force, and they don't care how many laws or regulations they break to make sure they stay safe. 

Of course the rest of the Jedi don't understand why Obi-Wan is acting how he is until they meet their men themselves. But once Obi-Wan learns a sliver of the horrid truth about the men's lives he can't stand to let things continue how they are.

Obi-Wan braces himself with Cody's glorious signature, but in doing so he falls a bit deeper into the Force than he normally goes. He becomes a bit more instinctive, a bit more feral, and while he manages to drag himself most of the way back into his body he doesn't have the inhibitions to stop himself from going through with the pretty terrible idea he managed to come up with on the spot.

He has Cody get something to type on, and instructs him to write down the number of each clone he touches. Before Cody can truly ask questions Kenobi is off, wandering through Kamino brushing his fingertips and hands over each sunset orange trooper he finds. Cody and the rest of the clones are startled and confused, but they are afraid to say anything so they don't speak. Obi-Wan tries to comfort them as best he can, but he's half-in half-out of the Force and his attempts aren't the best. Especially when he's running his fingers across the Vode's arms and neck and cheek and hair without much thought as to what a non-Force sensitive might think.

Several hours later he's nowhere near done, but he's done enough. He tells Cody to make a separate list of all the troopers that are in danger of being decommissioned and have them all gather together along with the men Obi-Wan has singled out. He then rushes off to Comm the council, still in a bit of a manic state.

Barlex was just walking down the hallway when suddenly slender unfamiliar fingertips trailed up his spine. He froze, looking out of the corner of his eye and seeing the orange-haired man that stood there. It felt like the air had abandoned his lungs. That was a Jedi. There was a Jedi standing mere inches away, softly tracing the curves of his back and the nobs of his spine. He held his breath for a long, long moment, before the General moved on, hand settling onto the side of his ribs for a moment before leaving him and moving down further down the hall. He sucked in a hasty wheezing breath, and he shared a frightened glance with Commander Cody as he scurried past after the General with a datapad in hand. 

[neyswxrld]

of little brothers and their fights

The Cadet Batch, POV Wrecker

summary: Hunter and Crosshair have a heavy fight. Wrecker tries to interfere.

warnings: pulling on hair, biting, crying, fighting

words: ~960

a/n: hello everyone! this might have a little of an abrupt ending and i decided to leave the story somewhat open. even though the two of them fight, it's a story of mine so ofc they're having a "happy ending", no worries i got u people. this is another fic for @summer-of-bad-batch, with the prompt "stop touching me!" - "i'm not touching you!" (also, did i watch that scene from lilo and stitch for like 30 times just because it's so funny? yes i did.) i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

SUMMER OF BAD BATCH MASTERLIST

Wrecker loves his brothers.

They are funny and kind. They share their things with him, no matter how small they were.

When he needs someone, they are there for him. They talk to him, cuddle with him, endure his hugs and he knows he can always count on them.

And of course they can count on him, too!

When Hunter complains about his smell, he tries to clean up his bunk and himself, of course.

When Crosshair is at his grumpiest, he knows that some good old Lula-slaps will knock him out of it.

When Tech has to rant about something, and needs someone to listen to him, Wrecker will try to do just that as best as he can.

At the same time, he knows they absolutely would do the same for him.

Like he said, he really loves them.

Except for when they are fighting.

It isn't uncommon for them to pick on each other, or to bicker around. Kark, sometimes he even just picks a fight with Crosshair out of boredom.

But sometimes, when Hunter didn't sleep well, or Crosshair is already irritated, small arguments can turn into a whole war.

Just like now.

Wrecker isn't even sure why his oldest and youngest brother are at it again, but he feels like they will get very physical, very soon.

Hunter and Crosshair are often up each other's throats. They are screaming, yelling, sometimes even shoving each other around, but this time it is just a little more intense.

Tech is sitting next to him. He has his fingers in is ears, overwhelmed by the loud noises, and is curled into Wrecker, trying to shield himself from whatever is going on between the other two.

All he can do is sigh and shake his head at their brothers antics.

He doesn't know if it is expected of him to step in, as the strongest of the team, or if it is even his right to do so, but when the moment arrives, he knows it.

As soon as Crosshair puts Hunter in a headlock, pulling his hair, and Hunter digs his teeth into Crosshair's tight, he knows that he can't keep them going like this.

"Hey!" he calls out, standing up, careful to not push Tech around too much. "Stop it! What the hell are you even fighting about?"

He stomps over to his tangled brothers and pulls them out of each other's arms, separating them.

"Stop touching me!" Crosshair calls out, shoving at Wrecker, actually trying to kick his shins.

"Hey!" Wrecker calls out, while Hunter yells back: "I'm not touching you!"

"Calm down!" Wrecker yells and places Hunter in his bunk, throwing him a glance that says "don't you dare moving away".

Then he grabs Crosshair in a different angle, laying his arms around him, so he isn't really able to move his own anymore, and putting him in a so called "Wrecker-Cage".

"Leave me alone! Stop touching me!" Crosshair calls again, struggling in Wreckers arms, but the latter one doesn't really budge at first. He's definitely stronger than his gray haired brother, but he isn't sure if he really should let him go now, still so full of rage.

"Let me go!" he growls and keeps wiggling himself out of his arms.

Only when Hunter croaks out a quiet "Let him down, Wrecker," the giant gently lowers his smaller brother.

Crosshair huffs, looks at Wrecker like he wants to kill him, before growling out an "I don't need your help!" and storming off into their fresher.

Wrecker is sure that if he could slam the doors, their sound would still echo in their ears several hours later.

When he turns around, Tech carefully looks around, pinning his eyes on Hunter.

Hunter himself is curled up on his bed and with the way his breathing sounds way too controlled for the fight that just happened and the way his shoulders are tensed, he knows that Hunter must be at the verge of tears.

Slowly, carefully, he makes his way over to Hunter.

"Hey, you're okay?" Wrecker asks, even though he sees that this clearly isn't the case.

"Fine," Hunter murmurs and pulls the blanket further up.

"You don't exactly look like it, if I'm honest. What was this about?" the bigger clone asks and sits down next to Hunter, refraining from touching him.

"It was nothing," Hunter almost whimpers, covers his face with said blanket and as if that isn't enough he starts to sniffle quietly.

Wrecker is at a loss for words.

Tech crying? Well, yes, he's seen that before.

Crosshair crying? Yeah, that's more likely than anyone would expect. He might be doing just that now, hidden behind the fresher door.

Himself crying? Hell yeah! He's an emotional wreck, sometimes he wonders if this is the reason why they gave him his name.

But Hunter crying? No. He's never seen that before. Not once in his whole eight years of life.

"But... But you're... It can't be nothing if you're feeling like that," Wrecker mumbles and decides to put his hand on Hunter's side, hesitantly.

"It's okay, Wrecker. Can we just leave it? I don't want to talk about it," Hunter sniffles, his voice rough and thick at the same time.

Wrecker moves his hand a little up and down on Hunter's back, sighing.

"It's going to be okay," he tries to assure him, but Hunter just shrugs: "I don't know..."

It takes the two squabblers over a day and a fight with a few regs to talk to each other again.

To all their surprise, it's Crosshair who makes the first step when they're in med bay and get patched up, and apologizes to Hunter.

Hunter, just sighs, nods and accepts the apology.

Tech and Wrecker never really find out what this fight exactly was about.

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[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.

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[kybercrystals94]

Local Flavors

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 5 | "You're a bad liar." | "Need a hand?"

Rated: G | Words: 1733 | Summary: Domestic living has a learning curve.

Hunter stares at the basket of small, glass canisters, each filled with some kind of crushed plant or seed. He hopes the bewilderment he feels isn’t evident in his expression when he looks up at the woman, their immediate neighbor to the west, Kyly. “Thank you,” he says. 

Kyly grins at him. “You don’t know what they are, do you?” 

Hunter considers lying, but he considers a moment too long for it to be convincing. “No,” he admits. 

“They’re seasonings,” Kyly says, as though that simply explains it. 

It doesn’t. 

“Ah,” Hunter says anyway.

Kyly rolls her eyes. “For cooking. For flavor.” She starts sorting through the bottles, rattling off the meaningless names of each. That’s when Hunter notices they are labeled in pretty, decorative font…probably hand written by Kyly herself. 

“Let me know if you need any help figuring out what to use with what,” Kyly concludes with a charming, toothy smile. She wiggles her fingers when she waves goodbye, and walks away, disappearing around the corner. 

A snicker behind him makes Hunter’s face and ears burn.

“Making friends, are we?” Crosshair asks. “Pretty friends.” 

“Knock it off, Cross. Kyly just brought us a housewarming gift,” Hunter mutters, turning and shouldering past his brother to deposit the basket of seasonings on the kitchen counter. 

Crosshair plucks one of the bottles from the basket, holds it up and shakes it. “What the kriff is this stuff?” 

“Seasoning,” Hunter says. “For cooking.” 

Crosshair manages to screw off the lid one handed, sniffing at the contents suspiciously. He makes a face. “I do not want this on my food.” 

Hunter snatches it away from him. “You wouldn’t know good flavor if it bit you in the shebs,” Hunter says. He doesn’t mention that he can smell the seasoning in question without lifting it to his nose, nor does he admit that it doesn’t smell appetizing. Instead, he screws the lid on tight and puts the questionable seasoning aside. 

“And you do?” Crosshair snarks back. “Maybe you should take Kyly up on her cooking lessons.” 

Hunter rolls his eyes. “It isn’t intergalactic science. I’m sure I can figure it out.” 

“You do that,” Crosshair says with an annoying smirk Hunter wants to slap off his face. 

Crosshair must sense the threat, good soldier that he is, and slips through the front door before Hunter does anything drastic. 

***

Omega and Wrecker return from the docks as the usual time for evening meal approaches. As they approach the house, Omega sniffs at the air. “Do you smell that?” 

Wrecker takes a deep breath through his nose, carefree expression crumbling into a look of utter disgust. “It smells like something died.” 

“That stench is dinner.” Crosshair slinks out from behind the house, arms crossed with a pleased look on his face. 

Wrecker and Omega exchanged horrified glances. 

“What happened to it?” Omega asks. 

Crosshair flashes her a feral grin. “Hunter.” 

Wrecker gapes. “How? 

“Oh, I assure you he took great care in destroying every semblance of edibility,” Crosshair says. 

Omega makes a face. “Hunter wouldn’t ruin food on purpose.” 

“He’s trying to impress our neighbor by using the housewarming gift she brought this afternoon,” Crosshair says loftily, leaning against the railing of the front porch. “Problem is, he doesn't know kark about seasonings.” 

“Hey, language,” Wrecker grumbles. 

Omega, unfazed, clasps her hands together. “You mean Kyly?” 

“Yep,” Crosshair says, popping the ‘p’ with finality. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Omega coos, but another waft of clashing flavors drifts by, and her demeanor crumbles. “Maybe we should ask her how to use them instead of just…” 

Crosshair huffs. “I tried to tell him that.” He pokes Omega in the forehead. “It's your turn.” 

“Me?” Omega squeaks. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings!” 

“You think I do?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega narrows her eyes. “It hasn’t stopped you from telling him anything before.” 

Crosshair shrugs, conceding the point. 

“Well, one of us has to tell him,” Wrecker groans. “Otherwise, we’re never gonna eat anything good ever again.” 

“Be our guest, Wrecker,” Crosshair says. “Break a poor man’s heart.” 

Wrecker balks. “He has to know. I mean, can’t he smell it? What’s the point of enhanced senses if you can’t smell what you’re cooking?”

“As hard as it is to believe, Hunter isn’t perfect,” Crosshair retorts. 

Omega’s shoulders sag. “Fine. I’ll tell him.” 

***

The moment they walk in the door, Hunter is on them. “Just in time for late meal,” he says cheerfully. 

Omega’s resolve melts like an ice cone in the late afternoon sun. 

Crosshair gives her shoulder a nudge, and Omega subtly shakes her head. Her youngest brother sighs. “You said…”

“Shh,” Omega hisses. 

They sit down at the table. Some sort of dish is displayed in the middle. 

“It’s called a casserole,” Hunter tells them. “I found the recipe on the holonet.” 

“Did you follow it?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega kicks his shin under the table. 

“What’s in it?” Wrecker eyes the food like it’s a coiled snake about to strike. 

Hunter lists off the ingredients. “There were measurements, but we don’t have measuring spoons. Any seasonings we didn’t have, I substituted for ones that looked the same color and texture.”

“Maker, help us,” Crosshair breathes. 

Omega takes a deep breath. Maybe it will taste better than it smells. Bravely, she wraps a fist around the serving spoon and scoops a generous helping of casserole onto her plate. She has to bite her cheek from grimacing at the reek that curls up in rolling steam. 

She is surprised when Crosshair follows her example next, then Wrecker. Hunter serves himself last.

Then they sit in loud silence, waiting for someone else to try it first. Finally, Wrecker picks up his fork, spears the prongs into the casserole, and takes a bite. Omega and Crosshair watch him carefully, waiting for the facial contortion soon to follow the courageous act. Wrecker barely chews, swallowing with a gulp. 

“Mmmm,” he says, but his eye twitches.

Hunter frowns, looks down at his own plate for a moment, then takes a huge bite. His eyes widen before he spits the mouthful out into his napkin. “It’s awful!” 

“It’s not that bad,” Wrecker says. 

Hunter casts him a withering look. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

Crosshair heaves a heavy sigh, shoving his plate across the table. “In his defense, you should have known it was terrible before either of you took a bite.” 

“What are you talking about?” Hunter asks, looking genuinely confused. 

“Can’t you smell it? It smells terrible…Wrecker thought something died when he and Omega got back to the house…and they spent the day at the docks,” Crosshair says. Omega tries to catch Crosshair’s eye, tries to signal him to shut up, but Crosshair successfully misses every cue thrown his way as he adds, “I bet Kyly could smell it from her house.” 

Hunter looks mortified. “And you didn’t tell me? Why didn’t you say something before I kriffing served it?” He stands up and begins gathering the plates, dumping the untouched casserole back into the dish. He gives a sharp whistle, and Batcher comes bounding into the dining area, a place she is normally forbidden. “Here, girl. Got something special for you,” Hunter says, putting the dish on the ground. 

Batcher snuffles at it loudly before slowly backing away. 

Omega can’t help the snort of laughter that bubbles up, and she claps both hands over her mouth to try and stifle it. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with Wrecker or Crosshair. 

“Well,” Hunter mutters, “looks like we’ll be eating in the market tonight.” 

***

The next morning, Omega knocked on Kyly’s door. The woman answered immediately. “Omega! What a pleasant surprise. I was just making morning tea. Please, please, won’t you join me?” 

Before Omega could answer one way or another, she was pulled inside and guided to a lovely little table covered in a crocheted cloth and a vase stuffed full of wild island flowers. Kyly left to the kitchen and returned with another cup and saucer and placed them at the other seat. 

“Do you take cream or sugar?” Kyly asks, sitting down across from Omega and pouring the hot, aromatic beverage into Omega’s delicate cup. 

Omega admires the thin curving teacup, so different from the thick mugs her brothers drank caf from each morning. “I like both, please,” Omega says. 

Kyly drops two large lumps of sugar and a generous splash of cream. Omega carefully imitates Kyly in stirring the tea with a spoon, the soft tink, tink, tink sounding absolutely musical.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Kyly asks. 

“I wanted to thank you for the seasonings you brought yesterday,” Omega says. She takes a careful sip of tea and is pleasantly surprised by its mild, sweet flavor.

Kyly smiles. “I grew the herbs in my garden and dried them myself. Have you gotten to try any of them yet?” 

“Hunter used some last night,” Omega admits carefully. “I’m not sure we know how to use them…properly. We grew up on rations and formulated meals from Kamino. We don’t have a lot of experience being–” Omega searches for the proper word. 

“Domestic?” Kyly supplies. 

Omega grins. 

“Perhaps,” Kyly says slowly, “I might be able to lend a hand.” 

***

“I need your help,” Omega says, standing in Hunter’s doorway. 

Hunter is towling his hair dry after washing up from his morning and afternoon spent down on the docks with his brothers. He glances at his sister. “With what?” 

“Late meal,” Omega chirps happily, bouncing on her toes. 

Hunter levels her an unamused glare. “Hard pass.” 

“Ah, c’mon, Hunter,” Omega says. “I promise it will turn out better than last night.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hunter deadpans. 

“Kyly told me this recipe is Hunter-proof,” Omega says, matching Hunter’s tone; however, her eyes are glittering with stark amusement. 

Burning embarrassment scorches up Hunter’s neck and across his face. “Kyly said that?” 

“Well,” Omega amends gleefully, “maybe she didn’t say Hunter-proof.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, we’re blaming you. I can only be responsible for one botched supper a week.” 

“Fine by me,” Omega says, shrugging one shoulder and grinning at him. 

Hunter huffs and follows his giggling sister into the kitchen. 

***

That night, when a hearty fish stew tastes every bit as wonderful as it smells, Omega gives Hunter all the credit. 

END

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[lilolilyr]

Fic rec time! Star Wars: Obi Wan x Jaster Mereel

'The Temporary Temple Guards': 60+k, by RoosjeM on Ao3, not rated, prequel trilogy

Summary: It was a widely known fact within the Temple, that the Temple Guards stationed at the Coruscant Temple were experiencing a ‘shortage’ at the moment. Seeing as Knights were sent out to complete missions and went on protective details, they were also the Corp that was responsible for the Temple Guards.

“I may have an issue.”

“What is it?”

“I have a youngling in front of me. There is no one else around and I am pretty sure he’s Mandalorian, and he's lost.”

Or: it’s Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi’s turn to be a Temporary Temple Guard and of course one of his past missions comes back to haunt him.

It's quite canon-divergent from even before the fic timeline starts, the author sums it up quite well in a note on chapter 2:

"Korda VI happened differently, Galidraan didn't happen but Mandalorians and Jedi have not been in contact so all they really know about each other is galaxy wide rumours and their troubled history [...].

I moved Obi-Wan's timeline up. [...] the Missions to Mandalore [was] his last missions as a Padawan in this fic (meaning he's early twenties when he is there). The Naboo mission is not a thing.

Jaster [...] writes the Supercommando Codex earlier. His Haat'ade were only starting to gain allies which eventually led to the Clan Wars.

Jango is younger as well because I think baby-Jango is top tier comedy."

This fic is so good, I'm trying to follow it along despite my usual modus operandi with wips being either a) ignore it till it's finished or abandoned or b) read what's written then forget about it forever, because i just don't have a good enough memory to know what fic it is whenever sth updates...

I just re-read the first ten chapters (because, again, no memory) and summarized them all so in the future once the fic updates, or if I don't read the next chapters in one go, I can just read my summary instead to remember where I'm at - when I wanted to continue my summary on my bookmark for c11-16, I ran out of character space! So I'm continuing it here on tumblr instead :)

Feel free to save this post if you are also following the fic along as it's written and have the same memory problems as I have :) if you aren't up to date with the latest chapters yet, beware the spoilers below the cut!

~~~ continue reading ~~~

C1

Obi & Quinlan are temporary assigned as guards bc of a staff shortage

A Mandalorian kid is lost, sees a man in armor & asks for help, not caring that it's a Jedi, not a Mandalorian! Obi brings him to little keldabe as taking him to the temple could cause an international incident, breaking pretty much all Guard rules apart from the vow of silence which he keeps the entire time.

In Little Keldabe he is threatened with weapons but not harmed because the kid is in the way. Once the kid's Buir shows up (Jaster, though he doesn't recognize him), Obi escapes through the sewers.

C2

Flashback: obi's mission on mandalore! Satine and the new mandalorians are a bother, Obi-Wan doesn't like their fake-pacifist weak ways, he wants to join with the Haat'ade for his and Satine's protection. They go by Ben and Tina for anonymity.

Present day: Jaster POV: on Coruscant for peace talks the Senate asked for, he hates the planet. When guards lose Jango he's even more pissed and ofc worried.

"You saved the squad that just so ended up being the current Mand’alor’s squad.” Quinlan remembers about Obi-Wan's time on Mandalore.

There's video footage of Obi bringing Jango to little Keldabe, so the mandos see (and Jaster thinks Obi seems familiar), and the Jedi find out- obe's not worried about the council because 'Yoda felt guilty for all the kark Obi-Wan had to go through under Qui-Gon Jinn’s care since he was the one that pushed them together.'

Turns out the council isn't too pissed anyway because his stunt improved the image of Temple Guards quite a lot. He's still asked not to repeat it.

C3

Jaster's mandos observe the temple looking for obi-wan. Jango also wants to find 'his Aran'.

Obi-stays temporary guard with Feemor, and they have lineage tea with Dooku, who's quite nice if you get to know him better.

The Temple Guards bring the lurking mandos datapads: subtly and threateningly telling them to piss off.

Flashback: obi on Mandalore with his late adopted dad Bardan Jusik of House Skirata (Kal's uncle btw), learning about armor.

C4

Overtired obi in Guard armor (& hidden Mando vambraces) after his shift stumbles across visiting Jaster, they fight and Jaster takes off his helmet to reveal - they knew each other, friends when Obi was on mandayaim

More flashbacks of the haat'ade, mentions that Qui-Gon left obi behind and did a shit job at mentoring in general, and more flashback to how Obi became Ben be aliit Jusik of House Skirata: Bardan offered to adopt him, asked him to consider becoming haat'ade. The Goran had figured out he was jettii and offered armor anyway. He also became close to alor Jaster, into the inner circle of the Haat'ade.

C7

Flashback: Jaster x Obi get together ♡

When death watch attacks, Obi-wan fought back with his lightsaber. Bardan's death by darksaber was blamed on him by the Skiratas and he named Dar'manda. Obi took Satine and left without telling Jaster goodbye. To

Present day: Jaster tells him he should have come to him to clear it all up, that he would have protected him, that he loves Obi-Wan/Ben and doesn't think their time was a lie, that he wants to get to know Obi-Wan properly now.

C8

Jaster tells Obi that his buir Barden lived! The Skiratas have been looking for him all this time.

The mandos are offered lodgings in the temple (bc Jaster and Obi are taking so long in Obi's rooms xD) they recognize Feemor as the threat/message bringer bc he 'moves the same'. Feemor is freaked out by this.

Barden POV: he is impatient, not having heard from the mandalorians on Coruscant since they went to the temple. He and Alor Skirata are also looking for Ben, going to MelidaDaan.

Jaster finds the dha'ka'dau in Obi's room, who didn't know what it was, just that the kyber wanted to rest.

Mandos incl Jaster&Obi are invited for breakfast, the mandos realize the Jedi are all just one big family.

Council meeting: it's revealed by Jaster that Obi is still considered adopted mandalorian, even if Barden had really died. It's decided he should go to Mandalore as a potential watchbeing and to give him the opportunity to meet with the Skiratas.

C9

The darksaber decides to come along to Mandalore, bullying Obi-Wan into it (sentient sword!!)

Obi-Wan won't hide his Jedi heritage this time. He's being a bit petty about it, refusing to wear any armor apart from the kom'rk(vambraces).

En route, Jaster and Obi meditate together. Jaster is just slightly force sensitive.

C10

Bardan learns about the former Young on Melidaan but doesn't figure out that 'Obi-Wan' is his kid. The Young regret that Obi-Wan left and they don't know what happened to him.

Arriving on Mandalore, Obi-Wan is greeted with weapons aimed at him when Jango asks to be picked up. Jaster reprimands the mandos and has Obi with Jango walk next to him despite him not having a rank

C11

Walon Vau, a friend of Bardon and so Obi's uncle, comes to collect him for first meal. He is asked to sit with him, Jaster and the other alore. Jaster says that despite first meal not being socially important for mandalorians, he wants to spend it with his cyare Obi-Wan because it is important for Jedi.

Obi-Wan goes to the Forge with the Goran, who asks why he isn't wearing his armor, and Obi-Wan finally admits he struggles with the dual identity of Jedi and Mandalorian. He meets Mand'alor Tarre Vizla in a vision who thanks him for taking care of the dha'kad and asks him to unite Mandalorians and Jedi. Obi-Wan's armor is to be reforged.

Bardan and Obi-Wan have a tearful reunion.

C12

Obi-Wan tells his buir everything and asks for advice about what to do after the three months posting in Mandalore is up.

Erri Skirata feels guilty for being the reason Ben/Obi-Wan ran away. Obi-Wan and Erri have an official clan dispute talk with the Goran and Jaster, and Obi-Wan forgives her for what happened, saying given the circumstances, he understands why she thought he killed Barden. He just wants to move past it.

Jaster with Kal's help starts an investigation in the Jedi's ties to the Senate and the Ruusan reformation.

C13

Obi heals a plant, thought on Mandalore to be the last of its kind, and recognizes it from a Jedi garden.

The Young are visiting and Obi-Wan has another tearful reunion! Nield apologizes for blaming Obi for Cerasi's death. Barden realizes Obi-Wan the General of the Young is Ben, his son, and breaks down crying.

C14

Obi-Wan and Barden have a talk about OW's past with a mindhealer present. They speak of Bandomeer.

Jaster has Kal look for old information on Jetii armor

Obi-Wan defeats Walon in a spar for the first time.

C15

Jaster reminds/tells Ben that he is trying to court him.

In the Forge, when receiving his beskar'gam, OW has a vision of Tarre Viszla telling him "You must unite Jedi and Mando’ad. Should you fail, you both will fall. Enemies are everywhere."

Ao3: C1 | C13

OW's Jedi siblings come by unannounced for his birthday. Bear clan lives with Barden during their stay before they're called back by Yoda.

C16

Feemor works in the archives with Kal and Kal asks him on a date.

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[mwolf0epsilon]

Dogma and the Mouse Droid pt.8

Dogma, carefully cleaning Buggy who came out of the vents covered in a collection of dust bunnies: You really need to be more careful of which section of the base's vents you go into. Some of those vents are older than even the Chancellor himself... Buggy, beeping sadly as he tries to purge all the dust clinging to his cooling fan: <:( Dogma: Well, at least you're brave enough to try to clean those areas. Buggy, chirping fondly at him: :D Caprichoso, walking into the barracks and spotting Dogma: Oh, hi Dogma! Who's your little buddy? Buggy: ??? Dogma: Oh, hello Caprichoso. This is Buggy. Caprichoso: Aww, he has a little chevron paintjob on him! That's neat! Dogma: Yeah... He wanted to distinguish himself from his peers. Caprichoso, sitting down next to Dogma: Who doesn't? Being carbon copies is honestly so boring... Even droids deserve to be more than just another unit among who knows how many... Dogma, noticing that Capri seems to be in a bit of a mood: ...Is everything alright? Caprichoso, looking to him in question: Hm? Oh uh, yeah... Just had... A bit of a falling out with a few guys is all. Nothing I can't handle really, just... Annoying. Dogma: Ah. I see. -returning his attention to cleaning the little mouse droid- Caprichoso: I'm just... Frustrated with the situation. I hate it when people just, ignore the facts and don't listen to me. Dogma: ... I've learned that if people refuse to listen you might as well just give up and fall into silence. Continuing to push will only start a fight or make others unwilling to be in your presence. Caprichoso: What? No way! If I got my two credits to give and am doing it to help, then they better damn well listen to me instead of karking off to get themselves into trouble! We clones have to stick to each other you know? Vode an and all that! Dogma: ... We're not Mandalorians. That doesn't apply to us at all. Caprichoso: We don't need to be Mandos to value our brotherhood! We learned that on Kamino! No brother left behind! Dogma: Yes. We learned that on Kamino. But we're not on Kamino anymore... What we learned there doesn't seem to apply anymore. Especially when you're... Caprichoso: ...Yes? Dogma, frowning before putting Buggy back on the ground: ...Nevermind. I'm going to wash up and go to bed. I have a shift at 0600... Buggy & Caprichoso, watching Dogma go before exchanging glances: Caprichoso: ...Boy it's not just those guys who can't see who's at fault for Umbara. Dogma's also blaming himself something fierce isn't he? Buggy, trilling sadly in confirmation: Caprichoso: Well... For what it's worth, I'm glad he at least has someone in his corner. You're a good friend little buddy! Buggy, beeping happily: :D

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 12]

Warnings and Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint). Should know the drill on my use of Mando'a, italics and my headcanons by now if you've been following along with the AU series this far. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Last chapter starts with an undefined time skip. Dinner at the Batcher's and poor Omega’s sick. Hello again Captain Rex! Blaster injury leads to an after-hours visit to the clinic. Some "Protective Brother Energy" from Rex in multiple forms, including some Anger™. Brief mentions of medical paraphernalia including bacta and an auto-injector. Lots of flashback dialogue. Compromise and good brotherly stuff all around. You want MORE domestic Clone stuff to end this series with?! You got it! Hunter's room got a mini-makeover with a very special little edition. Hunter is so “whipped” for Medic!Reader, you got him trained and everything to take better care of himself. Couple of suggestive lines and lots of soft!Hunter.

Word-count: 6,259

Hunter carefully collected the dishware from the table and set them in the sink after stopping it up to let everything soak for a moment. "Good chow, Echo. Thanks for doing the cooking tonight." he smiled appreciatively, patting the ARC trooper on the shoulder before rolling his sleeves up tight across his toned forearms to keep them out of the waterline as he got the dishes clean.

"Of course. Thought we could use it after a day in the heat, for most of us. Appreciate the help too, [____]!" Echo calls out into the common area, squeezing past his brother with a damp cloth in hand to wipe down the counters. 

"Happy to help, Echo. And dinner was definitely different, but delicious." she calls back in a jovial tone. "Do you want some more nuna noodle soup, Omega?" 

"Not really… not feeling very hungry." Omega murmured distractedly, and there was a sound of shifting fabric that was nearly missed by Hunter's ears under the sharp trill of Echo's communication device clipped to his belt. 

Breep-reep-reep!

"More messages with the Captain? At this hour?" Hunter asks, recognizing the sound. "Guess that also means he's back." he added as Echo stopped what he was doing to read the exchange. 

"...hurt, too." 

Hunter let the surprise get the best of him and he swore. Something about the hint of worry in Echo's voice. "Oh kark. How bad is it?" 

Hey brother. Know of a good bar open around this time with a good variety? Got a real itch for some Green Milk Coolers.

"... that's your code?" Hunter knew that Rex and Echo had, likely, regularly strategized together during the Clone Wars, but a whole code based around galactic drinks and the best planets to find them on? That seemed like an odd choice. Echo only chuckled weakly. "Not our best work, sure. But it works." 

"Can you ask him what his ETA will be?" He should go out into the common room of the house and cut [____] in on the deal. She was busy talking with (or to) Omega about some pictures, sounded like, so Hunter wasn't sure if she'd heard about the possible situation while she was keeping his sister company. About three days or so now, Omega had woken up and stumbled into the rest of the house, notably looking rather miserable. No infectious, sunny smile so early in the morning for a kid her age. No appetite, either. And then the sniffles started, the first big clue of a coming fever. 

His sister was curled up in [____]'s lap, cheek planted on the medic's shoulder as she snuggled into the woman's chest for comfort, the pair loosely wrapped in the blanket together on the two-seater. In [____]'s hands she held her datapad, thumbing through her pictures and showing them to the little, blonde Clone in hopes of distracting and soothing her. "Hah! Look at this one. Cross looks so serious in this one, doesn't he? I'd feel nervous if I was that fruit that had the nerve to be so expensive and spoil so quickly before he had a chance to enjoy them. Those were probably my favorite shots that day we spent on the mining planet." 

It was a beautifully composed shot; Cross was settled on one knee in the shade of one of the shu'ah trees, the other leg kicked out slightly in front of him for balance, the saffron-orange hills of the desert landscape behind him slightly out of focus in the background. The stony expression may have suggested that the marksman was bored of this, or even angry in the picture, to the unfamiliar. But Hunter only sees the concentration in his brother's face, the little, cocky smile that would be hidden by the stock of the 773. 

"Your pick, doc."

"The jogan fruit next!" 

"Yes ma'am." A sharp ping! punctuated the silence after the sniper's purred reply, and the round fruit ruptured with the force of the shot, purple, syrupy juice staining the rock used in the shooting bench Wrecker had built for his brother. 

"Nice shot, Cross. Fifth one, right?" 

"Mm.You know what that means." Echo, Wrecker and [____] shared a little laugh together as Hunter dutifully took another pull from his hydropack. After Crosshair had had his nap, and [____] was certain that Hunter was not flirting with improper hydration anymore after resting inside the Havoc Marauder, they decided to keep everyone accountable; they'd all take sips from their water every fifth shot to keep their fluid levels up. 

Omega picked her head off of [____]'s shoulder slightly to look up at her brother as he came around behind the two of them to look at the photo as well. "Hi, Hunter…" 

"Hey, ad'ika. Sounds like we need to steal [____] from you so she can go help Captain Rex." Hunter said, tenderly smoothing down the little one's hair before laying a kiss into the crown of her hair. 

"He's back then, sounds like. How badly hurt do we think he is?" the medic asks softly as Wrecker picks up their sister, offering to take a turn to cuddle with Omega. Hunter shrugs, "Not sure, he hadn't told Echo, far as I know." 

She stood up, smoothing down her clothing, a tell that she was prepared to get to work. "Might not say 'til we meet him down at the clinic, either. So let's just be prepared for anything."

A recent mantra of sorts that she and the family of Clones had adopted. Their collective future in this galaxy was so uncertain, so unstable, so they should be prepared for the hard, dispiriting stuff. The chance that maybe, possibly, it wouldn't be safe for the Clones here anymore, and they'd have to pack up and leave this spaceport behind in the middle of the night (and [____] would be left behind). But they could also prepare for the possibility of a happier, brighter future. 

A future where maybe, possibly, if they played their cards right… they could all live together, like a family. Damn the Empire: find a way to prevent them from establishing their hold here, and Hunter and his family wouldn't have to spirit away in the night. The seven of them could stay safe here, together; dare they hope for it, forever. 

Echo stepped out of the kitchenette before Hunter spoke, "Okay. We'll walk there with you. Sounds like Rex wants to see a few of us for a "drink" besides just you, kid." She nodded agreeably, sharing a glance with him before Echo jogged into his bedroom to grab a few items. "That's okay. He probably wants to say hi to his brothers; make sure you're all okay and put his mind at ease."

Five of them found Rex pacing anxiously outside her clinic, one hand sweeping through his closely-shaved blonde hair again and again as a means of soothing himself, glancing around. They had to be careful for any possible Imperial walking around at this time. This wasn't exactly a squeaky-clean space port, but it certainly wasn't as seedy as a place like Mos Espa could be. (Or, was that Mos Eisley?) 

Don't call him Captain, don't call him the rank, remember the script, she reminded herself, gently clearing her throat as a warning, walking ahead of the other four, who would enter the clinic after her through a side entrance once she's unlocked the door. "Thank you for being patient, sir. We can step inside and get your prescription for back pains sorted out now that you're off your late shift." 

Rex's shoulders perked sharply, coming to attention now that he knew [____] was here. He could let his guard down slightly, trusting he was in good hands. "Th-thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it, truly. The larger health center couldn't fill the script so soon, and- Maker, not everyone would come back to help someone after they've gone home for the night…I appreciate it." He looked so genuinely relieved, the emotional lilt to Rex's voice was not part of the script. Working open the front door, she let Rex in ahead of her before stepping in afterwards. 

"Glad you're back safe, Rex… They've been worried about you." [____] said, offering a comforting hug, mindful to be ginger since she wasn't sure where he'd been hurt or how bad it was. "'Course, it's not just your little brothers. Otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to help you on the down-low as well as them." 

"I really do appreciate it, [____]." Rex echoed his earlier segment of the script, shoulders slumping further the longer she embraced him. (Stars… how long had it been since he'd last had a friendly hug?) "Should probably go let the others in." Breaching the side entrance once it was unlocked for them, Echo, Tech, Hunter and Crosshair joined Rex in the windowless waiting room, each greeting him. 

Echo and Rex embraced longest, arms tight around their brother. "Good to see you safe, Captain." 

"Glad to see you safe too, Echo." 

Too late, [____] realizes that all the chatter in the waiting room will activate her medi-droid. It's hard to blame the blonde Clone for instinctually raising his blaster in the direction of the warm-up chime.

Ba-bing!

Zrrrr-oop!

"Easy, Captain. That's the droid Tech just repaired for her." Crosshair warns with a gentle chuckle, pushing the muzzle of the DC-17 to aim at the floor instead. 

The 2-1B strides forward, moving smoother than they ever have before to address prospective clients. Tech hadn't just fixed up her medical assistant, but made things better. "Greetings and apologies, but I am afraid we are not open at this time."

[____] laughs, patting the chest plate of the medi-droid fondly to disarm them. "It's just me and a couple of friends, Patch." 

"Oh, Miss [____]! I am sorry, I didn't realize it was you. I woke up so quickly from my charging port I did not get a chance to properly adjust my optical-" Maker, how she missed Patch and the unique way they fretted. Why did she stubbornly avoid breaking that karking warranty for so long? She should have let Tech repair Patch so much sooner. 

"Your droid is nearly finished. We will be able to go back home once I've… replaced this very mangled bolt. Those pirates really did a number on P4TCH." 

"Hey, no worries, Tech. Thank you again for repairing "Patch". I-I know I've been saying it a lot, but I just… While I was gathering things with Hunter last night I saw poor little P4TCH tucked in a corner of my back office and thought about what Crosshair said again. Decided to stop avoiding it and just go to someone I trust, rather than someone on the approved list that was supposedly warranty-friendly." 

"I am happy to help a friend, as I have also kept saying. Besides, I looked at the wait-list…"

"Lemme guess: not quite so reputable like they claim? Or… it would have been a very long wait."

"Yes. And the repair wait-list is currently two standard years out for this droid's manufacturer and provider."

"Shit!"

"That is what I said too. Now… would you like to place the last bolt, [____]?" 

The 2-1B series droid makes a sound that comes across a lot like a soft "oh" that makes the medic chuckle softly as she asks Hunter to get the lights turned on in her back office so she can treat Rex somewhere that offers a lot more privacy than one of the examination rooms with a window to the outside. "It's okay, Patch. Don't worry. You can go back to your charging port while I take care of a friend real quick. I insist." 

It might not end up being a real quick affair, in truth. Rex had requested that Tech and Crosshair show up so they could provide him with advice from their areas of expertise for a future plan he had in mind for the Rebellion to, hopefully, do some serious damage to the Empire.

"What do you mean by selling Echo for 2000 credits!?" Rex roared with disbelief from the other room. Maker, thank the stars she'd invested in soundproofing her clinic after Clone Force 99 had dealt with her little pirate problem. Someone out in the street might have heard him at such a volume, otherwise.

"Er, C-Captain Rex, you missed the extra "zero" at the end here… It should read twenty-thousand credits. Which should be more than enough to acquire weapons on most aftermarkets for the rebel fighters and the liberated Clones from the transport ship who've gone into hiding." Tech offers meekly, ducking his head when [____] steps back into the back office and passes everything off to Hunter with a practiced motion. 

Captain Rex does not look pleased with any of them, least of all the genius. "Th-that doesn't make it better! He is your brother! This is wrong!" 

Echo stays silent, lips thin as they are pressed together while he simply just listens to the Captain ream the entire plan laid out to him. He figured Rex wouldn't like the idea, and had warned Tech but… holy kriff. Crosshair has smartly kept his mouth shut, not saying a word even when spoken to, something Hunter warned her about when [____] got an emergency call from the Captain just twenty minutes ago while enjoying dinner and their company afterwards at the batch's housing.

Captain Rex loved every brother he ever served with, but there'd been a lot of evidence to support him having an especially strong attachment to a few in particular that included Echo.  

"Captain Rex was not afraid to throw punches when Crosshair called Echo "just another Reg" on the mission to find and extract him from the Techno Union if we could back on Skako Minor. It didn't help that Cross questioned Echo's loyalty after being left for dead on another mission during the Clone Wars. Something about a… cannon blast on Lola Sayu, right?"

"I do my best not to blame them: not exactly like they had the best circumstances to look for a body with the kinda hell that operation went to…" Echo said with a shrug, eyes fixed ahead as they took the long way around to her clinic. 

She'd whimpered pitifully at the thought of that. "O-okay that's enough of that… I've heard enough. Can't be a kriffing mess to take care of an emergency patient…" 

[____] has seen since meeting the Captain just how fiercely and deep his protective nature could go and the lengths at which he was willing to keep his brothers safe even if he wasn't their Captain in an official capacity anymore. He's going to shout himself red in the face given his way. She simply motions behind her to Hunter and he drops the item in her hand as she mentions it. "Mind the bacta spray, Rex." 

The blonde Clone hisses sharply when the mist hits the burned skin of his upper arm, breaking him out of his sixth rendition of "you are not going to "sell" Echo dressed as a military prototype droid!" with the shock of the chill, thanks to the cooling agent in the compound. "I did warn you..." [____] murmurs with a sympathetic smile. "Let me know if you're not quite numb in about… five minutes." Hunter keys in the increment into the timer, selecting a sound other than the default. "Can I get you anything to drink for the moment while we wait? Or perhaps a ration bar?" Now that the Captain had taken a moment to calm down, she could see he looked just slightly pale, weary and shaking as the adrenaline flushed itself out of his system. 

Hunter shook his head at the Captain as he began to speak, registering the look he's come to recognize in his significant other with much practice at this point. "No thank you, [____], I'll be-"

"Sorry, but "No" is not an option, Captain." Hunter warns him. He's come a long way since complying to the leftover compulsions of his already lower-than-average adherence to obedience within Clones by using rank quite so habitually like he once did. So has Rex, but sometimes, only sometimes, does he roll out the rank when talking to other survivors of the Clone Wars. "She means business." Hunter adds, nodding his head knowingly at [____]. A nod that tells the Captain to trust him, he knows what he's talking about. 

She understands Hunter's turning the floor back over to her, biting back a grateful smile for his help. "How long's it been since you've had something to eat, Rex?" The uncomfortable silence was enough to tell her it'd been long enough. The "simple recon and supply smuggling" must have gone on longer than the Captain and his other network members had initially anticipated. Or, it had been completed within the timeframe, and he hadn't been taking care of himself since. His blood sugar levels must be low and contributing to the tremor he's developed. "Okay: I see how it is. Need something more than a ration bar, then. Cross? Mind running back and grabbing a plate for Rex?" 

"... sure. I'll be back." he says in a muted voice. He's still acting cagey, not exactly eager in the first place to have walked with Tech down to the clinic when Rex had asked to hear the plan.

"You know your weapons, Crosshair. I want someone I trust to tell me what to look for in the aftermarkets after Tech goes over the plan you boys have pieced together so far." 

The plan had been an exercise of compromise and trust. Hunter, admittedly not much closer than before to coming to a decision in his involvement with confronting the Empire when he was concerned about keeping his sister and now a girlfriend safe and undetected than before the transport ship incident, had come to Echo with an idea on a data drive. 

"Hey, about the Captain's second mission… I'm not going to find myself on a list of brilliant strategists any time soon, but I think it would be a good way for you to assist him. I know you've been asking about how those in hiding now are adjusting. Take a look. See what you think and get back to me on it. I won't be offended if you tell me it's karking stupid." 

"You… you mean it? Even if it really is 'karking stupid'?" Echo had teased him, turning the data drive over in his hand to inspect it.

"I mean it. You wanna help Rex. Don't let me stop you from going just because I'm not quite as ready and decided still." 

Wrecker is the one who comes back with a tidily wrapped plate and a couple of "special short-term rations" instead of Crosshair five minutes after there's an on my way message from the marksman. 

Nodding to the blaster injury, Wrecker mumbles a sympathetic "Hey, Cap'n. That doesn't look good…" before initially handing him the generous portion of Tatooine Terrine and Ahrisa. He hesitates seeing the twisting expression of grief in Rex's face. 

Oh, right: General Skywalker of Tatooine… whatever had happened to him… had been Rex's commanding officer during the Clone Wars. That was a stupid thing to forget that some of his brothers had (oftentimes) taken interest in the native planets of their nat-born Generals. Captain Rex had probably been one of them. "Er… sorry Rex. Maybe you should take one of the vac-sealed sandwiches instead." 

"It's… fine, Wrecker. Just how come you came back with the food when Crosshair went to get it?" The boyish giant just grumbled incoherently while scratching around the back of his head, stepping to the side when [____] needs the sharps bin after giving the Captain a final stim shot. He wasn't sure how to answer, but thankfully she could find a way to satisfy the Captain's inquiry. "Omega doesn't like being home alone. So on the occasion the other five take on a job for credits that takes more than a few days off-planet, she gets to hang out with me and Spoon at my place. Crosshair probably just thought he'd let Wrecker come say hello and do a better job of explaining the vac-sealed rations he's made while keeping Omega company." 

Rex's face morphed into a confused frown. "How come Omega's not-" his gaze swung around to Hunter, eyebrow lifted high, "Omega never misses an opportunity to say hi. Was coming here to the clinic for a simple patch job really too dangerous for her to come along?" (What had happened this time that caused his brother's new-found protective streak to flare up that Omega didn't get to come? He'd hoped to give something to her…)

Hunter's jaw drops to say something, but he's waved off by both [____] and Wrecker. "No, nothing like that, Rex. Poor baby's got a stubborn case of the sniffles and mild fever she's trying to get over. Made it all the way through the usual season of various bugs that come crawling through this little spaceport without a scratch, but guess her luck just ran out." [____] frowns sympathetically, sharing a little look with Hunter. 

He's got shadows under his eyes from not sleeping so well the past two nights back at his place; the door to his bedroom open so he can better keep an ear out for his sister amidst the hum of the humidifier and the drone of the sound machine in her room. Every other little sound from the occasional pawhp! as the house settles to someone shuffling into the kitchen for some water jolts him awake each and every time. 

"Ah," Rex frowns, looking equally sympathetic, "poor little mite. Well, uh, let her know I hope she feels better soon." Maybe he'd give her the item some other time. 

"Can do." [____] promises. "Alright… that should be everything to take care of the blaster burn; anything else I can do for you while you're here, Rex? Afraid I don't have a bacta tank… just yet," she pauses and gives Tech a conspiratorial wink, "but I can probably manage most other things just fine." 

Rex finds Echo's eye before asking one simple question. "JOAT-med?"

"JOAT-med. Good advice and helpful talk-therapy, too." Echo simply confirms, and it suddenly explains a lot to the Captain without the need for additional questions. Hunter can't stop himself from breaking into a wicked grin, so proud of his girlfriend as [____] stood there chuckling nervously with a humble smile at the praise. 

Proud of her ingenuity and creative solutions that, much like some of Tech's ideas, often left him scratching his head. Proud she found resiliency and strength even after the hard, unhappy days time and time again just like Wrecker. Sharing the feelings of pride with Crosshair that some of the sniper's lessons about understanding your limits and knowing how to work with yourself rather than against have stuck (that she'd become more comfortable in being assertive and advocating for herself around Imperials). Proud of both her and Echo for strategizing and initiating that system together in the first place.

Hunter was proud of [____] for so much. 

Stars, he loved her so much. 

[____] pulls the bedding up to Omega's shoulders, running a hand over the youngster's hair soothingly. "Goodnight Omega. Feel better soon, okay? Hope you sleep well, sweetheart." The fever-reducer had successfully made the budding cough settle down enough that she could now get some rest with any luck.

"Goodnight…" Omega mumbles into her pillow, head hardly down long at all before her eyes are closed.

Footsteps soft, the medic plods across the room and turns on the humidifier and sound machine. Swirling, storming waves and thrumming rain. The soundscape is so deeply ingrained in every Clone, no matter how far they were flung across this expansive galaxy. 

When she's done there, she turns down the hall to her right from Omega's door and joins Hunter in the back bedroom, knowing exactly where she'll find him. The new, level-footed desk, gazing at the artwork hung above it on a freshly repainted wall.

A butterfly and a beautiful flower native to Kashyyyk. 

Soothing Sage. 

He's so absorbed in the line art Tech had rendered from his record of the joint-effort doodle she had made with Omega in the past that she's not immediately acknowledged when she steps in. "Heeeey, handsome… Omega should hopefully be sleeping soon. Came to say goodnight before I head home, Hunter." 

Hunter now looks at her, a soft pinch in his brows to go with the longing look that washes over every feature. The glance over his shoulder as he turns sideways in his chair to better face her is not missed. The neatly made bed is clothed in two beautiful shades of green that have replaced the old sheets. The second pillow he keeps next to his up against the headboard. The quilted, jewel-tone weighted blanket sits on top of the footlocker at the end of his bed; the expensive one with cooling technology she'd gotten for him to make their nights apart easier the longer they've been together. He hasn't used it the past two nights since his sister's gotten sick, however. 

"Could I convince you to stay…?" Hunter doesn't want her to leave - he never does, that is far from new but it is especially true tonight. The sunken skin and discoloration under his dark eyes adds to the persuasive power of the doleful and pleading look she's fixed with. He needs sleep. Not a nap here and there throughout the day to make up for the lack of adequate rest, but proper sleep. He looks at [____] imploringly, trying to find a compromise or some suggestion to break her silence while she stands over him, pinching open a blister packet to a mild painkiller tucked in one of the drawers as he's seated at the desk. 

She's mulling over her answer as she tries to prevent a headache for Hunter before it properly takes hold. (If he thought he'd hidden all the signs that the odor of the disinfectant was triggering a headache from her, he was mistaken.) 

She shrugs softly. "Maybe."

"At least… until I'm sure Omega's asleep?" he asks, hoping to quash the desperation he feels surging in him, the glimmer of hope in potentially convincing her. [____] plants the pearlescent pill in the palm of his hand, tucking his fingers around it. "I'll think about it while you take this, okay?" Hunter nods softly and obediently gets up to collect some water from the kitchen sink when she gives him a look to remind him he's not meant to dry-swallow the medication. "Right-right, sorry; old battlefield habits. I'll be right back."

Crosshair clears his throat softly from the neighboring room once he hears that Hunter left and shortly after something has him distracted in or near the kitchen. "You, uh... need some help with that, vod?"

"Hey. Doc." 

"Yeah, Cross?" She side-steps an inch closer to the wall, hearing the marksman do the same. She can imagine the roll of his eyes even through the wall as he speaks. "I'll keep an ear out for Omega tonight. Make sure the idiot gets some sleep, [____]." 

She blinks, surprised. "You're staying up?"

"Putting together more information for Echo to give to Captain Rex. I'll drop by your place and make sure your Tooka's fed if it means you stay." 

"Cross..." [____] sighs gently, touched. She'd been debating running home to grab some sleepwear and set Spoon up with food and water for the night in case she'd forgotten before joining her boyfriend and his family for dinner after hitting the 'fresher at home. She knew Hunter must really need that sleep if Crosshair was volunteering to deal with Spoon. 

Crosshair was getting slightly more insistent with the medic now. "I mean it, [____]. I will." 

"Okay, okay… I'll stay. Thank you. I hope she won't give you trouble." Spoon was getting more used to the snarky sniper, but she wasn't exactly curling up in his lap like when Hunter came to visit, either. 

The marksman chuckles gently. "Don't worry about me." Both hear Hunter returning from the kitchenette and slowly ease the door open down the hall to poke his head in Omega's room. He'd be back soon. "G'night, doc."

"Goodnight, Cross." [____] calls after him as he steps from his room, squeezing past Hunter as his brother carefully plods down to the end of the hall and pulls open the door. 

Kriff, he's adorable when he pouts. "O-oh," Hunter stammers when he steps back into his bedroom, watching as she hinges at the waist and hoists the heavy, jade-green blanket up on the bed, "so you're going home, then…?" Blanket meant he'd be sleeping solo and he hadn't convinced her this time. Dammit. 

But she surprises him; shaking her head, pulling the second, quilted cover across the bed once she's gotten it unfolded and dropping the second pillow he kept around for her near his before she drops to sit on the side of the bed. "No; I'm staying. Come on in and close the door, handsome. Crosshair offered to keep an ear out for your sister so you can get some sleep." Her dominant hand reaches to tenderly caress the side of his face when he comes closer and sits beside her, the pad of her thumb gingerly sweeping over the sensitive skin under his eyes. His eyes flutter closed and his head leans into the steady, trustworthy hand that cradles it. He trusts her so absolutely. Wholly. 

If you had told this son of Kamino that one day he'd leave his mother-world and find someone he would trust outside of his brothers (all of them really, but especially "his" batch) with his very life, Hunter would've looked at the wall full of tallies and just shaken his head. "Cute, but I don't think so. That's not really for me." A hundred-percent success rate didn't come with trusting so carelessly. Not just anyone could step into his accelerated life and offer to help take care of his brothers. A sister in the sea of perhaps a million brothers with "unaltered" first generation DNA. Himself.

"Y'know… I realized something." 

"Yeah, what's that?" 

"Wrecker was the one who put that hole in the panel in the attack shuttle's medbay, right? I know he and Tech tried to fix it, but-"

"Oh, yeah. Big guy and the nerd started getting antsy about it after I wasn't able to keep anything down by day six. Panel was just too kriffed and the scanner results were screwy. I started to get violent and paranoid-" 

"And that's when-"

"Tech found us the nearest planet with a small but highly recommended medical center to see if they would help." 

It felt too twisted and upsetting to credit the parasite that was trying to kill his brother with how their life ended up now. It felt like blame to thank Wrecker's moment of distress in ruining a part of their ship that forced them to seek out external help. Would it be appropriate to thank the mysterious power and the strange workings and will found in the Force, perhaps? Who really knew; who could really say? (In the end, did he really care about trying to puzzle that out when the sensation of her fingers in his hair felt so heavenly?)

At some point in time while he'd been lost in his thoughts, he found he'd been relieved of the red bandana, and it was neatly laid aside on the bedside furniture on top of his datapad. "[____]..." he moans breathlessly, his upper body melting against hers involuntarily when her hands reach to cradle the back of his head. "I don't have a headache, sweetheart…" 

She shushes him softly with a sage smile. "Uh-huh. Tell me to stop, then." Not expecting to be challenged, Hunter sits there, growing increasingly more dependent on her supporting him upright the longer he's silent. Every. Kriffing. Time she plays with his hair, nails grazing across his scalp and fingers trailing through his hair from root to end, he ends up falling asleep. He doesn't know how she does it. Not even Omega could figure it out when she tried doing the same for one of his headaches since [____] tried showing her how the day she didn't open her clinic and went with them to that mining planet instead. 

But Maker help him if he was going to ask her to stop. "Yeah… that's what I thought, handsome. Lay down now. Time to get some sleep." She turns off the bedside light after nudging him to scoot towards the wall, not bothering to change out of her comfortable clothing since showering a second time that night to rid herself of the antibac and disinfectant smells. She was so considerate of his heightened senses, gestures like these never failed to make him feel so loved. Cared for. 

And he felt so protected on the rare occasion his girlfriend pulled a role-reversal on nights like tonight, making him the little spoon in bed, one arm tucked around his waist comfortably, the other up near his head with her hand in his hair as she laid her cheek against his shoulder blade. "We really should to get you a pair of sleep clothes to keep here, one of these- ohhh kriff…" Hunter bites down the moan under his breath when her hands went from root to end at the top of his head, feeling the tension melt out of his neck and jaw at last. 

[____] had done this the night she and Hunter had gone to the concert for her favorite intergalactic band and he spent the night at her place instead of his. Echo, Tech and Omega had kicked him out of the house for the day so they could put a fresh coat of paint on his walls without the odor becoming bothersome for the expert tracker. Crosshair and Wrecker had tasked themselves with getting some new furniture and putting it together. The music group wasn't exactly his taste in music, perhaps, but Hunter vaguely recognized a song or two. 

He'd just been happy to spend time together with her. Hear that word out of her mouth for the first time, too, in reply to another concert-goer over the thumping bass and vocals.

"Hey, your friend has a pretty sick tattoo!" 

"Oh, he's not my friend! But yes, my boyfriend's tattoo is pretty "sick"!" 

Boyfriend. 

He no longer avoided calling [____] the same in kind; girlfriend. The word came so naturally, tugging his lips into a smile nearly every time. By Kamino's endless seas… Hunter loved her so much. 

"Picking up a bacta shipment for my girlfriend, her name is-" 

"Oh, really flattered, but I have a girlfriend and I'm very happy with her… And my brothers and sister really like her too." 

"Hey, buddy, you best step off if you know what's good for you, I heard she's taken." Someone stopped him in the shipyards once when she was getting ready to board her medical vessel, having volunteered herself to a week off-planet in assisting with intergalactic humanitarian efforts against a virus that was only affecting certain species. "Yeah, taken one of my shirts that I need later in the week, it turns out. That's my girlfriend." Hunter had returned the favor, drawing himself to his full height and leaning forward in the man's face to intimidate him. 

The man's warning was no noble act, because in truth he had been the one sniffing around [____]'s clinic and the shipyards with potentially ulterior, malicious motives. She had voiced her concerns on a couple of occasions that something about this creep was setting her teeth on edge every time she saw him. She very well could have been right about the man. Thankfully they never found out, because he'd never troubled her again to Hunter's knowledge.

"Sorry, Hunter! Gimme one second!" 

"No rush, mesh'la. I understand you're making sure you have everything you need to make people feel better. Like say after a bad fall." 

"What was that, handsome?" She hadn't heard the growled threat the unorthodox Clone had leveled the other man's way, and he hoped to keep it that way. Not out of shame, necessarily. Just didn't see the point in reminding her about the nuisance. 

There were more important things to remind [____] of, before he was completely asleep. (Maker, how was she so good at this?) "Mm... mesh'la?" 

"Yes, Hunter?" 

"Does Cross know to give Omega another dose in six hours?" 

"Wow…" she chuckles softly, a pleasant, almost tickling sensation he can feel through her chest against his back, "thinking of trying to sleep in tomorrow, are we?" Hunter yawns, wiggling deeper into the new mattress before he'll fall asleep very shortly. "For now…" 

"Heh. We'll see about that. Goodnight, handsome." [____] remarks knowingly, tucking her hand under her head as she too made herself comfortable. They're laying there, still and content, for several minutes before someone cuts the thread of silence one last time before sleep takes them both.

"No matter what the galaxy brings or where the future takes us… I love you." 

"I love you, too. Nothing in the galaxy will stop me from doing so…" the other promises before they both fall asleep and dream of their future together. 

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @ladytano420​ @the-hexfiles @ilovethosebrowneyes9904 

Note from Frost: Well, that’s all folks. :’) With a hopefully nice ending for you to imagine for yourselves just how sickly sweet your happily ever after with Hunter ends up. 🩷  

I appreciate everyone who’s liked, commented and reblogged over the course of this series more than you could imagine as I’ve been getting my head back in the fanfiction game. Requests are now officially open for the time being, so check my pinned Masterlist for guidelines if you’re interested. 

If you’d like to be in the tag-list for those kinds of things or all my SW works [perhaps sans OC stories], please don’t be shy and let me know. Much love.  🩷

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[etoiline]

this aching lonely place

(read with tags and characters on AO3 instead)

Maybe it’s the thunder, sounding like it’s crashing right over their heads, that makes the hand of whoever’s on the cutter slip, tilting the wing of the craft Cal and the rest of the crew are working on, so everyone’s balance is shot.

Maybe it’s the lightning that grounds itself into the now-disconnected cutter laser, burning out its power couple and causing the explosion that sends the whole crew flying, Cal included.

Maybe it’s the ozone that stings his nose when he finally inhales after his inelegant imitation of flying knocked the breath out of him, his entire chest protesting the motions of breathing.

Maybe it’s the metal that floods his mouth from his bitten tongue, worse than when the Guild tattooist had mistaken Cal’s fear of an echo from the well-used and poorly-cared-for tattoo gun for an frightened unwillingness to take the Scrapper Guild tracker and shoved a pewter bar, allover teethmarked already, into his mouth to take the screams as the tracker darkened his skin.

Maybe it’s the feeling of corrugated metal under his cheek, cold and wet and sharp, the imprints of thousands of footprints beating against his skull, none of them enough on their own to be called an echo, but together forming a chorus—that convinces Cal that he is in some pretty serious trouble.

And he’s alone. The Force is jagged here, and it slips through his grasping fingers, no living points of light nearby for him to use as an anchor, even if his connection wasn’t broken. He thinks he hears his name, shouted from above, but it’s distorted, far away, bouncing off walls and pools of water.

He’s alone.

Cal pushes himself up, leaning at a crazed angle on the wet wall behind him. He cradles his ribs with his arms and leans his pounding head against the plastoid cladding. Through bleary eyes he looks up, trying to find a path back...up, somewhere. There's no obvious egress, no handy pile of rubble leading back to where he'd been. The foreman had Cal working on the edge of the wing, and when it fell, he’d caught a few floors’ worth of metal with his chest, and the whole wing had fallen with him in it. He’s honestly sort of surprised he survived—if he’d been anywhere else he could still be falling, windmilling his way to the Ibdis Maw. He tries to tell his ribs to be grateful, but they don’t believe him.

He’s in a hallway of the scrapped Venator, crew quarters, he thinks. Pressing a hand against the wall, he stumbles forward until he can hang onto the edge of a door, peering inside. The layout of the Albedo Brave plasters itself on Cal’s eyelids. All the ships are designed the same way, so transferring from one to the other is easy, even if the ship is broken, like this one. He takes a moment to get his bearings, then nods. Definitely crew quarters: the tattered remains of blankets and mattresses lie tossed about, and the body of a clone trooper—

Before he can faint at the sight of that too-familiar armor, before he loses himself in the grief of his clone brothers turning on him, before he sinks into the memories of high-fiving Commander Cryo hard enough that the commander jokes his charge will take the yellow paint right off his pauldron—Cal blows out a breath, really looks at the armor and realizes it’s just the plastoid itself and doesn’t actually contain a body (which is good, because the position that it's in...doesn't really seem anatomically possible). He’s still alone here. No one left on this ship but ghosts.

Kark but it’s cold down here. His poncho is soaked through—he really should have spent the credits on a new waterproofing job—and one knee of his scrapper pants sprung a hole on the way down, so he stumbles into the room and sorts through the scraps, hoping to find one dry enough to use as a little cover. With one hand clamped around his ribs, it’s slow going, but finally Cal finds a not-too-fragmented piece he can swirl around his shoulders. It smells of must but doesn’t fall apart when he tugs it close over his chest, which is about all Cal feels like he can ask right now. It’s even mostly free of echoes, just soft things he can brush away like cobwebs, or dreams.

The synthweave does its job, reflecting his body heat back at him, and if Cal lets out a quiet sob—that echoes in the empty, broken space—there’s no one here to tell him not to.

He shuffles out of the room, trailing a gloved hand along the off-true wall, letting the echoes of clone troopers brush past his gloves. He has the unsettling idea that if he let himself fall into an echo here he might never come out of it, might be stuck on this broken wing, living someone else’s memory, until he starved.

So he doesn’t listen to the echoes, instead moving toward the end of the crew quarters, where he knows there will be a lift—which won’t be working, of course, but where there’s a lift, there are stairs, and stairs will get him out of here. Even if he has to climb all 70 levels, he’ll get out of here, and away from all these echoes and memories.

Cal finally finds the lift, its door helplessly fallen at an angle, counts over seven panels, and bangs on the one he ought to find the stair access behind—it’s blessedly hollow-sounding, and he finds the tab to pull to reveal the stair access. The panel doesn’t want to bend—or bend again, given its current state—but Cal manages to remove it, though it leaves him winded and panting against his bruised ribs. The sign inside informs Cal he’s on floor 57 of the Chalcene Thunder, which makes him sigh at the upcoming effort, but also that he’s not on a ship he knew. If he does come across any bodies they won’t be friends, or clones who used to be friends…

There’s hardly any light in the stairwell, only what comes through cracked plastoid and bent metal as lightning flashes outside, and his saber is tucked away in its hideyhole in his tiny apartment, so Cal climbs by feel, only pausing when his bruised ribs protest enough that he can’t catch his breath. When he reaches a tiny landing, he all but collapses against the wall, staying mostly upright because he knows that if he falls over, he’s going to pass out from the pain. Just a few breaths, then move on, he tells himself, pushing off the wall. No one is going to find him in here, so he has to keep moving. He takes a step in the darkness, only to trip over something soft, and Cal sprawls to the floor, his hands flying out to catch himself, tangling in the fabric of whatever tripped him—

“Run, Deonis! Get to the stairs, it’s the only way out—”

He stares at his Master, their lightsaber flashing, deflecting one blaster bolt, another, but it’s not enough, and one burns into the floor near his feet, setting Deonis jumping. He turns halfway, but doesn’t want to leave his Master, so he draws his saber, moving into the guard they’ve been practicing, but it’s not the right stance for this, because he misses the next bolt and it drills into the shoulder of his dominant arm and it burns, and he coughs, and his Master turns at his agonized sound, and there’s a violent orange hole through their belly and they fall—

“Go,” they whisper, and Deonis is flung through the air with his Master’s Force, fetching up against the emergency exit and there are troopers simply marching over his Master’s body, coming for him, and he scrambles for the latch and pulls at it, makes it through—

but there’s a new burn in his stomach and he stares down at the perfectly neat circle in his robes, brown at the edges, the smell of burnt fabric strong in his nose, and he goes to his knees because he’s so confused, that the troopers shouldn’t be trying to kill them and his robes shouldn’t look like that, and there’s a blaster’s whine near his head—

Cal inhales with a whoop as the echo dissipates, breathing through Deonis’ pain, trying to convince his brain that he wasn’t dead like the poor Padawan at his feet. This death could have been his, if Master Tapal hadn’t saved him, if they hadn’t trained to escape a Venator, if he hadn’t flung his measly Force at the troopers who’d just that morning been joking about the severe lack of educated conversation on the ship as he tried to join them. Cal carefully opens his senses in search of Deonis’ lightsaber, but no kyber sings nearby—either it’s fallen too far or been crushed or Cal’s jagged connection to the Force can’t listen for it anymore. The Padawan died alone and scared, so Cal keeps his hand on the decaying fabric and desiccated tissue underneath for a moment longer, breathing out a blessing in the Force for his fellow Jedi, hoping he found peace in that which binds all things.

It could have been him, here, but somehow it wasn’t. And if Cal wants to get out of this lonely aching place, he’s going to have to keep climbing, until someone can hear him, until he’s not alone, aside from the echoes.

So he climbs, one hand on the rusting railing, one hand supporting his ribs, slipping on the odd angles of the treads, until the stairs abruptly end, the wall crumpled and torn where it had ripped away from the main body of the ship. He can see waving lights above him, bobbing as folks walk the treacherous line between the sheared-off wing and the void. If he shouts, will they hear him?

He tries, though at first nothing comes out of his dry throat. How long has it been since he fell? It’s dark, but it’s always dark on Bracca in storms like this. At least the rain has let up a little, and Cal tilts his face to the sky, letting a little of the metallic droplets wet his tongue. A few drops won’t kill him, not today. Swallowing, he tries again, and this time his voice works, and one of the dancing lights turns his way.

Faintly he hears his name, in an achingly familiar tone. “Prauf!” he shouts back, waving his free arm and wincing when the stretch hits his ribs. He thinks he hears something about rope and wait and he does just that, startling at the wet slap of rope as it slithers down the stairs. Someone has already tied a loop for him to step into, and Cal gathers up some of the slack and tugs hard until he feels resistance, and the rope goes taut above him as someone pulls the rope up and up and up.

Cal looks down at the broken wing as he’s lifted into the air, fingers white against the rope. The twisted metal is a tomb, and Cal wonders if anyone else is ever going to find Deonis’ body, or if the Maw will simply devour it as a matter of course. Cal will never be able to go back there, not alone, and he’ll never be able to tell anyone why he would want to go back to it without exposing himself.

He looks above him, just able to see Prauf’s face, creased with effort and worry as the Abednedo hauls away at the rope, and tries to find comfort in knowing he won’t die alone, at least not today.

Prauf reaches down to pull at Cal’s scrapper harness when he’s close enough to the edge, and Cal finds himself suddenly on mostly level ground, engulfed in Prauf’s embrace, the rest of Cal’s squad slapping Prauf on the shoulders and laughing the slightly unhinged laughter of those who have cheated death for another day.

“Glad you’re back with us, Cal,” Prauf says. “Thought we’d lost you there for a minute.” He hugs Cal tight, smelling of metal and wet and familiar and alive.

Cal thinks of Deonis and squeezes Prauf back, ignoring his ribs. He’s not alone anymore.

[electrikworm]

Long Hours

Relationships: Fox & Thorn

Content Warnings: Clone trooper Dehumanization, Blood and Injury, Broken ribs

Summary:

After a long day of work and a senator taking his frustration out on Fox he's dreading the patrol he has scheduled. However Thorn won't let his brother overwork himself any more than he already has.

Word count: 2,457

Read on Ao3

Fox groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. His patrol starts in fifteen minutes and he's gotten barely any work done.

All thanks to that karking senator. Fox wipes at the still drying blood coming from his nose and split lip with his glove. His blacks will have to go in the wash either way, a few blood stains won't make a difference.

Sighing, Fox leans his head backwards, resting it against the uncomfortable chair. The long hours he's got that day would have been bad enough without a persistent ache in his body. But the senator hardly cared how Fox's shift would be affected when he decided to take his frustration out on a clone.

A commander of the Coruscant guard shouldn't have to deal with some senator that likely only got the position thanks to his parents credits threatening him. If it came to a fight, Fox would come out on top with ease. But in reality, there's very little Fox can do against these situations.

If he were to defend himself, Fox would end up being charged with assaulting a natborn. If he refuses the demand, the shabuir will just vent his displeasure on some other clone, very likely some poor shiny. Only thing Fox can do is report the incident once its already happened.

He doesn't see much point in doing so. There would be so much flimsiwork involved and the worst the senator would be charged with is “damage of GAR property”. And even that depends on if Fox's claim is believed in the first place.

Fox checks the chrono again, annoyed at how fast time is passing. He should be getting going, but is dreading getting up. It's easy enough to ignore the pain when he barely moves.

Exhaling sharply, Fox slips his helmet on and pushes himself to his feet. He's immediately made aware of everything wrong with his body, the dark bruises that mar it, the possible cracked ribs, the sharp stinging in his knee. In fact, Fox's right leg almost gives out from under him. A couple months back, he took a blaster bolt to the leg and it hasn't been quite right since. The targetted way the senator aimed for that limb makes Fox question if the natborn might have been aware of the injury.

Fox takes a moment to dig his fingers between the plates of his leg armor to try and ease some of the pressure on his knee, hissing as it does little to help. He's going to have to walk about on that leg for hours, last thing Fox wants is for his limp to be obvious.

Shaking the limb out, Fox gets going. It takes a bit of concentration not to let on to the beating he took earlier, but it's far from the worst condition Fox has worked in.

The long, dull halls of the Senate building are a curse, making Fox's existence just that little bit harder. There are far too many natborns about for Fox's liking. He feels like they watch his every step carefully, waiting for him to slip up and let on to his weakened state.

Fox doesn't zone out whilst he walks, that would be unprofessional. No, the fact Fox was so focused on walking naturally is at fault for him only noticing Thorn moments before colliding with him.

His brothers hand on his shoulder shakes him from his stupor. “Fox?”

Giving a noise that could be both a response to his name being called or a greeting, Fox tilts his head upright. Their visors are equal in height of course, seeing as nearly all clones share the same height save for the occasional genetic deviance and shinies that have been shipped off Kamino too early.

“Just get off your shift?” Thorn asks, giving Fox the impression that his brother has completed his work for the day.

Fox shakes his head, trying to limit the amount he speaks with his split lip. “My patrol of the senate building starts in a few minutes,” he says, a hint of unclarity to his voice due to the bruising. Fox's round doesn't cover the entire building of course, but Thorn knows that so there's no point in explaining.

The way Thorn's stare seems to intensifies can be felt even through the helmet. Fox can imagine the look on his face beneath the bucket, brows furrowed as he observes his brother. Aware of Thorn's watchful eye, Fox straightens up a little more. No need to worry his vod about trivial things that Fox can and should handle on his own.

“You sure you're up to it?” Thorn asks, squeezing Fox's shoulder. The gesture is barely felt through the armor, but is appreciated none the less. That's the most comfort Fox has gotten all day. “No offence vod, but you seem a little out of it. When's the last time you slept or ate?”

Fox can't help but sigh. It hardly matters if he feels up to working or not, he'll have to do so either way. Clones get taught on Kamino that they'll have to push through pain their entire life.

“Going on patrol is hardly intense labour Thorn, I think I'll manage.” Fox rolls his neck as he speaks, hoping to release some of the tension in his spine. “And I've had plenty of rest and two meals today, I'm fine.”

He leaves out the fact that the rest he got consisted of a twenty minute nap Fox accidentally had at his desk and that all he's consumed that day was three cups of cheap caff from the dispensers clones are allowed free access to, half a ration bar and one of those horrible caffeine cubes the GAR hands out.

“I don't think this is a good idea Fox. What if there's an attack?”

“Then I'll handle it, like we were trained to do,” Fox hisses, trying to get past his brother. He's already late for his shift, delaying it more will only end up with him having to compensate with overtime.

A huff transmits through Thorn's helmet speaker before he pulls the thing off to look at Fox directly. Somehow, that makes Fox feel even more watched.

“I doubt you took the time out of your day to look at yourself in a mirror Fox, but you look kriffing terrible. Your movement is unsteady and you're limping every other step.” Torn steps closer to Fox again, tapping the front of his helmet. “If you took that thing off, I wouldn't be surprised to see eyebags bad enough to mistake for bruises.”

Fox almost laughs at the irony of that comment.

“None of that changes the fact that I have a job to do.” Fox tries to walk off, pain in his body amplified by the sudden movement, but Thorn keeps following him.

“We'll find someone to cover for you,” he says, making Fox shake his head. It's his shift, dumping it on a brother feels wrong.

“I'll see you after my shift,” Fox sighs, sidestepping to avoid his brother and continuing down the hall. Stubbornly refusing to give in seems to get Thorn to quit.

Thorn calls after Fox, wishing him good luck on the job. That's when Fox makes a mistake whilst turning back to look at his vod. Jarring his ribs with the motion, Fox can't quite bite back a pained hiss. Thorn isn't about to ignore that, no matter how much Fox tries to pick up his pace.

A firm hand on both his shoulders stops him. He'd have to shove Thorn off the get away from him now and not only does Fox not want to do that, he is also too tired to deal with additional physical exertion he can avoid.

“What happened?” Thorn asks.

Fox gets along well with his brothers, tries to look out for them. The unfortunate side effect of that is that they do the same for him, even if they wouldn't need to bother. That's why Thorn immediately clocks even a slight slip of the mask Fox has put up to hide his weakness from others.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Fox brushes off. This kind of behaviour from natborns is far from rare.

“Can't say I agree.” With that statement, Thorn activates his comlink and announces that he needs someone to cover commander Fox's patrol.

Covering his brothers comlink with his hand, Fox glares at Thorn. He's confident Thorn can feel his stare, even with the visor blocking his eyes from view. “Stop that,” Fox hisses.

“Not until you're honest about what's wrong with you,” Thorn shoots back.

“This is a waste of time,” Fox sighs. Thorn just raises an eyebrow and keeps talking on his comm, batting away any attempt from Fox to block him from doing so. Sighing again, Fox slouches somewhat. The longer he argues, the later he'll be. “Fine.”

Fox slips his helmet off, feeling very exposed doing so in the open halls of the senate building. “Happy?” Fox asks as he watches Thorns expression become serious.

“I wasn't aware of an attack,” Thorn says. It's an optimistic thing to say. The alternative, the reality of where Fox got his injuries, is much more grim. There's a war going on and people get hurt, but these kinds of small violences, dished out by the Republics own, happen to troopers for the simple fact that they come out of a tube rather than from traditional reproduction. It solidifies the place clones hold in society, and the fact that their situation won't change any time soon.

Fox shakes his head, dull throb in his neck worsened by the motion. “Not an attack, just a senator.”

Brows furrowed, Thorn pauses, pupils in constant motion as he studies Fox's face. Fox yearns to put his helmet back on. After a moments wait, Thorn turns to his comm-conversation again, seeming to find a replacement for Fox's shift.

Fox tries to reject the change in plans, but Thorn and the trooper on the other end of the line won't budge. With a tired groan, Fox is forced to give in.

Reluctantly, Fox follows Thorn back to their barracks. Initially, Thorn and Fox hadn't slept in the same barracks, but once they'd started getting along, Thorn moved his stuff to the same one Fox resides in. Those in charge hardly care where clones sleep as long as there isn't any problems.

The room their beds are in isn't one of the largest, only a little over a dozen other troopers housed in there if it's at full capacity. Currently, there are a few clones sleeping and two awake. Greeting them as they pass, Thorn steers Fox to his bunk.

“With how neat it always is, you'd think you barely sleep in it,” Thorn jokes. Fox doesn't bring up that he's slept on the floor of his tiny office or in his chair more and more often in the past weeks.

Thorn hurries off in search of the barracks medkit whilst Fox stashes his armor. He doesn't mind being out of it here, among his brothers, but he despises wearing anything else outside. Fox always feels exposed, even when wearing his off-duty grays.

Once he's returned, Thorn lays the medkit out on the bunk. This is far from the first time Fox has had to be patched up by one of his brothers. He's had to do so for his vode many times too.

With any other injury, they'd go to a med bay, to a medic, but anything related to a natborn venting anger at one of them would just cause a hassle.

Fox hisses as Thorn wipes his face down with a disinfectant wipe, the contact with any open wound stinging.

“Was it someone new?” Thorn asks, expression pinched in concentration.

“No, he's already on the list.”

Fox can't remember who started the list of dangerous natborns, but it's always been a good help. Since its creation, they make sure to never make shinies work near those people if it can be avoided. Having to deal with abusive assholes in the first few weeks of being stationed on Coruscant never does shinies any good. You can tell when a shinies been through that, they're different, skittish, jumpy, more likely to be chewed up and spat out by the planets dark alleys and maze-like city structure. Clones go missing on Coruscant all the time, Fox would rather avoid upping the probability of that outcome.

With the cuts cleaned, Thorn begins cutting a bacta patch into smaller pieces and sticking them on the worst of Fox's facial injuries. He offers some bacta gel for Fox's split lip, but he declines. Once the stuff gets in your mouth, you can barely get rid of the taste. Fox doesn't want to spend the next few hours thinking about the way bacta tastes.

Fox's bruised side and knee get coated in bacta as well, and Thorn even manages to find a cooling pack to help with Fox's ribs.

After removing his own armor, Thorn sits next to Fox on the bunk. “I don't think you're concussed, but be careful the next few days anyway, alright?”

“I'll be fine,” Fox says, adjusting the way he holds the cold pack to his side. He's certain he must have cracked a rib or two, but the cold helps a little. Their medkits don't carry painkillers, so Fox will just have to live with what remains of the pain.

“I was right about the eyebags,” Thorn says. “Even under all that bruising, I can still see how bad they are.”

“You don't look much better.”

Thorn scoffs. “At least I've slept a full six hours of the last 24.”

Fox finds he doesn't have a counter argument for that. For a moment, the hushed chatter of the two other wake clones and faint snoring from one of the sleeping ones are the only sounds accompanying them.

“You should sleep now, whilst you can,” Thorn states.

“Can't,” Fox replies. “I had a caffeine cube.”

“That wasn't very smart,” Thorn laughs, elbowing Fox's good side. Fox shoots Thorn a dirty look.

“I was planing to work for the next six hours at least, so it seemed necessary.”

“You don't need to sleep to rest,” Thorn says, leaning against the wall behind the bunk. After a moments hesitation, Fox leans on his brothers shoulder, sighing deeply. The caffeine is keeping his mind active, but Fox's body is feeling the wear and tear of the past days, bone deep exhaustion plaguing him.

After another moments pause, Thorn continues. “I hope the shabuire that did this trips and breaks his neck.”

Despite the ache in his ribs, Fox can't help but laugh. “Couldn't agree more.”